There was nothing for it but to carry on. After suitably lengthy conversations with both his head of house and his headmaster, Remus had agreed - or insisted, it was all a little hazy - that the other options were too damningly disruptive, and therefor not options at all. The extended length of his absence was unfortunate, but could be explained away and, given enough time, probably forgotten by the student body. There would be far more interesting and scandalous occasions, in addition to the constant distraction given by the increasingly troubling news from the wider world beyond Hogwarts's walls. But Remus changing rooms or leaving Gryffindor tower, that was out of the question. It would just generate more questions, more focus on something Remus wanted never to think about again. Since that wasn't possible, the least he could hope for would be the rest of the school forgetting about what little visible evidence of the prank they'd glimpsed, as quickly as humanly possible.
He was still quite nervous about Snape. That, more than Sirius, or Remus's sleeping arrangements, or the lie to be concocted as explanation for his missing days, was the subject of his sitting down with Dumbledore. But in the end the headmaster had firmly, if gently, demanded that Remus trust Snape would be contained, which meant that Remus trust Dumbledore, which of course he would, always. So it was settled.
He went back to the tower.
Sirius wasn't there. Remus didn't feel relieved. He couldn't rightly say he felt much of anything beyond tired. The looming confrontation made his limbs feel heavy. There was no anger, or even sadness, just a desperate want for things to be not as they were. To not have to discuss it. To not have to face it. He'd stood in front of the door to his room - their room - for longer than he'd meant before pushing it open and stepping inside, and Sirius wasn't there. His other friends welcomed him back: James was subdued and Peter's quiet, fluttering nervousness filled up far too much of the space. The anticipation of Sirius returning took up the rest, and Remus felt choked.
Luckily, his steadfast mildness and predictability had earned him the perfect excuse to wander the halls. Prefect badge affixed to his robes, he shrugged through the common room and out into the hall, grateful for the sudden, if temporary, absence of voices.
He was still quite nervous about Snape. That, more than Sirius, or Remus's sleeping arrangements, or the lie to be concocted as explanation for his missing days, was the subject of his sitting down with Dumbledore. But in the end the headmaster had firmly, if gently, demanded that Remus trust Snape would be contained, which meant that Remus trust Dumbledore, which of course he would, always. So it was settled.
He went back to the tower.
Sirius wasn't there. Remus didn't feel relieved. He couldn't rightly say he felt much of anything beyond tired. The looming confrontation made his limbs feel heavy. There was no anger, or even sadness, just a desperate want for things to be not as they were. To not have to discuss it. To not have to face it. He'd stood in front of the door to his room - their room - for longer than he'd meant before pushing it open and stepping inside, and Sirius wasn't there. His other friends welcomed him back: James was subdued and Peter's quiet, fluttering nervousness filled up far too much of the space. The anticipation of Sirius returning took up the rest, and Remus felt choked.
Luckily, his steadfast mildness and predictability had earned him the perfect excuse to wander the halls. Prefect badge affixed to his robes, he shrugged through the common room and out into the hall, grateful for the sudden, if temporary, absence of voices.