Professor Lupin stood a few steps away, arms crossed, his cloak blending into the shadows. The faintest silver in his eyes reflected the moonlight still lingering on his face.
"Professor Lupin," Luna said softly, "we were only—"
"Admiring the night sky?" His tone was calm, but his gaze was sharp. "Or perhaps something else entirely?"
I swallowed. My heart pounded like I'd just run from a pack of centaurs.
He stepped closer, his boots silent on the leaves. "You two are very lucky. The forest is dangerous, even when it seems quiet. There are things out here that don't care for curious students."
Luna didn't flinch. She met his eyes with an openness that disarmed even him.
"We were careful," she said. "We didn't go far."
Lupin sighed — a long, weary sound that wasn't quite anger.
"You sound like someone else I once knew," he said quietly. "Curious, brave… and reckless."
I dared to speak. "We didn't mean any harm, Professor. We were studying mooncalves. For our journal."
He raised an eyebrow. "A journal?"
Luna nodded eagerly and pulled out the small, worn notebook, opening it to a page covered in drawings and scribbles. "See? We write about magical creatures. We're quite careful not to disturb them."
Something in Lupin's face softened — not entirely approval, but understanding.
"You remind me," he murmured, "that Hogwarts is full of bright hearts and terrible timing."
Luna smiled as if he'd paid her the highest compliment.
"So… we're not in trouble?" she asked sweetly.
He looked at her, then at me, and then at the slowly paling sky.
"I should give you detention," he said. "But I'd rather you remember this as a warning instead. The forest changes under the moon. And not always kindly."
His voice deepened slightly, a quiet edge of sadness beneath it.
"Please. Next time, don't wander so far."
Luna bowed her head politely. "We promise, Professor."
As he turned to leave, his cloak brushing through the grass, Luna leaned closer to me and whispered,
"He's kind. I think he knows what it means to love the night too much."
I glanced at her profile, lit by the last shimmer of moonlight, and smiled.
"Yes," I said softly. "I think he really does."
We made our way back to the castle just as the first students began to stir for breakfast.
We slipped through the side corridor, our shoes wet with dew, and finally collapsed in the Ravenclaw common room — laughing softly into our sleeves, exhausted but glowing from the memory.
Luna pulled out the journal again, her eyes drooping from lack of sleep.
"Write it down," she murmured. "Before we forget."
I nodded, taking the quill.
> Mooncalves — graceful, curious, peaceful under full light. Professor Lupin — kind eyes, stern warning, probable partial wolfishness.
Luna giggled at the last line and fell asleep with her head on my shoulder, murmuring something about dancing moons and kind wolves.
By the time morning classes began, the world was far too bright.
The sunlight cutting through the windows felt like a personal attack after a night spent chasing mooncalves through mist and warnings from werewolves.
Luna and I sat side by side at the back of the Potions classroom, our heads heavy, eyes half-closed. The dungeon's cool air was a small mercy — but Professor Snape's voice was not.
"If anyone," he began, his tone like steel dragged across stone, "is incapable of staying awake long enough to follow simple brewing instructions, they may as well volunteer to be the potion's next ingredient."
A few students giggled nervously.
I blinked hard, trying to focus on the cauldron before me. The fumes of crushed valerian roots didn't help — they made my eyelids even heavier.
Luna, ever serene, was doodling tiny mooncalves in the corner of her parchment. Her quill moved lazily, as if it too had decided that sleep was more important than education.
Snape's shadow loomed suddenly beside us.
"Miss Lovegood," he said, his voice dripping with disdain, "perhaps you could enlighten the class as to what happens when one adds powdered moonstone before the mixture reaches a simmer?"
Luna looked up, eyes dreamy and unfazed. "It would probably sparkle beautifully for a few seconds… and then explode," she said thoughtfully.
A few students stifled laughter. Snape's expression did not change.
"Five points from Ravenclaw," he said coldly. "And if either of you plans to nap through my lesson again, you may do so outside — permanently."
I whispered, "Sorry, Professor," and nudged Luna, who gave me a sleepy smile.
He turned sharply and continued stalking between the cauldrons, robes billowing like smoke.
We tried our best to stay awake after that. Luna's potion turned a gentle lilac color instead of blue, and mine let out a faint hiss that sounded suspiciously like it was laughing at me.
When class finally ended, we trudged out into the corridor, the air thick with the scent of burnt herbs and humiliation.
"That went well," Luna said, stretching. "I liked the lilac shade. It looked friendlier."
I couldn't help laughing, even through my exhaustion. "Snape would hex the word 'friendly' if it came near him."
She smiled faintly, tilting her head as if picturing it. "Maybe he just needs some sleep too."
We both dissolved into quiet laughter as we made our way to the Great Hall. Every step felt heavier, but every glance between us carried the same secret spark — the memory of silver footprints, moonlight, and the kind werewolf's warning.