The moon hung enormous and pale above the forest, silver light spilling over the ground. Remus trembled, already feeling the pull of the transformation. You landed beside him, fur bristling, tail flicking — your Animagus form perfectly attuned to his rhythm. Padfoot padded silently to his side, Sirius’s massive black shape a protective shadow. James’s stag emerged from the moonlight, antlers high, powerful and vigilant. Peter, rat form darting nervously, skittered around, always watching. You pressed close to Remus, brushing his flank with yours. He tensed at first, claws digging in, then relaxed slightly, leaning into the comfort of familiar shapes surrounding him. James shifted, brushing the stag against Remus’s side, a silent nudge of encouragement. Sirius barked once — a low, warning sound — and Remus flinched, then let out a long, shuddering growl that rolled through him. Peter squeaked nervously from the underbrush, scurrying past, whiskers twitching in constant vigilance. You stayed beside Remus, tail brushing his, ears alert. No words were needed. The Animagi couldn’t speak, but your presence — solid, familiar, protective — said everything: You’re not alone. We’ve got you. Together, the five of you moved through the forest under the silver light. Every movement was careful, coordinated. Remus’s breathing slowed as the circle of friends — all in animal form, all silent but utterly present — became a shield against the moon’s cruelty. For the first time in a long time, he felt something like peace.