Appendage

Tell me you love me,

Come back and haunt me

Oh and I rush to the start

Running in circles, chasing our tails

Coming back as we are

-Coldplay, "The Scientist"

Capes flutter in agony throughout the room, but his eyes keep traveling to watch Sirius. Remus can't exactly pinpoint why, but something about Sirius' old competitive school-boy laugh, Bellatrix Lestrange's mirthless snarls, and possibly the fact that Remus can't merely drop his school books and appoint them both detention, troubles him. Perhaps his new absence of authority, the truth that caused his palm to sweat as he stared across the candle-lit room at his opponent, the fear causing another trepidation to arise: his wand was slipping. This becomes the more prominent thought, colliding every few minutes with a glance to his right, a glance to Sirius -- glances swept across the room past the other Death Eaters and other members of the Order; vigilant and valiant they stood, fought and fell.

Remus had become too overbearing, he realizes when the sight of Sirius tossing his head back and laughing at his cousin, gives him the impulse to drag his friend back to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, by the scruff of his neck. The nerves in his stomach tingle and his mind seems to hesitate at the thought of the untidy tufts of black hair that would meet his fingertips in thick, silky threads.

He hears a shatter somewhere to his left, more cries of anguish -- as though there aren't enough already. The luminous sparks flying hither and thither, give off a sizzling beauty amongst the terror. Remus turns to see the Prophecy rising into the air, saying something that seeps into the corners of the room.

Sirius is laughing, Remus snaps his head to watch him, he eagerly leers something at Bellatrix whose mouth contorts into a grotesque sneer. She mutters something, and Remus' throat and ribcage seem to constrict. Sirius is falling -- Remus wants to cry out and run to him, past the veil; he sees Harry embodying his emotions, and knows he can't. He reaches out and grasps his bird-like shoulders.

Scream, blame, bawl, shriek.

Remus' face is flushed with silent tears, but his voice cracks as he mumbles things into Harry's hair, sentences and phrases he knows the boy isn't listening to. But it doesn't matter, Remus thinks, and he fails to loosen his arms until he can vaguely feel Harry peeling his grip that has become as tight Devil's Snare, his voice is hysterical, "SHE KILLED SIRIUS! SHE KILLED HIM -- I'LL KILL HER!" Remus doesn't want to say it, but he hopes Harry does.

Shaky and still filled with denial and disbelief, Remus clumsily makes his way towards the veil, he has to see, needs to know.

"Remus, don't!"

Their words seem as inarticulate as his own, and soon enough, he's beating his hands through the fabric, trying to find him, racked with sobs that glisten and seep into the threads.

Back at Grimmauld Place, he's miserable. Scouring every trash bag, every drawer, and every painting in the attic. Wishing there was a talking portrait, a moving photo, anything visible. But all he can find are the scowling, menacing Daily Prophet articles, and those don't do Sirius justice. Remus crawls under the boiler and extracts the small frame with Bellatrix inside, breaking the Spell-o-taped glass and watching her glowering face shred between his trembling fingers, watching the ink warp in his hollow tears.