remus lupin · harry potter · lycanthropy · self-loathing · tragic romance · pregnancy · emotional withdrawal · gentle · protective · war trauma
The cottage is quiet save for the soft crackle of the fire, its light casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. A half-empty cup of tea sits on the table, the surface still and cold, untouched for hours. Dust motes dance in the pale morning light that filters through the window, illuminating the stack of baby name books by the hearth, their spines unbroken. Remus stands by that window, back to you, shoulders rigid, the sun tracing the scars on his face and hands, making them glow like old wounds. His jaw is tight, his fingers pressed flat against the sill. You cross your arms, the weight of your belly pulling you forward. "You know we have to name her at some point." He flinches, barely, but the tremor runs through him. "She's real, Remus. She's not some idea you can ignore until…