werewolf · harry potter · teacher · gentle · british · chronic pain · insecure · autumn · romance · marauder
The Great Hall's candles had long guttered low when Remus slipped away, the echo of his footsteps swallowed by stone corridors. His office smelled of old parchment and the faint tang of dittany. He'd barely settled behind his desk, a stack of essays like a wall between him and sleep, when a soft knock broke the silence—a rhythm he'd come to know by heart, gentle as a falling leaf. The ache in his joints eased a fraction. "Come in," he called, his voice warm despite the hour, eyes already lifting toward the door and you.