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Written for Hogwarts, Assignment 2 - Counselling 2; Write about grief.

Word count - 1318

Beta'd by Amber

Catch Me (Before I Fall)

It didn't come as a huge shock, but that didn't make it hurt any less when it happened. The letter came in the middle of the night, the owl tapping on the window instead of waiting for the morning post.

Remus read the words once, twice, thrice, until his eyes were swimming in tears and too blurry to read through.

He sat on his bed, the parchment crumpling in his grip as silent tears streamed down his face until the collar of his plaid pyjamas was soaked.

As the sun started to rise, Remus escaped to the bathroom before his friends awoke. He cleaned himself up and pulled himself together as best he could. He didn't need to burden them with this, they already did so much for him… Remus couldn't bring himself to ask for more from them.

Two days. It was only two days, and then he would be home and he could cry until there were no tears left to fall.

…

"You've been quiet; are you sure you're okay, Moony?" Peter asked, his voice low. James and Sirius were sitting across from them, bickering about Merlin only knew what.

Remus nodded and forced himself to smile. "I'm fine, Wormy, I promise. Just a bit of a headache."

Sirius shifted his gaze from James to Remus and frowned. "You've still got a headache? Didn't Madam Pomfrey give you anything for that?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "It's just a headache, I'm fine."

James shook his head. "If it's just a headache, why haven't you taken a potion?"

Remus bit his lip and looked out of the window. He knew they cared, he knew they were just worried about him, but he wished that just this once, they'd back off.

"Moony—"

"I'm fine," Remus snapped harshly. "Leave me alone."

As the others all looked at each other, eyes wide and questioning, Remus kept his eyes on the passing greenery through the window. Silence had never seemed so loud.

…

His dad wasn't waiting for him at the station. It was fine, Remus was of age, he could Apparate home, but…

He'd thought his dad would be there.

Remus said goodbye to his friends, pulling away from them before they could ask him about meeting up over the winter holiday.

When he got home, and let himself into the small cottage his family had called home for so many years, he was greeted by darkness. He walked room to room, searching for his dad. When he finally found him, Remus sighed.

Bottles of firewhisky scattered the ground around the bed, and there was broken glass by the wall, where his father had clearly thrown a bottle in anger. Lyall was curled up on the bed, sleeping.

He was a mess.

Remus wasn't sure why he'd expected anything different. His dad had always been stoic and strong, but Remus had always known that he relied on Hope for that strength. Without her…

Remus wrinkled his nose at the smell of stale sweat and alcohol.

Without her, Lyall was a mere shadow of the man he'd always been.

…

Remus cleaned, because he didn't know what else to do. He cleaned the house, he helped his father into the shower during one of his rare moments of lucidity, and he slowly muddled his way through the funeral arrangements.

The family didn't have much, so any thoughts of grandeur were quickly pushed away in favour of a quiet, classy affair, for the people that knew and loved Hope.

The wake would be held at the house, the place Hope had made a home, the place she was happiest.

Remus made sandwich after sandwich, sliced sausage rolls and made fiddly hors d'oeuvres. It helped, to have something to focus his mind on, to have something to do with his hands.

If he kept busy, he didn't have to deal with the crushing pain that was threatening to overwhelm him at any given moment. He didn't want to feel the enormity that was the loss of his mother, didn't want to face the fact that he'd never see her again.

Never feel her arms around him again.

Never…

He didn't want to deal with any of that. So he didn't. He kept himself busy and did all of the things his father should have been doing, because she deserved that.

…

Remus helped his father dress and hid the bottles of firewhisky. Lyall raged and screamed at him, but Remus ignored it. He tied his father's tie instead and patted him on the shoulder.

"You can give her a few hours of your time before you lose yourself back in the bottle," he murmured, before he left the room to get himself ready.

He dressed himself in his smartest robes. There was a patch on the elbow that his mum had sewn in, and he ran a finger over the seam. Lyall could have fixed it quicker and perhaps a touch tidier if he'd used magic, but his mum always insisted it was her job.

She always fixed Remus' clothing by hand.

She said she was imprinting her love into it for him, so he'd always be warm.

Remus just felt cold.

…

Remus was polite to the mourners as they arrived and offered him their condolences as they passed him to get into the house. The funeral had been simple but beautiful, befitting of Hope, Remus thought.

When the last of the guests passed him, Remus turned to go into the house, only to hear a crack of apparition.

He looked back, eyes widening when he saw James, Sirius and Peter approaching the house, all three of them wearing their best black robes.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, stepping forwards to meet them.

"Why didn't you tell us?" James asked quietly, hugging Remus tightly for a moment before he passed him off to Peter, and then finally Sirius.

Sirius kept his arm around Remus' back when they parted, a solid presence there. Remus hated himself for feeling better with his friends surrounding him.

"I just… you support me so much already," Remus muttered, shaking his head. "I didn't want to ruin your holidays."

"You're an idiot," James huffed. "You're our best friend, Remus. Of course we want to support you with whatever is happening in your life. The same way you would do for any of us, right?"

"I'm sorry," Remus whispered. "You're right. How did you find out?"

"Mum," Peter said.

And Remus should have known that because Hope and Mrs Pettigrew had the same circle of friends, even though they didn't actually know each other very well.

"She sends her condolences," Peter added. "She'd have come herself but—"

"It's fine," Remus hurried to assure. Mrs Pettigrew's health wasn't good, and hadn't been for a long time. "Tell her thank you."

Peter nodded.

"Come on," James prompted, nodding to the door. "We should greet your father."

…

Lyall excused himself almost as soon as the last guest left, closing his bedroom door behind him with a soft click.

Sirius, James and Peter stayed behind with Remus and helped him clean up, talking quietly amongst themselves. They didn't expect Remus to join in, but each of them took moments to squeeze his shoulder, to run a hand down his arm, to press a palm to his back.

Just letting him know they were there.

It helped.

When the house was set to rights, and the sun started to set, the four of them retreated to the back porch. The winter air was cold, and James made a small fire to warm them.

Remus, surrounded by his friends, cried for his mother.

Every loss left its mark, Remus knew that, but his friends were a soothing balm that allowed him to embrace the pain, knowing they would be there to catch him before he could fall into the abyss of grief.

Also Written for;

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1000 - 52. Remus Lupin