Lost like this
He should eat something. It's been days and the images are starting to swim before his eyes. When he closes his eyes it's no better, he sees James – eyes still open in shock, and Lily – beautiful red hair matted with blood where he threw her to the floor and sometimes he sees Sirius, not as Remus knew him but as he is in the paper – a laughing homicidal maniac.
There's dust and skin under his fingernails from where he's been scratching in his sleep. The knuckles are still raw on his right hand where he punched the wall a few days ago after a drunken fit of rage. He never knew he could slip to this so quickly. He never knew what it meant to be lost like this.
There's a ray of sunlight coming through the dusty window and he crawls to his knees. He raises his weary body, holds an arm out when he sways slightly. His eyes are sore when he rubs at them and though he doesn't remember, he knows he's been crying.
He pauses and takes stock. Best friends? Gone. Voldemort? Supposedly gone. Harry? As good as gone, at least for now. It's all a bit too much for a moment and he sways on his feet again before he catches the doorway. He pauses and takes stock. Limbs? All present. Teeth? Still there. Health? Failing but holding up. Sanity? Could use a bit of work but is passable. Alive? Still.
Satisfied, he turns into the hallway. He pulls his worn jacket from the hat stand and struggles with it before pulling it on clumsily. His wand is still in the pocket and there is change in his pants that clinks when he moves to step into his loafers. He pulls open the front door and squints into the sunlight. Outside, it is the first frost. Inside, his stomach growls. He steps into morning. He should eat something.