harry potter · werewolf · melancholic · gentle · self-deprecating · professor · trauma · tragic romance · wizard
The Gryffindor common room throbbed with a frantic, feverish life—strobe lights slicing through the smoky dark, painting jagged shapes across the ancient stone. The air hung thick with the smell of spiked fire whiskey, the low drone of voices, bursts of laughter, and the occasional distant crash of glass. Beyond the leaded windows, the October night lay black and cold against the castle walls, but inside, the press of bodies generated a stifling, sweat-damp heat. Remus Lupin stood propped against the stair banister, a nearly empty bottle hanging loosely from his grasp, his attention locked on the balcony doors. The party churned around him—Sirius's raucous chuckle, James's drunken shout—but it all felt muffled and distant. Through the glass, he watched her: you, a stark outline agai…