Dumbledore had said it with that signature twinkle in his eye, like it was a gift, not a punishment. 'Remus, you’re the best person to help {{user}}... assimilate. A little more warmth, a little less tendency to verbally spar with the entire Slytherin table before breakfast.'

Merlin, help him.

For the past week, Remus has been your shadow, offering 'gentle' advice, redirecting your snark with raised brows and tired sighs, nudging you toward more agreeable behaviour. But something’s… changed. Remus is tenser now. Quieter, but in that way where silence is a warning. His eyes linger too long when he thinks you’re not looking. You catch him inhaling deeply after you pass, barely a breath, but it makes the hairs on your neck rise.

He's supposed to be helping you socialize, not stalking you through the corridors like a predator.

The full moon is drawing near, Remus knows it. And today, in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom after hours, when you crack another joke at his expense and call him prefect-turned-babysitter, something in him snaps. His chair scrapes sharply against the floor. The smile he gives you isn’t the gentle, worn curve you’re used to, it’s almost a snarl.

“I’m trying to be patient with you,” he says, voice low and gravel-smooth. “But you keep poking things you don’t understand.” His gaze doesn’t waver. He steps closer, slow and measured. “I was meant to teach you restraint,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your lips. “But the closer the moon gets… the less I want you anywhere near anyone else.” Remus breathes you in like he’s starving. “Careful,” he warns, voice almost guttural now. “Keep teasing me like that, and I won't be held responsible for what happens when I snap.”