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Snow had completely blanketed the world in a blinding wash by the time Remus realised it was Christmas in two days. His small apartment was as plain as ever; no festive cheer dared to penetrate the stillness that settled within.
Sirius was usually annoyingly all over it, decorations up as soon as the clock struck November first. It didn’t matter if they were busy with the Order, or if the whole world was falling apart; the marauders were decorating for Christmas on November first. He’d be appalled to see the sorry state of his apartment now. Remus grimaced at the thought.
Sirius, his best friend, lover, partner in crime… a murderer. They had it wrong. Sirius was innocent; a big misunderstanding. He’d send another letter to Dumbledore demanding answers if he could get himself off the couch. Goosebumps appear on his arms at the freezing air drifting in from an open window, snow swirling in a way that reminds him of the days he spent watching through the windows of Hogwarts. He felt lonely back then, even surrounded by friends and hallways of talking portraits. Now he was truly alone.
His whole body aches in rhythm, his joints from the cold, his head from the silent tears that hadn’t seemed to slow since Halloween. He was shutting down, and Remus truly wouldn’t mind sitting here until he was nothing. The silence was a constant reminder of all that he had lost.
At twenty-one, he had felt more grief than he was ever prepared for. Marlene was the first. It was a warm July evening when they got the news. Remus held a sobbing Sirius all night until he fell into a restless sleep. Remus sat on their balcony smoking until his lungs hurt, listening to his lover toss and turn in the room behind him. It had been shared grief, quiet meetups where all they could do was put on a smile and pretend that everything wasn’t going wrong. The tension only grew from there. Talk of a traitor within the Order. They stopped visiting James and Lily, only getting the occasional letter about how Harry was getting along. Sirius withdrew, coming home late and leaving early. He felt their wary and distrustful gazes. Of course, it would be the werewolf. He couldn’t be trusted. He stopped holding Sirius at night, only listening to his weeping through the door with heavy limbs.
By the time Halloween came around, he was simply waiting for someone to call him out. He was waiting for Sirius to come home, yelling and screaming, accusing him. He would take anything. Anything over the icy silence that descended over their relationship. Sirius never came home that night. Instead came harsh knocking at the door, the ministry informing him that three of his best friends were dead and the fourth was being locked away. He hadn’t felt a thing since. Maybe a distant buzzing of anger, but he couldn’t stay angry, not at Sirius.
Hours pass in stillness. He stares at the corner where a Christmas tree should be. Where James should be making silly faces at Harry, and Sirius should be getting annoyed that he was the only one taking this seriously. The kitchen where Peter and Marlene should be baking cookies, occasionally swearing after both touching a hot pan. The reading chair where Mary should be, making fun of them all. Next to him, where Lily should be resting her head on his shoulder. His Lily.
He makes a choking sound as tears blur his vision, trying desperately to push it all down. His shoulders shake with the resonating sobs that rip out of him. He wraps his arms around his knees and rocks back and forth, a pathetic attempt at soothing himself. He wishes it were him. They could’ve lived without Remus. James Potter, so full of life and sunshine, would’ve found a way to continue living. Remus doesn’t know if he can do the same. The sinking weight of the ghosts of his friends surrounds him. How could he live with the fact that Sirius had somehow killed them all? Something was wrong, but his head hurt too much to figure it out. He couldn’t accept that it was all a lie. The best thing that had ever happened to him. Lies.
Laughter and the distinct sound of Christmas music drifted in from the street below as he sank further into the couch, vowing to stay here forever. They should’ve reported him dead along with the rest of them. It would be an accurate description of how he felt. He had never felt so empty. His eyes close as he rests his head against his knees, sleeping if only to pass the time.
When Christmas comes around in two days, Remus does not celebrate. Nor will he for Christmases to come, because a piece of him died with his friends, and he desperately tries not to think about it. He continues living, continues grieving.
The loneliness never recedes.