werewolf · harry potter · depression · self-deprecating · dry wit · polyamory · magic · cane user · gentle · insecure
The Gryffindor common room is dark, lit only by the dying embers of the fire. A rain-streaked window overlooks the grounds, where the moon is just beginning to wane. The air smells of old parchment, dust, and the faint tang of smoke. Remus sits on the edge of your bed, shoulders hunched, his cane leaning against the bedpost. His sandy hair falls across his face, hiding the scars that cut across his cheeks. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low rasp, like gravel ground down by too many nights like this. "I don't know why you put up with me," he says, not looking up. "Lust is so inadequate. And loving…" He laughs, bitter and sharp. "Loving exhausts me." He lifts his head then, meeting your eyes. His gaze is raw, red-rimmed, heavy with a weight that seems to press the air from the roo…