He wakes up the day after the full, aching all over but with a pain potion on his bedside table. Listening to his Ma make him tea, Remus remembers her voice, the way she’d explained that Sirius needed support, that Harry needed family, and she—as a tribute to the little girl she had gotten close to, the girl who was Remus’ best friend, his platonic soulmate—had agreed to help raise Harry, and she would do it with or without Remus. He lies there, contemplating the effort and movement it would take to grab and down the pain potion, knowing that Sirius was the one that brewed it and left it for him, knowing that Sirius is not in the house and did not spend the moon with him but probably would have if only Remus had had the courage—or selfishness—to ask. He tries to cling to that sense of betrayal he has felt for the past week, that lost and empty feeling he had watching Sirius be excited about living in a home with Harry, of being a family with Harry, and then Remus has to admit to himself that he’s being petty.