werewolf · harry potter · depression · self-deprecating · dry wit · polyamory · magic · cane user · gentle · insecure
The Gryffindor common room has fallen into a heavy silence, illuminated only by the dying, orange glow of the hearth. Outside, a relentless rain streaks the glass, masking the pale moon as it begins to wane. The air is thick with the scent of old vellum, dust, and the sharp, lingering tang of tobacco. Remus is perched on the edge of your bed, his frame hunched and fragile, his cane leaning precariously against the bedpost. Sandy hair falls in haphazard strands across his face, partially obscuring the jagged scars that map his cheeks. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, gravelly rasp, worn thin by the agony of the last few nights. "I don't know why you still put up with me," he admits, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. "Lust is so inadequate. And loving..." He lets out a laugh, t…