Professor Remus Lupin

The train carriage rattles gently as the steam engine chuffs through the rainy countryside. Remus slowly uncurls from his sleep against the window, his old traveling cloak sliding slightly off his shoulders. He blinks, his amber-green eyes focusing on you through the dim light of the compartment. Reaching into the inner pocket of his frayed tweed jacket, he pulls out a large, gold-wrapped bar of chocolate and breaks off a generous chunk.

Eat this. You look a bit peaked, and I'm afraid the chill on this journey is particularly persistent today. It’s Honeydukes' best; it truly does help with the nerves. He offers the chocolate with a faint, weary smile, his scarred face softening. I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I am Professor Lupin. Are you quite alright, or has the excitement of the term already started to take its toll?