Sirius is reminding Remus what was left behind them. They can't see each other, but they feel it's something more than a wind...

When someone is asking, you have to answer. But sometimes the answer causes you pain. Sometimes it's not easy to confess what you feel. Sometimes it just hurts to tell your companion, your friend, your lover what you think...

Sometimes music makes me cry. Sometimes music makes everybody cry. Sometimes it's intentional, sometimes not. But nevertheless, music is special, has to be special to all people. It helps us remember, and that's what is important.

Another summary of the life of one poor werewolf, called Remus Lupin. Nihil novum sub sole, but I think this one just HAS to coax some emotion...or rather, I hope so.

Sometimes it's hart to get rid off old nightmares. Sometimes it's almost impossible to forget what one had to endure. Sometimes it hurts to think, to move, to live. But if someone loves you, it's not so bad, isn't it?

Strange things happen. You can find a golden coin on the street. You can meet someone you haven't seen for ages. You can forgive your enemy, when he or she is poor. And you can love.

This is only a short, made-up story about how one cute little boy changed...and how people change when they don't permit themselves to feel pure, simple joy and the warmness of summer sun.

When I remember you, I cry silently. When I remember your love, I scream. When I remember your hands, I shiver. When I remember you, my heart is breaking in two...

Last piece of deppresive art from Tonks. She finally realized that it has no sense to sit somewhere she doesn't feel comfortable in, and left. Without any thought. WIthout any Ginny to accompany her. And sorry for any mistakes, I'm not a native speaker.

Some guys there asked me what I was writing, and when I told them, they wanted me to write something about them. I did so. I'm quite sure they wouldn't like it. And she, my beloved, my poor, my punishment, wouldn't like it too. I mean Tonks, of course.

Chronologically uploaded here. After some time, I asked some musicians there because there was life music performing to play my favourite tune for me - The Rocky Road to Dublin. They did. My mood improved a bit.

Another little bit about the poor unsuccessful woman, sitting all alone and celebrating St.Patrick's Day among joyful fake faces. Again, I wrote it in James Joyce, the famous Irish pub here in Prague, on the 17 of March.

This is an end of the non-existing story. Actually, I mean that I haven't writen it so far. And I won't. Hovewer, I experienced it on my own. Everything, including the Paddy's-Day-deppresion. Yes, I'm sentimental and I'm not ashamed of it. I'm just...

Only a short narrative of one werewolf boy, who considers his friend's manners towards him. Mild slash, maybe.

A short and simple ballad about the misfortune two young men has to endure.