"Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it."
No. No, no, no. This wasn't- couldn't be- absolutely was not true.
"James and Lily Potter are dead!" read the headline, sitting in front of him. The exclamation point was entirely unnecessary and made him want to rip off that awful woman's head and stuff it down Moaning Myrtle's toilet. Of course, he had know of the news far ahead of the Daily Prophet. Sirius had told him, the traitor. Remus cursed him silently as he plucked the paper off the table and clipped the small date from the corner.
October 31st, 1981.
Remus picked up a small bottle from a sideboard. He hardly ever drank and only in celebration, but this- he couldn't do this. Peter and James were dead and Sirius was a traitor. Blood always told, he supposed, before rapidly shaking the thought away. No. That wasn't fair. He brought the amber liquid to his lips and almost sipped. Almost.
But that wasn't fair, he thought sagely. It wasn't fair for them to be dead, of course, but to dishonor their memory by drinking it away would not help. The pain was like a constant burning thorn in his side, one that he knew would multiply if he forgot it now.
Pain demanded to be felt, and he was determined to do so for the memory of his friends.
Remus set the bottle back down and tossed the paper into the fire. Then he tucked his wand into his robes and strode out of the house, the door clicking behind him as he Apparated away with a crack. He had no idea where he was going or why.
Pain would not be numbed by forgetting, only by remembrance.