Alone

A murmur and shuffle broke the sombre silence that held the occupants of the back drawing room in number 12 Grimmauld Place captive. It was slow but people started to filter out of the room, the sound of black clothes rustling and shoes scraping on the floorboards were all that remained. All the words that needed to be said, that could be said, had been said. Eventually only two people remained, Remus and Harry, standing almost close enough to support each other but there was a very noticeable distance.

The old photo of Sirius stared at them, cheerful gleam still in place, the same gleam that they had both watched fade as he tipped backwards into the veil. Remus would never forget that moment, the way he had clutched Harry, as much to stop the boy rushing off into the beyond as himself.

He heard Harry sigh next to him, it was a sound filled with a weight of sorrow that a boy so young, only 15, should not have to deal with. Sorrow he should not have known. But this was no longer a world of innocence; soon children would have a lot more to deal with than mere homework and romantic troubles.

The warm heavy weight of a hand came to rest on his shoulder giving a reassuring squeeze. Remus tipped his head to the side and shared a look with Harry, they both tried for a smile but the slight quirk of the lips only came out tight and tired. He nodded, which Harry returned before the boy let his hand drop and turned away, heading out back into the realms of the living where he belonged.

Remus couldn't leave; there wasn't anything for him down there in the kitchen. They all had their family, their friends. All Remus had was the dead. He could feel the ghosts around him, of his parents, his friends, everyone he had loved.

And suddenly he was mad.

The rage was powerful and all consuming, he had no idea where it had come from but at that moment he just didn't care. He looked swiftly around the room, chest heaving as he dragged in angry breaths. The perfect tables and ornate chairs were a mockery somehow, of this man who had done everything in his life to be distanced from these people. It wasn't right that his shrine should stand in such a place, filled with the things he hated.

Remus strode over and with an almost inhumane roar he over turned a table with a load crash, candle sticks and old useless bits of paper went flying. He picked up a chair and hurled it across the room, splintering it into pieces. Another chair followed, destroying a painting, and another, and another.

The room was soon in tatters and with nothing left to throw Remus turned to face the small photo of his friend, it watched him, cheerful gleam and all. It was the only thing that he hadn't destroyed and it was almost fitting. Sirius had left them in the midst of destruction and now he would rest in this room filled with destruction.

"Remus Lupin!"

Remus froze and then slumped, his head hung forward slightly as he turned slowly to face the door. All the fight drained from him at the sound of Molly's voice as she scolded and pitied him at the same time.

"Don't," he said as the small but very boisterous redheaded woman pulled out her wand in order to fix the havoc that he had wreaked. She paused and regarded him, lowering the wand slightly. "Don't," Remus repeated, shaking his head and looking up through the straggles of his hair to meet her eyes. "He would have liked it better this way, you know that."

Molly nodded, and Remus was struck all at once with how motherly she was. It made him pine once again for those he had lost. As if picking up on the depression that Remus was slowly spiralling into Molly moved forward, her arms were open. He resisted, many years of conditioning himself not to get close to people warring with the need to be comforted, after so long.

She got close enough to touch and that broke some sort of barrier in him. Remus collapsed forward and began to sob on this small but very strong woman, who had dealt with so much herself. But he couldn't help it. He wept for the loss of his friend, for the loss of Harry's innocence and childhood. He wept for the past 15 years of grief that he had had to face alone. Two friends dead and one in prison, only to learn that one was still alive and the reason that the other was locked up.

It had taken so long for him to get over the loneliness, and then to have Sirius returned to him only to be ripped away. It was so much to bear alone.

But mostly he wept for what was to come. Sirius was not the first and nor would he be the last casualty of this deadly war, who would be lost in the coming months? Who would be left to pick up the pieces? Would he even be around at the end of this? Would he see it to conclusion or would he be part of the long list of sacrifices to guarantee a better world?

If they won at all that is.