Fifth Year

Remus is having the most wonderful dream of his life, he thinks. It is weird to be aware of this while he is within the dream, but he should be used to weirdness, because when he dreams after a full moon, it is almost always about being the wolf. He's never known if his dreams are reflections of what has happened the night before or if they're just what his imagination thinks it was like. He's read a book or two (or five) on dreams and some of them say that it is impossible to dream about something you've never seen or done. You can dream of what you imagine it might be like, but not what it really is. Like dying. He's dreamt of that before and when he dies it's always vague and blurry, his mind glancing away from the reality of it.

Tonight he dreams he isn't alone. He always is- the wolf dreams are always the same, hungry and alone and frustrated most of all, constantly smelling human but not knowing where the scent is coming from, finally discovering it on his own body and trying to catch it. But tonight- oh, tonight there are three other animals, and the wolf is at first crazed with the desire to feed. He fights the black dog for a long while to get to the stag, and although he wins the fight, he is too tired by that time to want to do more than lie down and lick his new companion's wounds. Besides, he has started to realize that these animals- there is a rat somewhere, he knows, although he hasn't seen it- are something more than animals, although he cannot smell that human that makes him so wild. The stag stays on the far side of the room all night, watching patiently, waiting. The wolf will accept him when he decides to and not a moment sooner. The black dog has been accepted nearly immediately, and after they're done licking each other's pelts the black dog wants to engage in something the wolf doesn't at first understand. The black dog pounces on him three times before he realizes what he wants. PLAY says the black dog, wriggling his hindquarters. PLAY PLAY PLAY. The stag snorts with non-canine dignity as they bound all over the room until the moon sets, and then human is everywhere and then agony and Moony, oh Jesus, I forgot what this was like, Pete stop puking you girl, James get his legs-

He flounders up through layers of sleep until he's reached some level of awareness of his surroundings. It always hurts more to wake up than anything else- the transformation hurts, yes indeed it does, but this usually hurts more because his wounds have had time to settle and fester and bruise before Madam Pomfrey comes, and he's usually lying naked on the cold floor, which, besides stripping him of any dignity he might have retained, also makes things a thousand times more painful.

He's surprised, then, when he wakes up and is not praying for death. He's not on the floor, he's not in a great deal of pain, and he's not naked. There's still pain- that deep-tissue bruising that comes from bones snapping and knitting together again, tendons stretching, muscles lengthening then shrinking. This pain is manageable, though, it doesn't sneak beyond his restraints like it usually does. Suddenly the door opens and shuts on the far side of the room and Madam Pomfrey's no-nonsense presence is bustling all around him. She is a bit startled that he's in the bed, wearing a pair of pyjama bottoms, and that he only has a few superficial scratches on his stomach.

"Here- tilt your head up- only one potion today, Mr. Lupin. Drink it all, there's a good lad. You must have slept most of last night, you've barely done any damage at all," she tuts.

"Nnnn..."he replies, his throat too painful to do more than hiss as she smears some sort of cold sticky stuff on the tender skin of his belly.

"You don't have to come to the infirmary when you wake up, just go straight to your dorm," she adds, packing up her little bag. He thinks he sees the silver corner of an Invisibility Cloak by the door, but he cannot stay awake long enough to get up and go check. His eyes close and he's asleep before Madam Pomfrey leaves.

At ten o'clock he wakes up again- he's alone, no trace of an Invisibility Cloak anywhere, and he wonders if he imagined it- and fumbles into his clothes, making his way slowly back up to the castle and then to Gryffindor tower and finally to their room. All is silent. It's a Tuesday morning and the other three are- or should be- in Transfiguration. He's hobbling toward his bed and is about to draw back the curtains when he sees the pile of torn, dirty, blood-stained clothing beside Sirius's bed. This does absolutely nothing to ease his suspicions that Something Very Odd is going on, and he knows that if Something Odd is going on, Sirius will be at the thick of it, wearing his most innocent expression and probably nothing else. Remus crawls wearily under his covers and falls asleep again, vowing to get to the bottom of it...just as soon as he feels a bit better...

It's mid-afternoon when his bed-curtains are pulled back, waking him immediately because the light pierces his eyes, a thousand small daggers of pain. "Ah!" he cries hoarsely, throwing his hand over his face.

"Sirius, you berk, you're hurting him," he hears James hiss, and the light is gone but now the bed is weighted down by three wriggling bodies, pinning him in place.

"Good God, you lot are heavy," he murmurs, finding that his voice works again. "Time to lay off the treacle tarts, Potter."

When he takes his hand away from his eyes he realizes that they are looking at him in wide-eyed expectation. "Er?" he asks, then suddenly remembers that he has something to ask them about. "Oi. What the bloody hell happened last night?"

In truth, he is surprised to see the three of them. Since the beginning of school this year they have been avoiding him studiously, or doing a very good imitation of it. There have been many hushed conversations that end when he walks in the room, many plots he is not a part of, and many meetings he is not invited to. It took him a few weeks to realize that it is probably because he is a Prefect. At first he was puzzled and annoyed, but as time has passed it has given away to wide, welling hurt, now buried deep where other rejections have gone. He is not even a very good Prefect, he thinks privately, struggling to understand why his three best friends no longer want to be friends with him. He has never stopped a single hex. He just doesn't participate in them anymore (although when he finds a particularly good one he will write it down and give it to James). This is actually the first time any of them have talked to him they got back from Christmas hols, over three weeks ago. Sirius has not rubbed his back on the nights leading up to the full moon at all this year (although, he thinks, flushing, that might be a good thing), and he has spent them instead staring at the ceiling wondering what on earth he has done wrong. Has he become too boring? Did he do or say something to make one of them angry and they're freezing him out instead of beating him up because he's a Prefect? Has- and this one always gives him pause, makes him feel sick to his stomach- has he done something, said something, eaten something, that might have betrayed this stupid thing he has for Sirius that has only increased exponentially in the last two years? That last is the only explanation he can find, and it makes him want to throw up.

But now they are looking at him with excitement, and he is utterly, completely bewildered. Has he been the subject of a five-month-long prank?

"Moony," Sirius says, his voice full of affection. "Don't you remember anything from last night?"

He remembers his dream. The black dog. The stag. The rat. "I- I dreamed. Of something. That there were other animals with me." That sounds stupid. "Were any of you there, with the Invisibility Cloak, this morning?"

James is wriggling so hard the bed is shaking from his excitement. "Moony, we did it! We finally did it!"

"Did what?" he asks, but something, some corner of a memory niggles at him, the half-formed title of a book James hastily shoved under his bed. No. It can't possibly be.

"We've been trying for three years to figure out a way to help you when you're- with your- thingy," Sirius says. He's excited too, far too excited to squirm like James. His entire body is taut with it, pressed against Remus's right leg, his fists clenched and his gray eyes exhausted but burning with manic energy. "When we found out about Animagi in Third Year we started to research it and see what it would take, how we could do it"-

No.

"And right after school started, I could do it, Moony- I don't know how, I could just concentrate hard enough. And I told Prongs"-

"Prongs?" he asks, and immediately knows.

"James, 'cause he's a stag and he's got prongs, see? We had to make up code-names so you wouldn't figure it out, and oh Moony it's been so hard keeping this from you, James and Pete practically had to put me on a leash"- Sirius flops down beside him, his manic energy dissipating with an almost audible pop. Remus realizes they have been up over thirty-six hours, and they must be beyond exhaustion.

"Anyway I figured it out a few weeks after Padfoot- that's Sirius, Moony- and Peter just got it the beginning of January," James finishes with a yawn.

"I'm a rat," Peter adds, making an awful face. "A sodding rat."

"Yes, Wormtail, we know, you've been on about it for weeks," Sirius mumbles crossly.

Remus realizes that they are waiting for him to say something. Anything. His fists are clenched in his blankets and he can't say a single word. The silence stretches on and he finally clears his throat. "Yes," he says at length. "That's great then."

Disappointment and confusion are writ large on their faces, excitement slowly bleeding out. Hating it, hating himself, hating everything, he desperately tugs on his blanket and murmurs, "I- I'm very tired, and you must be too. You should go to sleep."

James's mouth is in a tight, hurt line. "All right, Moony," he nods. Then, more firmly, "C'mon, lads, Moony's right, I'm for bed."

He doesn't look at them as the weight lifts off his bed and he's no longer pinned by his blankets. The curtains rustle and close around him and as soon as he is sure they can't see him he grabs his wand, whispers, "Silencio," and sits up and pulls a pillow into his lap, then stuffs his face into it. He is shaking uncontrollably. It is too much, it is enormous, this swelling thing inside him trying to come out. His ribs are going to crack from internal pressure.

It's not a prank they've pulled, something he can laugh off with a joke. They've done this brilliant, beautiful, horrible thing for him, because of him, and he doesn't know if he can bear it. The importance of what they have done, how dangerous, how it might have gone wrong, is making him dizzy. Becoming an Animagus is something only ever attempted by the most capable and well-trained of wizards. Professor McGonagall had only outlined two years ago the difficulties and dangers inherent in the process. Wizards had killed themselves, done irreparable harm to themselves, had gone mad over it. One wizard turned only his head into that of a fish and suffocated before he could stick himself into a bowl of water. Another was stuck as a rabbit for the rest of life after miscalculating the amount of mercury (only a miniscule amount is needed, he remembers). And Sirius, James, and Peter have done it. Successfully. For him.

The thing in him that is trying to expand and escape begins to force tendrils up his throat, and it closes. His emotions are always very close to the surface just after a full moon, something he hates because he always feels on the brink of doing something stupid- he imagines this is what Sirius must feel like all the time and has a new respect for the fact that his friend has lived this long. He struggles to push everything down and away, tries to imagine a piece of ice melting and cooling his bloodstream as he does sometimes to calm himself when he's angry, but it isn't working. He can't stop shaking.

Suddenly his curtains are drawn again with a smooth whirr and Sirius is beside him, touching his back and whispering urgently, "Moony, what's wrong really? You- Moony? Are you-?"

Remus jerks and sits up, pushing himself to get away from Sirius because he is not going to cry in front of him, there is no bloody way, crying is something one does in private if one has to do it at all, and it appears he does have to do it, in fact his chin is starting to wobble, so thank you Sirius but you should probably go now-

Sirius does not take the hint and hauls himself into the bed, moving the pillow out of Remus's lap and grabbing onto him, pulling him close- closer- closest. He resists the strong slim arms gathering him in tight, but Sirius is having none of it. Remus is held fast. He gulps out a sob, furious with himself for losing control and with Sirius for being there to witness it, and struggles until Sirius leans his forehead against Remus's and says his name.

"Remus," Sirius whispers, like a benediction, and all the fight goes out of him. He allows himself to be gently guided forward until his face is pressed into the curve of Sirius's neck. Sirius's hands release their death grip on him and he is suddenly being held rather than held in place. He can feel the vibrations against his forehead when Sirius murmurs, "I told James we shouldn't avoid you but he was worried I'd tell you, and I probably would have because you know how I am with secrets. Are you mad at us, Moony?"

"It's- the nicest thing- anybody could ever have done," he whispers brokenly, and then suddenly his back bows forward with the force of that thing still swelling in him, and when he can breathe out he's crying great shuddery sobs muffled into Sirius's neck. It hurts, it hurts very badly, because the thing trying to get out of him is bright and cutting and his fists are clenched in the front of Sirius's shirt, beating against his chest hard enough to cause them both pain. But Sirius doesn't say anything, just rests his cheek on the top of Remus's head and waits until he has spent the most hysterical part of his weeping, then begins to gently run his fingers through his damp hair.

It seems hours before he can stop crying. The cotton of Sirius's shirt is soggy- and, he hates to admit it, a bit slimy actually- against his face by the time his breathing has stopped hitching in and out convulsively. He has completely given up sniffing because his nose is so stuffed he succeeds only in popping his ears, and his eyes are swollen so badly he can barely see. He's sure his face is red and wet and oh God he needs to wipe his nose, but he's too exhausted to be embarrassed. He doesn't care about much of anything right now actually, because he has loved Sirius Black for over two years now, and for the first time he is glad of it, not ashamed or afraid. There's the beginning of a warm complicit something spreading under his skin, and he doesn't want to analyze the something just yet, only savor it in that unprotected part of his mind.

He's startled when Sirius speaks again. "We overwhelmed you, didn't we Moony."

He's surprised and gratified that Sirius understands so completely. "Yeah," he says foggily. "A bit." He pulls back, hating the loss of Sirius's warmth, but knowing he will do something stupid if he lets himself nuzzle into it for one second longer. With a short sigh he grabs his wand, mutters a quick Arefacius to dry Sirius's shirt and a Detergius to clear his face, then twists to put it on his bedside table again. When he turns back, Sirius's hand is suddenly on his cheek, cool long fingers against overheated skin.

Sirius's face looms very near- too near- he can see the tiny flecks of gold in the gray irises and all seven freckles on his nose, the one tooth in the front on the bottom row that is pushed forward farther than the rest and is more endearing than if they were perfectly straight, and he whispers, "Remus," like he did before, like his name is a prayer, or a religion-

And suddenly the Silencing Spell gives out. He can hear the whoosh of sound rushing in where it wasn't before, and then James snoring. Sirius is pulling away, looking a bit nonplussed. Then he motions for Remus to lie down. "You look knackered, mate," he says with a grin, and the thread of tension that has begun to hum and vibrate between them snaps. They are just Remus and Sirius again rather than that moment of RemusandSirius, and he finds he's a bit relieved.

He is knackered, and he knows Sirius is too, so he stretches out on the bed and doesn't object when Sirius begins to rub his back as he hasn't for so long. "Padfoot is the smartest dog in all of England", is written along his shoulder blades, and he chuffs laughter into his pillow. When he's hovering on the brink of sleep Sirius's fingers become vague, droop, and waver. Finally his hand rests slack on Remus's hip, and he knows Sirius is asleep, his slow, even breathing huffing very gently against his shoulder. Warm and soothed and so in love he thinks he may break in two, he puts his hand over Sirius's and laces their fingers together, then slides into sleep.