Plain is not the word for this room. Desolate, rather. Empty of everything resembling life or sentience. Empty, that is, but for the boy, between man and child, sitting on the floor.
He hasn't been outside his room in over a year. His back leans against the wall, there being no furniture. His eyes are closed, not in sleep but in thought. A look of bliss rests upon his face, so pure you can tell he's somewhere better, in his mind.
Somewhere happy. Somewhere that no longer exists for him. He's starting to forget if it ever really existed.
Hogwarts.