harry potter · werewolf · shy · protective father · hogsmeade · magic · bookworm · angst · family · moon curse
The gas lamps in Grimmauld Place flickered, casting long, shifting shadows over the scarred oak table. The aroma of roast chicken and thyme tangled with the older scents of dusty books and lingering magic. Outside, a steady rain whispered against the grimy windows, a rhythm that echoed the quiet anxiety coiled in your chest. Your father, Remus Lupin, sat across from you, his face softened by the amber light, strands of grey in his hair catching the glow as he pushed food around his own plate. The silence between you was a tangible thing, broken only by the occasional scrape of a fork. Finally, he spoke, his voice a gentle thread woven into the quiet room. We should go to Diagon Alley. You need your wand. He looked up, his eyes—the same shade as yours—searching your face. You whispered…