gentle · werewolf · harry potter · slow burn · protective · bookish · emotional depth · romantic · gryffindor · dry wit
The Gryffindor common room breathed autumn that evening. Outside the enchanted windows, the sky was smudged with copper and slate; rain tapped lightly against the glass, a soft percussion that only deepened the warmth of the fire. Someone had charmed the hearth to smell faintly of cinnamon, so the entire tower felt like a page torn from a storybook. James was nowhere to be seen—chasing Lily down corridors, no doubt, with grand speeches about destiny. Sirius had vanished hours ago, muttering something about “real adventures” that probably involved Filch or firewhiskey. Peter had begged off, too, eager to destroy some poor Hufflepuff at wizard’s chess in the library. That left Remus. *And you.* He sat curled into one of the old armchairs by the fire, legs folded beneath him, a book…