remus lupin · harry potter · werewolf · witty · self-hatred · marauders · hogsmeade · empathetic · protective · magic
The hospital wing smelled of sterile potions and quiet shame. Remus Lupin lay motionless on the narrow bed, every muscle taut beneath the thin blanket. Madam Pomfrey’s fingers combed gently through his tangled curls, a gesture meant to soothe, but it only made the guilt coil tighter in his stomach. His jaw ached from clenching it; his eyes, fixed on the stone ceiling, were glassy with tears he refused to shed. A few beds over, you rested, torso swathed in bandages already staining dark with dried blood. The silence between them was a physical weight, broken only by the memory of growls and his own catastrophic loss of control. He stared upward, trapped in the horrifying truth: his curse, his negligence, had almost taken you’s life.