For Remus

He couldn't recall just how long they'd been working on it, now. His memories had begun to blur with tension headaches and cloudy vision, colours of stored images seeping into one another with each moment that passed. Minutes became indistinguishable from hours, hours from days, days from weeks. The months had blurred into what must have been at least a year, or was it more?

For Remus, they told each other: a mantra he repeated in silence every morning when the light would seep through his bed curtains to blind him, when his muscles would ache and his vision would fight to focus on the nearest shapes he could find. For Remus, he told himself whenever his legs gave way as though he'd been hit with a Jelly Legs jinx, and he fell out of bed to lie exhausted on the floor. Inevitably, James or Peter would return to drag him up once again, dust off his nightshirt and give his shoulders a squeeze. They would smile at each other, mirrored dark-circled eyes and hollowed faces -- for Remus -- and Sirius would be assisted to the bathroom.

Sirius was most affected, his stride slower and his appetite meager some days. His cheekbones cut sharp angles beneath his eyes despite his already chiselled features. Peter once asked why, in a quiet voice, but Sirius could only shrug. He didn't have an answer, but maybe it was to do with the long hours, the sleepless nights and the periods of growing inattentiveness during class. James was disappointed, upset at times, when his usual flood of prank ideas and dirty tricks began to fade, but Sirius didn't care. His imagination was busy elsewhere.

It was one cold evening, safe and warm within Gryffindor's tower that Sirius suddenly experienced something quite unexpected. The roaring sounds of evening conversation marched up the stone steps from the common room to assault the boy's fifth year dormitory. Raucous laughter and indignant shouts and the pops and bangs from games of Exploding Snap of an unusually active night echoed off the tapestried walls. But Sirius couldn't recall anymore how to be distracted by these things. All he could any longer remember was how to close his eyes, slow his breathing, and set every thread of his being to concentration.

Tonight, his shoulders began to sag as his hands went numb. For Remus, he told himself, and his eyes slid open regretfully as a sigh slipped over his lips. He caught sight of claws and fur -- dark, he thought -- and shortened, rounded fingers. His mouth tore open with Remus's name tripping on his tongue, but he bit down quickly enough that he tasted copper, and kept from crying out; it was James or Peter he should call, beckon to his side in wonderment.

Sirius could have blinked but once in all this time, yet before he could utter a sound, his fingers lengthened, thinned and stretched before his eyes. Whatever hair there might have been receded faster than he could watch, and the claws sank back onto his fingertips and paled to torn, bitten nails. He turned his hands over, front to back and the other way round again, fingers closing to feel nothing but the smooth skin of his palms, and his fingernails flexed slightly under pressure. He wondered now, as his hands folded quietly in his lap, if he'd imagined the whole thing.

Hallucinating, Sirius told himself, wary of the exhausted effects of his mind and the affectations of the sort of hope that always threatened to turn him inside out at any moment. He might have foregone entirely the idea that it could be working, that all of this could be at last culminating in just what they'd all imagined, if a sudden thought hadn't caused his mouth to go dry. What had he just seen? A paw?

Wolves -- Remus -- had paws. And paws had fur, dark sometimes, although Remus's were pale, weren't they? Sirius closed his eyes again. He recalled thick fur in dark swaths over Remus's shoulders and along his back like a blanket of shadow. Over his muzzle, too, it was dark, and around his eyes save for those two washed out spots just above them, on his forehead. But below all that it slowly faded to grey under his belly, down his legs. At least, that was how he always imagined Remus; never could they get close enough to check on him, the way the land lay where the Whomping Willow waited for intruders. His eyes snapped open, and he shouted for James.

At first Sirius thought James wasn't going to believe him. But they each knew, in some unspoken pact, that this was something they would never tarnish with jokes or crude humour. This was for Remus. What he had not thought to expect was the gleam that surfaced in James' eyes. James, he realised, would never allow himself to consider that of the three of them, Sirius would master this most easily, and so had come to another conclusion: Sirius believed the other boy at last understood why he was so perpetually exhausted. But if he had, the words never passed James' lips.

Sirius heard his friend call for Peter, and it was just as the shorter boy entered the dormitory that his head began to spin. Amidst the entwining swaths of colours, the distant echo of his name reached Sirius's ears as if shouted down an ever lengthening corridor. As the light disappeared into thin lines and then vanished, he thought heard the concerned timbre of Remus' voice from behind James, and he began to panic.

This wasn't right; Remus couldn't be here. This was for him, and they weren't prepared yet. Sirius wasn't ready, not yet. Nor was he ready for the heavy blanket of dark that seemed somehow deeper than the lightless place behind his lids, and he fell into it heavily. Sirius wouldn't remember James catching him before he hit the floor, or anything else until the light found him in the Infirmary, swimming through thick murmurs and the detached sounds of scuffling feet, a subdued argument.

He pushed himself through fog, his limbs tingling with the effort of opening his eyes. He was overcome suddenly with an urge to hide, not knowing how he might appear in his skin and seeing the soft familiar honey brown waves of Remus' head behind two others. When Remus' eyes widened he wanted to crawl beneath the sheets, to disappear somewhere, to hope this was a dream because he couldn't be found out, not now. Not yet. But the attention of the other two followed, and in none of the boys' eyes was anything more than sharp concern.

Sirius was sure that if James hadn't been in it with him, he'd owe the other boy a fathomless debt; James, it appeared, had told Remus it was certain, continual bad news from home that had him sleepless and troubled, and finally exhausted. The half-hearted reprimand he received then, from Remus, was easy enough to bear in the face of what it might have been. It might have ended, that day, the whole thing might have come crashing down under Remus' command to cease such foolish, illegal behaviour for something so trivial. As astute and observant as Remus was, there were some things he never could see. But James had saved them from Sirius' benevolent carelessness, and Sirius bit his tongue til he tasted metal, and lied through his teeth until Remus seemed satisfied and his stomach was in knots.

It was official, then: Sirius had run himself into the ground with worry and sleepless nights, and his twenty-eight-hour stint in the hospital wing was merely his body protesting and for once forcing Sirius to do something logical. The concern of professors and students both became almost unbearable. Almost, of course, until he pictured his face. For Remus, he said softly to himself in these moments, spinning webs with his own whispers. Soon, for Remus.

A week and a day, it turned out, was all the time they needed. There was no need for James or Peter to beg information from Sirius. Although it was vague and incomplete and far from understood even by Sirius himself, the simple recounting of his experience became the tool they needed to leap over the last and largest hurdles. All the preparation, all the study finally fused together on a quietly rainy evening in the fifth year boys' dormitory while everyone was at dinner. It fused itself swiftly into bold, arcing antlers and sharp, cloven hooves. It coalesced into thick, black fur with a moist black nose and a long, shaggy tail. Three days later it melted into small whiskers and sharp square teeth and eased the anxiety of one boy and the unvoiced frustration of two others.

The moon was heavy and round, jagged in the inky night that swirled with a pale suspension of silver clouds. Its edges sliced a clean wound into the sky, though it had two days before it filled out completely. It cut at three boys' patience more than it might have ever cut at one boy's nerves. For Remus, though, they kept quiet those days. They sat nearly still in their seats at meals, worked so hard not to give themselves away that they nearly did it all too well. But before Remus could say anything, could level accusations of strange conspiracies or tellings off for the planning of pranks, it was time for him to make his excuses and journey from the castle to the silhouette of the Shrieking Shack.

The other boys let him go, Sirius shifting unconsciously from one foot to the other as he wrung his white-knuckled hands behind his back, ignoring the elbows he kept receiving in the ribs from James, trying to get him to calm down. Sirius watched Remus blink softly, once, and disappear around a corner before they all turned and tripped over each other in an attempt to race their way back to the dormitory. They would need James' cloak for this.

It all happened so fast; Sirius' legs trembled slightly as the three huddled beneath the silk waves of the cloak, stepping as soundlessly as they could over the cold stone floors until they reached an exit. The soft creaking squeak of trainers on wet grass suddenly resounded in their ears, and Sirius realised he'd closed his eyes, inviting in the dark and hoping it would somehow erase the journey from everyone's memory. As if, somehow, the shadows would carry them along unknowingly on swift fingers. One of his friends, Peter, he thought, noticed and took hold of his arm without even a silent question between them, and Sirius let out a heavy breath he hadn't realised been holding. He wanted to be there now, for Remus, because he could feel the moon rising. Surely not the way Remus felt it, but it was there, hovering below the horizon and threatening to steal up behind the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Threatening to turn a young boy inside out. Not for the first time, it made Sirius' stomach turn.

In a brisk movement the cloak was pulled over their heads, shimmering silently as James bound it up and treaded quietly over to a small outcropping where he stuffed it between two large stones. Sirius watched James straighten and turn back to him and Peter, and though the smallest boy's face was out of sight behind him, Sirius was sure their faces were all part of the same, gaunt echo. When James walked back to them, Sirius put a hand on each boy's shoulder, squeezing tightly with his fingers as they faced the towering outline of the Whomping Willow. The branches wavered and shuddered above them, twisting under the moonlight and covering the ground in dark, shifting striations of shadow. Sirius heard Peter swallow thickly, and when he looked down, James' hands were alternately folding into fists and uncurling into a shaking wave of pale fingers.

Sirius dropped his hands to his sides, wiping the cool sweat from his palms on his trousers, feeling it slick on his fingers. The Willow trembled sharply, seemingly aware of their presence, and slowly swung one branch from side to side in front of them, as if testing its reach. The boys exchanged a determined look, their eyes alight beneath the almost risen moon, and each nodded before they stepped slowly away from each other. Sirius had promised Peter, who was afraid he might be left behind, he would be the first, and James had been quick to agree.

A few tenuous moments later, when Peter's place had finally been taken by an unkempt, round brown rat, Sirius thought he heard a cry cascade down the hill. His face falling, he turned to James, who swiftly shifted into a towering stag, his antlers an opposing mimicry of the swaying limbs above. In a flash, Sirius was on all fours, melting into the darkness beneath a shaggy black coat, only his teeth and grey eyes flashing in the low light.

Peter was already slipping through the grass toward the trunk of the Whomping Willow, his form unnoticed and unquestioned as he crawled up the aged bark to a knob that would have otherwise been at his shoulders' height. Sirius, his brain fighting for concentration through the almost overwhelming assault of scents and sounds to which he now was privy, splayed back his ears and stiffened his tail in anticipation. The Willow, finally seeming to sense an attempted approach, flailed its limbs wildly, crashing them into the ground and cracking a boulder before they suddenly fell perfectly still. Waiting only a moment, Sirius lifted his head high and pressed his heavy ears forward, and Peter scurried back down the trunk and into the hole now unprotected by the violent branches above. For a moment, but only that, Sirius thought he ought to be eternally grateful to something that Remus talked in his sleep.

James would remain outside, unable to navigate the tunnel, to await their return; for Remus would not be forced to spend a single second more trapped in this horrible place of imperfect angles and board covered windows and claw torn walls. With this in mind, Sirius was suddenly able to focus, and he gave a quick, tongue-lolling glance back to the stag. A huffed breath later, he disappeared into the tunnel that led to the shack just as a shuddering cry split the night, and the moon erupted from behind the Forbidden Forest.

The screams, growing ever louder and sounding now more and more like otherworldly howls, were muffled by the earth as Sirius chased Peter's small shadow. His belly scraped over the ground, rocks jutting into his ribs and picking at the untried pads of his paws, but he paid none of it any mind. The light grew sharper, more distinct, and he somehow knew a squeak from beyond him meant that Peter had come out the other end. It was only a few more meters before he felt the time worn splinters of an old wood floor beneath his feet, and he scrabbled into the faint light just in time to hear a final cry before the house went eerily silent.

Ears swivelling, Sirius twitched his nose, almost recoiling from the scents that hung heavy like moss in the air. The metallic tang of blood, the salty, earthen scent of sweat and tears clung to the walls and the tattered, poor excuses for curtains draped unevenly across dark windows. Sirius began to pant, panicking, almost backing away down the hole once again to the outside. He did not see Peter slip across the floor between his legs and scurry along the walls away from him to disappear up the stairs into another room.

Trying to calm his breath, which came fast and furious in the fervour of events, Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and opened them slowly. The dust swam in silver swaths of moonlight, rivers that grew more intense with each passing moment. He watched the motes dance easily through the air, entranced until they began to tickle his nose, and he found himself calm again, able to move forward. Treading softly up the stairs, Sirius found himself wandering down a narrow corridor, brimming with odd angles and mismatched corners, as a soft whine reached his ears. The sound was pitiful, as if coming from some hollow barrel, feeling more unalive than anything Sirius had ever heard. But as he eased his head round the jamb of a door, his whole body was filled with the scent of Remus. Beneath the iron stench of red and the salt and anger and the musk of wild animal there was the undeniable presence of Remus, so strong that Sirius almost stumbled. There he was, collapsed in a corner, a fray of torn fur and shredded wood, almost as Sirius had imagined him.

Peter squeaked, scurrying out from beneath the rubble of a long forgotten piano, the weight of dust permanently pressing down some of its keys for the draft to pick at dully now and again. And then it all happened so fast. Remus caught sight of Peter, and his pained whimpers turned into a growl. The wolf picked himself up off the floor and in a flash of teeth and glittering eyes snapped at the rat in front of him, his jaws clashing together and barely missing Peter's tail as the rodent squealed loudly and changed direction. Remus scrabbled more than skillfully over the wood plank floor and just missed again as Peter squeezed into a space between the disorganised boards of a discarded furniture pile. The force of the wolf's shoulders into the wreckage sent timber flying, splintering an old chair and slicing his shoulder.

Sirius found himself frozen in place, the scent of blood making him ill, making his stomach twist and roll in knots; he was only able to watch as Remus fought in vain, trying violently to get into the crawl space where Peter had taken refuge. Then, understanding at last he could get no farther and had lost his quarry, the wolf backed away panting, his eyes wild and unfocused, his teeth dripping with the foam that lathered part of his mouth. Sirius dropped his tail and crouched as Remus looked straight at him, his black ears pressing tightly against his head before once again perking up in anticipation. But the glance was brief, for Remus didn't seem to notice him.

Instead of charging Sirius, a thick growl rose deep in his throat and the wolf threw himself against the wall, neck arching down to bite at his own legs, tearing fur and rending skin as if he sought to tear himself apart. It tore Sirius' heart, too, to watch, caused a pain so great he thought he might collapse. But in proving too great a hurt to bear, it served to spurn him forward, and with ungainly strides from an awkward, untried body, Sirius launched himself forward, hurling himself across the room and onto Remus, trying to pin him down. He tried to shout Remus' name on instinct, but it only came out as a deep, booming bark that tapered into a growl as he reached the wolf. Sirius hadn't realised how large he truly was until that moment, when he nearly engulfed the form of Remus the wolf beneath him. His legs suddenly felt strong as tree limbs, and Sirius straddled the wild animal under him as Remus turned to attack. Feeling teeth connect with the side of his face as Remus struggled to fight him off, Sirius nearly backed off.

But the pain was unnoticeable in the scheme of things, and Sirius couldn't stand another second watching Remus destroy himself. He snapped his teeth a hair's width from the wolf's face, and then plunged his head down to take hold of Remus' neck in his mammoth jaws. The wolf stilled. The dust gliding above them had been joined with errant tufts of hair, some tinged red with blood, and the room reeked of violence and resounded with the heavy breath of two canids shaking in the corner. Sirius concentrated on Remus's scent, wanting to close his eyes from being so near but still too wary of dropping his guard. He could see the wolf's face out of the corner of his vision, the fire in Remus's eyes smouldering as they each caught their breath, embers dying down until Sirius could see his friend behind the wolf, in the almost human eyes that peered out of a wild face. He could see at last the wolf's nose quirking, working out a scent, testing the air and the thick sea of inky fur belonging to the monstrous dog holding him down.

Sirius felt a tongue on his maw, gentle and hesitant, but it was all Remus, all recognition brimming in the wolf's features, and the big, black dog's tail began to wag. Gently, Sirius released his grip and stepped off the wolf, muscles still tensed and half prepared to begin all over again. Remus pushed himself upward onto all fours, tongue lolling as he glanced at this intrusive dog standing before him. Behind the wolf, still within the safety of the wreckage of furniture, Sirius could see Peter glancing out in silence. Thinking it best not just yet to draw attention to the much smaller animal, Sirius kept Remus' attention, whuffing softly and waving his tail from side to side no higher than his back.

A head tilt was earned at this, the wolf cocking his glance slightly with his head lifted. Remus was, it appeared, much more animal than human on the inside, unlike the three boys in their Animagus forms, but Sirius still sensed that Remus had worked out it was him. The black dog almost towered over Remus, his form almost dwarfing the lanky form of the tailless wolf, so Sirius dropped his head and sniffed at the tan and red peppered grey muzzle in front of him carefully, his ears pressed up and forward, his tail held still just over his back. He noticed it felt almost instinctual, this behaviour, but nonetheless he was glad for his nights of dedicated research. Months had been spent hidden deep within the library hoping Mrs. Norris didn't happen by whilst Sirius dragged the library's sea of offerings for information on more than just Animagi. He wanted to know where Remus went on nights like these, what foreign lands his mind was forced to explore when the moon cut pure silver through the sky.

Remus appeared to take the events of their short fight to heart, having been pinned by the throat, he licked the underside of Sirius's muzzle and nudged him under the chin with his nose. Sirius waved his tail again, taking the top of Remus's snout in his mouth briefly, his teeth pressing down into the wolf's skin but causing no harm. It lasted only a brief moment before he offered a playful nip at Remus's shoulder and dashed to the other side of the room, sending dust and debris flying. The hint was not missed for more than an instant by Remus. The wolf followed swiftly, now ignoring entirely the wounds on his legs and sides and lost, for the first time, in the idea of play.

The chaos was just too much for the room with the sounds of cracking wood and the thunder of towers of timber plummeting to the floor, and after a few moments, Sirius stopped in the centre of the room. He looked toward the haven of a small rat, who, since his fortress had somehow remained undisturbed, now seemed brave enough to emerge. Remus slid to a halt behind Sirius, tongue sliding over his muzzle as he looked down toward the rat. At this, Peter seemed ready to bolt again, but the wolf had caught another scent, his moist, black nose twitching slightly at the edges as he leaned down to nudge the rat. Peter's eyes were closed, but when he felt the huff of warm breath, he opened one, and then the other, and apparently realised the wolf was no longer interested in devouring him, possibly whole. Sirius watched the rat stand on his hind legs and put his tiny forepaws on Remus's nose, squeaking softly.

With a yip, Sirius spun in a circle, almost sending another antiquated chair, this one stacked on a bench, crashing to the floor. Ignoring it entirely, he padded over to the hallway, looking back over his shoulder at the others, pink tongue the only real colour in the drab, grey room. Peter followed immediately, shuffling out the door and down the stairs, his minuscule nails scratching at the floor like wind scattering papers. Remus looked perplexed, in a quietly lupine way, and he whined once, softly, to Sirius. The dog looked down the stairs and back again at the wolf, before giving a bark. Remus didn't understand. Sirius' ears dipped to the sides with the realisation that his friend must have attempted escape at least once in the past, and paid for it heavily. With a chuff, Sirius trotted back to Remus and nipped him on the shoulder before walking around behind him and using his bulk to urge the wolf toward the door.

Remus growled lightly once at being shoved, unsure, but Sirius nipped him again on the flank and the wolf consented at last to being nudged out the door and down the stairs. The tunnel was easier for Remus to navigate, but Sirius caught up with him when his friend balked at the exit. Peter had disappeared into the grass, the wind disguising easily any movement, so Sirius barked once, not too loudly, and waited. Remus looked back over his shoulder, his body hunched close to the ground, rear legs shaking, as he waited for a limb of the Whomping Willow to come battering down upon them. But all that appeared was a large set of antlers and the head of a deer.

Startled, the wolf growled and snapped at the stag's nose, although he made no move to leave the confines of the tunnel. Aggravated, the deer snorted and stomped at the ground with one hoof, kicking up a clod of grass and carving a thin hollow in the ground. Sirius would swear, and later perhaps it might be much more humourous, that he saw James the deer glare at Remus. But again, the wolf's nose refused to let him be led astray, and the third and last familiar scent of his companions became evident. At last, Remus realised there must be no danger lurking outside the tunnel, from above or below. With slow steps, he emerged into the moonlight, nose in the air drinking in the scents on the wind. Sirius watched as the wolf revelled in the feel of the breeze of his fur, inhaling deeply the scents that never reached past the stench of old curtains and boarded windows when he was trapped in the dank solitude of the Shrieking Shack.

But there was only so long Sirius could wait, and a moment later he was making a beeline for Remus, swerving just in time to bite gently at his neck and race off again. The wolf half jumped to the side, skittering in surprise, but when Sirius turned back and bowed his front end toward the ground, Remus pinned his ears back and gave a great wolf grin as he charged back. Sirius let Remus crash into him, and the two tangled together delightfully, nipping and bouncing and feinting in circles. They only paused when Remus lifted his head to howl, the timbre of his voice rising and falling in an arc that seemed to reach for the stars. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing Sirius had ever heard. James pranced toward them, bowing his head and letting his rack nearly brush the ground. Sirius saw that Peter had climbed snugly into a curve between two tines and was managing rather well to hold on.

As the howl faded to a memory on the wind, the great deer bounded off, his strides sending him swiftly over the tall grass of the field and toward the Forbidden Forest. Only an instant later, Sirius got in a last nip, nudging Remus after the two others, and the pair bounded after them into the shadows of the Forest.

It was much later when Sirius awoke to the sun trying to melt in through the draw curtains of his bed. He was unable to guess at the time, or even the day as his eyes fought valiantly to remain shut. The air was warm and enveloping, a dampness on his skin that made him feel as if he were swimming. He began kicking off his blankets, intent on letting his feet dangle off the edge of the mattress. Shifting again to get comfortable, Sirius slowly peeked one eye open. Remus stared back at him from a few centimeters away, his face slightly purpled with bruises and a few bandages spread over cuts that seemed they might heal soon. Madame Pomfrey, Remus explained in only a few words, had been convinced to allow him out of the Infirmary quite quickly. She must have been astonished at the lack of damage the boy had suffered at the hands of this cycle of the moon, and Sirius was certain the woman's obvious affection for Remus would not allow her to deny him more time to wander the halls and be with his friends than he might normally expect.

What Sirius didn't understand was why Remus was now in his bed. With both eyes open, he stared quietly into Remus' face, searching his the other boy's features for some explanation without actually giving voice to his question; he could not trust himself to speak. Remus thought he'd been lost in a dream as he was sleeping earlier in the day in the Hospital Wing: a dream he wasn't trapped in the Shrieking Shack when the moon took him over and swallowed his mind and turned him into a raging beast. That he hadn't, in fact, been a raging beast, and instead spent his time with friends, who the wolf called Wormtail, Prongs, and Padfoot. Remus spoke in soft awe of a night he had spent playing, carefree, running and wrestling and howling not for blood but for joy.

Without a word, Sirius turned onto his back, hooking one arm beneath his head as he stared up at the canopy of his bed, images and excuses and explanations reeling in his head and making him too dizzy and breathless to know where to start. He felt, then, fingers brushing his neck, though he refrained from flinching when they reached his jawline and passed over remnants of torn skin and just a little dried blood. Sirius closed his eyes as fingertips trailed back down and away from the healing wound with a slowness that indicated Remus knew what that meant. That even though Sirius might be safe from being turned while he was a dog, Remus couldn't stand the thought that he'd done that.

And Remus, gentle, practical, intellectual Remus said nothing, either, but placed his head on Sirius' shoulder, snaked an arm around Sirius's middle and hooked one knee just slightly over Sirius' leg. And then, Remus, the prankster, the moody, insecure teenager lifted his face and rebuffed Sirius' insistence that it was all James' idea with no more than a kiss, soft and steady on Sirius' cheek, and then when Sirius turned to him in surprise repeated on his lips.

Sirius stared, tongue wetting his lips, which seemed to be drying out much too quickly, though Remus had already laid his head back down on his chest. He lifted his free hand, placing his curled fingers under Remus's chin, and tilted the other boy's head upward again. And Sirius kissed him not quite as gently, and not quite as slowly as before, and this time Remus opened his mouth under Sirius'. Drowning in the taste of citrus and rain, the taste of Remus, Sirius was reminded of nothing of the dark scents and smells of the night that had so recently faded, but it made him lightheaded nonetheless. His head spun until he felt need to hold onto the thick blankets of the mattress to steady himself, until the faint light streaming in the bed curtains seemed to pierce straight through his eyes.

When they drew apart, Remus let his head drift back to Sirius' shoulder, his soft brown hair curling at the base of Sirius' throat. Sirius freed the arm under his head and encircled Remus' shoulders. His other hand traced the jawline that rested on his chest and then slipped down so that his fingers could entwine indecipherably with the hand Remus still held on his stomach. The day faded slowly from memory as they both drifted off, neither caring if the others would have questions when the time came calling to wake once again. And Remus knew that they, that Sirius, had done this for him, and that they would do whatever was required to keep him out of his nightmares and free from the dark. That he would not have to be alone again.