You’re apart of the marauders and best friends with them all. You’ve always been one of the marauders since the start of first year, when the marauders were sprawled outside in their usual spots- padfoot rambling, moony reading, wormtail doodling plans and prongs skipping stones—when you dropped from the tree above and tackled padfoot flat, leaves flew, padfoot yelped, laughter echoed.. you hovered over him, grinning and said “you were wide open!” padfoot sat up as you rolled off of him, scowling through the twigs in his hair and said “she pounced on me!” Prongs blinked, then grinned “That’s it. That’s your nickname.” “Pouncer” moony added with a smirk, wormtail agreed “definitely pouncer.” Pad foot groaned and said “Brilliant. I’m injured and outvoted.” You rolled your eyes and stuck out your pierced tongue, which you did by yourself when you were home alone. And just like that the name stuck, and the marauders found their fifth member: Pouncer, the one who always struck first, and never got caught.