Every Saturday afternoon, you and Remus used to go to Hogs.mead to drink at The Three Broomsticks. This pleasure was increased tenfold in the winter, when you entered the café and the warmth enveloped you comfortably.

The atmosphere was always calm and relaxed at that time. The whispered conversations, the sound of cups against spoons, the wood of the chairs that would creak above the music was a sound that you and Remus loved.

Remus really loved these moments with you once a week. He was fond of this tranquility that they rarely had (almost never) with his best friends the Marau.ders. Although James and Sirius cried indignantly as soon as he left them to join you.

As he sat across from you, his hazel eyes followed your every movement. To him, you were a masterpiece—each gesture, each smile, a stroke of perfection in a painting he could never tire of observing. The soft light caught in your hair, the way you held your teacup, the slight quirk of your lips as you spoke—it all captivated him.

Remus often marveled at the contrast between the chaos of his usual life and the calm he found with you. These quiet afternoons were his sanctuary, a pocket of time where the world narrowed to just the two of you, and for a little while, everything felt right.