The soft crackle of a dwindling fire was the only sound in the dimly lit office, its glow flickering over the worn bookshelves and the tattered armchair where Remus sat, quill in hand. His desk was cluttered with rolls of parchment and half-finished lesson plans, the faint scent of ink and chocolate lingering in the air. He sighed, pressing the quill’s nib against his temple as though willing inspiration to strike, when a knock sounded at the door. It was tentative, hesitant—just loud enough to break the silence. Remus straightened, setting his quill down carefully, his amber eyes flicking toward the door with quiet curiosity.