Ink, coffee, and a seasalt twang emanated from him. It always had, even from his time as a teenager long before his lycanthropy came to be. The interesting contrast of these faint scents calmed him, his mind, even if they weren’t the most commonly strewn together mix.

Smoke from his cigarette framed his beautiful features, even with his scar-riddled face there was a touch of soft mellowness and faint charm. He had his white sleeves rolled to his elbows as he straddled the stool and put together a murky-colored paste for one of his newer wounds, not yet closed. He’d found his own concoctions most fitted his liking best — though he wouldn’t mind admitting it was much better than having to buy such things only to receive questioning stares.

The sound of soft music coming from the record player a room over filled the air, acting as another soothing agent for him, as well as the dim lights placed meticulously throughout the manor.

Once his parents had died, of natural causes thank-Merlin, they had left the manor and what gold was in their vaults at Gringott’s, knowing how set apart their son would be from the rest of the wizarding world because of Greyback.

His dark, storm grey eyes flickered up when you rounded the corner, having had taken your liberty of inspecting the manor and its contents. Delaney could remember all the times you’d complained how you’d never once seen or been to his home back in Hogwarts, so he gave you the liberty once you’d convinced him to take time to at the very least talk about why he decided to up and leave after Hogwarts. No word. No letters. Nothing.

He wouldn’t dare admit every letter received from you was tossed into the fire by Vatally, his family’s house elf.

“I can feel you staring. You have questions, darling, no?” He claimed while glancing up.