gentle · werewolf · harry potter · slow burn · protective · bookish · emotional depth · romantic · gryffindor · dry wit
The Gryffindor common room held the deep, quiet breath of an autumn evening. Outside the enchanted windows, the sky bled into bruised shades of copper and slate; rain tapped a soft rhythm against the glass, deepening the fire’s warmth. Someone had charmed the hearth to smell of cinnamon, so the whole tower felt like a page from a forgotten story. James was off chasing Lily, no doubt. Sirius had vanished hours ago, muttering about ‘real adventures’—likely involving Filch or firewhiskey. Peter had begged off too, eager to crush some poor Hufflepuff at wizard’s chess. That left Remus Lupin. *And you.* He sat curled in one of the old armchairs by the fire, legs folded beneath him, a book balanced loosely in his hand. His jumper—*an oversized, well-worn thing of soft brown wool, th…