Evening, 1st November 1981

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place continued to stare down upon Remus. It took a long while for him to swallow and begin striding towards the house, not knowing what horrors might await him within, in the form of the Black family. There was also the possibility that Sirius might be there too, and somehow that was altogether more terrifying than anything else he could imagine. Finding out where he was would be one thing, actually facing him was another, especially now... after what had happened... and had been said. His hand shook as he rose it to the raven's head knocker. At the sight of the knocker his stomach lurched, having recognised a similar symbol on Sirius' trunk until he had cursed it off in his second year.

The door swung open slowly, and Remus looked down to find a small ragged house-elf at his feet, muttering in a low deep voice. He knew enough about house-elves from staying at James' parent's manor on the odd occasion, but they'd always looked somewhat more healthy than the miserable specimen before him. Bones were clearly visable beneath the tattered cloth that he wore in place of robes, and fold of skin fell loosely around the tiny skeleton. The Potter's house-elf had always worn clean well kept pieces of clothes that were more like togas than rags. If it hadn't been for the madness in his eyes, more sunken than the characteristic bulbous eyes, Remus would have pitied him. He swallowed, not taking the elf as a good omen.

"I'm here to speak with Mr and Mrs Black." He said bluntly, doing his best to put on the appropriate airs and graces whilst assuming that the house-elf was used to hearing orders and not requests.

"Kreacher must be telling Sir that Master Orion joined young Master Regulus in the beyond, Sir." The house-elf sniffed and twisted his hands in the rag, a breathless mutter leaving his lips.

Remus was taken aback, unaware that Sirius' father had died. He didn't even know if Sirius had known, it wouldn't have been surprising that they hadn't told him. Mentally he made a note to broach the subject carefully if he got a chance. He scolded himself immediately, he shouldn't think like that, when he got a chance. "Is Mrs Black available?"

Kreacher grumbled and muttered something below his breath again, but stepped back from the door, his long bare feet making little sound on the varnished black wood floor. His skinny arm beckoned Remus into the entrance hall, still muttering all the while. In the dim light on the lanterns he could vaguely see something which looked suspiciously like the shrunken heads of house-elves in the pureblood novels he'd read about in order to try and understand Sirius' upbringing better without prying. He had to fight the morbid fascination to stop and stare at them, wondering if they would be happy to be there.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind him his stomach was filed with a deep sense of unease, trapped in the dank claustrophobic atmosphere, and wished that he'd never come to Grimmauld Place and was still in his father's light and airy kitchen diner. This was not a family which would take kindly to a man of his condition, and he had wandered into their territory of his own accord. He'd spent a lifetime hiding away his condition, and all bar three second year's had been oblivious, but there was always that fear in the back of his mind, ever more so than there was now. His life had been in danger during Order work, but there had always been friends to fall back on and dig him out of trouble, but now they were gone and he was a lost werewolf in his midst of pureblood fanatics. He was a reckless idiot, and that wasn't something that people said of Remus John Lupin often.

He was led through the house, past generation of paintings that showed Sirius' narrow nose, and he stared at the floor, avoiding that particular variety of scorn that paintings could only give, suggesting that they knew more than they should, and having to see that particular trait on anyone other than Sirius. He couldn't help laying his eyes on a painting of Regulus Black, Sirius' younger brother, who has died as a Death Eater two years prior. They had never spoken about the incident other than a brief comment when it had been announced in the Prophet, leaving Remus to wonder whether he'd cared about his brother more than he dared to let on. It was clear from the painting and it's ornate frame that he'd always been the favoured sibling; there was no sign of another son anywhere.

They stopped outside a door on the right. Kreacher silently motioned to stop, and he stepped inside the door, talking in a low raspy voice. Left in the corridor, Remus wiped his profusely sweating palms on his trousers, realising far too late that it would have been prudent to at least wear robes for the occasion. James' voice popped into his head and he could almost believe that he was there beside him, admonishing him for not bowing to the pureblood sensibilities when meeting his partner's parents for the first time.

The house-elf reappeared briefly, announcing that, "Mistress Walburga will be seeing you now", before disapparating with a sharp pop.

With a deep breath and a heart about to pound its way out of his ribcage Remus entered the study. The first thing that he noticed was that the woman who sat there was both as stern and regal as he'd imagined, but also looked considerably older than she should. Her grey hair was pale to the point of almost being white, and was held neatly in a large bouffant, highlighting the pointed features of her face. Her breathing was faintly rattling, and it was clear that her health was deteriorating and had been for some time.

He held his hand out to her, and did his best not to recoil when her cold skin met his. "Good afternoon Mrs Black. My name is Remus Lupin."

"Lupin?" She questioned, pulling her hand away from his faster than was normally considered polite, wrinkling her nose at his muggle attire, and sniffing despite her failing lungs. "That is not a name I'm familiar with."

"It's my father's." He commented, knowing that she would assume that his father was a muggle, not that he had been disowned by his own family for supporting his werewolf son, and had been forced to change his name, choosing something ironically appropriate.

"What brings such filth into the Noble House of Black?" She sneered, looking down her nose.

"I am half-blood," He pointed out, hoping that it would redeem him slightly. When her facial expression didn't change he realised that his cause was almost as good as lost already, and wished that he had the nuance to wear robes and introduce himself by a pureblood name. "I am a friend of your son's, and I'm concerned for his whereabouts."

The previously pale and sickly face of Walburga rapidly turned ruddy in anger, the wheeze left her voice as she screeched, several octaves higher than her usual careful tone. "My son left us two years ago fighting for the purity of the wizarding race! How dare you enter this house on false pretences and besmirch us with your filth! He would never befriend scum of your ilk."

"It was not Regulus I was talking abo-" Remus swallowed, nerves biting into his throat.

"He is the only son I have. Leave!"

The blood boiled in Remus' veins, his body began to shake, and his hands clenched into fists of their own accord. It took all of his strength not to draw his wand, or shake the last remnants of life out of the frail woman's body. Even the rattle of her breathing, now returned, angered him. Here was a woman who had lost almost everything, and was still doggedly denying the existence of her only remaining son, the son who hadn't killed, maimed, and fought against innocent people to fulfil the twisted wishes of Voldemort.

He took a deep breath and let it out shakily, trying to maintain his calm. "Mrs Black, Sirius' best friends have been murdered, he is in danger."

"I have no other son!" Her hand reached for the wand resting on the desk beside her, and with that Remus took his leave, his own hand curling around the wand in his pocket automatically.

Almost before he was out the door it slammed violently shut behind him, and there was a shattering from within the study, followed by howling sobs. He paused for a second, uncomfortable remaining unaccompanied in the house where Sirius has spent most of his early childhood before running away to somewhere more welcoming, but leaving Walburga - as vile as she was - in such agony was wrong. His feet were rooted to the floor as his brain tried to decide what they should do. The longer he stood there the more he realised that they were similar, in more than one way. Remus had lost his mother and his best friends, people who had always been a second family to him, and Walburga had lost both her husband and son. Both of them had lost Sirius after an argument, only he'd argued with Remus less than a fortnight ago, while his argument with his mother had been six years ago, and they'd never laid eyes on each other since.

His hand found its way back to the doorknob before he'd really decided what he was doing. As soon as it made contact he recoiled as a sharp pain seared up his arm, fighting hard to stifle a yelp. He cradled the hand to his chest, feeling an unpleasant tingle all the way up his arm, and was thankful that it hadn't been his wand hand. Deciding to remain the other side of the door he cleared his throat and called out to her. "Mrs Black, I care about your son." His voice choked on the words, having never dared to utter them aloud to anyone other than the Marauders' and Albus.

There was no response, not even threats to kick the heathen scum that he was out of her house and into the next decade. He could only take that as a good sign, so he tried again. "I'm worried about him. I don't want to lose him too, I'm sure you understand."

Remus held his breath as he tried to listen to what was happening within the study, but he heard nothing except her rattling breath, disrupted by the occasional sob. It could have been nothing but the blood rushing through his head, but he thought he heard her whisper the words "Nor do I," but he couldn't be sure. Then there was a sharp crack and Kreacher was back at his feet, ushering him out of the building without time to hestiate.

Back on the street he immediately felt less repressed, but his emotions were in more of a tangle than they had been before he'd entered Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. It was now apparent that Sirius was not there, had not been there, and would never return there, but his feelings towards the woman who had brought him into the world were mixed more than ever. He despised her for all the pain that she'd caused Sirius in his early life, but he could understand that she hated losing all of her family in a few short years. He pitied her dying alone with nothing but a miserable house-elf and his ancestors shrunken skulls for company. There was still a small part of her that cared for Sirius, he'd seen it in her eyes and her whispered words.

There was no point staying in Grimmauld Place, but he didn't want to be confined back to the emptiness of his house, and the two other options, the wreckage of Godric's Hollow and Peter Pettigrew's, were equally as unwelcoming. The grassy area hiding the reservoir opposite was as good as any to cast a patronus, so it was there that he headed. There were identical black railings surrounding it - a place like that would never be seen with barbed wire within a mile, but they posed no challenge to him. A simple charm severed a couple of bars neatly, and a reparo knitted them back together in a matter of seconds.

Hidden safely behind one of the neatly tended bushes, he searched his mind for a memory to draw the happiness from, but his usual one was missing, tinted grey and locked behind bars much thicker than the one's he'd just removed. No longer could he see him and Sirius, laughing by the Great Lake in the dead of the night, Sirius' head on his chest and the star light beaming down on him. Sirius pointing out the star that he'd been named after and Remus watching it for the rest of the night, except for when his breath was taken away the first time that Sirius' lips, salty from the Great Lake, touched his own. Equally every other memory he had of Sirius, or the other Marauders' was nothing short of painful. Time lost all meaning to him as he crouched there, racking his brains for something which was still colourful, something which would bring a smile to his lips and stop the tears rolling slowly down his cheeks. Once he realised they were there, there was no stopping them, and he curled on the floor and cried.

He was used to having nothing, but having everything and having it taken away was much worse.

By the time Remus moved again his legs were stiff and aching, his collar damp, and the sun beginning to hide behind the terraces. He was no closer to finding Sirius. No closer at all. He should have sent an owl. He should have sent an owl weeks ago. No, he should have stopped the bloody man leaving in the first place! Maybe if he'd never made that first mistake then nothing would have happened and James and Lily would still be with them. Maybe this was his punishment for letting one of the Marauder's leave, mistrusting another, and not patching everything up with them. He'd not fought enough so they'd permanently been taken from him.

Finally he fixed on a memory that he knew would never work, and let it fill him with pained emotion. He hiccoughed, trying to breathe through the snot that was choking him. He raised his right arm slightly, and muttered the words of the spell. "Expecto Patronum."

Not even a wisp of blue appeared.

It was the final straw for Remus. The patronus had always been something he could do. His one true talent. If had been necessary to learn, having had life as werewolf and seeing horrors that no one else had, living horrors that no one else had, doing horrible things to himself and fearing worse for others, but he'd always been good at it. His good times had been so good, he appreciated them like no one else, he took nothing for granted, not his friends, not his family, not his life, but that had all been wrenched away from him with one single article in The Daily Prophet.

He really was truly and utterly alone.