Moonlit Bonds

3. The Dream Confession

The morning passed in a blur of classes and whispers, but Moony barely registered any of it. His quill hovered over his parchment, the ink pooling in spots where his thoughts wandered too far for him to notice. The professor's voice droned on in the background, a distant hum, but none of it penetrated the fog in Moony's mind. His thoughts raced, circling back to the same questions over and over again. Why now? Why this dream? Why was it about Padfoot? 

He knew he had to talk to Padfoot about it, but every time he even thought about approaching him, his chest tightened, and his throat seemed to close up. What if the dream meant something? What if it didn't, and he was overreacting? Worse, what if telling Padfoot about it drove a wedge between them? The fear of losing his best friend—someone he cared about more than he could ever admit—was almost too much to bear. 

The weight of it pressed down on him, making the rest of the day feel suffocating. So, during the lull between classes, Moony found refuge in the one place that always felt safe—the library. The scent of parchment and the quiet rustling of pages flipping gave him a temporary reprieve from the noise in his head. He sat at a table near the back, where the light was dimmer, surrounded by shelves of old, dusty books. The calm was soothing, and for a moment, he let himself breathe. 

But his mind wouldn't settle. He stared blankly at the spines of the books in front of him, their titles blurring together as his thoughts spiralled. Where could he find answers? Was there even a book that could explain this strange connection, this dream that had shaken him so deeply? He didn't know where to start. Every time he tried to make sense of it, the pieces slipped further from his grasp.

The quiet was broken by the sound of footsteps. Moony's head snapped up, and there was Padfoot, sliding into the chair across from him. The familiar weight of his presence settled in the room, and for a brief second, Moony felt both comforted and on edge. Padfoot's expression was curious but with a hint of concern, his usual carefree smile missing. 

"You okay, Moony?" Padfoot asked, using the nickname in a voice that was softer than usual. There was something unspoken in the question, something deeper.

Moony's heart raced, the words he had been rehearsing in his mind suddenly jumbled. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice. "I've been having these dreams," he finally said, his voice low, barely audible over the quiet of the library. "They're about you."

Padfoot's expression shifted immediately. The teasing light that usually sparkled in his eyes was gone, replaced by something serious. His body tensed, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Padfoot blinked, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed Moony's words. "What kind of dreams?" he asked, his voice careful, like he already knew the answer and was just waiting for confirmation. 

Moony hesitated. Saying it out loud felt like crossing a line he wasn't sure he was ready to cross, but the pressure had been building for too long. He couldn't keep this inside anymore. "They're strange," he said, the words rushing out. "Like you're someone else. Someone important, but... different. There's always this sense that something's wrong, like I need to stop it, but I don't know what it is." 

Padfoot froze. His eyes widened slightly, and for the first time that morning, Moony saw a flicker of something he hadn't expected fear. Padfoot leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the table as if he was trying to gather his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "Moony, I've had the same dream."  

Moony's breath caught in his throat. He stared at Padfoot, the words hanging between them like a physical weight. "You have?" 

Padfoot nodded, his face unusually serious. His eyes were intense as they met Moony's, searching for some kind of understanding. "Every night. It's always the same. I'm... I'm not myself, and neither are you. But we're connected, somehow. Like, not just as friends, but in a way, we aren't in real life. And every time I wake up, it feels so real, like it's more than just a dream." 

Moony's mind reeled. Padfoot's words echoed his own thoughts—thoughts he had tried to push aside, to dismiss as just his imagination. But hearing that Padfoot had experienced the same thing shook him to his core. It couldn't just be a coincidence. The connection between them in the dream, the vividness, the way it lingered long after they woke up—it was too strong to ignore. 

They stared at each other, the library around them fading into the background. The world outside felt distant and unimportant compared to the revelation they had just shared. The silence between them was thick with tension, with fear, but also with something unspoken—something that had always been there, just beneath the surface. 

"What do you think it means?" Moony finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His heart was pounding, and his hands were shaking slightly under the table. He was terrified of the answer but more terrified of not knowing.

Padfoot ran a hand through his hair, his expression conflicted. "I don't know, Moony," he said softly. "But whatever it is, I think we're meant to figure it out. Together."

Moony nodded, though the knot of anxiety in his chest hadn't lessened. They were connected, not just in their dreams, but in whatever lay ahead. The thought of facing it alone had terrified him, but now, with Padfoot sitting across from him, his presence grounding and steady, it didn't seem quite as overwhelming.

But still, the question hung in the air—what did it all mean? What force had tied them together in this strange, unsettling way? And what were they supposed to do about it?

For now, though, Moony found a sliver of comfort in the fact that whatever it was, he wouldn't be facing it alone.