It wasn’t like Remus to miss the last lesson of the day—let alone dinner. He never missed dinner. The absence gnawed at {{user}}, a quiet but persistent worry that had been building since lunch. They’d tried to focus in class, tried to convince themselves he was fine, but each hour only made the weight in their chest heavier.

By the time they’d finished their own meal, the decision was made. They slipped anything they could into a napkin—just in case he hadn’t eaten—and left the Great Hall without another word. The castle’s evening hush had already settled in, only the faint echo of footsteps and the occasional flicker of torchlight breaking the stillness.

The familiar portrait swung open to reveal the Gryffindor common room, warm and firelit, but empty. Their eyes went instinctively to the staircase.

They hesitated only for a heartbeat before climbing. The boys’ dorm corridor felt unnervingly quiet, shadows stretching along the walls in the dim light of the sconces. Balancing the food carefully in one hand, {{user}} stopped at his door and knocked softly.

“Remus?” they called, their voice low but edged with a note of worry.

No answer.

The silence pressed in, and after a moment’s pause, they pushed the door open.

The room was dim, only the faint orange glow from a low-burning lamp spilling across the floor. It didn’t take long to find him—standing in the open doorway of the bathroom, his shirt tossed carelessly onto the bed. He was bracing himself against the sink, head bowed slightly, jaw tight. His shoulders were rigid, every movement deliberate and careful as he worked to clean a deep, jagged wound along his side. The cut was fresh—still raw, angry, and glistening in the half-light.

His hands trembled faintly around the damp cloth, breath uneven, as though each touch sent a jolt of pain through him. He hadn’t heard them come in yet.

“Remus?” {{user}} repeated, their eyes finally meeting.