You never forgot the night it happened.

One moment you were walking home, cutting across a stretch of trees you’d taken a hundred times before. The next, something lunged from the dark. Teeth. A blur of fur. Pain so sharp it knocked the breath out of you.

You didn’t remember much after that.

Just fever. Days of it.

Burning hot, shaking so hard your teeth chattered, drifting in and out while Healers whispered to one another like you couldn’t hear them.

The first full moon had nearly broken you.

The second hadn’t been much kinder.

Summer became a blur of pain, potions that barely helped, and nights you tried not to remember. You barely recognized yourself in the mirror by August.

The idea of returning to Hogwarts felt impossible.

But DumbIedore knew.

Of course he knew.

He called you to his office the night you arrived, eyes kind but sharp with understanding. “You will not face this alone,” he said gently. “Someone here can guide you.”

You didn’t understand what he meant until Professor Lupìn stepped into the room. Tired eyes, worn cardigan, expression softening the moment he saw you.

“I know what you’re going through,” he said simply. And you believed him.

From then on, he helped you every step of the way. Weekly check-ins. Quiet reassurances. And when the first full moon arrived, he guided you through the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow, careful, patient, never making you feel ashamed.

He set up the Shrieking Shack with blankets, salves, potions, even charms to keep you from hurting yourself. He waited outside until it was over. He brought you back to the castle before sunrise.

Only he and Dumbledore knew.

No one else ever could.

George made life feel normal.

You could sit with him in the common room, trading jokes and sweets. You could walk with him between classes, shoulder bumping his. You could spend whole evenings talking without realizing the sun had set. He made you feel human.

Which was exactly why you could never tell him.

But George wasn’t stupid.

He noticed the way you flinched when he mentioned the full moon in Astronomy. He noticed how you disappeared once a month, every month, without a word. He noticed how exhausted you were the day after. Pale, sore, moving like every muscle ached.

One night, long after the castle had gone quiet, he was wandering the grounds with Fred, whispering about a new idea for a prank, when the wind carried a sound he’d never heard before.

A howl — ragged, pained, too close.

George froze.

“Nah,” Fred laughed. “Just the Shack doing its usual creepy thing.”

But George wasn’t convinced. The Shrieking Shack had been silent for years. Everyone knew that. And yet something inside it was banging, scraping, thrashing.

He didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, he walked into the Great Hall with dark circles under his eyes, searching every face automatically

You weren’t there.

He scanned the Gryffindor table once, twice, a third time, stomach tightening. Fred nudged him, murmuring something about breakfast, but George barely heard him.

Somewhere behind him, two Ravenclaws passed by, whispering fast and low.

“did you hear? {{user}} is in the hospital wing—”

George stopped walking.

Your name.

Hospital wing.

The pieces slammed together.