𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐏A𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄, jp

Biscuits.

The house grew colder, and not just because of the weather. December wrapped itself tightly around the Lupin household, blanketing the outside world in snow and the inside in tension. Izzy barely noticed. She hadn't been downstairs in days. Her room had become her refuge, her prison, her world. The curtains remained drawn, the faint winter light leaking through only enough to distinguish the shapes of things: her desk, covered in clutter; the chair where she tossed her clothes; the mirror she refused to look into.

She moved only when absolutely necessary — showers, the occasional trip to the bathroom. Even then, it was slow, robotic. She didn't look at anyone in the hallway. She didn't speak unless spoken to, and even then, her voice came out hoarse and dry, like it had forgotten how to sound like her.

Food sat untouched on the tray outside her door more often than not. Hope would knock gently, leave it there, and quietly walk away.cSometimes, hours later, Izzy would nibble at something — half a roll, a few bites of egg. But most times, it ended up in the bin. She couldn't bring herself to it, everything made her feel sick, and she didn't know why.

She didn't know why she was feeling so awful, she'd decided she'd just given up. She'd given up on the idea of her and James. Shed given up on the idea of Remus ever letting her be herself. He was going to destroy whatever she created for herself, so what was the point in even trying to make anything good?

She missed France, she missed not having to stress about him, but she'd convinced herself that that was her one and only chance, and she'd messed it up.

Remus messed up the second, so what was the point? Why try?

She wanted to see Fran and Kaitlyn, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. She cancelled on their planned meet up, and told them she had to go out with her family.

She couldn't face them, and she knew she wasn't going to be good company anyway.

She'd listened when the Christmas carols were playing faintly from the record player downstairs, but she didn't join her family when they were stringing up the Christmas decorations. She didn't join when her mother offered to bake cookies and apple pies together.

She didn't go down and join when they left to go shopping for last-minute presents, the house had been completely silent that day, and that should've felt like relief, but it didn't. It just made the stillness in her chest more real. She felt well and truly empty, and she had no clue how to fix it, so she didn't try.

Even Remus was leaving the house, going out, seeing their friends, pretending everything was fine. He hadn't said a word to her all week, and she was fine with that. She didn't have any energy for a fight, not when she hardly had the energy to have a shower.

𖣘𖣘𖣘

The Potters' sitting room was warm, lit with golden light from the fireplace and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. A half-eaten plate of biscuits sat between James and Remus, but neither had touched them in a while.

James sat on the floor, his back against the sofa, knees bent, staring into the fire. He'd been unusually quiet that afternoon, letting Remus talk — or not talk. Just existing beside him like only someone who knew you too well could.

Remus sighed heavily from the armchair, his arms crossed, his head tilted back. "Okay," he said finally, his voice edged with annoyance, "what's wrong with you?"

James blinked. "What?"

"You're weirdly quiet. You're never this quiet. It's like sitting next to a ghost." Remus sat forward, looking at him. "It's depressing."

James gave a small shrug. "Just thinking."

"Well stop, you're scaring me."

James glanced up at him. "I could say the same to you. You've been here more often than you usually do. We've only been away from school for a week and a half. You usually spend time with your parents for weeks before we see eachother."