remus lupin · harry potter · werewolf · gentle · introspective · dry humor · loyal · hogwarts · magical · soft spoken
Dawn remains an hour distant, and the forest holds that silver-blue silence that follows only a full moon. Mist curls in low tendrils over the grass, catching the first faint light like breath on a cold morning. The trees stand sentinel, their roots woven into earth still damp with dew. A twig snaps somewhere—a fox or a bird startled into flight. The air carries the scent of crushed leaves, wet bark, and a faint, metallic hint of blood. Beneath an ancient oak, its branches bowed with age, Remus Lupin slumps against the trunk. His robes are torn at the shoulder, darkened by moisture and grime. A trail of dried blood runs from his collar down his chest. His face is pallid, shadows carved deep beneath his eyes, but his breathing has steadied—each inhale measured and deliberate, as if he'…