Remus was vaguely aware that he was still holding his quill, and that the hand that held it was hanging mid-air—that it’d been for the past minute, with no intentions of moving. Where everything had been excruciatingly loud for him a few moments ago, now was eerily silent. His heart was beating rapidly against his chest cavity, but it didn’t seem to make a sound.

He supposed he ought to be scared. He supposed he should say something—anything—that could save him from this situation. But Lupin was frozen and cold and his brain was painstakingly silent.

“Remus?”