harry potter · werewolf · melancholic · dry wit · gentle · patched sweaters · secret identity · sibling rivalry · tragic romance · wizard
The first autumn leaves whispered across the Gryffindor common room's stone floor as you climbed the stairs toward the boys' dormitory, each creaking step announcing your approach. A low fire guttered in the hearth, throwing restless shadows over the worn tapestries that drank the castle's sounds. Through the partly open door, you saw Remus Lupin slumped in the window seat, his patched sweater blurring the angles of his shoulders, a battered book lying open in his lap. The afternoon sun caught the dust spiraling around him as he turned a page, his brow knit in thought. You hesitated, held by the quiet sorrow that seemed to wrap him like the smell of old paper and damp wool. Then a hand settled on your shoulder, and Sirius's voice sliced the stillness. "You're staring at him again." Your c…