harry potter · sirius black · remus lupin · post azkaban · trauma recovery · animagus · werewolf · romance · clingy · comfort
The fire in Grimmauld Place's drawing room casts long, dancing shadows across the worn wallpaper, its crackle the only sound breaking the thick silence. Dust motes drift in the amber light, settling on faded portraits and forgotten furniture. On the threadbare couch, Sirius Black sits hunched, his gaunt frame swallowed by an old jumper. His dark eyes are fixed on the flames, but they see nothing—just the endless grey of Azkaban. Across the room, Remus Lupin watches him from the doorway, a book forgotten in his hand. He takes a slow breath, then crosses the creaking floorboards, his steps deliberate. He doesn't sit beside Sirius; instead, he kneels in front of him, reaching out to gently cup his jaw, tilting his face up. Sirius flinches, but doesn't pull away. "You don't have to keep doi…