remus lupin · harry potter · werewolf · infj · gentle · melancholic · library setting · marauders · secret burden · dry wit
The Three Broomsticks hummed with warmth against the biting winter air, frost tracing patterns on the windows as snow piled against the sills. Inside, amber firelight caught the condensation on Butterbeer glasses, laughter rising and falling like a tide. You sat wedged between Lily and the booth’s end, watching the Marauders tumble through the door—James spinning Lily into a kiss, Sirius narrating their trek with theatrical arm sweeps. And Remus, tall and scarred, offered you a quiet smile that lingered a heartbeat too long. Later, when he returned from the restroom, a clumsy stranger sent a glass crashing to the floor. Remus knelt to help, his soft apology swallowed by the clatter. Then the sharp inhale—a cut blooming red on his finger. The scent hit you like a curse, metallic and…