In September, Remus moved in with Sirius. It is temporary, he emphasised, fiercely protective of his own independence, not wishing to be dependent on others but failing to do so. A werewolf in the midst of a blood war?

He'd been unemployed for four months, aside from Order business, which does not pay for food and shelter. For a week, all he'd had to eat was a loaf of bread and a plate of chips, courtesy of a drunken James. His friends did not realise how destitute he was, alone in his disgusting basement room and he was about as likely to tell them as Voldemort was to become a Muggle rights advocate. It had been Lily, he suspected, who'd said something to James, who'd said something to Peter and Sirius, who had probably conferred and decided that Remus should live with Sirius. Peter lived with his mother still but Sirius had a flat in Camden. A one-bedroomed hovel, which often contained more alcohol than food, but it was warm and friendly and one hundred times better than where he'd been living. He'd had to accept.