Of Wolf and Wizard

He was running, howling, snapping, chasing something through the woods. He knew that he was dreaming, that none of this was happening in real life, but he couldn’t prevent it from happening in his dream-world. His human mind and his lupine mind were tangled up in one another, but though it was the wolf that held on with the fierce tenacity of one to whom it would never occur to let go, the human held on too, just to see the dream to its end.

The wolf plunged through misty bushes, murky trees, and other hazy dream-vegetation, yearning to clamp his jaws on something alive - wanting to crush, to break, to taste his victory. The human egged the wolf on with silent cheers. This was how the dreams always went; the sooner the wolf caught his prey, the sooner he would focus all of his attention on the kill and release his hold on the human mind.

He tasted blood, hot and thick on his tongue. Strong fangs, which felt like his but were not, ripped flesh and crushed bones, draining the life out of his prey. The human didn’t know what it was that the wolf had caught. He never knew - but he was certain that the wolf always did.

His bloodlust placated and his attention diverted, the wolf finally began to recede. He settled beyond the borders of the human mind, content to wait until the moon called him forth again….

And Remus was left completely alone, his eyes suddenly wide open and fully awake, darting about and surveying his surroundings. Despite the dream-adventure on which the wolf had taken him, his human body still remained stretched out upon a dusty floor, cold and unclothed. He remembered having been in this room before (was it hours ago? minutes?), but the panic that he’d felt then had somehow masked the pain that was now at the forefront of his mind. Not that it was by any means unusual, the pain that came after his transformations. The transformations themselves weren’t exactly a pleasant thing to undergo, but on top of that there wasn’t a full moon in his memory after which he hadn’t been covered with scratches, bites, bruises… deep lacerations… even broken bones. And he knew that he had done it all himself - that is, that the wolf had done it to him, simply for lack of other living creatures to prey upon. But that knowledge never lessened the pain at all.

He knew that screaming and shouting would only make him feel weaker, and so he was perfectly quiet as he lay on the cold floor, breathing in and out in a steady rhythm and hoping with all his might that someone would find him soon. Very soon.

In and out, he thought firmly. Don’t panic. In and out. Don’t panic.

Despite the uncomfortable feeling of blood trickling down his cheek, despite the certainty that his left arm was broken, and even despite the sting in his side which he knew meant that his skin had been torn, the sound of his own breathing began to lull him into a strange state of half-sleep. He wasn’t entirely sure whether he was awake or dreaming again when he felt the welcome sensation of being covered in something warm and soft, or even when he felt himself being lifted off the ground and onto something that felt like a narrow sheet.

A woman’s voice whispered gentle, unintelligible things into his ear as the sheet moved him farther and farther away from that cold and dusty floor, and he decided that he would not open his eyes; if this did turn out to be another dream, he did not want it to end just yet.

“Mum,” he murmured. He was sure that the woman who was speaking was not his mother at all, but since he could not think of a proper name to give to the voice, that would have to do for now. The voice continued to whisper, his breath continued to go steadily in and out, and he fell asleep again.

The next time he woke up, he felt the familiar sense of disorientation that accompanied the passing of every full moon: an eerie feeling of having been thrown out of time’s natural cycle and then back in again. However, this time it was accompanied by a mixture of surprise and relief at finding himself lying on a comfortable bed covered in thick blankets, his head resting upon a pillow - a welcome change from the cold floor that he’d been expecting. He prodded cautiously at the blankets, and upon finding that they felt as real to his fingers as they did to the rest of him, he allowed a tired smile to spread across his face. Someone had finally found him and brought him back to the hospital wing - which meant that this, his first full moon away from home, was over at last.

At least, the transformation was over. There was still the matter of the numbing pain that dotted his entire body, as though it had been ripped to shreds and pieced back together again.

Chances were, it probably had been. Merlin only knew what kind of potions Madam Pomfrey had already had to use on him, but he fancied that he could feel all of them coursing through his body and trying to do their various jobs all at the same time.

He grimaced at the image that suddenly appeared in his mind at that thought. Pulling his blankets all the way up to his chin, he tried to think of other things that would take his mind off the slowly healing gash in his side, or the prominent feeling of the bone in his left arm trying to mend itself.

A soft light fell into the room as the door opened a crack. Remus turned his head just enough to see Madam Pomfrey peering in at him. “Ah, you’re awake,” she whispered, entering the room and shutting the door behind her.

“Mm,” he replied.

“And how are you feeling?” she said.

“Excellent, thanks,” he croaked.

She blinked at him, clearly not quite knowing what to make of his intended joke. “I had quite a fright this morning when you didn’t come back,” she said. “Most of the other… that is, I’d thought you might have strength enough to….”

“To what?” he asked as she trailed off.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head at him, pulling back the blankets just enough to have a look at his left arm which, he now realized, was covered by a pyjama sleeve. “Never you mind,” she said, prodding cautiously at the arm with her wand. Its tip glowed a faint shade of purple, and she nodded at it. “I’ll simply have to make an adjustment next time. You mustn’t be left alone after moonset, you know - I shall probably have to go and fetch you myself, as I did today.”

She paused, releasing a sigh that seemed to be more for her own benefit than for Remus’, and he frowned. It didn’t seem as though she looked forward to fetching him every month after moonset. “I’m sorry,” he said timidly. “I didn’t mean to be a nuisance! I can try and find my own way out next time.”

Even as the words left his mouth, his body gave an aching shudder in protest.

The Healer’s eyes grew wide at his apology, and she suddenly clutched at his arm, making him wince in pain. “No!” she said. “I’m not angry at you, Remus. I’m… well, I’m angry at myself for assuming that you would be all right on your own.”

“Ow,” said Remus.

She let go of his arm as though it were a hot coal, and he breathed a sigh of relief. She hovered over him for a moment, seemingly wanting to move in every direction at once while indecision pinned her in place. Finally she gave up, shaking her head and sinking into a chair that had appeared beside his bed while he was sleeping. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to appear so nervous, I hope you know that. I’ve just never had a… well, a lycanthropic student to tend before - and it’s only the first month, and I’ve already put you in danger….”

“I wasn’t in danger,” said Remus, thinking it extraordinarily odd that he was the one trying to sound reassuring instead of the other way around. He thought about adding, “Although it felt like I was going to die when it happened” - but somehow it seemed inappropriate, even though it was true.

A sad smile flickered across her face as she regarded him. “You’re a sweet boy, Remus,” she said, and he smiled back at her. “Now let me see that arm. It was quite the mess when I found you this morning. I’ve put the bones back in their proper places, but it’ll be a few days it regains its full strength. And I think you’ll need one more coat of the Skin-Mending Salve, if you’ll let me…?” She indicated the blankets that covered his torso, and he gave her a small nod.

She pulled back the blankets and pulled up the shirt of his pyjamas. He noticed with vague interest that they were his own pyjamas, and supposed that Madam Pomfrey must have sent for them. He wondered if she had brought back the clothes that he’d taken off before his transformation the previous night, but he didn’t ask. Instead he merely concentrated on breathing - deep enough to fill his lungs, but not so deep that his chest hurt more than it had to - as the Healer ran a soft hand over his side, just below his rib cage.

His skin burned under her touch and even more so under the salve that she applied, but he just concentrated harder on his breathing and didn’t look. He never looked. He’d learned a long time ago that looking only made it worse, and so he studied the ceiling with quiet determination and let the Healer administer her potions.

He was already half-asleep when she left the room again, from the combination of sheer exhaustion and a potent sleeping draught that she had made him swallow. One glance out the small window told him that the sun had almost set, and he wondered if it was Saturday or Sunday that was coming to an end. He told himself that Madam Pomfrey would surely wake him up if he needed to attend lessons the next day, but it was only a fleeting thought. The thought of sleep was much more appealing.

* * * * *
It turned out that the sunset he’d seen was heralding the end of Saturday, which meant that he’d slept no longer than he would have done if he’d been at home. He left the hospital wing on Sunday afternoon after assuring Madam Pomfrey that although the pain was by no means gone, it had lessened to the extent that he was at least able to think straight and stand up on his own two feet. “Besides,” he told her, “my mum says that lying in bed for too long won’t help me get any stronger.”

“Your mum’s a smart lady,” said Madam Pomfrey in return. “So long as you don’t do anything too strenuous until you’re fully healed. And go easy on that arm of yours. Understand?”

Remus nodded, thanked her with a very genuine smile that she wholeheartedly returned, and started back toward Gryffindor Tower.

Upon reaching the portrait of the fat lady in the pink dress, Remus said, “Pickled newt scales.” The portrait swung open and he climbed inside. The common room was quite crowded, mostly with older students who looked like they were doing their best to finish up their homework before the week began. Some were working in groups, others on their own, and a few had lost interest in working at all and were dozing in their chairs. But for a few errant snores and the occasional rustling of parchment, the place was almost entirely quiet.

Remembering that he had homework of his own to do, Remus made his way up the stairs to his dormitory, which he found empty of any of the other first year boys. He dug his books out from under his bed, piled them in the crook of his right arm, and made for the door, but a familiar squeaky voice stopped him with a cheerful “Hallo!”

“Peter?” said Remus, turning around again to look for the owner of the voice.

A blond head was looking at him from the opposite corner of the room. On further investigation, Remus found Peter sitting on the floor between his bed and Danny Liang’s, with his back against the wall and several books and pieces of parchment spread across the floor in front of him. “I’m doing my homework up here,” Peter explained, though Remus could easily have figured that out on his own. “It’s too quiet down there,” he added.

“It’s quiet up here too,” said Remus.

“But this is a nicer kind of quiet,” said Peter. “I don’t like it when too many people are being quiet at once. It’s almost like it’s noisy, you know? If it’s just me being quiet on my own, then that’s fine.”

Remus thought about this for a moment and decided that it made sense. “Will two quiet people be too noisy, then?”

Peter furrowed his brow for a moment, and then smiled as he realized what the question meant. “Oh! No, it’s fine,” he said. “Have a seat. In fact… do you think you could help me with the Transfiguration homework? There’s a question here that I don’t really understand.”

“I haven’t even started yet,” said Remus, sitting carefully on the floor so as not to aggravate any of the areas that he’d hurt during his transformation. “I’ve been up in the hospital wing all weekend.”

“Ohh,” said Peter, his eyes going wide as a faintly sheepish expression flitted across his face. “I forgot. Are you sick? And what about your mum? Weren’t you supposed to go and visit her?”

Remus nodded. “I couldn’t. I don’t know how Professor McGonagall knew, but she sent me up to the hospital wing just in time! I was throwing up all over the place, and I had a horrible headache that Madam Pomfrey didn’t know how to cure right away, and… and my feet were shrinking.”

“Wow,” said Peter, his expression faltering between disgust and admiration as he tried to sneak a peek at Remus’ feet. “That must have been awful! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine now,” said Remus with a little shrug. “She said it must’ve been something I ate.” He let out a sigh that bordered on melodramatic, even to his own ears. “Whatever it was, I hope I never eat it again. Having your feet shrink is just awful.”

“I just bet it is,” breathed Peter. He paused thoughtfully, watching as Remus arranged his books on the floor entirely with his right hand. “Remus?” he said quietly.

“Hm?” said Remus.

Peter’s eyes suddenly focused very keenly on the quill he was twirling between his thumb and forefinger. “Do you think you’re brave?”

More than a little taken aback by the question, Remus raised his brows at the other boy. “Brave?” he repeated. Peter nodded, his eyes meeting Remus’ with a measure of uncertainty.

“I suppose I am,” Remus faltered, but with those words his memory immediately flashed back to a hazy picture of the old house after the moon had set. He’d been lying on the floor, unable to move - unable to do anything at all except hurt. That didn’t seem very brave; in fact, to him it seemed quite the opposite. “But only sometimes,” he added quickly. “Why?”

Peter shrugged his shoulders, and Remus waited a few moments for him to collect his thoughts. “I was just wondering,” Peter finally said, “because I don’t think I am, not at all. And aren’t you supposed to be brave if the Sorting Hat puts you in Gryffindor?”

A smile curved Remus’ lips upward; he somehow found it comforting that Peter was thinking the same things that he himself often thought. “I think so,” he said. “Why don’t you think you’re brave?”

“All kinds of things,” said Peter, looking down at his quill again. “James is always the brave one, not me. I… well, I told the Sorting Hat that I wanted to be in Gryffindor because James would be there. That’s the only reason.”

“But it listened to you, didn’t it?” said Remus, trying his best to sound encouraging. “It probably wouldn’t have put you here if it really thought you belonged somewhere else. And besides… I think it was kind of brave of you to tell me what you told the Sorting Hat.”

“You do?”

Remus nodded. “Sure I do. I wouldn’t ever have the guts to do that.”

Peter’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink, but he couldn’t stop a hint of a proud smile from spreading across his face. Suddenly Remus felt rather embarrassed, though he couldn’t quite figure out why. “So where is James, anyway?” he said, eager to change the subject.

The proud smile turned into a rather devilish grin, and Peter lowered his voice. “Detention.”

“Detention?” echoed Remus. “What happened?”

“You didn’t hear?” said Peter. “James tried to get back at Ear Boy for that Dungbomb thing, and Ear Boy ended up in the hospital wing with half a Chocolate Frog stuck up his nose.”

There was a momentary pause in which Remus absorbed the information - but a moment was all he needed before he burst out laughing, so hard that his injured side began to hurt and he had to calm himself down. “Up his nose!” he repeated gleefully. “That must have been great!”

“It was,” agreed Peter. “Didn’t you see him when you were up there?”

“No,” said Remus quickly. “I was sleeping the whole time.”

He let out a very dramatic yawn for Peter’s benefit, and Peter took a moment to look sympathetic before resuming his narrative. “Anyway, Ear Boy told the Healer who did it, and now they both have detention with McGonagall.”

“They both do?”

Peter nodded. “James told her about the Dungbomb.” He went on to explain what James had said to him the previous evening: that Professor McGonagall had arranged for them to have a simultaneous detention. Apparently she’d somehow come up with the notion that making them work together would help them get along.

Remus and Peter both agreed that this was an utterly ridiculous idea.

In the end, Remus did end up helping Peter with his Transfiguration homework. They spent at least an hour alone in the dormitory, alternately working on said homework and talking about… well, whatever came to mind. Remus realized that he’d never really talked much with Peter before, and that it was probably because James was always there, doing enough talking for both of them. Peter, Remus decided, was a rather interesting person once he stepped out from behind James’ shadow.

But no sooner had they finished their homework than the dormitory door banged open and in strode James Potter himself, looking absolutely furious with the world at large. He threw himself onto his bed, muttering something under his breath; the only words that Remus could make out were “stupid,” “idiot,” and “stupid” again.

“All right, James?” said Remus a bit nervously.

The other boy sat up immediately, evidently learning for the first time that he was not alone in the room. His expression softened a bit as he saw Remus, which made the latter feel quite relieved. “Hey, you’re back,” said James. “Feeling any better?”

“A lot better,” replied Remus.

“His feet shrank!” Peter blurted out, and he proceeded to recount Remus’ entire list of afflictions for James’ benefit.

James regarded Remus appreciatively. “Well, congratulations on your survival, mate,” he said solemnly. “And I’m glad your feet are back to normal.”

“So am I,” said Remus truthfully. “I, er… I heard about your detention. Are you and Ear Boy friends yet?” Neither he nor Peter could help snickering at the absurdity of the question, but predictably enough, James merely glared.

“Most certainly not,” he declared, punctuating his statement with a forceful thump of his fist upon his pillow. Still feeling rather weak from his transformation, Remus winced on the pillow’s behalf. “That stupid git left me alone to finish the detention by myself, just so he could go and meet some girl.”

“A girl?” echoed Peter. “Why would he want to do that?”

“And how could he just leave?” said Remus. “Wasn’t McGonagall watching?”

James grimaced. “I wish she’d been watching. But no, she said that she’d leave us alone so that we could ‘settle things between us’” - this last was delivered in a high-pitched imitation of the professor’s voice - “and five minutes later, he just left! I had to put all those books in alphabetical order by myself. And don’t you dare say I got off easy. She has a lot of books.”

Remus, who had in fact been about to say something to that effect, kept his mouth pointedly closed. Peter shook his head. “That’s horrible, James,” he said, his voice sounding genuinely sympathetic.

“I know,” James agreed. “We should hex him.” The other two just stared at him. “I’m kidding!” he said after a moment of uncomfortable silence, but the disappointed look on his face suggested otherwise.

James began to fidget with the edge of his blanket, his expression becoming increasingly thoughtful. Remus and Peter exchanged a worried look. “Hey, we’ve just finished with McGonagall’s homework for tomorrow,” said Remus brightly. “Have you done yours yet?”

“I’ll do it later,” said James in a tone that brooked no argument. There was another pause, but before Remus could think of anything else that might distract his friend from thoughts of hexing Sirius, James had already moved from his own bed over to Peter’s. As he sat right on the edge and loomed above the other two boys, James pulled out his wand, used it to push his glasses up on his nose, and tapped it thoughtfully on thin air. “I have a better idea,” he said.

In a flash James switched beds again; he was now perched on Sirius’ coverlet and looking about for something, though Remus didn’t know what. Nor did he dare ask.

Peter, however, had no such reservations. “What are you doing?” he inquired almost dutifully.

James flashed him a too-bright grin. “A practical joke. You two clearly don’t want me to hex him, so…” He trailed off, leaving the rest of his impromptu plan to the imagination for the time being.

“James, don’t,” said Remus. “Why don’t you just tell McGonagall what happened?”

“Because that’s not the way it goes,” said James, though his voice was muffled since he was now hanging headfirst off the edge of Sirius’ bed, presumably looking under it for… whatever it was that he was looking for. “You can’t just go and tell a teacher when someone does something like that!”

“That’s what he did,” Peter pointed out.

“Yes it is,” said James loftily as he drew himself back up to a sitting position, several of Sirius’ books in his hands. “But I’m not going to sink to his level, am I? I’m just going to get him back.”

Remus tried to stifle a snicker at the blatant irony in James’ train of thought, but was unsuccessful. James didn’t seem to notice.

“Now,” James mused, “I know there’s a spell that can make books bite you when you open them….”

Deciding that trying to deter James from his mission would be an endeavor beyond hopeless, Remus turned away and started to gather his own books off the floor, still favoring his left arm. He was just storing them neatly under his bed when he heard a soft exclamation from across the room. A nervous knot formed in his already sore stomach; he looked back over at James, who had put all of the books down on Sirius’ bed and was examining a piece of parchment. Peter was looking over his shoulder.

“What is it?” asked Remus.

“A letter,” said James. “He was using it as a bookmark.”

“It’s already opened,” said Peter in a hushed tone. “He won’t know if-”

But James was way ahead of him; the empty envelope fluttered down to land on the rumpled blanket as James’ eager eyes scanned the letter, widening with each word. Remus thought about pointing out that you shouldn’t read other people’s letters, but decided not to say anything for now, lest he end up insinuating that he had secrets of his own to be found.

With a quick mental note to put all the letters from his mum in a very safe hiding place, he went over to see what James was so excited about. Peter scooted over to make room for him, and he started reading. The letter was dated from last Tuesday, just one day after their lessons had first begun.

My dear Sirius, Your father and I are very sorry to hear that you’ve been sorted into Gryffindor, but we are pleased to inform you that we have taken your education into our own hands. As a member of the Black family and the heir of this household, you must be instructed in the performance of every kind of important magic, including many fields of study that your current headmaster deems “inappropriate.” Had you been placed in Slytherin as we had hoped, it would have been much easier to arrange for proper tutelage in this area. However, as you now have no access to the resources that would have been available to you in Slytherin, we must take extra steps to ensure your success. Your cousin Andromeda has kindly agreed to meet with you once a week for your extra lessons, as her father informs me that she has proven very skilled in certain fields of study that are prohibited at Hogwarts. I also advise you to seek instruction from Andromeda’s sister Narcissa, if you can manage to do so without being as rude to her as you usually are. Meanwhile, I shall arrange a meeting with your headmaster in order to discuss your placement in Gryffindor. As you know, I have nothing against the House itself, but I have heard from a reliable source that the majority of this year’s Mudbloods were placed there as well, and we certainly can’t have you consorting with that kind of rabble. Please try to avoid them as much as possible; try instead to associate with those who would do our family proud. Sirius, I’m certain that your Sorting was simply a mistake, and your father and I will have it fixed as soon as possible. Send my regards to your cousins, Mother

“Wow,” said Peter. “That’s his mum? She’s so… formal.”

“Andromeda,” said James, nearly at the same time. “That’s who he said he was going to meet tonight.” He jumped up from the bed with a shout of glee. “This is even better than I thought!”

“Inappropriate magic - the Dark Arts!” exclaimed Peter.

“His Sorting was a mistake!” added James, nearly shaking from his excitement.

Peter adopted a high, mocking voice: “Mummy and Daddy will fix it, Sirius darling!”

Remus said nothing. His encounter with Sirius in the Owlery last Saturday was still fresh in his mind - particularly the look on Sirius’ face when Remus had asked him about being in Gryffindor. That look alone had been enough to convince Remus not to pry any further into the other boy’s personal affairs, and he didn’t feel any better about prying now than he had a week ago.

“The legendary Ear Boy!” proclaimed James with a flourish of his arms. “Heir of the House of Black!”

“Send my regards to your cousins,” said Peter in a horrible simpering tone, “and then go learn how to make faces at Mudbloods-”

“Just put it back, okay?” Both boys turned to look at Remus, who had interrupted the conversation upon hearing Peter say what he’d been taught to think of as the “M-word.”

James only paused for a moment before grinning again. “Come off it, Remus - there’s no way I’m not going to keep this.” But no sooner had he said this than the letter was snatched right out of his hand. Startled, all three boys whipped around to see who had taken it.

Standing before them was Sirius Black himself, an indescribable look burning in his eyes and his lips set in a thin line. Suddenly Remus found himself wishing that he hadn’t left the hospital wing so soon, for he was certain that his stomach wouldn’t be able to handle all of this for much longer.

Silence reigned in the first year boys’ dormitory as they stared at each other, three versus one. Finally Sirius growled, “Well?”

“Well what?” countered James automatically, although his voice didn’t sound nearly as threatening as he probably wanted it to be.

Even the breath that Sirius drew managed to sound ominous. “Why don’t we start,” he said in measured tones as he surveyed the books on his bed, “with why you were going through my things? Let me guess: you were going to melt one of your Chocolate Frogs and use it to stick the pages together? You were going to enchant one of them to start shouting ‘Sirius Black’s a stupid prat’ when I open it? You were going to steal them and let me get in trouble for losing my schoolbooks? Or were you just looking for this?” He held up the letter, which was crumpled up in his fist.

Although he was plainly addressing all three of them, Sirius’ eyes remained focused on Remus, which Remus supposed had a lot to do with the fact that he was (to his own knowledge, anyway) the only one of them who had tried to bring up the subject of Sirius’ Sorting before. He felt that he was expected to answer, especially since James and Peter both seemed unable to speak, so he quietly cleared his throat. “We weren’t looking for anything, honest. We just….”

He trailed off; what had they been doing? Remus looked to James, who returned the question with a wide-eyed silence. Peter was the one who spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said meekly.

Taking his cue from Peter, James finally found the appropriate words. “Me too,” he said, although to Remus’ ears the words did not sound honest. “It was only meant to be a joke.”

Sirius’ furious eyes were now fixed on James. “A joke? Like the Chocolate Frogs on Friday night?”

James nodded uncertainly.

“Those,” said Sirius softly, “were a joke. A stupid, brainless joke. This” - he shook the letter in James’ face - “is not a joke. So just… just bugger off, will you, Potter? And take your stupid minions with you.”

Remus was taken aback not only by Sirius’ harsh tone, but by his angry use of James’ last name. He never called James anything but “Pottyhead,” and the sudden lack of the familiar nickname somehow made the situation seem much more dangerous.

Evidently James thought so too. “Come on,” he grumbled after a moment. “Let’s go down to the common room.”

Sirius drew away from them and went over to lie deliberately face down on his bed, and Remus was struck with the sudden urge to go over and apologize - really apologize - on behalf of himself and his two friends. But Peter nudged his arm and nodded toward the door, through which James had already gone, and Remus turned away to follow.

“I’m not a minion,” he murmured under his breath, more to himself than to Sirius, who probably hadn’t heard him anyway. But even as he said the words, he wasn’t entirely sure that he believed them.

That evening in the common room, the conversation was unusually subdued. James, still bent on not doing his homework until the very last minute, brought a pack of cards downstairs and offered to teach them an alternate version of Exploding Snap - one that he’d invented himself, which involved far more explosions and far less snapping. Peter consented to play, but Remus settled himself in a nearby armchair and started a letter to his mother. She’d asked him to write after the full moon, and he didn’t want to end up forgetting and having to lie again about when he’d sent it. But he made sure to use vague phrasing that would give away too much about his condition, just in case the letter should be found by prying eyes. He would add the details in later, perhaps when the others were asleep… or perhaps the next day, since he didn’t think that he would be able to stay awake much longer.

He only half-listened as James and Peter talked about the card game, but his ears pricked up when he finally heard Peter bring up the subject of the letter. “D’you really think that’s where he was tonight?” he whispered fervently. “Studying the Dark Arts with his cousin?”

James’ response was uttered in a whisper so low that Remus couldn’t make out the words. But he just kept writing - he didn’t want to hear the words, for he’d had quite enough of their snooping and prying for one day. It wasn’t right for them to be so nosy about other people’s secrets; after all, how would he feel if James somehow found out about his secret? Such a discovery would undoubtedly result in the loss of his friendship - and he did want to keep James and Peter as friends, because no matter how annoying James could be at times, they were both fun, exciting, and… well, new. He’d never become close with any of the boys at his Muggle school, and his family was understandably not a very social one, so James and Peter had become his first chances at having real, true friends.

Remus watched their delighted faces as they recalled the contents of the letter to each other in hushed voices, and he looked down at his own letter. He rose as quietly as possible from his armchair and made his way across to the other side of the room, where he found a place to sit against one of the walls, not far from a group of first year girls who were doing the same homework that he’d done earlier. Not even bothering to check and see if James’ or Peter’s eyes had followed him, he turned his concentration back to the writing of his letter.

Sirius Black didn’t turn up in the common room all evening. This didn’t seem to upset anyone, since Sirius had become something of a confirmed loner - but even if he was always by himself, he was always there. His sudden absence worried Remus quite a bit, especially since he knew that he was the cause of it, at least in part.

Remus went to bed long before anyone else did, since the physical results of Friday night still weighed heavily upon him, but he did not say goodnight to anyone before he left the common room and headed upstairs. Just as he’d expected, the dormitory was empty save for one of the six beds. Sirius had drawn the hanging curtains fully around his bed, and no light or movement came from within; either he was already asleep or he simply didn’t want to be bothered. Remus stared at the curtain for a moment, debating… but decided that this was not the time to say anything.

He got dressed for bed in silence, since he didn’t want to disturb the other boy, and as he crawled beneath the covers he firmly resolved that he would be nicer to Sirius in the future - starting tomorrow. And he would make James and Peter be nicer too, even if it killed him.

A wry smile crept across his face as he realized that it just might.