For years he'd been sneaking out here, onto the rooftop of Gryffindor tower, alone, to think, or just be away from the others. They were his best friends, but sometimes all he wanted was space, sometimes even they couldn't understand. Alone out here there was nobody to judge him, no appearances to keep up, no tough exterior to maintain.
He had told them, of course, what had happened with his family. At least he'd told them the outcome – that he'd left, that he would never go home again. And, as expected, they'd been nothing but supportive about his decision, but they hadn't been there. They didn't see the looks in his parent's eyes as they tortured him…they didn't see that new hardness in his brother's face, as he watched, and never once tried to stop them, never once sent him any kind of comforting glance, anything to indicate that he might still care about the brother who had once been so close to him.
His friends hadn't seen how the years of disappointment had developed into such pure hatred, for their own son! How they had so little regard for him that even that house elf was held in higher regard than he was. They didn't know. It wasn't their fault, he didn't tell them every detail…but that didn't change the fact that they just didn't know what they were talking about.
And so he sought refuge up here, the cold November air numbing his face and his fingers, and the wind whistling and wailing around his ears. He stared up at the sky, seeking out the star he was named for… and as he stared into the darkness, he couldn't help seeing those faces again in his head, hearing their vicious words over and over, in an endless aching loop.
He screwed up his eyes to try to block them out, tried to think of happier things, of the mischief he and his friends had made these past years, tried to replace his parent's faces with theirs.
Slowly the words faded, still audible in the back of his mind, but not screaming, violating anymore. He stood to leave, taking in the distance to the ground. He stepped carefully as he made his way back to the waiting window, not wanting to slip on the forming frost and risk falling to his death.
Tomorrow night he'd be back, and the next, and the next, and his friends would never be any the wiser. They didn't know, but if they did they'd be right here with him, no matter how late or how cold the night. The thought almost made him smile. He might not have blood kin anymore, but he still had Moony, Prongs, and Wormtail, and they were better than brothers, and they weren't going anywhere.