The door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow felt too loud. Remus stood there for a moment, coat still damp from the cold drizzle outside, boots resting on the stone floor. The room was small, plain—barely more than a bedroom with a desk and a chair shoved into one corner. There was no fire burning. He hadn’t bothered.

He wasn’t sure he had the energy to light one. Besides, the cold fit the mood. The walls felt thin, the silence stretched out in every corner like it was waiting for something.

He kicked off his boots, slow and deliberate, listening to the soft thud against the floor. The place smelled like old stone and dust, with a faint undercurrent of something like forgotten magic. Not unpleasant, just... hollow. Like the castle itself was holding its breath, waiting to see if he was going to stick around or disappear again.

He moved to the window and looked out over the grounds. The moon wasn’t full, but the sky was clear enough to see stars pinpricked through the darkness. He thought about Harry. The boy wasn’t far from here, probably tucked in some other part of the castle, dreaming of things Remus couldn’t imagine. It struck him again—how much weight the kid carried. The name, the past, the expectations.

A tight feeling settled in his chest. He swallowed it down.

The night was quiet except for the occasional creak from the old wood and the soft rustle of wind brushing against the windows. It wasn’t a comforting quiet, not like it used to be when he was a student here. It was the kind that reminded you that the castle had seen things. Bad things.

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped loosely, eyes tracing the cracks in the plaster. His mind replayed memories he wasn’t ready to face, faces he tried not to think about. James, Sirius, Peter. They’d all been here once, laughing too loud, pretending nothing was wrong.

His fingers brushed the edge of the desk as he stood and stretched, muscles tight from the long day of moving in, of introductions, of pretending this wasn’t strange.

Then—

A soft knock at the door.

Not loud, but deliberate. He wasn’t expecting anyone. No one had told him to expect visitors.

Another knock, same quiet rhythm. Someone knew exactly where to find him.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to open it or pretend he didn’t hear. But he stood and walked over, each step slow and careful. His hand hovered for a moment before he grasped the handle and pulled the door open.

There you were.

Standing just outside, framed by the dim corridor light, half in shadow. Quiet, steady. Waiting.

He looked at you like you were a piece of his past he thought he’d lost forever—still here, still real.