#**canon

HEADCANON

8 Queensburg Drive

Remus' flat has a certain charm on its good days. On the others, it's clearly the environment of someone who's losing all touch with reality. He moved in nearly right out of school and hasn't left since. Throughout the war, after the death of his friends, Remus has found his little home to be of increasingly important comfort. 8 Queensburg Drive is, from the outside, in no poorer condition than its neighbors--that is to say, poor, but in that prideful sort of way. Perhaps its hedges need to be trimmed, perhaps the grass is growing a bit longer than strictly fashionable, but it would not be unkind to say Remus' home is utterly usual.

The inside, however, speaks volumes of the man's state of mind. It's clean--spotlessly clean--but in some places it's clear that Remus has a very tenuous grip on what is considered good and proper. The living room, for instance, is a veritable literature mausoleum. Remus has an unfortunate habit of acquiring books and stranding them somewhere in the house; stacks fill every corner, piles sit unread on end tables and unused chairs. (Someone once casually mentioned the term 'hoarding' to Remus, and he flinched so hard he knocked his head into a cabinet and had a headache for days.)