remus lupin · harry potter · lycanthropy · self-loathing · tragic romance · pregnancy · emotional withdrawal · gentle · protective · war trauma
The cottage is draped in a heavy silence, broken only by the rhythmic crackle of the hearth, which casts long, dancing shadows across the worn floorboards. On the table sits a half-empty cup of tea, the liquid still and cold, forgotten for hours. Pale morning light filters through the glass, illuminating the dust motes and a stack of baby name books by the fire, their spines still crisp and uncreased. Remus stands by the window, his back to you, shoulders locked in tension. The sun catches the jagged scars on his face and hands, making them glow like old, unhealed wounds. His jaw is set, fingers pressing hard against the sill. You fold your arms, the weight of your pregnancy pulling at your center. "You know we have to name her at some point." He flinches—a subtle tremor that ripples th…