2

My nights are defined by confused and broken dreams, but mornings bring no relief…only faded washed out sunlight and despite my better judgment, I still crawl from my bed and continue living. It can get no worse, I tell myself. Two weeks…two weeks have passed since the end of the world and I am standing at my kitchen window drinking tea. Dishes half boxed sit on the counter, waiting to be moved…somewhere, because I know I can't be in this flat any longer…running away because even if I can't escape this pain I can at least escape these walls. Today will be the worst of it. A trip through glaring, wondering eyes to the ministry and to the pit of what I had once thought the worst place in the world. The Werewolf Registry would need to know of and approve my new housing before I could move.

I walk through muggle London, because the weight of the eyes in Diagon Alley would be more than I can bear, and even now I am still unsure that I could apperate without splinching myself. There is the phone booth, a name tag I don't even bother to read, the weighing of my wand and then echoing hallways and snippets of conversation I can't allow myself to hear, but hear none the less.

"Yes…the Potters such a shame…"

I can hear the insincerity in that…because this person hasn't to had to pay a price too great even for the end of a dark and bloody war.

"That Black fellow…hardly a surprise considering the family he came from, every last one of them…"

But I don't hear what 'every last one of them' is or did, because the blood is roaring in my ears, and I can only bitterly remember how much he hated that family, and his grim pride at having been burnt off that accursed family tree. Willing myself forward I push each step as though walking through water…my pain swirling in little eddies as I go.

"…still don't know what curse he used…suspect it was the reductor…but so much damage…who knows"

"Poor Pettigrew, he was such a mousey little fellow, who knows why that maniac went after him of all people."

Unable to stop myself I turn and stare at the person who said that, almost choking on the ironic truth of it. A nervous giggle breaks in my throat and comes out as disquieting wretch.

And then wide eyes are turned upon me and recognition is going off like flash bulbs on the faces of the little gossiping crowd. It is all that I can do not to turn and run, but because I am a Gryffindor I turn back to my path and step resolutely toward my goal. I can no longer think and my eyes are trying to read the cracks and patterns in the marble floor like an arithmancy equation, searching for some meaning, some little answer that I am obviously missing…but there is nothing there.

And I know it is now my name bubbling on their lips as I walk on, leaving them in the wake of my grief.

"Lupin, Remus J.?" The voice in the waiting area calls out. I stumble to the desk, barely able to meet the receptionist eyes. She arches a questioning brow, "MacNair will see you now."

It had to be Walden MacNair of all the bloody people, death eater, not caught or convicted but known to The Order none the less. A thought unbidden comes to my mind…did he know Sirius was…and I stop myself with a helpless shutter, eyes gripped tightly closed I swallow and step into his office.

"Sit!" he snaps, and I obey mindlessly like a well trained dog, my eyes still locked on the floor. I can hear him shuffling through my paperwork.

"So," he drawls,"moving are you?"

"Yes, sir." It doesn't even pain me to call this foul human sir, normally quiet rage would be rising in me, but now there is only hollowness.

"Well of course normally this wouldn't be a problem, but given recent…events…I believe it would be in order for you to provide at least one letter of recommendation."

My mind is reeling again, and I can't cloak the look of disbelief I give him.

He smirks at me, "Surely, Lupin you have at least one…" he pauses as if carefully considering his words "…friend that is willing to vouch for you."

My shear aloneness comes crashing down on me and I know there are unshed tears shining in my eyes.

No one.

No one.

There is no one left.

Only me.

MacNair is staring, his smirk deepening if possible, and I know he knows, knows I am alone, knows I am broken and betrayed and utterly, utterly alone.

"Dumbledore." I gasp, holding that name in my mind like a talisman. MacNair pales but the hateful smirk stays firmly in place.

"Albus Dumbledore." I repeat with more strength.

"I see. Well you have one week to procure a letter of recommendation." He says pinning me under his eyes.

"You may go."