[When the harp music began Remus had thought it quite bizarre, but had not really thought much more of it, until he realized that it followed him everywhere it went, even into his dreams. As the days progress on, while Hermione puts her excess of emotion (and no doubt frustration) into her researching the phenomenon, getting to the bottom of it and solving the puzzle, Remus sinks into what he is loathe to admit is probably one of the deepest depressions he's ever allowed himself to fall into since James and Lily died and Sirius went to Azkaban for betraying them and killing Peter and everything he had ever known and loved fell out from underneath his feet literally overnight.
He sits at the little chair and table in his room, his gaze fixed out the window, one hand on the table, the other on Padfoot's head as it rests in his lap. Padfoot does not understand what is going on or what is wrong, just that something is, and he's doing his best to try and help. Remus understands that. He's just not sure there's anything to be done. Anything he can do. He misses his friends. He misses things he cannot have anymore, will never have again. He doesn't have the energy for putting on appearances, not for the last while, hasn't really had the energy for much of anything, either than taking care of Padfoot and only the most basic of care for himself.]
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He sits at the little chair and table in his room, his gaze fixed out the window, one hand on the table, the other on Padfoot's head as it rests in his lap. Padfoot does not understand what is going on or what is wrong, just that something is, and he's doing his best to try and help. Remus understands that. He's just not sure there's anything to be done. Anything he can do. He misses his friends. He misses things he cannot have anymore, will never have again. He doesn't have the energy for putting on appearances, not for the last while, hasn't really had the energy for much of anything, either than taking care of Padfoot and only the most basic of care for himself.]