Moonlit Bonds

2. Breakfast Tension

The morning air had the scent of breakfast wafting up from the Great Hall. Moony forced himself to get ready, tying his tie in the mirror with sluggish hands. His reflection stared back at him, a pale shadow of himself, with dark circles smudged beneath his tired eyes. The nights of restless sleep were taking their toll, and no matter how much he tried to shake the dream from his mind, it clung to him like fog. His gaze drifted to the photo of Padfoot on the nightstand—one where Padfoot was laughing, his arm slung casually around Moony's shoulders, both of them carefree and young. Moony's heart gave a small, unwelcome jolt at the sight of it.

Just a dream, he reminded himself again, but the words were hollow now. The unease that had gripped him upon waking hadn't faded, and as he headed down to breakfast, it coiled tighter, an invisible weight on his chest.

The Great Hall was alive with the usual morning buzz—students chattering, the clink of cutlery, the scrape of benches on the stone floor. But Moony barely heard any of it. His senses were tuned to one thing: Padfoot. He spotted him instantly at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by the usual crowd, a ring of laughter and noise. Prongs and Wormtail were egging him on, and Padfoot was in his element, his grin wide, that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes. It was so normal, so completely Padfoot, that for a moment, Moony felt foolish for letting the dream affect him so much. 

But when their eyes met across the hall, something shifted. The playful spark in Padfoot's eyes faltered, just for a second, but it was enough to make Moony's heart lurch. There was a tension between them now, subtle but unmistakable. Had it been there before? Or was it all in his head, a product of his sleepless nights and anxious thoughts? He wanted to believe it was nothing, but the dream had made everything feel... off.

As Moony sat down to breakfast, he could feel the weight of Padfoot's presence, even though they weren't sitting side by side. The usual banter was there; Prongs joking about Quidditch, Wormtail chiming in with his awkward attempts at humour—but it all felt stilted, forced. There was an undercurrent, something simmering beneath the surface that no one seemed willing to acknowledge. Prongs threw a piece of toast at Padfoot, who caught it deftly in his mouth, drawing laughter from the group. Normally, Moony would have laughed too. It was the kind of stupid, lighthearted thing Padfoot did that always made him smile. But today, his lips didn't even twitch.

The dream lingered, a ghostly presence at the edge of his thoughts, and no matter how hard he tried to push it away, it seeped into everything. He kept stealing glances at Padfoot, searching for something—anything—that would explain the dream's significance. Was it a warning? Was Padfoot hiding something? But Padfoot looked just like he always did bold, confident, and charming. Oblivious to the storm brewing in Moony's mind.

Across the table, Padfoot felt Moony's eyes on him, and it was unnerving. He couldn't place why, but something about Moony felt... off today. Usually, Moony had this calm, steady energy, always grounded, always able to make Padfoot feel like things made sense, even when nothing else did. But this morning, there was something distant about him, something closed off. Padfoot had noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the way he seemed quieter than usual. Was it just because the full moon was nearing? Or was there something else bothering him? 

Padfoot tried to brush it off, laughing louder, cracking more jokes, pretending like everything was normal. But it wasn't. And when Moony looked at him again—really looked at him—it felt like his insides twisted uncomfortably. Padfoot didn't show it, of course. He was good at hiding things. He'd learned that long ago. But now, as Moony sat there in silence, barely touching his breakfast, Padfoot could feel something gnawing at him. It was the same feeling he had after waking from the dream. The dream. He hadn't told anyone about it, not even Prongs, but it was still there, lodged in the back of his mind like a splinter. And seeing the haunted look in Moony's eyes... it made Padfoot wonder if maybe, just maybe, they were both dreaming the same thing.

He wanted to ask. He wanted to break the silence between them, shake Moony out of whatever was going on in his head. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, he forced a grin and threw another joke into the air, hoping it would fill the growing void. But all it did was deepen the silence that neither of them seemed able to breach.