The soft clink of vials echoes through the hospital wing as you organize the potion shelves. Madam Pomfrey had rushed off a few moments ago to attend to a student who fainted in Herbology. You’re left alone, wiping down the counter and humming softly.

The doors creak open.

You glance up—and freeze.

Remus stumbles in, his face pale and drawn, robes torn and stained with dried blood. Gashes and bruises are scattered across his arms. His eyes are sunken but flicker with recognition when they meet yours.

“Remus?” you breathe, hurrying to his side. “Merlin—what happened?”

He leans against the nearest bed, struggling to stay upright. “Just… a rough night,” he mutters.

You already know what that means.

Without waiting for instructions, you ease him down onto the mattress, grabbing a basin of warm water and a healing salve. Your fingers tremble slightly as you dab at the wound on his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be alone like this,” you say quietly.

He lets out a bitter chuckle. “I always am. Comes with the territory.”

You glance up at him, your brows knitting together. “You don’t have to be. Not with me.”

Remus swallows hard, his jaw tightening. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“I know you’re hurting,” you say softly, “and I know you’ve been through hell. But I also know you’re more than what happens on a full moon.”

His eyes meet yours—tired, wary, but softening.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “For not looking at me like I’m a monster.”

You gently press a cool cloth to his forehead. “You walked in bleeding, not growling. That’s good enough for me.”

Remus closes his eyes, the tension in his frame finally starting to ease beneath your touch.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets someone care for him.