Remus ponders the previous night as the grey sky opens to rain. Was that shock or glee that made sirius so irrational? Oh sirius had told him James was dead, told him where Harry had gone, but who was it the Sirius was mourning? Was that manic joy that they were alive or was it that he could continue leading a double life? He'd had his doubts, he'd let them slide in his own shock. As he woke up hat morning, he fled. As the heavens pour, the ice-cold water on his skin reminds him he's still in his bathrobe.

Remus knows he's made some mistakes. He can forgive himself for so much, as a werewolf he has to, but he'll never forgive himself for that one night. It wasn't even a full moon. That night James died he did something he never thought he could do. He'd known in there, deep down, that Sirius was a Death Eater, but he'd slept with him anyway. Maybe everything he thought was wrong, perhaps bloodline -or illness- would tell the truth about someone. After all, the Blacks supported Death Eaters, what had made him think Sirius was any different?

Frustrated, he throws the teacup onto the floor, hearing it smash with a vile satisfaction.

Remus smiles to himself. He is a lucky man. He could have bitten someone last night, or quite the collection of someones. Maybe if he'd gotten Peter, though, he wouldn't have been able to transform and run off as a rat.

As his mind turns to his friends, it shifts back to remember that night. He laughs hoarsely into the darkness at the bitter irony. He's been mad with himself all these years for sleeping with a Death Eater who wasn't a Death Eater at all. And yet, he still can't fully forgive himself. What if Sirius had been a Death Eater? Wasn't it bad enough that he thought so? Regardless, he goes to the window, laughing at the waning moon. This, he knows, is freedom.