The Sun and Her Moon- Remus Lupin

In Bad Times

Fall 1982:

Nobody ever knows what to do in these types of situations. The world around you keeps moving, yet there you are, trying to soften the bleeding in your chest, the break in your heart begging for it to give you a break.

James and Remus had gotten used to death by now. The pain in someways, became very familiar, growing apart of them as if it was fused to their bones and souls.

Though that didn't make it any easy. Because really — what were they meant to do?

Go on with life bleeding, bruised and broken?

Yes— the answer is yes you always have to go on. So that's what they did.

James went back to work for ministry, throwing himself into a busy life of fatherhood and his Auror work. He tried not to think of it all — it was easier that way. Though on his best days, he'd forget a little too well and break his heart all over again when he remembered. Fatherhood became his lifeline. It gave him something to live for. He knew how much it burnt to loose a parent, he would not give Harry that fate.

He tried his best, though even his best didn't feel enough. He kept a picture of Aveline on his desk at work, talked to it on his lunch break, sometimes asking her for advice, sometimes just telling her she was missed.

He pretended it didn't bother him when her name—when she — became a martyr and they plastered her face on books and magazines and stupid T-shirts and coffee cups and all the other bulllshit you can imagine.

He wrote letters almost everyday addressed to Sirius Black, and shipped them off to Azkaban. He pretended he didn't know they never made it. He told himself that the only reason he never got letters back was because Azkaban was far. He tried not to think of how cold Sirius

For Remus however ? Things were ... a little less hopeful.

Remus spent most of his time hidden in the corners of bars, with beers and fire whiskey clutched in his hands.

Now that the war was over, Remus didn't have much of anything going on. There weren't days to fill with missions or meetings. There wasn't weeks spent in the north with Kingsley — hunched over maps and waiting for death eaters to appear

He had nothing.

He was a werewolf with no job, no girlfriend, no future. No one in the wizarding would hire him, and how could he explain to muggles why he needed a week off every month ?

Nothing — he truly had nothing.

He drank till his brain couldn't comprehend the world around him nearly every night. Stumbling to the cheap London flat he called home that had nothing but a ripped up couch and a half drank bottle of vodka in the kitchen.

Tonight was a particular bad one. His head was spinning as was his stomach, and as he reached down into his pocket to find the usual coldness of his silver keys, all he felt was fabric.

The annoyance sobered him up for just a moment, and despite the fact he was standing in muggle London, he reached for his wand.

"You know magic Remus yes you do," he slurred to himself under his breathe.

Despite the fact he was seeing double, Remus managed to open up the door, stumbling up to his flat and nearly falling down the stairs in the process.

He was tired — physically, mentally, spiritually.

Throwing open the door to his flat, he was expected to be met by the familiar darkness, instead the light was on. And sitting on his couch with a bag of popcorn and a cigarette was James Potter.