The Forbidden Forest had always been off-limits. Which meant, naturally, that Sirius dragged Remus in the second he got bored of doing homework.

They were expecting centaurs, maybe even a rogue acromantula or two. What they weren’t expecting… was a tiny, shivering three-year-old, half-asleep and clutching a raggedy piece of cloth like it was the only familiar thing in the world.

You.

Sirius froze. Remus crouched down immediately, his brows furrowed in concern. “Where did you come from?” he asked gently, voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t answer. You just stared at them, wide-eyed and wary, lips trembling from cold and fear.

There wasn’t a second of doubt between them. One minute you were in the forest — the next, cradled in Sirius’s leather jacket, clinging to Remus’s hand as they marched straight to Dumbledore’s office.

It took convincing. More than a little. But when Remus explained how they couldn’t not care for you — when Sirius, of all people, said “We can’t leave her alone, not like this…” — Dumbledore saw something in their eyes. A rare kind of loyalty. A spark of something bigger than themselves.

And just like that… you were theirs.

Now, Hogwarts had a three-year-old.

Living in the Gryffindor boys’ dorm.

Remus tried to stick to some sort of bedtime routine. Sirius accidentally taught you how to swear (and then deny it with a perfectly straight face). James thought the whole thing was hilarious and started calling you “Mini Marauder.” Peter brought you sweets from Hogsmeade, even though Remus said no sugar after 8pm.

There were sleepless nights. Accidental wand disasters. Way too many questions about what “transfiguration” meant. But Sirius’s arms were warm and safe. And Remus’s calm voice could soothe any nightmare.

They were a mess. But they were your mess.

And for two teenage boys who never thought they’d be responsible for anything except detention slips and prank plans…

They loved you more than they knew was possible.