He sat numbly in the chair. He had nothing to do, nothing to say, nothing to make him forget the death of his best friend. Nothing happened in the room where he sat, nothing stirred or felt or moved. Everything was suspended on a temporary freeze, a temporary wave of numbness and disbelief.
How could it possibly be?
Sirius...
And then the room and everything inside it changed. Suddenly it was full of redness and raw emotions and an unlawful savage rage-filled pain that slashed through his chest, right through his heart.
No... It can't... Why?
He was up out of his chair, making incoherent speeches and inhumane growls. His heart was a pulsating mess, with nothing inside it anymore but that thin scream of fury.
He picked up the chair he had been sitting on, wooden and upright, judging him, and flung it against the wall. It collapsed against the wall, shards of glass like wood shattering around the kitchen. Some hit him but he was beyond physical pain.
"Sirius." He spoke in a tone not like anything he had ever heard before.
The chair was out of the way but everything else was staring at him, material, useless things, full of normality and life. These things had existed before Sirius' death, they lived while he lived, and yet they were still standing now, why were they still there, if Sirius couldn't be?
Well they could die now, they could feel the hand of death like his best friend had felt it, They could feel the hand of death by the hand of the wolf. Because that was what he was now. A wolf. He didn't have power enough to stop it, he didn't have power enough to fight it. What was the point? No black dogs or glistening stags or trailing mousse were going to be with him, to pacify him. All of the Marauders were gone now except for him.
They were all gone... and now so was he.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. It was small and he hadn't seen it before. But now he saw it, a holy entity full of light and contrasting darkness, full of good and evil, portraying the truth without the limitation of conscience or lies. It showed him now. His hair, normally so collected in his ponytail, hanging around his face, almost as mad and crazy as his face. His eyes were the eyes of an animal, a world, full of insanity and animal instincts. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth showing his teeth, his teeth bared and ready to bite.
The mirror was round and light. A moon.
He was normally so calm, but now it was all coming back to him. Memories whipped him, with long whips of agony and guilt, whips like those that had attacked Christ. Memories of the Marauders together. Pranking, laughing, crying, living, growing, loving... That was all gone now.
James...
"What-?" he spluttered.
His old friend stood at the door, shaking, crying, looking at the destruction of the room with grief and pain and confusion and shock and every other feeling that Lupin had.
Lupin stumbled over to him, desperately, with the acknowledgment that it was not James Potter but indeed his son, who had come to save him from himself. Harry caught him before he fell, catching him in the arms of a man, not a boy. He caught him and they both stayed like that for a long time, gripping on to each other, in fear of what was to come.
They had no one else now but each other. They were both learning that now.
The sky was blank and dark that night. The star 'Sirius' did not shine, but neither did the moon...
Thanks for reading. If you can, please review and tell me how I did. Keep in mind that this is only my interpretation of Lupin and how he might feel. I'm sure many people feel different. If you want, you can elaborate of that and tell me what you think he'd feel. Anyway, cheers, and hope you liked it! This is the first story I've written on my/my mothers' laptop!