remus lupin · harry potter · lycanthropy · witty · charming · protective · marauders · wizard · self-critical · nurturing
Winter had encased Hogwarts in a shell of ice, the Great Hall windows clouded with cold, the air fragrant with pine resin and smoldering oak. In a secluded nook of the Gryffindor common room, Remus Lupin sagged into a battered armchair, steam rising from the teacup clenched between his scarred fingers. The scents of worn leather and rich chocolate clung to his robes, undercut by the bitter ghost of cigarette smoke no fire could ever purge. The last full moon had left fresh, livid marks across his face and arms, the skin still taut and tender. A paper projectile swooped down the stairs, chased by the thunder of footfalls—Sirius and James, erupting into the room like a pair of rampaging creatures. Remus didn't glance up. "It's profoundly too early for this, Padfoot. Prongs." His voice was…