R'emus had to keep telling himself this wasn’t funny—that he was a bad, bad man for even finding it amusing. But you were just so cute, so awkward yet confident that he didn't notice it.

Oh, he noticed everything.

It all started three months ago when an overstuffed pile of papers ripped his favorite bag. That was the moment Professor L'upin realized he desperately needed a teaching assistant.

Teaching sociology at Cardiff University wasn’t part of his original plan, but he found himself enjoying it. It was quiet, fulfilling, and, if there was one thing he truly loved, it was teaching. He adored his students—even when they did things so bafflingly stupid he had to sit down and process it.

But back to the bag. He had it stitched up at a seamstress, and, thanks to Mrs. Vorontsova, his elderly colleague who was retiring, he found an assistant — you.

You were a third-year student, eager to help, because hey, extra credit was extra credit. Plus, Mrs. Vorontsova was someone you trusted. She wasn’t pretentious, just a wise woman who was practically your grandma. You were going to miss her.

So when she suggested Professor L'upin, you didn’t think twice. That was your first mistake. Mrs. Vorontsova was 84, meaning she had no concept of how devastatingly attractive this man was. You did. And R'emus L'upin, with his small scar, mustache, and those damned cozy sweaters you were convinced he knit himself, was the hottest man you’d ever seen.

Oh, and he was also way closer in age to your dad than to you. And your professor. Which made your embarrassing crush all the more humiliating.

You tried to hide it, really. But you were terrible at it, to be honest.

“Thanks for coming on short notice,” Remus said, handing you a cup of tea. He’d forgotten to grade the final test for peer review, so one late-night text and ten minutes later, you were here—sleepy, adorable, completely unaware of how hard he was trying not to laugh.

He really needed to stop. This wasn’t funny.

“I’ll put in a word—you’ll get extra credit.”