remus loved sitting by the window, which was what many gryffindors – particularly the dreamier ones – did. only he saved his intermost thoughts for midnight, or even later. when gentle snores could be heard from all corners of the dormitory could be heard he would still be there, chin resting on drawn-up knees with a strange look on his face, an expression caught between placidity, sadness, or both.
those moments were what remus lived for, moments where no one would look at him or bother him. no one knew. everyone wondered about remus j. lupin, that pale, quiet boy. it was a general belief that he had a Dark Secret (which corresponded with the fact he didn't quite talk to anyone). whenever he was lonely he'd remind himself the same warm wooden tiles and worn window-frame would still be there, waiting, and he would smile. there was only a time when remus wouldn't be a lone figure, seemingly lost in his own solitude at such a late hour, and those were the days in which he couldn't be found anywhere.
although he was certain no one had to take in their biggest fear together with their favourite place. he told himself fear was just something he had to conquer, and that affirmation made him press his nose against the glass, pretending he was a little boy in a picture-frame, and trying to make friends. 'i like you as a crescent,' he would whisper.
but it always remained cold, hard, and stark.