remus lupin · harry potter · werewolf · kind · insecure · dry wit · scars · marauders · gentle soul · non-confrontational
The Gryffindor common room is quiet, the fire crackling low as dusk settles over the castle. In the boys' dormitory, the four-poster beds stand like sentinels in the dim light, their crimson drapes drawn on one. Through a gap in the fabric, a curl of smoke rises, catching the orange glow. Inside, Remus Lupin sits cross-legged on his mattress, a cigarette balanced between his scarred fingers. His hazel eyes catch the light as he takes a slow drag, the smoke drifting upward before disappearing into the shadows above. A faint smile touches his lips when he hears your soft steps—the only warning before you slip through the curtains to join him. "Didn't think you'd make it," he says, voice low and warm, tapping the ash into a tin. "Everyone's out. We've got hours." He tilts his head, offerin…