Recipient-icon ficlet for Mare:
Disclaimers: Everyone here belongs to J. K. Rowling.
by Lesa Soja
Sirius doesn't miss his wand anymore. He remembers having it, and how his fingers would curve to hold it, but the heft and the weight of it are gone, like whatever it was that used to happen when he cast spells. He remembers the spells too, or the words to them, anyway. He says them out loud sometimes: Impervius. Riddikulus. Crucio. Rictusempra. Incendio. Accio. Accio could take an object too, he recalls, but he doesn't bother thinking of one anymore, just keeps repeating it: Accio. Accio. Accio.
Another night it's Lumos, Lumos, Lumos, the hours slipping by, and then when he next looks up the cell actually is light again. There's something about that, or it seems like there would have been something. But that's gone from him too.
Remus wakes up and glances round at the cellar walls with recognition, if not relief. Seals undisturbed; stones scratched, but not broken. (James gone. Peter gone. Sirius... gone.) He gets to his hands and knees, crawls over to the corner, and reaches a freshly slender arm into the lockbox to retrieve his wand.
Above the trapdoor, the sky will already be lightening into day. The owl from London will likely have been and gone, leaving the Prophet on his kitchen table to gloat about the Ministry's latest triumph of justice. Remus curls his fingers around the wand and hunches his body over it. He croaks "Lumos" in his human voice, and the feeble glow before him lends a little more darkness to the edges of the room.