Remus was nearly 20 years old – it was the winter, the 22nd of December to be precise. It had snowed and London was coated in a shimmering and beautiful coat of starch white snow. Sirius and he had been sharing a flat together for nearly 2 years now.
Remus can remember that winter so clearly, every intricate detail of the unfolding weeks seem to flood his memory – Lily fell pregnant with Harry and Peter's mother was diagnosed with a Muggle illness called Cancer. Remus can still remember the excitement that had flooded through Sirius when he had found out that he was to be Godfather; the way he had beamed and radiated, boasted and bragged about how he was going to be the most brilliant Godfather ever known. Remus hadn't seen him so happy in months – little did he know that later that night Sirius would drink himself near to death. Sirius' façade was back up.
A few weeks later Sirius was sent away on a month long mission; Sirius was captured and tortured for information by the enemy. Remus can still remember receiving the message from Mad-Eye. He had floo'd to their apartment. Remus had been sitting at the kitchen table at the time, reading through some of the old manuscripts Dumbledore had assigned him, trying his hardest and wracking his brain for any form of clue as to what they were about. He had jumped slightly as the rough sound of Mad-Eye's voice had bellowed throughout their kitchen. He had turned, Mad-Eye's face in amongst the ember blaze, his eye whizzing about at a hundred miles per hour. Remus knew something was wrong; Mad-Eye never contacted him unless it was to alert him of an Order meeting, and he knew the schedule for the next week.
'Evening, Moody,' Remus stood, walking over to the fire.
'No time for evenings, boy, we've got an emergency on our hands,' Remus felt his heart pounding heavily against his chest.
'What's happened?' He knelt beside the fire, the flames dancing before his eyes around Mad-Eye's face.
'Sirius – the boy's been captured,' Remus felt as though his heart had stopped. He felt as though the entire world had stopped spinning as Mad-Eye spoke – his world had just collapsed.
'W-What?' He stammered, feeling his stomach jolting nervously.
'They've got him held ransom. We believe they're torturing him for information.'
'Information on what?' Remus spat, feeling a sudden spur of anger burst through him.
'That's secret material, Boy. We've sent Potter, The Prewitt brothers and Longbottom to the last known place he was at. We're doing everything we can to find him. Dumbledore sent me to alert you.' Remus simply nodded, the overwhelming feeling of nausea beginning to grip him as he mumbled something about having to get back to work. He stumbled back through to his room, crawling onto the bed and curling himself up in the mass of covers. The bed still stunk of Sirius' aftershave. He breathed it in deeply; the scene of Sirius and Padfoot mingled with the scene of cigarettes and that sickening scent of alcohol that Remus found himself suddenly craving. He wanted to forget. He wanted to wake up in Sirius' arms. He wanted Sirius.
Sirius was found nearly two weeks later. He spent a week in the hospital wing at Hogwarts under the watchful eye of Dumbledore. He had suffered many injuries; a broken arm, several cracked ribs, a puncture to his left lung, crimson lacerations littered his skin, and purple bruises left his one perfect skin looking battered and disgusting. Remus can still remember the sluggish shudder that had crept up his spine as he had first made his way along the only too familiar aisle of beds towards Sirius'. He was thin, too thin, his cheeks hollowed and his collar bones stuck out, a thin layer of skin stretched over them. His lips were cracked and dry; dried scabs and dirt still clung to them.
Remus can remember the way Sirius hadn't spoken for days; Mcgonagall had said it was due to shock, that he would be fine in no time. It wasn't until the sixth day of Remus visiting that he had finally spoken. He can still remember the way his voice was faint, almost inaudible and rough.
'They-They killed him,' He had whispered, his eyes fixed, unmoving, upon the ceiling above. His chest had risen and fallen heavily, as though he were trying to suppress tears.
'Who?' Remus had whispered, sitting close to the bed and pulling Sirius' frail hand towards him. He was shaking.
'R-Regulus,' He croaked, his raincloud eyes suddenly filling with tears, tears that Remus had never expected him to see Sirius Black cry over his brother.
'What?' Remus found his jaw hanging ever so slightly open in shock.
'Voldemort,' He cried, his tears spilling down his bruised and scared face, 'He killed him, because-because he tried to quit,' Remus gently squeezed Sirius' hand, feeling him shivering and shaking. He watched, his heart wrenching, as Sirius sobbed.
'He was a fucking kid, Remus. He didn't know the shit he was getting into. All he wanted was to please that fucking bitch of a mother we had,' Remus nodded, not knowing what to do or say, words failing him, 'I was-I was meant to protect him, Moony, I told him, back when we were kids, that I'd never let anything happen to him, because we were brothers and brothers stick together.' Sirius spluttered, his tears beginning to tumble down onto the crisp sheets, 'I failed, Moony, I failed and now he's gone.'
Remus can still remember how long it took before Sirius was ready to visit Regulus' grave. How long it took before he could talk to anyone other than Remus about him and how long it took before Sirius would stop coming home at god knows what hour, drunk out of his skull and reeking of other men. He was broken all over again and once again, Remus was caught up in the midst of pain and anguish to help him, but with no clue how to fix the broken, battered shell of Sirius Black.
Remus awakes and stumbles through to the kitchen. The dreams of his past are becoming more and more frequent, more and more vivid. He wakes in the night and tosses and turns, trying desperately to get back to sleep – he wonders if he is ever really dreaming, or if it's simply the moments between sleep where his mind wanders back to his memories of the past. His days are fading into one – each one passing in a haze of shouts and yells, pain ad heartache. His life has become one monotonous battle against Sirius. Each day was simply a copy, of a copy, of a copy.
Sirius had left after the fight; he'd probably gone to stay with James, or rented a room in some run-down pit of a hotel. Either way, Remus is sure he got a good fuck.
He makes his way through to the small, dank bathroom of the house. The mirror reflects the horrors of last night; his eye is bruised heavily, purples and blacks merging with his own flesh colour, dried blood is cracking and peeling under his nose and his lip is torn in one place – it's nothing he can't handle. He's been in far worse of a state compared to this. He ribs ache horribly, the grinding and crunching of them reminding him that he should really begin with the healing spells. He reaches for his wand and begins to mutter incantations and spells, trying to mend his bones as best he can.
The rest of the day ticks by slowly, just as slowly as the day before, just as slowly as the next day will. He knows Sirius won't return tonight, but something inside him is still glowing with the small hope that he will hear the crack of him apparating into their apartment.
It's ten at night. Sirius still hasn't returned home. Remus knows he won't – but he hopes.
It's eleven – Sirius still isn't back. He floo's James to ask if he's there, but James says he hasn't seen him.
It's twelve and Remus is still sat, alone, in their house. He hates this house- this mess of a home. He hates every room, every corner, and every memory that is kept within the walls. He hates that everywhere he walks within the house reminds him of Sirius; his clothes left strewn about the place, his scene lingering in the air, his drink, his magazines, his books, everything reminds Remus of Sirius. Every room he walks into holds a different memory of Sirius; the fights they've had in the kitchen, the times he's had to heal Sirius' wounds in their bathroom, the times they've shagged in the bedroom, and the living room, every sodding room. He needs to get out; he needs to rid himself of the constant thoughts of Sirius that are running mindlessly through his brain.
He apparates to a dank alleyway in London, it's crawling with dirt and slime. He knows Dumbledore would disapprove of him for visiting the city, he would probably say that he was purposely putting himself at risk, but something inside Remus doesn't seem to care.
He wanders down the alleyway and out into the bustling streets of London. Clubs and bars line the road and he knows he's come to the exact place he meant to. He wanders into the first pub he finds and makes his way straight to the bar. He orders a Muggle drink and downs it, then another and another – the horrible, rough taste of the cheap liquor is harsh and nothing like the Firewhiskey he is used to, but he knows it'll do the job. He catches sight of a tall man eyeing him up from the end of the bar. The man is rather gorgeous, tall, lean, well dressed, a dark ebony mop of hair and glistening blue eyes – he's a copy of Sirius, but he's not Sirius all at the same time and, to Remus, that will have to be good enough. He goes over to the man, orders them both drinks, and begins with the painfully dull small talk; however, it's not long before he's being pulled into the dirt ridden bathroom stalls and pushed roughly against the wall.
Something inside him is screaming at him to stop; screaming at him to remember Sirius; to remember that he loves Sirius and only Sirius, but he pushes it deeper and deeper down inside him, letting the other man unbuckle his belt and push his trousers down. It's fast, and messy and in Remus' opinion it's disgusting and nothing like what he's used to. He comes with Sirius' name on his lips, but the other man is too busy rutting against him to notice what Remus is doing. Remus' mind is buzzing with the constant question of whether this was what Sirius was doing right this moment- whether this was what Sirius would rather be doing that being with the man that adored him.
He flees the bar, muttering to the other man that he's got to be somewhere and then finds staggers back to the same alleyway he had first apparated to. With a crack he's back in the house- a nauseous, swirling feeling overwhelming him. He needs to be sick. He needs to rid himself of what he's just done. He falls through to the bathroom; the bitter and horrid taste of the alcohol beginning to swell in him.
He slumps down in the corner of the bathroom; tears beginning to sting his eyes as his mind races with the disgusting memories of what he had just done – what had he become? What had Sirius become?
What had he done that had driven Sirius to that? Was he really that awful? Was he really that disgusting? He reached for his wand.
'Accio, razor,' he whispered it, watching as the shimmering silver blade crossed through the air and hovered before him. He reached for it, running his finger along the tip of the blade and watching as a thin, crimson line of blood began to pool. He felt hot tears beginning to spill down his cheeks, his eyes blurring as he pressed the blade to his wrists and jaggedly ripped at the flesh. It burnt, and stung and pained, but it was what he deserved. He continued, ripping along the flesh of his arm and watching, through shrink-wrapped eyes, as the blood began to ooze from the fresh cuts.
The alcohol still whirred within him. He pulled his knees into his body, wracked with tears and shaking. He let the razor fall to the floor, clattering against the hard tile floor. His blood stained his jumper, the harsh crimson red against the clean white. He was falling apart. He was pulling himself apart. He was just as broken as Sirius Black.