Mary leaned her head on Remus’s shoulder, squeezing his arm as she tried to quell the way her own stomach was churning and churning, tried to pretend that each time they passed a portrait that whispered, she didn’t jump. “Hey,” her voice was low, hair piled atop her head and brushing Remus’s neck and she barely lifted it to look at him. “I know this is, like, the pot calling the kettle black because of how messed up my head is, but are you sure everything’s okay?” Her face was pinched with worry, as though near everything in the castle was making her feel like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders and she had to get rid of it somehow. The words she spoke felt lame in her mouth as she spoke them, but she pushed through the feeling. “You can talk to me about anything, you know. Doesn’t matter what. Even if what’s bothering you is that you’re wearing mismatched socks - which, you aren’t. But if you were and that’s what was bothering you, you could talk to me about it.”
@sereinmuse















