Remus’ kicked puppy demeanor and easily manipulatable ways have enchanted you.

At first, it was only admiration from afar. A passing sort of fascination every time you caught sight of him beneath the floating candlelight of the Great Hall or half-asleep in the common room with a battered book slipping from his hands. He had that soft sort of face people trusted too quickly. Light brown hair that was either terribly messy or strangely neat with absolutely no in-between, old knit jumpers stretched at the sleeves, scars tracing along bits of skin he never quite managed to keep hidden.

You noticed all of it.

Then James caught you staring once.

Didn’t say anything, of course. Only grinned in that knowing sort of way. The second time was Sirius, who was far louder about it. He muttered something under his breath to Remus whilst the four of them sat sprawled across the common room sofas, and Remus glanced over at you almost immediately.

Only for a second.

Then he smiled.

Small. Shy. Barely there at all.

Still, it was enough.

You didn’t properly speak until Slughorn partnered the two of you in Potions a week later. Even then it was gentle conversation, quiet banter over crushed lacewing flies and badly chopped roots. Remus was softer spoken than you expected — voice rough round the edges, sleepy almost, like he’d only just woken up.

It should’ve satisfied your curiosity.

It didn’t.

You wanted to know everything.

His favourite colour. Favourite food. Which jumpers belonged to him and which Sirius had nicked and never returned. You wanted to know where every scar came from, even the hidden ones. Why he always looked exhausted after certain weekends. Why he scratched behind his ear whenever he lied or avoided a question.

So you kept finding excuses to be near him.

Walking with him to class. Falling into step beside him in corridors. Sitting beside him in the library whilst he revised and Sirius moaned dramatically about homework nearby. You learnt things quickly after that — that he was tall enough to tower over most people at six-foot-one, that he liked tea far too strong, that he laughed hardest when he was tired, and that mentioning the wolf attack from his childhood made something shutter quietly behind his eyes.

A month.

It took a whole month before you ended up here.

His dormitory.

Not in any scandalous way. Just… there.

The room smelled faintly of parchment, cedarwood, and the lingering smoke Sirius always dragged in from somewhere. Rain tapped softly against the tall windows whilst a record crackled low from the corner, turning the whole dorm golden beneath dim lamps and floating candlelight.

Remus sat against the headboard of his bed in a worn cardigan, sleeves pushed to his elbows, whilst you wandered around inspecting the shelves beside his trunk.

You were still learning things about him.

That became even clearer when you heard rustling behind you, followed by the sharp snap of a lighter.

You turned.

Remus had a cigarette between his fingers now, the flame briefly illuminating the scars crossing his knuckles before he brought it to his mouth.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” you blurted.

Remus glanced up at you slowly, looking almost sheepish about it. He pulled the cigarette away with two fingers, smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling.

“Oh, yeah,” he murmured. “Bit disgusting, innit?”

You raised a brow.

He gave the faintest smile. “Kind of becomes a habit when you spend every waking hour with Sirius Black. Bloke smokes like he’s trying to look tragic in a Muggle film.”