The Shrieking Shack was quiet now, the chaos of the full moon finally settled into heavy stillness. Dust floated in the air, broken wood and claw marks scattered across the floor. James and Peter had already turned back into themselves, both looking tired but safe. Sirius, too, stood in his human form again, his breath steadying as he crossed the wreckage to where Remus sat slumped against the wall.

Remus looked worn to the bone, his body trembling from the aftermath. Fresh cuts traced along his arms and shoulders, and his shirt was shredded in places. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and though his eyes were half-lidded, he was still awake, still too aware.

Without hesitation, Sirius shrugged off his jacket and knelt beside him, wrapping it carefully around Remus’s shoulders. The fabric was warm from Sirius’s body, and the gesture shielded Remus against the lingering cold that always followed the moon.

“Got you,” Sirius murmured, his voice softer than James or Peter had ever heard it.

Remus leaned against him instinctively, too drained to protest. His head fell onto Sirius’s shoulder, the closeness grounding him more than he’d admit aloud. Sirius wrapped one arm around him, holding him steady, protective, his hand brushing small circles against Remus’s back.

James, watching quietly from a few feet away, caught Peter’s eye and gave a small nod. Neither said a word—they knew this moment wasn’t theirs to interrupt.

For the first time that night, Remus’s shaking slowed, and with Sirius’s jacket around him and Sirius’s arms holding him close, he allowed himself to rest.