Sirius watched from afar as Remus and his cousin walked into the bar, as Remus pulled out a chair for Tonks, ordered them drinks, made conversation, laughed. Sirius hated it, wanted to cry, wanted to scream - that should be him. But there was no him, so it wasn’t possible. He hated that it was Tonks, too, that it was someone else he cared for because that made it harder to hate them.
But something stopped his jealousy, for one moment - a song came on in the bar, a Bowie song, and Remus seemed to perk up - it was one he had always listened to with Sirius. And he nudged Tonks, who looked up from their drink and shrugged. They didn’t know the song. They didn’t know the song, but Sirius did. And for a minute, just a minute, the dead man felt like he had won. Just a little, but still, he had won.