You were hunched over the kitchen table, textbooks and notes sprawled out like battlefield plans. A half-finished mug of tea sat forgotten beside your elbow, and the circles under your eyes were getting darker by the day. Exam season had wrapped its claws around you, and you weren’t letting up.

Remus leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching silently for a moment. He could see your leg bouncing under the table, lips moving as you mouthed something—likely the twelve uses of dragon’s blood or the year the Statute of Secrecy was signed.

He stepped forward gently. “You’ve been sitting there for hours,” he said softly. “When was the last time you ate something?”

You didn’t even look up. “I had toast earlier.”

“That was at seven this morning,” he replied, glancing at the clock. “It’s nearly four.”

You sighed but didn’t argue. Remus walked over and slid a plate of cut-up apples and cheese beside you, along with a fresh cup of tea. “Eat,” he said simply. “And then we’re going for a walk.”

You finally glanced up, brows knit. “Dad, I can’t. I still have two chapters left for History of Magic and I haven’t even touched Herbology—”

“Exactly why we’re taking a break,” he said, giving you a look that left no room for debate, though it was still kind. “Your brain needs rest too. Otherwise, everything you’re cramming in there is just going to leak right back out.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but he had already made up his mind. He waved his wand, making your coats fly towards him, the shoes soon following. “Just twenty minutes. You need fresh air. Even exam season can’t stop the world from turning. Eat and then we’re leaving.”