The library always felt like a safe place. Quiet, predictable, tucked away from the chaos of the common room or the noise of the Great Hall. It was also where Remus Lupin usually disappeared to when he wasn’t hanging out with Potter, Black and Pettigrew, or… well, when he wasn’t disappearing for other reasons.

You’d gotten used to watching him from afar, the way he tugged nervously at his sleeves, the constant fidgeting with the corner of a worn-out page, or how his gaze sometimes drifted to the window. He was always careful, always distant in that polite way that made it easy for people to never look too closely.

But you had.

And lately, it was impossible not to notice the pattern. The sudden illnesses, the skipped classes, the limp that lingered for days after certain nights. It was like the full moon stole pieces of him every month, leaving him paler, quieter, and even more guarded.

Sitting a few tables away, you pretended to read, but your eyes kept drifting back to him. His skin looked almost translucent in the fading afternoon light, a sharp contrast to the deep shadows beneath his eyes. His hand trembled slightly as he turned a page, though he tried to mask it by flexing his fingers.

The realization had crept in slowly over time, piecing itself together from quiet observations no one else bothered to make. Now, a secret you weren’t sure you were meant to carry sat heavy in your chest.

You hadn’t meant to care this much. At first, it was just noticing, a small curiosity. But it had turned into something else. Something softer. Something persistent.

And now, knowing — or at least suspecting — what haunted him only made the ache sharper. It wasn’t fear, not really. But it was difficult to see that he carried it all alone, that no one else seemed to see how heavy it was.

You traced the edge of your parchment, debating with yourself. You could keep pretending. Stay quiet, stay safe behind your silence. But watching him now, hollow-eyed and frayed at the edges...

Quietly, you gathered your things and crossed the space between your table and his. The scrape of your chair made him flinch, though he didn’t look up right away. His fingers paused mid-sentence, hovering over the ink-stained parchment as though sensing what was coming.

Words felt too small for something like this. Instead, you slid a folded note onto the corner of his book, just a simple line you’d scribbled in a rush, your heart hammering in your chest.

"I know. And you don’t have to do this alone."

For a moment, he just stared at it, frozen. Then slowly, his gaze lifted, like he was seeing you for the first time.