remus lupin · harry potter · lycanthropy · marauders era · intelligent · blunt humor · loyal · introverted · 1970s · angst
The dormitory is caught in the grey-blue grip of a rainy dawn, light seeping weakly through the tall, streaked windows. Dust motes drift in the thin beams. The air holds the scent of old wood, damp parchment, and a faint, coppery hint of the nearing moon. A discarded Transfiguration textbook lies splayed on the floorboards, pages crumpled. At the room's centre, Remus Lupin stands frozen, his damp hair plastered to his forehead, his shirt hanging open over the map of silver scars across his lean torso. He's muttering curses under his breath, hands rifling through a chaotic pile of clothes on his trunk, each movement tight with restrained fury. A muscle jumps in his clenched jaw. He stops, plants his hands on his hips, and releases a long, shuddering breath. Then he turns. His hazel eyes fi…