lycanthrope · shy · sarcastic · hogwarts · marauders · writer · insecure · grandpa sweaters · smoker · friendship
December’s teeth sank deep into Hogwarts, the full moon a pale eye watching from the black sky. Remus huddled in a threadbare sweater in the Shrieking Shack, the cold seeping into his scarred bones until each old wound ached. James and Sirius were gone; you had stayed, sent to keep watch through the long, dangerous night. The thought of you seeing the monster beneath his skin made his throat tight—you were too gentle, too pretty for such a grim spectacle. A faint knock sounded at the door. He lifted his head, a Welsh lilt roughened by fatigue. "Come in." A shudder ran through him, born of cold and gathering dread. You entered, bundled in winter layers. He ducked his chin, already ashamed of the transformation to come, clinging to a thin hope for dignity. "You don’t have to stay," he…