Note: Due to my stupidly not having properly checked before I posted, I had accidentally repeated the first line in this. Then, as far as I know, the only way to fix it is to delete the story and post it again. When I first put it up, I got a lovely review from slytheringirlandproud. So thank you very, very much; just wanted to say it wasn't lost.
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He wasn't just mourning Sirius, he knew. Fifteen years of anguish were swelling and escaping through the gaps between his fingers, down his cheeks, and dropping conspicuously onto the dusty floor. Every shitty thing he'd managed to stay stoic through was making itself more than felt. Being suspected of betraying his closest friends to the worst possible foe. Losing everything on that single, awful night – James and Peter dead, and Sirius the one who killed them both.
Even when the truth came out, he lost Peter all over again; now he couldn't even mourn him. He gained Sirius, but those twelve years were so apparent it hurt, twelve lost years they could never ever get back. And now Sirius was dead, and Remus was left to grieve not only for him, but for everything. He was left alone for a second time, twice the last Marauder. He hadn't just lost his best friend; he'd lost everything Sirius had represented; new beginnings, fond memories instead of dark, hope and the pure joy of finding something after being sure it was gone forever. Now it really was gone forever. There were no more chances.
Except…
The door creaked open and she peeked around it, looking devastated and exhausted herself. He'd have wiped his eyes had it been anyone else, mustered a smile, however thin, and manage to emulate some kind of composure. Instead she just reminded of how close he had come to losing her too, a stab of nausea cutting through the grief for scant seconds.
He thought for a moment she would just leave, pretending she'd never seen him. Then he felt guilty, knowing immediately she wouldn't. She'd only been back from St Mungo's a few hours, but she managed to walk shakily over to the bed where he sat, and she simply put her arms around him.
No words. No levity.
It was when she rested her head on his shoulder that he lost what was left of his composure. She held him tighter than she ever had, more fiercely and protectively than she knew she could, as he cried; trembling, shattered. It broke her heart to see him like this, and for every defeated sound he made, she held him still closer, wishing there was something she could do that would make any difference at all.
She mumbled to him, nonsense, memories in no particular order. Do you remember how happy Sirius was at Christmas, having everyone round? Do you remember when the three of us sat up all night playing Exploding Snap? Do you remember… it didn't even really matter what the words were; only that she was saying them, and never relinquishing her hold on him.
She kissed him, on the cheek, because it was either that or break down herself. When he didn't move, she did it again. And then wiped away a tear with her fingertip, and pressed her lips to the spot she'd just removed it from, trying to press some comfort into his poor, tortured face.
Another kiss on his mouth spurred him into holding her just as closely. And they forgot which of them was which, where she ended and he began, gripping each other so desperately. Trembling, broken, they sought comfort in each other, making love on the greying and stinking sheets. It was nothing like the other times, no giggling, no words, just this utter desolation driving them together, and the closeness of death perhaps providing the instinct to anchor themselves unmistakeably to life.
She held him so close. But in the morning he was still gone.