"Oy, Remus!"
"It's no use, James."
"Well, what do we do? We can't just leave him here- that would get people chattering, the whole lot of them, and then we might get in trouble and-"
"Peter, for the love of Merlin, shut up! Remus isn't going to be worried about getting into a smattering of trouble."
"Yeah, he'd be more worried about his hairy little secret."
"Nicely said, mate."
The two best friends exchanged a well-understood smile as they stared down at their unconscious friend; he was in particularly shabby shape after this full moon, as cuts littered his body and purpley bluish dots were smeared across his various limbs, like in a watercolor painting.
"Hey, uh, guys? What are we going to do with him?"
James stuffed his hands in his pockets, his cheeks inflating with a heaved sigh; a huge, doey-eyed question mark hung above Peter's pudgy face.
"Here's what we're going to do," Sirius replied; his face was blank and composed, his voice as dead as Peter soon would appear to be in the upcoming years; betrayal was one of the world's cruelest secrets. "We're going to drag his body into the castle, gag him, and lock him in the broom cupboard. He'll wake up, nearly naked, and-"
"And want to have our heads!" Peter squealed, his eyes wide with anxiety and fear.
"He's joking, you brainless lump." Piped James, his eyes making circles. "Well, at least I'm assuming he's joking. I really wouldn't put it past him, Peter. You know good ol' Sirius- troublemaker since birth! Best friend since eleven!"
"Don't let Remus catch you saying that." Pettigrew muttered darkly, staring down at his friend, at his matted, sweaty hair, at his lined face and weak stature.
"C'mon, let's just get him the hell inside. It's three in the morning and I for one am exhausted."
"Yes, yes, your beauty sleep is so important to the rest of us."
"Gee, James, it sure is a pity that Petigrew had to come with."
James pushed his glasses higher on his nose and supported Remus's legs as Sirius reached strong hands underneath his armpits; Peter watched, and could be caught sneaking glances here and there for any sign of authority ("But we're not supposed to be out here! If anyone finds us-" "Peter, he's our best friend, and he needs us. If you stay here, I'll tell everyone about that obnoxious dream you had about Professor-" "Okay!"). Together, the two teenagers worked to support their friend, using no magic to carry him back to the Gryffindor common room; a soft tune escaped Sirius's lips as he marched silently up the stairs. "Yeah, sing with me, sing for the year, sing for the laughter, sing for the tear- sing with me, if it's just for today. Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away. Dream on- Dream on!
"Mate, you need to stop listening to that bloody American Muggle music."
"And what if I don't?" He retorted, a huge grin apparating onto his face.
However, the answer was never known: they had reached the common room and, just as instructed, Peter opened the portrait hole, having gotten through the entrance as a rat ("He might as well be good for something.")
Soon, Remus was dressed in pajamas and snoring soundly, tucked snugly into a warm quilt. Yes, Remus Lupin was quite lucky to have such good friends.
Remus awoke the next morning much as he always did after a full moon. He would find himself dressed and warm; a plate of toast and marmalade would be awaiting him on his bedside table, along with a steaming cup of hot chocolate. Accompanied by this was always a basin of steaming water, a washrag, and a note, signed by a footprint and a hoof print.
Noticing these items, a smile broke out onto his face. He sat up in bed and cringed as he stretched, extending his long, bloody arms to the tips of his dirt-infested toes. Honestly, what had he gotten into last night? A shudder wracked his body as mental images of terrified faces and bloody animals raced through as if competing in a marathon of which could scare him more. He shook his head, matted, gooey hair flying limply through the air, as if attempting to physically shake away his thoughts. Remus couldn't remember much of the previous evening (nor did he want to), though one precarious thought opened its eyes to his mind.
Dream on! Dream on! Dream until your dreams come true! Dream on!
"Dream about what, exactly?" Remus asked aloud; he grabbed the basin and summoned his wand; the rag dunked itself into the near-boiling liquid and applied itself to his tinged skin, causing tiny outbursts of shock and pain to escape its owner without logical consent. While this was happening, he grabbed the aged piece of parchment and began to stalk his best friends; the Marauder's Map told him that they were currently sneaking around the east end of the third floor. The dot that read 'Peter' suddenly disappeared; Sirius and James entered the Potion Master's office, and soon Peter reappeared. Although he never could reason why Peter chose his animagus as a rat, it sure came in dead handy sometimes.
Remus simply shook his head and examined his colorful arms and torso, sighing softly. His arms felt like fifty pound bags of flour, simply weighing down his arms until they nearly dragged on the ground. He stood up and wobbled tremendously; his knees buckled and his head lolled against his collarbone, his neck unable to hold his scarred skull. With another heaved sigh, he trudged his way to the boys' lavatories and began to wash up, putting on the disguise that he always did after a full moon: a clean face, thoroughly-washed hair, and a tongue ready with the excuse, "Oh, Patty's cat and me don't get along- he scratched the mess out of me." It was simply something that one got used to- and Remus was definitely used to it.
Once he had finished washing up, he emerged from the bathroom.
Instantly, he wanted to retreat back inside.
"Sirius, what the bloody hell?"
Sirius had his nose practically inside his bedside table drawer and was throwing everything from Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrappers to his stashed collection of Witch Weekly to pictures of his mum and dad behind him; there was a great pile forming in the middle of the room. His bed was in a disarray, and dirty clothes hung from his four-poster rails. When he heard no reply from his friend, he tightened the towel around his waist and marched forward. "Any answer?"
Sirius grunted in response; he apparently didn't find what he was looking for and stood up, properly acknowledging him for the first time. "Oh, hey mate. Glad to see you're up and about- you certainly look better than you did this morning, bloody hell, what were you even doing?" A sheepish smile spread across his features like oozing pudding, and with a flick of his wand Remus's possessions were placed in their proper spots. "Witch Weekly, honestly? I mean, sure, Sabrina Brent is pretty hot, but only shallow cauldrons read that shit!"
Remus was not amused. "Yeah, I must be the best, most tolerant shallow cauldron you know. Would you mind telling me what you were looking for?"
"Oh, uh, nothing."
If Remus knew one thing about Sirius, it was that he didn't like to keep secrets. In fact, he was one of those people that if something amazing had happened to him, he'd strut around like a bloody fool, pronouncing it to the world and rubbing it in all of his enemies faces. A single brunette eyebrow flew into the clouds as Remus continued to stare at his obviously guilty friend. "Well?"
Sirius squinted his eyes, as if sizing him up; his fists made balls and unrolled themselves many times; you could almost see the cogs turning in his wheel of a brain. He had made his decision.
"I'm looking for a record."
How very helpful.
"A record, hmm, I see... Which record, assuming I may ask? Oh, Merlin, it's not your Buzzcock's one, is it?"
A dirty grin broke out onto his friend's face. "No, because I know just how much you love that one."
"Seriously-"
"That's my name, don't wear it-"
"What is it?"
A tremendous sigh shook Sirius, and he seemed to physically crumple before Remus; his shoulders turned southward, his eyes nearly shut, and a huge amount of held breath deflated his stomach and chest. "Well, I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone- not a single soul, Remus. You have to solemnly swear."
"Alright, man, I swe-"
"You have to!"
"I solemnly swear."
Sirius seemed to choose his words carefully, as if scanning through a thesaurus to reword his sentences. It seemed to take minutes, even hours. At least, he decided it was time to relieve himself of this horrific information. "It's a Aerosmith album."
"An Aerosmith album? You mean that ruddy American Muggle music?"
With a single nod, the secret was out.
Suddenly, something with Remus clicked. He had heard a single Aerosmith song before, and it wasn't that too long ago.
However, this seemed trivial information to him, and he withheld it from best friend. It was just a song, after all.
The next few days seemed to pass in a blur; Remus was in a particularly fond mood, as was usual with the ending of the full moon and the beginning of that little silver sliver that sneaks amongst the clouds. Another reason for the warm mood- despite the frigid temperature outside- was that both Peter and Snape had been accused of stealing from the Potions Master's personal supply; Severus had caught Peter on his way to taking them to James, though the Master was too quick for them; both had received a week of detention. James had a boastful smile across his face nearly all week, and the mood was upbeat and annoyance was down.
After supper one evening, the three friends marched towards the Gryffindor common room, the weight of their homework nearly squashing them into the cement stairs. Remus completed his share of work in nearly a third of the time it would take his oafs of friends to slap down some answers. He quietly packed up his things and mentioned a few words about him going to clean up; he received grunts for answers and merely sighed, knowing full and well that he would cave and give them his essays and charts to copy.
The fifth year lavatories were down the hall and to the left, so Remus thought he would be fine and safe to simply let it all out.
And he did.
"Half my life is in books' written pages. Lived and learned from fools and from sages. You know it's true- all the things come back to you. Dream on! Dream on! Dream on! Dream on! Dream on-uh!"
He simply couldn't hit that last note. It was nearly impossible; he was hardly sure how that ludicrous ol' bugger could hit it, let alone if it was even healthy. He shrugged and returned to his room to find a note attached to his four poster. In Sirius's messy scrawl was written:
"Next time, mate, you might want to keep your voice down. Honestly, the portraits were even complaining. I'm sure the Slytherins heard you in the dungeons, so good job on reaching that goal. As for a bit of advice- that piercing, impossible note is more like howling." A paw print was it's only signature.
During the next full moon, the sky was filled with the piercing howls of Aerosmith's Dream On. It appeared that anything was possible with a little magic, luck, and pixie dust- or at least the willingness and insanity of best friends.