In their arms, they carried a small basket filled with crusts of bread, apple cores saved from lunch, and bits of sausage smuggled from the Great Hall. It was a ritual as regular as the rising moon.

As Y/n approached the usual scattering spot near the edge of the treeline, a sudden rustle in the thick undergrowth made them freeze. The sound was too heavy for a squirrel, too deliberate for the wind.

Peering into the gathering shadows, Y/n saw a dark shape huddled between the roots of a large oak. A pair of eyes glinted in the fading light—wild, intelligent, and filled with pain.

It was a German shepherd, massive even in its crouched position. Its sleek black coat was matted with dirt and something darker along its flank. The dog trembled visibly, pressing itself deeper into the earth as if trying to disappear.

Moving slowly, Y/n knelt in the damp grass, placing the basket between them. They selected a piece of sausage, holding it out in their open palm. The scent of meat filled the small space between them.

The dog's nose twitched. Its eyes darted from Y/n's face to the offered food and back again. The growling ceased, replaced by a soft whine of conflict. Hunger warred with instinct.

After a long moment that stretched like eternity, the dog inched forward, movements stiff and pained. It stretched its neck, sniffing cautiously at Y/n's fingers before gently taking the meat.

As dusk settled properly and the first lights began to glow from Hogwarts Castle in the distance, Y/n looked at the wounded creature before them. The decision crystallized with the evening star.