Note:

*Trips over a stick, probably thrown by Padfoot himself*

"Sirius POV. Snow, snarls, and questionable life choices ahead. Enjoy the chaos!"

...

Sirius' POV:

In my shaggy, black dog form, I pursued Moony relentlessly. The damp forest floor, covered in patches of snow, was churned underfoot. My paws barely touched the ground, seeming to glide over it, as the biting wind rushed through my ears.
As with every full moon, Remus became a werewolf, and we, his friends, stood by him. It had been only two moons since we started following him into the woods – it was our fourth year at Hogwarts, just after the Christmas holidays.
With Prongs by my side, we trailed the werewolf. Peter was already lost to us somewhere along the way. The stag beside me snorted in pain, having already endured a number of blows from Moony’s claws that night.
With each leap, my strength began to wane. Remus was moving swiftly, darting past the countless tree trunks that appeared grey in the darkness.
I thought back to the start of the night, to the reason for Moony’s agitation. He, no, all of us, had heard it – the distant howl of wolves. Prongs and I had tried to steer the werewolf in the opposite direction, but our efforts only brought us pain.

This night will not end well...

When my eyes locked with the werewolf’s, a shiver ran down my spine, the fur on my neck standing on end. His gaze pierced into mine, and it felt as though he saw far more than I ever could.
The moonlit forest appeared dreamlike, though it was undeniably a nightmare.
The wolf loomed before me like an unyielding rock. It was a majestic, awe-inspiring sight – though the sarcasm in me reared its head, and I took a cautious step back.
As I observed him closely, I noticed his snout twitching, sniffing in all directions. Realisation dawned upon me: he was still searching for the wolves, trying to pick up their scent – a trail even I, with my keen nose, could not detect.

Please, Remus, don’t find their scent, I begged silently, panting from a safe distance.
My prayer went unanswered.

A sudden sound shattered the eerie silence. It resembled the snap of a branch, and the werewolf spun around sharply, his furry ears perked with curiosity. Before I could blink, Moony let out a howl and lunged into the thicket, low and poised.
I exchanged a quick glance with James. He understood immediately, and together, we pursued Remus.

The chase seemed endless. At last, the dense Forbidden Forest began to thin out.
On a semi-clearing, bathed entirely in moonlight, Remus stood at the centre, tense and alert, as though anticipating something. Prongs and I cautiously drew closer, hooves and paws landing softly upon the ground. We stopped just behind the werewolf, who seemed unaware of our presence; only his heavy breathing was audible.
We waited, peering into the dark forest alongside Moony. From this vantage, it felt ominous and foreboding, as if some beast lay in wait. Darkness dominated the void ahead, with the moon’s beams recoiling, unwilling to confront the terror lurking within.
Suddenly, the bushes rustled violently, snow swirling into the air, and the sound of snapping branches – a cacophony of thousands – filled the clearing.
Stunned and yet entranced, I saw a vision of dread. Wolves, yes, but not only wolves. Emerging before me was another werewolf.
He was russet brown and massive. His deep blue eyes gleamed with murderous intent as if a storm raged within them. Panic gripped me.
The two werewolves scrutinised each other, time stretching unbearably. When the bushes rustled again, over a dozen wolves stepped into the clearing.
James, standing beside me, was as frozen in shock as I was. The other werewolf let out a feral howl, rearing to his full height. Moony joined him. Together, their howls wove a dirge, echoing through the night, foretelling what felt like the end for us all – and, very likely, it was.

Unknown POV:

There he stood. Another of my kind.
As I sized up my adversary, it became clear that he was much larger than I. His dark, matted fur framed eyes that seemed almost black, boring into mine. His teeth gleamed under the moonlight, and his paws pressed into the snow-laden grass beneath.
Tilting my head, I narrowed my eyes to slits. There was no escape – there never had been.
I would have to face him.
Behind me, my pack gathered in droves. Their tension was palpable, a shared instinct. This was not merely a lone werewolf; he had two companions. A stag, its fur aglow in the moonlight, and a dog with scruffy, dark fur and grey eyes fixed intently on me.

Those eyes...

Something was wrong with them. Those two pairs of eyes were not animalistic.
Fear.
Those eyes radiated fear. They were human, utterly helpless and consumed by terror.
A threatening growl rumbled from my lead wolf. The others joined in chorus. I had to act swiftly, or there would be bloodshed in moments. The pack yearned for a fight, for blood – but could I allow it?
No, I could not. Though they were human, so was I, once. A truth I had suppressed, banished from memory. They were human, and one of them was like me – perhaps just as lost.

»Humans are wicked, all the same. Never trust them,« whispered a voice in my mind, eager to claim dominion.
I ignored it.

With renewed resolve, I rose onto my hind legs and unleashed a long, resonant howl. The other werewolf joined in immediately, our calls reverberating through the still night. My gaze lifted to the full moon, and a deeply-rooted hatred ignited within me.
My adversary stood taut, ready to strike. But instead, I whirled around and charged into my pack, teeth bared, growls menacing. The younger wolves whimpered, tails tucked, scattering into the safety of the underbrush.
The lead wolf remained, flanked by older, seasoned members. A greater challenge, I knew. Yet I was certain – if the grey wolf with his blazing yellow eyes fell, the rest would follow.
Our eyes locked, and I hesitated, posture rigid and threatening. He knew me too well to be intimidated. Instead, he bared his stained teeth and lunged forward. His claw swiped mere inches from me, his bite narrowly missed.
My first strike landed squarely on his right flank, buying me a moment of respite. The fight was swift and brutal – an exchange of blows and dodges until my patience snapped. With all my strength, I charged at him, delivering a decisive blow.
The grey wolf collapsed with a pained whimper, rolling onto his side, baring his belly – the universal sign of submission.
Without protest, he retreated, followed by the remaining wolves. The lead wolf limped heavily, yet he would survive.

Pain...
It struck like a frigid wave.

Growling, I collapsed to the ground but sprang up immediately. My paws churned the snow-laden earth, the moisture clinging to my fur. The other werewolf and I circled one another; his mind seemed clouded, his control absent – unlike my own.
Why?
I could not understand.
The stag and dog stood at a distance, utterly bewildered. I did not care.
The other werewolf struck, and I retaliated. I dodged his blow, growling menacingly before launching my own attack. Our bodies collided, and I forced him back.
Sharp teeth sank into my nape. A sickening warmth spread – surely accompanied by blood.
My opponent thrashed, shaking me violently, but my earlier strike had landed perfectly; he whimpered and released me. As he recoiled, I struck again, clawing his side and sinking my teeth into his flank. The metallic tang of blood filled my mouth, tempting my reason to slip. But his retaliatory blow sent me sprawling to the ground.
A pained whimper escaped me, and I loathed myself for it.
Why am I still weak?
Was the moon not supposed to grant strength?

Where is that strength?

The werewolf’s black eyes had narrowed to slits. His paws dug into the ground, white clouds huffing from his maw. My blood stained his mouth.
When his next attack came, aimed at my left, I narrowly evaded it by throwing myself to the ground – though his claws still grazed me. I hissed in pain, baring my teeth.
No! I must not lose!
But I did.
A startled grunt left my throat. My opponent seized upon my vulnerable position, a searing pain tearing through my left thigh, down to my knee.
Could I hear the ripping of flesh? The puncturing of muscle beneath fur?

Likely.

I lay there, struggling to rise, but the agony was too great.
I had lost.
My opponent had gravely wounded my thigh. Blood seeped from the gash, glinting under the moonlight. My fur absorbed the viscous liquid, matting it.
Panting, I tried to stand but collapsed back onto the ground. My muzzle met the snow, yet its cold eluded me. Numbness seeped through my body, creeping, gnawing at me, beckoning me toward it.

Is this the end?
I don’t know...
But, would I care?
No...

I braced for the final blow. It never came. Summoning my last reserves of strength, I looked up.
The stag and dog were doing everything in their power to keep the werewolf from me, preventing him from finishing what he had started. Some higher force must have intervened, for they succeeded.
I transformed back, and the last thing I perceived was the blood covering me. This time, I knew it was only my own.