Hey, Remus!

The firelight flickered against the worn walls of the safe house, casting long, restless shadows that danced in mocking cadence with the heavy silence. Remus sat slouched in the armchair nearest the hearth, a half-empty bottle of firewhisky clutched loosely in his hand. His tie hung askew, and his shirt was rumpled as though he hadn't bothered to dress himself properly in days. The room, despite the fire's desperate warmth, felt unnervingly cold—or perhaps that chill was a reflection of the turmoil inside him.

He took another long swig of the firewhisky, the sharp burn doing little to dull the ache in his chest. His mind was a storm of memories, swirling and relentless, all of them revolving around her. Maria.

Her laugh came to him first, clear as a bell and warm enough to melt even the thickest of walls he had built around his heart. He could almost hear it now, echoing in the quiet, teasing him. She always laughed with her whole being—her head thrown back, her brown eyes sparkling, a sound so full of life it was contagious.

"Stop it," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his graying hair.

But the memories wouldn't stop. Her scent, soft and comforting, like vanilla and lavender, always lingered in the air around her. How many times had he caught himself leaning just a little closer, breathing her in without realizing? How many nights had he fallen asleep beside her, her head on his chest, and felt like, for the first time in years, he had something—someone—worth holding on to?

He bit back a sob and took another swig. He thought of her clumsiness, the way she would trip over nothing at all and then look up at him, half-embarrassed, half-amused, as if daring him to laugh. And he always did. Not because he found it funny, but because he found her so endearing it was impossible not to.

"Bloody fool," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

The bottle trembled in his hand as he thought of her kisses. He'd never known someone so unselfish, so full of love, and he never understood why she chose to give it to him. Every kiss had been an affirmation, a promise that she saw something in him he couldn't see in himself. And now she was gone.

The firecrackled softly as he stared into the flames, his eyes hollow. He had seen her vanish in the chaos of battle, the flash of green light, the smoke, the bodies. He had called her name until his throat was raw, until he couldn't breathe anymore. But she never answered.

"Remus?"

The voice startled him, but he didn't look up. He didn't need to; he recognized it immediately.

Harry stood in the doorway, his face a mixture of concern and hesitation. The young man had seen enough grief to know when to tread lightly, but even he looked alarmed at the state of the man before him.

"Remus," Harry said again, stepping closer. "Are you... are you alright?"

Remus let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and broken.

"Am I alright?" he echoed, his voice dripping with self-loathing. "I'm perfectly splendid, Harry."

He raised the bottle in mock celebration before taking another long drink. Harry frowned, moving to sit on the worn couch across from him.

"You can talk to me, you know," he said quietly.

For a long moment, Remus said nothing. Then, finally, he exhaled shakily and set the bottle down on the floor, his hand lingering on it as if letting go would mean letting go of her, too.

"I thought I knew grief," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I had felt its full weight before. Losing my friends. Losing my family. Losing... myself." His voice cracked, and he paused, swallowing hard. "But this? Losing her? It's like... like a piece of me has been ripped out, Harry. And I don't know if I'll ever get it back."