Title: Numbered

Summary: "Five days. 120 hours. 7200 minutes. 432000 seconds. It's been 432000 seconds since they announced the end of the world, and I don't think I've moved from this window." Their days are numbered. / Remus, Sirius, and 432067 seconds left to live. For Paula.

Notes: (A massive thank you to the perfect Ella for beta-ing my monstrosity). Well, old girl, you might not have many years left, so this, Paula, is for you. Happy birthday!

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

This is the way the world ends, sweetheart. With a letter.

Dear James,

It's been five days.

Five days.

It seems like longer, doesn't it? Seems like a lifetime. Five days. 120 hours. 7200 minutes. 432000 seconds. What can you do in 432000 seconds? Not as much as you'd think. It's been 432000 seconds since they announced the end of the world, and I don't think I've moved from this window.

He won't talk. He won't even look at me.

What could I say?

What would he say?

432000 seconds seems like a lifetime, but in reality, it's no time at all.

The whole world is alight. Half of Australia has been burnt to the ground. 700,000 people were murdered in South America yesterday when Chile unleashed a nuclear bomb. On itself. Ireland is underwater. We always loved Dublin, didn't we?

It's beautiful there. Tragic, plain, and beautiful. Like Paris set in stone, with the lights turned out. We promised to go back; take Lily and Harry there.

I wonder if Heaven looks like Dublin.

The scientists; they've known for years. They've had time, to adjust, to learn, to live, and now most of them have locked themselves in their basements.

Another man murdered his family yesterday. A Muggle village, just outside of Shrewsbury. He shot 50 dead in less than five minutes. Then he shot himself in the mouth.

Two hundred children turned on each other at a school. Grabbed whatever they could find and pretended that it was kill or be killed. Idiots. It was never even going to come to that. We'd be dead before we had the chance to fight.

Two five year olds and a teacher survived.

The teacher bludgeoned the boys to death while they were sobbing in her arms.

432000 seconds. 7200 minutes. 120 hours. Five days.

I don't know if you're alive. Part of me hopes you aren't, just so that you won't have to see this; the end of the world in all its painful glory. You and Lily, you took Harry and ran as soon as you heard the news. We would have followed, you wanted us to follow - but we belong here. This was our home, James. We won't run.

This is our home.

And even if he won't talk, well; I don't need him to. I don't need to hear the words. Not anymore.

432000 seconds, and I don't want to waste a breath.

The sun. It's going to stop exploding and implode - one flash of blinding light, and then nothing. It'll take roughly seven minutes. It hasn't started yet, but it will soon. It wasn't supposed to start for hundreds of thousands of years.

It turns out even Muggle scientists can be wrong.

I hope your last moments will be happy, James. I hope you're hugging Harry and kissing Lily's head, like you do when she's asleep and you think we're not watching. I hope you don't dare look out of that window and watch the world burn.

Do you have any regrets?

I don't think you do - not really. But the world changes people. Could we have been better? We could've been nicer to Snape, couldn't we? But that wouldn't have bought us any more time. Just a lot of secrets. And a lot of guilt. Might've even been worth it. But we had time to live, then, James, we had time.

Well, fucking hell, mate. Look at us now.

I have a lot of regrets, in the end. But I think my most recent - most important - I could change. Right now. In this moment.

Instead, I'm writing a letter to you.

I should beg him, shouldn't I? I should grovel and plead. I should - I should - I should pray that he forgives me. That he trusts me. Will he die thinking I'm a traitor? I hope not, Prongs. I bloody well hope not.

Voldemort doesn't even matter now. He's probably in Albania or somewhere, waiting. He probably thinks he'll survive, the arrogant bastard. I reckon he'll be the first to burn. I almost wish I could see it, don't you? His surprise.

It'd be a picture. But I'm not sure it would be a picture worth dying for.

You can't see the streets for rubble, now. We - I - have boarded up the windows and doors with everything we could find. I'm hoarding a bar of chocolate, just in case. Just in case the time comes.

It turns out you can do a lot in five days.

I still wonder who betrayed us, though, in the end. Was it Dorcas? Pretty Ravenclaw Dorcas Meadowes who always scowled at you and ruffled your hair? She's dead now. I found her - I found her hand, with that pretty engagement ring from Fabian on her finger.

Didn't find the rest of her.

Didn't look.

Do you think it was Minnie? She's still alive. Won't leave Hogwarts, the stubborn old bat. Probably going to die in her favourite hat, polishing the trophies in the trophy cabinet. I'll miss her.

Someone had beheaded Bellatrix and tied her head to a stake, left it outside St. Mungo's.

I think I laughed.

In the end, though, do you think it was him? Does it even matter now? I'd forgive him, if he told me. I'd hug him and I'd kiss his ear and I'd move away from this goddamned window, I would. I wouldn't even punch him. 432000 seconds, and all that.

I'm happy that the full moon was two weeks ago. For both of us. The world does not end with a bang, but with a whimper, after all.

But look at the world, Jamsie boy! Isn't it glorious? Human nature at its finest. This is what we are, after all. We're a pitiful race of creature that has tricked itself into rules and traditions, tricked itself into thinking it's any better or any smarter just because it can.

Humans.

It's almost fitting that we end like this.

I think I'd tell him I love him. I think I'd give him the ring I have hidden in my bedside drawer and I think I'd tell him I never meant to leave. I would tell him the only thing that mattered was coming back.

I think I love him, Prongs.

And the worst thing is, the last time I told him, I screamed it at him; I ripped out my throat and poured out my heart, just telling him I loved him and I hated him. Then I left, didn't I? Drowned myself in drugs and booze until the lines blurred together and it didn't matter if I loved him or hated him. All that mattered was him.

Then they told us we had 432067 seconds until we started to burn.

So I went home, didn't I? I had to. I remember you knocking at the door, clutching Harry to your chest and sobbing. You told me to go with you. But he - he would be here alone. I couldn't do that. If I'm going to spend my last seconds with anyone, Prongs, it's him. It's always him.

Doesn't that sound romantic?

It's been 432060 seconds since they told us we wouldn't live 'til Christmas. That we wouldn't see Harry grow up. That I'd never - we'd never - be married. We have 67 seconds to go.

66.

65.

We had it good, didn't we; us? Our lives. It was good, wasn't it?

The best.

Love, Moony.

"Forty-six seconds," Sirius said behind him, and two arms wrapped themselves around Remus, holding him tight. "Forty-three."

"I don't want to leave you," Remus gasped. "Thirty-eight." He grasped Sirius' hand tightly in his own, probably tight enough to hurt. Neither of them flinched. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to leave, Padfoot, I didn't - I couldn't-"

"Shh," he soothed, and one of the arms, the one not holding Remus, slinked backwards and he could feel Sirius fumbling in his pocket. There was silence as they breathed shakily.

Seventeen.

Sixteen.

Something cold twisted itself onto Remus' finger.

"We don't need a stupid ceremony. I trust you. I love you. I'll never stop loving you." Remus tasted salt when Sirius kissed him. Sirius smiled. "Marauders, yeah?"

Eleven.

Ten.

Remus smiled back softly, sadly, still clutching Sirius' hand. "Yeah."

This is the way their world ends: not with a bang, and not with a whimper. With a smile.