delicate

The classroom buzzed with the kind of energy unique to the start of a new term, as you addressed your 4th-year Magical Theory class. It was your fourth class of the day, and though you were already anticipating your next break, the vibrant spirit of the Hogwarts students kept you going. They brought to the classroom an eagerness and a curiosity that was refreshing, contrasting the more reserved atmosphere you were accustomed to at Beauxbatons.

"The fundamental principles of magical theory," you began, weaving through your lecture, "are not merely about understanding how magic works but why it works on a conceptual level. It's the 'why' that often reveals the most about our magical identities and the world around us." 

Your words flowed seamlessly, punctuated by your own reflections on the lesson's importance. It was in these moments, between the theories and principles, that you caught glimpses of your students' personalities—each question and comment reflecting the diversity Remus had spoken of.

However, Minerva, seemed to ensure that this spirit never crossed the line into chaos. You had been observing her presence in the corridors between classes, showing a constant reminder of the balance between freedom and discipline, her keen eyes missing nothing. Yet, within the structure she so meticulously upheld, the students seemed to thrive.

"...and so, understanding the historical context of these magical concepts is crucial," you continued, your thoughts momentarily drifting to the variety of faces before you. Each student, regardless of their house, brought a distinct perspective to the discussion, challenging and enriching the conversation in ways that were wholly unexpected for the first day of class.

Remus was right about the diversity here. Despite the sorting into houses, each student at Hogwarts seemed to embody a unique blend of qualities and traits that defied simple categorization. At Beauxbatons, the distinctions between students often felt subtle, differences primarily shaped by the houses they belonged to. But here, at Hogwarts, those lines blurred and intersected in fascinating ways.

"...and that's how the intricacies of non-verbal spells not only challenge the wizard's mental strength but also deepen their connection to their own magical core," you explained to the class, wrapping up a deep dive into a particularly complex topic. 

As you concluded the class, the familiar, resonant sound of the Hogwarts bell filled the air, signaling the end of the period. The students began gathering their things, their voices mingling in excited chatter as they prepared to leave. You offered them a warm "Thank you for a great day," genuinely pleased with the day's classes.

That's when you noticed a familiar face at the doorway—Remus Lupin. He stepped aside, allowing the students to pass, then made his way towards you with a casual ease. You tried your best to hide your instant smile as students began filtering out, their chatter filling the air while their curious glances lingered on Remus, noting his presence with interest.

"You know, I've heard all about your class today," he remarked, "and it's only the fourth period of the day."

You smiled, a bit surprised by his comment, and with a flick of your wand, began to clear the chalkboard, preparing it for the next class. "Oh, really? And what have you heard about my class?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, by all accounts, it seems your class was far from being a bore; I'd venture to say you've quite aced your first day at Hogwarts," Remus remarked, his voice tinged with light-hearted playfulness. 

You couldn't help but laugh a little at that. "I guess I have," you admitted. "I've heard a bit about your class too."

Remus raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his expression as he leaned against one of the desks, arms crossed. "And what have you heard?" he inquired.

"I heard that you're the 'most competent DADA professor' these kids have ever seen," you shared, a slight tease in your voice.

"Well, the bar is pretty low there," Remus replied with a wry smile.

"Huh?" you asked, puzzled.

Remus chuckled, then elaborated with a touch of humor, "Well, the last one was self-obsessed, and the one before that was possessed by Voldemort, so..."

Your eyes widened slightly, and your mouth opened in a mix of shock and amusement at the stark, somewhat absurd reality of Hogwarts' recent history. Finally, you managed to say, "So… I guess you also aced your first day teaching at Hogwarts."

Remus suggested a walk around the castle, a proper tour this time, given that the furthest you both ventured the previous night was a seemingly aimless circle around the vicinity of the Great Hall and the corridors leading towards, but never quite reaching, the faculty tower. With a swift gesture, your wand danced in the air, leaving behind a trail of neatly written notes on the board for your next class before you pocketed it and joined him.

"You're really diving into course material on day one, aren't you?" Remus remarked, nodding towards the board filled with magical theories.

"Of course," you replied with a hint of pride in your voice. "Magical Theory is a very complex subject for these kids, and laying the right foundation each year is crucial."

He nodded, an impressed look in his eyes that you found rather endearing. 

"And what's your plan for Defense Against the Dark Arts then?" you asked, curious about his approach to the subject notorious for its… revolving door of professors that left you wondering.

As you both started walking, the halls began to empty. Remus led the way outside, the crisp air of the late afternoon greeting you as you stepped into the open. "The same as you, more or less. The basics, revisiting some fundamental defensive spells," he began, his voice carrying a thoughtful tone. "Especially considering their last two years of education. And then next week, dive into Boggarts. It's important they learn not just to defend themselves against the dark arts but to face their fears directly."

"A Boggart, huh? Planning on scaring them to pieces on week two? That should set the tone for the year," you joked, your voice light with amusement. 

He chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. "Well, I figure it's better if they learn early. Plus, it's a practical way to see where they stand with their fears. Makes the rest of the term's work more... personalized."

“Huh,” you paused, considering his approach, the gears turning as you connected the dots. "So, uncover their fears at the outset, confront them head-on, and then arm them with the knowledge and skills to face the dark arts with confidence.” 

He nods. “Using their initial confrontations as a stepping stone to build resilience and mastery over their own anxieties.”

“It’s... quite profound, when you think about it."

Remus's grin widened, a spark of appreciation in his eyes for your insight. "Compliment, accepted." he teased, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction.

Before you knew it, Remus had guided you onto the bridge at Hogwarts—the very bridge that seemed to straddle the line between the castle's storied past and the vast, untamed wilderness of the grounds. 

As the setting sun cast a golden glow over the scene, bathing the castle in a light that seemed to pull the ancient stone structures from the realm of legend into vivid reality, he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, turning you to face the castle from a new angle.

"I figure you haven't had the chance to see the castle in all its glory since you've been here," he said, prompting you to lean slightly over the bridge's edge for a better view.

And there it was: Hogwarts, in all its majestic and undisciplined beauty, sprawling before you. "Wow," was all you could manage, the sight drawing out a sense of wonder you hadn't realized you'd been harboring.

"You know, Beauxbatons didn't look anything like this," you found yourself saying, almost wistfully.

"And what was that like?" Remus asked, his interest evident in his tone, the genuine attention he paid to your thoughts and responses making you appreciate the unexpected connection forming between you.

"Beauxbatons was... all grandeur and elegance, but none of the personality. Meticulously landscaped gardens and structures that seemed to defy gravity itself, gorgeous, but lacking a certain character. Everything was so harmonious, so... curated," you explained, trying to paint a picture of your alma mater's ethereal beauty.

“Heaven on earth?” 

You laughed lightly at that description. “Something like that.” 

"I imagine Hogwarts must seem quite rugged in comparison to that," he teased, a playful glint in his eye.

"No, not at all! I love it here; it's… charming," you insisted, only to see Remus's amusement deepen at your choice of words.

"Charming, you say?" he echoed, the teasing note in his voice making you more determined to explain.

"No, really, I mean it. Even the students here have so much spirit and individuality. It's refreshing," you elaborated, turning your defense of Hogwarts into genuine praise.

Remus chuckled softly, his tone warm with amusement. "So, Beauxbatons—this uniform, pristine castle in the clouds, filled with… mindless students who might as well have been cast from the same mold? Can't say that's drawing me to visit anytime soon," he quipped, his words laced with a light-hearted sarcasm that invited a smile.

"Hey, I was one of those 'mindless' students," you retorted playfully, gently pushing his arm that rested next to yours on the handrail of the bridge. The mock indignation in your voice only added to the lightness of the moment.

"It's not that bad, I swear! Our students were sorted into houses too, but more so for organization, I feel like. The culture there was just different. Here, you have houses that stand for different values, but the students within them are all so varied. It's fascinating," you admitted, your earlier mock offense giving way to genuine reflection. Standing there on the bridge, with the vastness of Hogwarts spread out before you, you found yourself increasingly captivated by the school.

After a brief pause, curiosity sparkled in your eyes as you turned to him, enthusiasm coloring your voice. "What house were you in as a student?"

Remus, with a playful tilt to his smile, challenged back, "What house do you think I was in?"

Taking the bait, you gave him a once-over, your eyes leisurely roaming over him under the guise of thoughtful consideration. In truth, you were seizing the moment to take a closer look at the man beside you. 

"Well... I'm aware of the general values of each house. However, it seems there are certain... let's say, insights, my students filled me in on today," you ventured, your words carefully chosen.

"Oh? Complex Magical Theory coupled with a little gossip, today?" Remus quipped, his expression a blend of amusement and mock surprise.

"Hey, I've got to catch up on the... cultural insights," you retorted with a grin, playing along with his gentle teasing.

"Fair point," he conceded, his gaze holding a flicker of respect for your clever retort.

"Well, for one, I don't think you were a Slytherin," you stated confidently, proud of your deductive skills.

An eyebrow arched inquisitively, Remus's face was a canvas of curiosity and amusement. You both knew that him not being a Slytherin was quite obvious, but he invited you to continue.

"You did say you were very curious... maybe a Ravenclaw?" you pondered aloud, then hesitated, "but you also mentioned you're quite... mischievous."

"Yes, the fundamental values of our houses include mischief, of course," he joked, his tone light.

"Stop it," you laughed, brushing off his jest. Taking a moment, you finally declared, "You're a Gryffindor, aren't you? Facing fears head-on, encouraging bravery from day one in your class."

His smile widened slightly, a soft acknowledgment of your accuracy. "Yes, you're right," he confirmed, his voice tinged with pride.

Your excitement at guessing correctly bubbled over, a giddy feeling warming you from the inside out. Remus watched you with an appreciative and thoughtful gaze, a silent exchange of mutual admiration passing between you.

Then, gently steering the conversation, he asked, "And what house do you think you'd be in?"

"I don't know," you mused, the question sparking a new curiosity within you. "That's a great question."

Just then, the distant sound of the bell broke the comfortable silence, signaling the end of the break. Remus nodded towards the castle, and together you walked back, side by side, the conversation and company leaving a lingering warmth as you eventually split off to your respective classrooms.

You spent the rest of your day thinking about your colleague. His company, the gentle cadence of his voice as he shared anecdotes from his own experiences with Boggarts and his travels, and the genuine attention he paid to your thoughts and responses made you appreciate the unexpected connection forming between you. He had a way of making you feel seen and heard.

It had been barely two days, yet the intrigue and burgeoning crush you felt were undeniable. There was something about him—his kindness, his wit, and the way he engaged with the world—that was captivating. 

The more you learned about him, the more you wanted to know, each detail adding layers to the mental portrait you were painting of Remus Lupin.

In the quiet confines of Dumbledore's office, surrounded by the whispering of ancient artifacts and the steady gaze of the portraits of headmasters past, Remus Lupin found himself deep in conversation with the headmaster. The topic at hand was grave, the recent escape of Sirius Black casting a long shadow over the start of the term, particularly the dementor attack on the train the evening prior. 

"The air is changing, Dumbledore," Remus remarked, his voice carrying a weight of unease. He felt it, a shift in the winds of the wizarding world, a harbinger of turmoil to come. The presence of the dementors at the gates of Hogwarts was a testament to that change, a stark reminder of the darkness encroaching upon their safe haven. This was not the Hogwarts he remembered. 

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes, which usually danced with an amalgam of wisdom and playful mischief, now mirrored a deeper, more reflective seriousness. "Indeed, the atmosphere within our world shifts, Remus," Dumbledore began, his voice embodying the tranquil yet firm resonance characteristic of his guidance. 

"The events of the past two years speak volumes, do they not? I surmise this influenced your decision to return to our hallowed halls." His gaze met Remus's, conveying an understanding that transcended words. "Your role here extends beyond the imparting of knowledge to young minds. It is also to offer a shield, a safeguard for James' son, amidst these turbulent tides. Is that not so?" 

The question, though rhetorical, held the weight of the world they were navigating—a world teetering on the brink of change, demanding courage and vigilance from its guardians.

Remus felt the weight of Dumbledore's words settle over him, reinforcing the purpose behind his return to Hogwarts. It wasn't merely a matter of employment or an opportunity to educate; it was a calling, a duty to stand as a guardian. "Yes, you're right. Exactly," he affirmed, his resolve strengthening with the acknowledgment.

On the journey aboard the Hogwarts Express the night prior, Remus found himself ensnared by a whirlpool of memories, both bitter and sweet. The sight of Harry Potter, James' son, had been a reminder of the past—a living amalgamation of James's daring grin and Lily's kind eyes. The resemblance was uncanny, bridging generations and bringing to the forefront the weight of legacy and loss that Remus carried within him.

Then, of course, there was their friend, Sirius Black. The man was enshrouded in betrayal and sorrow. Sirius, once considered a brother in all but blood, now bore the infamy of a mass murderer, accused of betraying their friends James and Lily to Voldemort and leading to their ultimate demise. 

The stark contrast between the Sirius he knew and the one portrayed by the wizarding world was a chasm Remus struggled to navigate. The revelation had sent him spiraling, dredging up the pain of a loss so profound it seemed to echo through the empty chambers of his heart.

In a matter of moments, or so it felt, Remus had lost all of his close friends. James and Lily were gone; Sirius had been condemned to the dementor-guarded depths of Azkaban, a fate Remus could scarcely comprehend for the man he once knew; and Peter, the last piece of the puzzle, had been blown to pieces, leaving nothing but a finger behind—a grim reminder of the cost of their war.

This cascade of loss and betrayal had left Remus adrift, grappling with the remnants of a life that once was. The joy and camaraderie of his youth, once as vivid as a flame, now felt like distant echoes in a fog of grief. Standing on the cusp of a new term at Hogwarts, amidst the innocence and curiosity of his students, Remus couldn't help but feel the shadows of the past clinging to him, a silent testament to the friends he loved and lost. 

Yet, in his role as a professor, and as a protector of James' son, Remus found a new purpose, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness—a chance to honor their memory by guiding the next generation through the challenges of an uncertain world.

Just as the weight of his reflections began to feel overwhelming, a knock at the door momentarily lifted Remus from his reverie. Dumbledore, with a nod, permitted the visitor to enter—it was Snape. 

"Are we ready, Headmaster?" Snape inquired, his voice carrying its usual edge of impatience.

"Yes, Severus, thank you," Dumbledore responded, turning back to Remus with a gentle expression. "I'm afraid I must cut our meeting short. A student has found themselves on the wrong end of a creature's temperament in class today—a most unfortunate incident."

Remus's expression flickered to one of shock, a brief interruption in his contemplative state, before settling into an understanding nod. 

As Dumbledore rose, poised to address the situation with the gravitas it required, he paused, offering Remus a moment more of his time. "Before you depart, Remus, might I suggest you a Lemon Drop? They have a remarkable way of brightening the day," Dumbledore gestured to the bowl sitting on a side table, before turning for the door.

With a smirk, Remus watched the old man leave; through all of the earth shattering changes in his life, Dumbledore's enduring presence was a constant. 

He watched as the two men departed, Snape sending a dramatic sneer in his direction. Remus couldn't help but think, some things never really do change. But that was a regret to be saved for later. 

Circling around the table of Lemon Drops, Remus let out a short, amused snort, the kind that's more an acknowledgment of the whimsy in Dumbledore's consistent fondness for the candies than anything else. His gaze wandered around the office, a place that held layers of his life within its walls—layers of joy, pain, triumph, and tragedy.

The office was a tapestry of his past, woven with vivid memories. There were the uplifting moments as a prefect, where Dumbledore had entrusted him with the responsibility of keeping his friends in check (though Remus never could.) As well, the support Dumbledore had shown him, ensuring that his condition did not deter him from receiving a quality education. But amid these warm recollections were shadows, too—the harrowing nights in the Shrieking Shack, and a memory that bore the marks of a prank teetering on the edge of disaster.

The adventures, the challenges, and the unbreakable bonds formed with James, Sirius, and Peter, who went to extraordinary lengths to ensure he was never alone during his darkest times, were treasures of his heart. 

His attention eventually settled on the Sorting Hat, resting innocuously on its shelf. He remembered the weight of it on his head, the nervous anticipation, and then the rush of joy as "Gryffindor!" was announced, sealing his fate and introducing him to the people who would become more than friends—they would become his family. 

Remus couldn't help but reflect on the moment you had eagerly attempted to deduce his Hogwarts house. The spark in your eyes, the keen interest with which you pieced together clues, painted a picture of genuine enthusiasm—a rarity that Remus found himself increasingly drawn to. Watching you guess Gryffindor, he saw not just the triumph of a correct guess but the unfolding of joy over something so simple, so natural to the rest of the school. 

In truth, had you guessed any other house, he might have been tempted to affirm your guess, just to witness a little longer the bright animation that your excitement brought to your features. It was a selfish indulgence, perhaps, but one he found surprisingly easy to justify. 

The way your face lit up, the eager anticipation for his confirmation, offered him a glimpse into a side of you that was refreshingly open, unguarded in your delight. 

In that moment, Remus realized the extent of his admiration for you, not just for your intellect or your spirit, but for the sheer vibrancy you brought into his world—a world that had, for too long, been tempered by caution and shadows. The possibility of reveling in that light, even momentarily, was a temptation he found himself unwilling to resist.

As his fingers traced the shelf beneath the Sorting Hat, Remus's gaze drifted to the floor, lost in thought. Then, as subtly as the flicker of a candle, a smirk played across his lips—an inkling of an idea taking root, its possibilities as intriguing as they were undefined.

"What are we doing!" you gasped, the corridors of Hogwarts blurring past as laughter bubbled between you both. Despite your playful protest, your smile was infectious, lighting up the dim passages with a glow that rivaled the enchantment of the castle itself. 

Remus couldn't help but grin back, feeling a rare, unburdened joy. "Shhh," he whispered, the thrill of the little escapade making his heart race, "you're going to get us caught."

Your eyes sparkled as you teased, "Wow, two days back at Hogwarts and you're already back to your old tricks?" The playful challenge in your tone was impossible for Remus to resist.

He shot you a conspiratorial glance, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a sly smile. "You have no idea," he said, his voice a mix of nostalgia and excitement for the unexpected adventure they found themselves on.

But you did have an idea. Just a few conversations deep, and already it seemed like you knew him, saw him for who he truly was though you barely knew each other. It hinted at a deeper understanding, an intuitive grasp of his nature that he hadn't expected to find so quickly. 

This recognition, wrapped in the playful banter of two adults momentarily casting aside the weight of their roles, was its own kind of magic. Though the entirety of his story remained veiled in shadows, parts of him felt astonishingly connected to you. 

It was rare that he ever allowed himself this type of joy, for typically, such happiness brought with it a burden of nostalgia for what once was—a poignant reminder of his childhood and the friendships that defined his youth. 

This joy, however, was a double-edged sword, as it also ushered in a reminder of what couldn't be, due to his condition. The very real reality that he could hurt others lingered in the back of his mind, a shadow that trailed closely behind the light of his happiest moments.

But he wasn't thinking about this. His focus was entirely on you—your slight nervousness masked by a willingness to dive into the unknown with him, to trust him with your anticipation and excitement for whatever surprise he had planned. This willingness of yours, to embrace the unexpected with such openness, touched something deep within Remus.

It was as if, for now, the shadows receded, allowing him to bask fully in the warmth of the present, a present where his condition didn't dictate the limits of his happiness. Your presence, your laughter, the way your eyes lit up in curiosity and joy—these were the things that filled his vision, pushing aside, even if just temporarily, the usual cautions and fears that came with being who he was.

As the two of you approached the gargoyle, Remus leaned in close, the word "Lemon Drop" barely a breath from his lips. The passphrase, a nod to Dumbledore's well-documented love for the sweets, seemed almost comically appropriate and far too easy of a guess. 

He stole a quick glance around, ensuring his little conspiracy remained yours alone. The staircase unfurled with a grace that belied its stony appearance, and Remus couldn't suppress the smirk that danced on his lips at your evident bewilderment.

Leading you up the stairs, every step was a step further away from the heavy cloak of his past, the memories that clung like shadows. Opening the door to Dumbledore's office, the room greeted them with its familiar, comforting chaos—a sanctuary of sorts.

"Remus, what are we doing in here? Are we even supposed to be here right now?" Your voice, a delightful mix of wonder and worry, filled the room, making it seem less empty. 

Watching you catch your breath, your chest rising and falling with a rhythm that echoed his own quickened heartbeat, Remus found an unexpected peace.

Approaching the Sorting Hat, he couldn't resist running his fingers along its age-worn brim, greeting it like an old comrade. "Hello, old friend," he murmured, and it responded with a warmth that radiated recognition.

Turning to face you, the hat in hand, the words came naturally. "Since you never had your own Hogwarts sorting ceremony, I figured we'd have one right now." The shock and hesitation that flickered across your face were endearing beyond words. It was a vulnerability, a shared secret that drew him closer to you.

"Why am I so nervous right now?" you whispered, leaning for support against the grand desk that had seen centuries of history unfold. Observing you in this moment of genuine human emotion, Remus was struck by the beauty of your spontaneity, your willingness to embrace this playful digression from the norm.

"It's fine, honestly. A rite of passage, I suppose," he reassured you, his voice a steady presence in the vast room. The air between you was charged with an electric current of anticipation, of two souls momentarily untethered from the weight of their roles within these ancient walls.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice soft, watching as you took a deep breath, gathering the threads of your resolve. 

"Okay, I'm ready," you affirmed. As Remus stood before you with the Sorting Hat, he saw not just the person you were but the myriad possibilities of who you might become.

This was his escape, a shared reprieve from the realities that awaited beyond the office door. For now, in the playful shadows of his makeshift ceremony, you were just two souls, finding joy in the simple act of being alive, together.

Remus couldn't help but smile down at you, a tender amusement lighting up his eyes as he watched you close yours in a mix of anticipation and apprehension. Gently, he placed the Sorting Hat atop your head, its brim comically oversized for the moment. 

The sight was undeniably adorable, a grown woman partaking in the ritual usually reserved for eleven-year-olds, yet there was an innocence to it that charmed him deeply.

Before he could get lost further in his thoughts, the Sorting Hat's voice broke through, its tone laced with mirth. "Well, this is highly unusual, isn't it? An adult being sorted! Haven't had one of those in... Well, I can't say I've ever had one before!"

Remus chuckled at the Hat's observation, the sound warm in the quiet of Dumbledore's office. "Hmmm, very curious indeed," the Hat mused aloud, seemingly intrigued by the novelty of the situation.

Underneath the oversized hat, you looked up at Remus, the gesture endearing and just a tad bit ridiculous, yet utterly adorable. In that moment, Remus offered you a reassuring smile, a brief squeeze of his eyes before opening them quickly—an intimate, comforting signal that seemed to bridge any distance between you.

You regarded him for a second, intrigued by the simple yet profound gesture. It was something wholly natural for Remus, a small act of affection his mother used to share with him, now unconsciously passed on to you in this shared moment. 

The action, small as it was, was his offering a glimpse into the warmth and kindness that he held within him.

The Sorting Hat, after a moment of ponderous silence that seemed to stretch on, finally proclaimed, "Well, better late than never, for some of us... Gryffindor!" The declaration echoed softly in Dumbledore's office, yet it might as well have been shouted from the rooftops for the effect it seemed to have on you.

Your reaction, an outpouring of genuine happiness, seemed to light up the entire room, infusing it with a vibrancy that was palpable. Remus couldn't help but be swept up in the moment, his laughter mingling with yours.

There was something incredibly touching about this version of you, a stark contrast to the more composed, somewhat reserved demeanor you had displayed over the past two days. This moment of unguarded enthusiasm offered Remus a glimpse into a different facet of your personality—vivacious, yet layered with an undertone of seeking belonging. 

He understood, undoubtedly more than you realized, the feelings of being an outsider, of longing for a place within the storied walls of Hogwarts. Your descriptions of Beauxbatons, the differences in culture and tradition, it was all there.

Carefully, he lifted the Sorting Hat from your head, his movements deliberate, as if preserving the magic of the moment. Placing it back on its shelf, he turned to you, his eyes still shining with shared joy. "How do you feel?" he inquired, the simplicity of the question belying the depth of his interest.

"That was so cool," you replied, the wonder and thrill of the experience evident in your voice. "I can't believe it—I’m a Gryffindor?" Your excitement was palpable, the energy radiating from you like a beacon as you were nearly bouncing on your feet. “Like you.” 

"You'll make a great Gryffindor," Remus said, his affirmation not just a statement of fact but a welcoming embrace into the community. It was his way of offering you a warmer, more personal welcome to the school, and perhaps inadvertently, into a corner of his heart.

The gratitude that welled up within you spilled over in the form of a spontaneous hug, your arms wrapping around Remus's neck with such enthusiasm that it nearly sent him teetering backwards. The surprise of the gesture, the sudden closeness, was a jolt to his system—a delightful shock that painted a broad smile across his face. 

"Welcome to Hogwarts," he managed, his voice steady yet filled with a warmth that echoed the sincerity of the embrace. He hesitated for just a moment, still taken aback by the embrace, before his arms wrapped around you as well, returning the hug with a gentle firmness.

For Remus, feeling your excitement, your joy, and the sheer vitality of your presence, was a revelation. Here was someone who, beneath the calm and confident exterior, harbored a zest for life and an ability to find wonder in the magical, the extraordinary.

As you finally stepped back, the smile on your face a mirror to his own, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of a shared experience, a moment that transcended the ordinary. It was a welcome, not just to Hogwarts but to a new chapter, one that both of you were now intricately a part of.