(no subject)
Title: Cold Sheets
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Remus did not know how to function when Sirius Black fell through the veil.
Warnings: Post-veil Remus
Prompt: 003: Cold
Remus had absolutely no desire to return to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place after the battle in the Ministry of Magic, but he had to. All of the Order members were expected there as soon as they could get there, and though he knew that there would be no discussion until morning, he had nowhere else to go. Grimmauld Place had been his home for a full year now, and the last thing he wanted to do was go back out on the streets. It would have been the worst thing for him, especially after-
No. He could not think about it. Instead, he Apparated to London, approaching the house with a definite falter in his step, and he swallowed thickly before he raised a hand to knock quietly. There was a shriek inside the house, the familiar screaming of Walburga Black, and there was a pang in his heart as the door swung open, Molly Weasley standing there with horror on her face. "Albus has just sent...Remus, tell me everything!" she whispered urgently, ushering him in through the door.
"Filthy half-breed! He looks devastated-perhaps he will die! Be sure to die on the street, you mongrel, you-"
Remus did not waste any time in striding right up to the wall, getting so close to the painting that the sheen on the glass fogged with his breath. There was the sudden shattering of glass, a scream, and Remus was shredding the portrait, screaming at her in a fury unlike any he had ever know. "YOU! You fucking bitch, ruining everyone’s lives, and now look what it’s got you!" He was unaware of what he was yelling, but he felt Molly’s hands on him, tugging, and then Arthur’s hands appeared as well, and he was dragged back. The portrait was silent and Remus’s chest was heaving with emotion. Sweat was beading and dripping down his face, his teeth were bared, but something was crumbling inside of him, and when he pushed the Weasleys’ hands off of his shoulders, his voice broke as he whispered. "Not now, Molly. I expect...I expect someone else will..."
He did not even realise that his sentence was left unfinished as he stumbled away like a man drunk, heading for the stairs and feeling very heavy as his eyes suddenly swam with tears. His hands found the banister and he clutched it tightly, the very image of a broken man. There were hands on him again, assisting, and he did not resist them as they guided him up the stairs and to the doorway of the bedroom.
The bedroom. Their bedroom. He was not turning the knob, but someone was, and he found himself pushed inside. "Sirius should be back soon, Remus." That was Molly, and he opened his mouth to choke something out, that no, Sirius would not be back this time, that-
He found the bed and fell into it, trembling. His hand traversed the sheet-the bed was unmade as it had been after their morning romp-and he reached for Sirius’s spot, expecting to find him there, laughing. The sheets were freezing, so cold that he was sure that his entire body was frozen and he would splinter if touched. He moaned then, flashes of the wild sex that morning whiting out his vision, and he gripped the cold sheets in his fists, ripping them away from the old mattress and smelling them, smelling Sirius. There were voices downstairs and he heard a soft scream that seemed to echo in his brain, and he wrapped himself in the goose down duvet, inhaling and writhing in them as though their scent would rub off and create a new Sirius for him. There was a knock at the door, but he did not answer.
When he woke the next morning, quite unaware that he had ever fallen asleep, he smacked his lips and sighed, realising that he was hogging all the covers. "Sorry, Pads," he murmured against the duvet, and he unrolled himself from it before reached over to give Sirius’s warm form a squeeze before easing back into slumber, but his palm only met the cool, untouched sheets on what was Sirius’s side of the bed, and he rolled over to find his pillow empty. He did the only thing he could think of in that moment of confusion, of realisation, of pain anew.
Remus buried his head beneath the pillow and wished he were dead.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Remus did not know how to function when Sirius Black fell through the veil.
Warnings: Post-veil Remus
Prompt: 003: Cold
Remus had absolutely no desire to return to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place after the battle in the Ministry of Magic, but he had to. All of the Order members were expected there as soon as they could get there, and though he knew that there would be no discussion until morning, he had nowhere else to go. Grimmauld Place had been his home for a full year now, and the last thing he wanted to do was go back out on the streets. It would have been the worst thing for him, especially after-
No. He could not think about it. Instead, he Apparated to London, approaching the house with a definite falter in his step, and he swallowed thickly before he raised a hand to knock quietly. There was a shriek inside the house, the familiar screaming of Walburga Black, and there was a pang in his heart as the door swung open, Molly Weasley standing there with horror on her face. "Albus has just sent...Remus, tell me everything!" she whispered urgently, ushering him in through the door.
"Filthy half-breed! He looks devastated-perhaps he will die! Be sure to die on the street, you mongrel, you-"
Remus did not waste any time in striding right up to the wall, getting so close to the painting that the sheen on the glass fogged with his breath. There was the sudden shattering of glass, a scream, and Remus was shredding the portrait, screaming at her in a fury unlike any he had ever know. "YOU! You fucking bitch, ruining everyone’s lives, and now look what it’s got you!" He was unaware of what he was yelling, but he felt Molly’s hands on him, tugging, and then Arthur’s hands appeared as well, and he was dragged back. The portrait was silent and Remus’s chest was heaving with emotion. Sweat was beading and dripping down his face, his teeth were bared, but something was crumbling inside of him, and when he pushed the Weasleys’ hands off of his shoulders, his voice broke as he whispered. "Not now, Molly. I expect...I expect someone else will..."
He did not even realise that his sentence was left unfinished as he stumbled away like a man drunk, heading for the stairs and feeling very heavy as his eyes suddenly swam with tears. His hands found the banister and he clutched it tightly, the very image of a broken man. There were hands on him again, assisting, and he did not resist them as they guided him up the stairs and to the doorway of the bedroom.
The bedroom. Their bedroom. He was not turning the knob, but someone was, and he found himself pushed inside. "Sirius should be back soon, Remus." That was Molly, and he opened his mouth to choke something out, that no, Sirius would not be back this time, that-
He found the bed and fell into it, trembling. His hand traversed the sheet-the bed was unmade as it had been after their morning romp-and he reached for Sirius’s spot, expecting to find him there, laughing. The sheets were freezing, so cold that he was sure that his entire body was frozen and he would splinter if touched. He moaned then, flashes of the wild sex that morning whiting out his vision, and he gripped the cold sheets in his fists, ripping them away from the old mattress and smelling them, smelling Sirius. There were voices downstairs and he heard a soft scream that seemed to echo in his brain, and he wrapped himself in the goose down duvet, inhaling and writhing in them as though their scent would rub off and create a new Sirius for him. There was a knock at the door, but he did not answer.
When he woke the next morning, quite unaware that he had ever fallen asleep, he smacked his lips and sighed, realising that he was hogging all the covers. "Sorry, Pads," he murmured against the duvet, and he unrolled himself from it before reached over to give Sirius’s warm form a squeeze before easing back into slumber, but his palm only met the cool, untouched sheets on what was Sirius’s side of the bed, and he rolled over to find his pillow empty. He did the only thing he could think of in that moment of confusion, of realisation, of pain anew.
Remus buried his head beneath the pillow and wished he were dead.