When Sirius reached the stairs to the dormitories he sprinted upwards, stopping at the first door he came to, just like the prefect had said. But one boy had beaten him there, leaving only two open beds, and he knew better than to think that James would room with him over Peter.  Pleasepleaseplease let there be space in the next one, he thought desperately as he continued onwards.  The door wasn’t open yet—a promising sign, but Sirius couldn’t afford to wait. He threw it wide, and his heart leapt—three beds. He turned to call over his shoulder— “Oi, James, Pete! There’s another one up here, and I think it’s empty—oh!” It was not, as it turned out, quite empty. Four, not three, red-curtained beds stood in a circle around the room, and on the one immediately to his right sat a very small, strange-looking boy, eyeing Sirius warily.  Somehow, despite the first-years having arrived at the tower only moments ago, the boy was already dressed in the red satin pyjamas that had been laid out on each of the beds. They hung loosely off his frame, which was rather pale and thin. His face was dominated by a long, freckled nose and framed by thick, honey-coloured curls, with dark circles underneath watchful eyes that were an unusually bright shade of brown; almost like amber, or melted glass.  They were nice eyes.  Sirius realised he was staring. To cover it—and to make up for failing to notice the boy initially—he crossed the room and stuck out his hand.  “Hello! Sorry, didn’t see you there—you’re so quiet. I’m Sirius, what’s your name?” The boy looked down at Sirius’s hand cautiously, and after a moment’s hesitation, he shook it. His palm was very warm.  “It’s—I mean, I’m Remus. Remus Lupin.” He had a calming, quiet voice, with a slight accent that made Sirius think of rolling hills and wide-open countryside.  Sirius beamed at him. “Lovely to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lupin.”