Disclaimer: Nope. Not J K Rowling. Sorry.

Rating: PG, I guess. Slash implied.

Description: Remus' point of view just before the beginning of PoA. The title says it all, really.

A/N: Really, this is just an excuse for lots of flashbacks, MWPP or RL/SB stuff that was too short to go on its own. My sister (who beta's for me sometimes) says I made this chapter too depressing, particularly the flashback. Sorry if you all think so, but it was intended to be fairly depressing.

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Remus had not been awake long when the tap on his window came. He opened the window to let in the owl, and relieved it of the letter tied to its leg. He had been expecting this. Not that he got many letters – no, quite on the contrary, most of his old friends had drifted away and left him to rebuild his life by himself – but he did still read the Daily Prophet. As soon as he had heard the news he had known that someone would get in contact with him.

He turned the envelope over in his hands and began to open it, but changed his mind almost instantly and put it down on the table. He could not face this yet, not so early in the morning. Leaving the letter behind, he wandered numbly into his tiny kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice. He never ate much for breakfast, especially not either side of a full moon, just a couple of slices of dry toast. But he took his time over them, and then headed back upstairs without so much as a glance into the living room.

When he returned, dressed and with his hair still damp, the letter was lying accusingly where he had left it. He turned to go out through the kitchen, but then sighed. He could not put it off any longer. He snatched it up, tore open the envelope and shook out the letter. He sank onto the worn-out sofa, and began to read.

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He had to stand on a stool to get his battered old suitcase from on top of his wardrobe. Sirius would have laughed. Laughed, and then shoved him gently aside to get it down himself. See, he would have teased, there is a use for all this extra height. Oh yes, Remus had replied archly on more than one occasion, a few inches make all the difference. Sirius had been so shocked the first time he had said that. No one ever expected such rudeness from him; he was the good one.

The suitcase had been shoved right to the back of the wardrobe. He had not used it for years, though he had lived out of it once.

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Frank had insisted on accompanying him.

"Just in case there's any trouble," he had said, as if Remus was not capable of looking after himself. But then, Frank worked for the Ministry. Maybe he had known what they would find. Against that sort of 'trouble' Remus was powerless.

He had been horrified to find Ministry wizards crawling all over his flat. Perhaps he should have expected it, but... to see them going through his things, his and Sirius' things... He had felt as weak and shaky as he did the day after a full moon, but at the sight of some stranger going through his bookshelf, discarding book after book carelessly on the floor, the temper no one believed he had rose up.

"Hey!" he cried. "Hey, that's mine!"

They all froze and looked up. They seemed surprised to see him, standing there pale and drawn, Frank just behind him looking rather awkward.

"Yours?" asked a portly wizard, stepping forward. "We were under the impression that this flat belonged to Sirius Black."

"Well, yes... I mean, yes, it's his flat, but I lived here too." He had put that in past tense without even meaning to. His thoughts had never been clear on the subject but he knew now that he could never come back here, never live again in the place where he and Sirius had been so happy. Where he had thought they had been happy.

They were all watching him suspiciously. Oh, God, they can't think I had anything to do with it...

"Don't worry!" he snapped, harsher than he intended. "I just came to get my stuff, then I'll be leaving. I wouldn't want to stay here, not now."

"It's okay, isn't it?" asked Frank, stepping forward for the first time. "We won't be long."

The man in charge seemed to know Frank; he relaxed visibly.

"Oh. Oh, well. Yes, I suppose so. We'll have to check everything he takes, though... procedure... you know."

"Yes, of course," replied Frank calmly. "Come on, Remus, I'll give you a hand. What's yours?"

"That shelf," said Remus shakily, pointing. "All the books on it, anyway. I'll... I'll go get my clothes."

The Ministry wizards watched them silently, standing aside so Remus could enter the bedroom. He pulled all his robes out of the cupboard and slung them onto the bed. Looking around, he found his suitcase tucked under the bed and shoved his clothes in it, careless of creasing them. There, on the bedside table, was the book he had been reading; he grabbed that too.

The photo by the book was of the four of them, a picnic. There he was, his head in Sirius' lap, both of them laughing and smiling. Sirius had a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, but the other was playing absent-mindedly with Remus' hair. Peter was smiling, too, a goblet of wine in one hand, waving with the other. James was blowing kisses at the camera; Lily was behind it, of course.

He reached hesitantly towards the picture, but then slammed it face down on the table. Never again.

Ignoring the stares of the Ministry witch in the doorway, he stormed out. Frank had piled Remus' books neatly on the coffee table; he helped Remus pack them into his case. Remus looked around. Frank already had his broom. There was nothing else here he wanted to take; everything else was theirs, not his. Except... a witch to one side of the room was leafing through a large, leather-bound book. He stalked across the room, snatched his photo album from her hands and shoved that into his case as well.

He stood to one side, trembling slightly with anger, as Frank's acquaintance went through his pitiful belongings. One suitcase. His entire life in just one suitcase. The Ministry wizard looked as though he would like to object to the photo album, but Frank muttered something in his ear and he let it pass.

They walked out of the flat without a second glance.

"Right," said Frank, businesslike. "Where to?"

Remus hesitated, struck by a sudden panic, and Frank read the look on his face.

"You've nowhere to go, do you?" he asked kindly. Not trusting himself to speak, or to meet Frank's gaze, Remus shook his head.

"You can stay with me and Alice for a while," he offered. "She'll be glad to have you... if you don't mind keeping an eye on Neville every now and then?"

Remus smiled weakly. "Not at all," he said hoarsely. "Thank you."

He stayed with Frank for almost three weeks. Frank accompanied him to Lily and James' funeral, his self-appointed minder. But then came the full moon, inevitably. Alice was not happy about having a werewolf in the house with her one-year-old son, and though Frank was terribly apologetic, Remus agreed with her. Frank found him somewhere secure to spend the night, then came for him in the morning. He helped Remus clean up the blood, and got him back on his feet.

He stayed a week in Emmeline Vance's spare room, a week with Dedalus Diggle. Everyone seemed to tiptoe around him as if he might snap, and the days went past in a vague blur. A week sleeping on Sturgis Podmore's couch. A week on Hestia Jones', and his second full moon alone was spent locked in her basement. He could not bear the look of horror on her face when she found him weak and bleeding in the morning, and though she said he was welcome to stay, he knew he was not.

Alastor Moody, of all people, put him up that night. He was sure it was a favour to Dumbledore; the Auror spent all dinner glaring at him and said scarcely a word, so it could not have been for the pleasure of his company. He woke in the morning to the news that Frank and Alice Longbottom had been captured by Death Eaters, and tortured. They were in St Mungo's, but the healers were not hopeful.

That news hit him almost as hard as Lily, James and Peter's deaths, and Sirius' treachery. He broke down again and spent almost a month recovering at Arabella Figg's. And when the time came for him to worry about the next full moon, he heard from Dumbledore at last.

Dumbledore had heard of a cottage up for sale. It wasn't much, but it would be his own place. And most importantly – for Remus – it was isolated, maybe half a mile from its nearest neighbour, and it had a large, secure cellar. Would Remus be interested? If so, he could put in a word to the current owner, and Remus could be in by tomorrow.

So Remus had come here, tired, ill, and lonely. He had unpacked, thrown his suitcase up on top of the wardrobe and had time for nothing more before he had to lock himself in the cellar for another terrible night. The suitcase had not been moved since, and he had eventually come to feel at home here, though every now and again after a nightmare, he woke to wonder whose house he was sleeping in today.