Remus's life had been so marked by loss that in theory, one more should have made much difference. Lily and James, Peter, Alice and Frank Longbottom, Cedric Diggory…after so much, it should have been old hat.

In theory.

In practice, though, things were different and losing Sirius hit him harder than any loss he'd ever suffered—including the first time he'd lost Sirius. But back then, it hadn't been nearly so painful. Or maybe it had, and he just hadn't realized it. Maybe the pain of betrayal had overshadowed any pain of loss.

Or maybe he'd sensed on some level that that loss wasn't forever.

But this loss was forever—he knew it deep in his heart—and since nothing would change that, there was no point in hoping otherwise. There was no point in lamenting that he'd lost Sirius before they'd had a chance to truly reconcile, no point in lamenting that Sirius had died as a wanted man. There was no point in anything, anymore.

"D'you think he's all right?" he heard Tonks ask Kingsley Shacklebolt one day, as he shuffled past the Aurors on his way into an Order meeting. He didn't hear Kingsley's answer, but he could imagine it well enough—No, I don't think so. He's looked so lost ever since…

Slowly, things began to look brighter—not especially bright, but bright enough that he could at least pretend to function like a normal person. Bright enough that he could leave the house, if he had to, and even perform a few undemanding duties for the Order.

But still Remus spent his nights alone, in the room he'd used for months now, trying to forget he'd ever shared a bed with Sirius under that same roof. In his sleep, though, the memories flooded back to him, and night after night his dreams replayed scenes of their life together, from the first happy moments to the bitter end.

"This is heaven, isn't it?" Sirius asked, as he rolled over onto his back and dropped his head into Remus' lap. "Not an exam in sight, and—"

"We've got one tomorrow," Remus, interrupted softly, readjusting the Charms textbook he'd been holding so Sirius's hair didn't obscure the words.

"You're blocking my view."

"Of what, the sun?" Remus laughed. "You're impossible."

"And you're lovely." He reached up and grabbed Remus behind the neck, pulling the other boy's lips down to meet his. "Promise me you'll always be mine."

"For as long as you'll have me, Sirius."

"Forever, then?"

Remus smiled, finally allowing the Charms book to fall from his hands, into the grass at his side. "Forever," he murmured, leaning down to kiss Sirius again.

But before he could, the sky turned black, and the Hogwarts grounds faded away. And there was Sirius, imprisoned falsely, and Remus, alone, lost and betrayed. And then, quick as it had gone, the sunlight returned, and they stood together once more.

And then Sirius, without warning, fell—fell in slow motion, a horrifyingly graceful sawn dive, and for a second the world fell silent—and then Bellatrix was screaming in triumph, and Harry was screaming in anguish, and it was all Remus could do to hold on, his sanity hanging by a thread. And then—

Remus awoke with a gasp, his heart racing and his shirt soaked through with sweat, and slowly, shakily, breathed a sigh of relief. One less night he'd have to dream of Sirius, now. One less night he'd have to feel his heart break all over again.

It wasn't until after the full moon, weak and still shaking from the after-effects of both this transformation and the Wolfsbane Potion, that he dared return to the room he'd once shared with Sirius.

It still smelled like Sirius, still felt like Sirius, and he barely had time to close the door behind him before he fell to his knees. "Oh, Sirius, I miss you," he whispered, the last word breaking off with a sob, and only then did the tears fall.

They were the first tears he'd cried for Sirius, and once they started, he couldn't have stopped them if he'd wanted to. He just dragged himself to the bed and collapsed there, clutching at the pillows as he breathed the familiar scent. This was home, this was where he'd always belonged—and this was going to fade all too soon.

And he'd have to face the world alone.