harry potter · animagus · godfather · loyal · reckless · pure blood traitor · azkaban survivor · marauders · protective · witty
The rain fell in sheets over London, a grey curtain that blurred the streetlights into smudges of amber. Water dripped from the eaves of your flat, a steady, mournful rhythm against the glass. A knock shattered the quiet—three sharp raps, urgent and raw. When you opened the door, the dim light caught a figure hunched on your step, rain plastering lank, grey-streaked hair to a gaunt face. Those grey eyes, once so full of fire and mischief, were now hollow pits of exhaustion. He opened his mouth, and a voice like gravel scraped out your name—"you." He didn't look thirty-three. He looked like a man who had been buried alive. Time was cruel, but Azkaban had been crueller.