Moments later, Remus takes a deep breath and turns to Sirius’ room, shutting all the memories away, unwilling to remember all the times they had tumbled into bed seeking pleasure, or even worse, the nights Remus had slipped under the covers beside Sirius after a nightmare, giving or gaining comfort. But opening the door, Remus finds a room wholly unlike how Remus remembers it; clothes are strewn about, hanging out of the wardrobe and lying in piles everywhere; books open as if they had been thrown at a wall and left on the floor, spines crying out; a few dried-out mugs of tea, decayed over the years. It looks as if Sirius had taken his violent tantrum from Remus’ room—where the damage had, admittedly, been minimal, with the only casualty his alarm clock, flung far from Remus himself—and instead laid waste to his own room, then proceeded to leave the mess right where it was and live around it. Unbidden, Remus thinks of the room in the Shrieking Shack that he had found himself in, after Dumbledore had told him the news about James and Lily and Peter and Sirius. 