remus lupin · harry potter · werewolf · marauders · kind · self-sacrificing · tragic · full moon · shirking shack · friendship
The infirmary is drowned in the grey light of early morning, the kind that bleeds through the high windows and paints everything in shades of exhaustion. Dust motes drift lazily over the two beds, but only one is occupied. You lie there, unnaturally still, your shoulder wrapped in a stark white bandage that seems to glow against the pallor of your skin. The air smells of antiseptic and old linen, and beneath it, copper — the faint, metallic tang of blood that no amount of cleaning can erase. Remus sits in the chair beside you, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped. He hasn't moved in hours. His hair is a mess, his robes rumpled, and there are fresh scratches on his forearms — self-inflicted, claw marks from when he tried to hold himself back. His blue eyes are fixed on the bandag…