The Sorrow That Comes With It

November 5th, 1996

Oh, these damned nightmares, how they sicken me. For months now I have been unable to sleep for more than a few hours per night. I wake up covered in sweat and drool, sometimes crying and sometimes moaning. I watch as the sun sets and rises, for I am too afraid to sleep. I sit alone at the kitchen table and shudder at the thought of the images I conjure in my sleep. Hours pass, even days, until my body slowly goes numb and I fall into an easy slumber for an hour or so. And then I wake up again.

And still, even in my waking time I can't seem to find any peace, for the memories haunt me there as well. Memories that once were happy, but which now only fills me with despair. In my mind I see his smiling face, that bushy, dark hair and those lively eyes. It fills me with joy. But as I reach out to touch him, his smile suddenly cracks and he begins to scream, panic filling up his eyes to the very brim. He falls. Even after the veil has consumed him I can hear him screaming.

Since his death, every minute that passes means pain.

Some days, people come to visit, but they seem of no worth to me any longer. They ask me questions and put comforting hands on my shoulder, and sure, for a moment I can think of something else, but he is always there, in the back of my mind and the depth of my chest, and once they are all gone everything turns back to the way they were. The sorrow is never truly lifted from me.

---

Hermione sobbed quietly and put away the journal on the desk in front of her. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she wondered to herself how Remus was able to at all continue on living now he's lost so much. It was no news to anyone that Remus had been strongly affected by Sirius' death, but she had never really dared to think that things were this bad.

Grimmauld Place was silent as ever. Fearing that Remus would walk in the room at any moment, she quickly rose and grabbed the laundry basket from the floor, hurrying out of his room. Sneaking down the stairs she tried to compose herself, but it was hard to push away the sorrow expressed in Remus' journal.

Meanwhile, Remus was sitting in his usual spot at the kitchen table with his tea and red, swollen eyes, silently staring out the window, looking older and more torn than he'd ever done. The cheeks were sunken in and tiny wrinkles that Hermione had ever noticed before suddenly seemed to disfigure his entire face. With the laundry basket hoisted high upon her hip Hermione mustered up some courage, walked up to him and asked: "Can I... get you anything, Mr. Lupin? Or is there anything else I can help you with before I go?"

Several seconds passed before Remus seemed to react. Slowly he turned his head and faced her, answering in a low voice: "No, thank you, Hermione, I'm fine."

Hermione gave a dejected sigh, put down the basket and sat down opposite him. For a few minutes she simply watched him watching the birds fly outside the window. He wasn't ignoring her; he was just so lost in himself that he took no notice of her. His lips were slightly parted and his eyeballs moved rapidly as he followed the crows in flight. It was past noon and he hadn't eaten since Hermione got there earlier that morning and probably not for days before that. He, who had always been thin and scrawny, had over the last months become even more so and was reaching the point where he almost had the face of a skeleton.

"Mr. Lupin," began Hermione. He did not listen. For a moment she considered reaching for his hand across the table, but didn't. She wanted him to feel supported and safe. She wanted him to open up to her, so that she could help him cope with all the things that had happened. But it was all so hard. She decided to try on a new approach.

"Moony?"

Remus twitched, but did not look at her. Instead he turned his gaze down to look at his own hands.

"No one has called me that since he-"

He couldn't finish the sentence, but he needed not to; Hermione already knew what he was going to say.

"I... I really wish there was anything I could say," she said slowly, "that could be of help to you. But I can't. I don't know what you're going through. I don't know what it's like. But I- I just want you to know that if you need to talk to someone, or just sit with someone and drink some tea, then just let me know and I'll come."

Remus regarded her with tired eyes.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said with a faint smile.

Hermione knew it was just a gesture. Remus Lupin was never one to burden others with his troubles, mostly, perhaps, because he felt no one would understand them. Sirius always said what a loner he was and she could see now how painfully true that was. But she didn't want to give up on him. She couldn't.

"You must think about him all the time," Hermione went on, determined to get some sort of genuine response out of him. "Especially here, in this house where he used to live. All the time you spent here, as kids and now, again, as adults. You even sleep in his old room, in his old bed. Using his old clothes. The scent of him must still be there in some of them, right? I mean-"

"Stop," he cut her off. "I don't want to talk about it."

"But, you must, Mr. Lupin! You can't keep it all to yourself, it will be the end of you. You must talk about it eventually, or you'll die yourself from bearing such a burden."

Remus blinked at her and then turned to watch the birds again.

"You would be surprised," he said, "if you knew how trivial death seems to me these days. And," he added, "I've told you to call me Remus."