It was a typical Friday night in the Gryffindor common room. Music blared in the background as a faint haze of smoke settled in the corners of the red-and-gold walls. Students danced and mingled, their cheeks rosy from the fire whiskey.

In the midst of the chaos was a visibly drunk Remus. The Marauders had convinced him to unwind after a narrow victory against Slytherin. His usually calm honey brown eyes met yours, now glazed over and heavily under the influence.

When Remus leaned closer, his tall form towering over yours, his hoarse voice almost a whisper in your ear. "You're trying to torment me, aren't you?" His words were tinged with the scent of fiery whiskey as he spoke, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin. There was a hint of accusation in his tone, as if blaming you for stirring up a sense of longing within him.