"Remus?"
Remus forced himself to look up, not really wanting to meet his mother's gaze. Her long, tawny hair was streaked with gray that Remus didn't doubt he'd put there – she was Muggle and though his father had told her some about magic, still it was a nasty shock to find out that your six-year-old son would be transforming in a murdering beast once a month. Her blue eyes surveyed him worriedly as he stood in the porch of his childhood home, her forehead creased with worry. He let his eyes fall once more to the floor, not wanting her to see the unshed tears in his eyes.
"God, honey, you're all wet." And Remus was; he had not cared to take any precaution against the rain except charming the boxes he had brought with him to repel it. He knew, with the small part of his mind that still cared about anything, that he would need their contents. It was everything he had, after all.
"Come in, you can warm yourself by the fire. And then you can tell me everything," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, and he saw she had finally noticed the small pile of boxes that stood by his side. Mutely he nodded, walking in, the boxes following behind after a wave of his wand.
Remus sat on the couch in the living room. He had changed clothes, due to his mother's insistence, and a hot mug of cocoa had been placed between his cold hands. The fire crackled before him, radiating warmth. Still, he felt nothing but cold.
He ran his eyes through the room, not wanting to face the reality for at least a few more minutes. It looked even poorer than it had when he lived there, dust and cobwebs present in the corners. The old farmhouse was, after all, too big for her alone, but she refused to leave.
Remus's eyes then fell on a photograph on the mantle. It was a Muggle one of him, his mother and his father, taken in the summer before he fell ill, the last one he'd ever see. How he longed to back in that time – things had been so much easier back then. He had been a werewolf already, but at least he wasn't in love with one of his friends who might be a traitor; at least there weren't death threats upon those he loved.
At least he hadn't felt so lonely.
He continued to look at the unmoving photograph, losing track of time, only coming back to himself when his mother entered the room, carrying a tray with baked goods and tea.
"Alright, Remus, what happened?" she asked softly, sitting by his side.
"I… I left Sirius," he said, his voice hoarse, his eyes fixed on his empty mug. The next thing he knew, there was warmth around him as his mother embraced him with a soft "oh, honey," and he finally allowed himself to cry the tears that had been threatening to fall ever since he'd realised he could no longer stay with Sirius.
They stayed that way for a long time, Remus comforted in his mother's warmth, before he could let go and tell her the story, all the while thanking God for the family he had been given, if for only that. His mother had never really liked Sirius – maybe with reason, he thought with bitterness – but not once had she opposed to their relationship; she knew Sirius made Remus happy, and that was enough for her.
"Can I stay here for a few days? Just till I find a flat – I have nowhere to go," he added, after finishing his story. And he really didn't – he had considered going to James's or Peter's, but he didn't want to drag them into the mess, or to be a burden.
" Of course you can, Remus. As long as you like," she said, caressing his cheek. "It's still your home – you can always come back, if you need."
"Thank you, mum," he said, tears prickling at his eyes.
"It's alright, love. I know it hurts now, but it'll all be better," she said, hugging him once more. " I promise."
Maybe he wasn't so alone after all.