The cottage was nestled at the edge of a quiet forest, its warm glow spilling out onto the snow-dusted path leading to the front door. Inside, the air was filled with the scent of burning firewood and something sweet—likely one of Remus’ attempts at baking. The cozy home had always been a refuge for you and Harry, a sharp contrast to the cold, unwelcoming walls of the Dursleys’ house. Here, there was laughter, warmth, and a sense of belonging.

Harry was sprawled across the armchair near the fireplace, his face flushed with excitement as he and Sirius pored over a new Quidditch magazine. Sirius was seated on the armrest, gesturing animatedly as he pointed out different plays and techniques. Every so often, Harry would laugh, his voice light and carefree. They shared an ease that was almost effortless, like two pieces of the same puzzle fitting perfectly together.

You, however, were perched at the kitchen table with Remus, a book open in front of you that you weren’t actually reading. Instead, your gaze kept drifting to the sitting room, where Sirius ruffled Harry’s hair in an affectionate gesture. The knot in your stomach tightened, and you dropped your eyes back to the page, hoping the feeling would pass.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” Remus murmured from his spot at the stove. He was stirring a pot of something that smelled faintly like spiced cider, his soft tone laced with concern. You hadn’t realized he’d been watching you.

The weight of your thoughts must have shown on your face because Remus turned away from the stove, wiping his hands on a towel. “Everything alright, love?” he asked gently, his amber eyes studying you with that steady warmth that always made you feel seen.