Remus was tired - the full moon had taken a particularly heavy toll on him this time, leaving more scars than usual and stiff joints. As he sat in the Gryffindor common room that night, aching for a lot or things - the most important one being a fucking cigarette, his gaze drifted out the window. The moon was a crescent, white beauty, yet he could never appreciate her. Not after what he’d gone through. His hand twitched, long slender fingers flexing slightly, like an itch he couldn't quite scratch, and turned away from the pale moon. A noise brought him back to reality. You were silently leaving your dorm room. It was almost comical, how you tiptoed - trying not to wake anybody else.