I adore Pablo Neruda and the way you captured the feeling of that poem was very effective - beautiful, in fact.

I felt so sorry for poor Remus here, his plight felt so starkly real. The whole piece is just permeated with that vague, persistent sense of loss that affects the grieved. It's not just Sirius, it's his everything.

This bit just made me want to weep: Sometimes he sees Tonks. She wears her hair dark and unwashed. Her eyes are hooded and grey. He should hate her for that. Instead he kisses her hard on the mouth and dies over and over in her arms. He calls her Dora and Dear and touches the curve of her lips with his thumb. He hates himself for that. That just makes it so much worse, does it not?

Depressing, yes, but beautifully, beautifully crafted.