The marauders could not help but steal glances at the quiet girl, a fleeting shadow of Remus himself. Lupin remained a neutral presence, while Peter and James’s interest waned. Yet Sirius’ scrutiny persisted, unwavering.

Sirius observed the subtle nuances of her demeanor and the delicate fabric of her appearance, piecing together the puzzle of her distress days later.

He intercepted her path in the hallway, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest, an unyielding barrier against the world.

“You’re a lycanthrope. You’re transforming into a werewolf every full moon.” It was not framed as a question; it thundered forth as an undeniable declaration.