Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: mostly gen with hints of Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 398
Summary: Directly post-Marauder-era - say Winter 1981/2-ish. Life goes on even when you don’t want it to, even when the trees are shrouded in snow and your breath fills the air and the world is silent silent silent and you feel like the only alive thing there is.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I'm making no money off of this.
A/N: If you ignore the word "Muggle" in the middle of it, this can be read as original fic. Read it however you like.
Fall turns into winter, and life goes on. Life goes on. Life goes on even when you don’t want it to, even when the trees are shrouded in snow and your breath fills the air and the world is silent silent silent and you feel like the only alive thing there is. Whether or not you deserve such a fate is irrelevant. Alone alone alone you think, stuck inside your head, and you like the quiet in spite of yourself, in spite of everything you think you should be.
Most days, you don’t even feel human. Not anymore. You used to, you remember, but that was a long time ago, in another life that doesn’t feel real anymore, if it ever did. There was a boy, a boy who became a man, and how did that happen? and you have been blocking his name for so long that you almost don’t remember it now. You loved him, you think, and maybe you still do, but right now the earth is still and so is your heart, frozen like the ice that hangs down the edges of the roofs, or maybe the weather doesn’t have anything to do with it, maybe your heart will always be frozen now.
You are young and you should be carefree. At least, that’s what your friends always said, but they are dead or changed beyond all recognition, lost to you either way, and so you don’t have to listen, not that you did before anyway.
You sold your (shared) apartment and moved to Muggle London, after, so as not to be constantly reminded. You couldn’t sleep in that huge, empty bed or relax on the sofa, even with the (beloved) books he always thought were stodgy and old-person of you, so you sold the place to the first bidder and moved into a tiny, dingy apartment over a bakery. Your place always smells like baked goods, but at least it’s a nice, comforting smell that’s easy to live with, though it does tend to make your mouth water most of the time.
You don’t love it there. You barely even like it there, but it’s safe and it’s livable and it doesn’t have any difficult memories, and that’s what’s important. What’s important is that you not think about it all the time. What’s important is that you’re a lot like th