"You can't keep avoiding him, Moony."
"Yes, I can."
Remus carefully pressed cold cream into his fading bruise, hissing at the pain. He was covered in cuts – mostly superficial as the worse ones had been professionally healed – and his body was the sickly shades of old bruises – green and yellow. Madame Pomfrey had only released him from the hospital wing (reluctantly) earlier today after keeping him there for about a week. He usually had a rough time after a change, but this month was different. In addition to the usual agony of transforming – which was bad enough as it was – things had gotten a bit out of hand . . . there had been a fight . . . Remus could scarcely look at James and Peter, embarrassed for his lack on control in his lycanthropic state, but there was one person in particular he was going out of his way to avoid: his former best friend, Sirius Black.
James anxiously perched on a sink next to his friend, tossing a roll of gauze back and forth between his hands. He, too, was covered in bruises and cuts, but had been released from the hospital wing days earlier than his friend. Most of the bruises and recent scars on Remus had been inflicted by James. He felt guilty about it, seeing Remus in obvious pain and discomfort because of them, but it had been necessary. If he hadn't stopped Remus . . . He didn't even want to think about the consequences.
"Look, you know Sirius didn't mean for it to go that far," James said, desperate for his friends to patch things up and return to normal.
"But it did!" Remus snapped back. "Look, I know you're just trying to fix things, but I can't just act like it never happened."
"I know, I know. What he did was awful . . . but it was just a prank."
"No, a prank is tying someone's shoelaces together or . . . or putting the entire contents of a first year's trunk on top of the Astronomy Tower. Sending someone to certain death is not a prank. It's the plan of a bloody sociopath," Remus grumbled.
"It wasn't certain death. . . . He made it out all right. . . ." James said, not meeting his friend's eyes. They both knew that Severus Snape would not have survived Sirius' "prank" were it not for James' intervention.
"Sirius Black doesn't think about anyone but himself," Remus growled, reapplying a bandage where an antler had scratched his side.
"That's not true . . ."
"Did he even think about what would happen if his prank went through? He taught Snape how to find me when I'm . . . like that. I could've killed him! So we'd have a dead student, I'd be sent to Azkaban or be killed in retaliation, my parents and Dumbledore would be attacked for exposing me to people. . . ." Remus bowed his head. "And it'd be all my fault. . . ."
"What?" James' heart sunk at this sudden turn. "Don't say that. You couldn't know this would happen. No one could."
"No . . . my condition was supposed to be my secret. No one was supposed to find out. I let you guys figure it out; it was only a matter of time before the secret spread." Remus hung his head. It hadn't been easy, being turned into a werewolf at the age of six. His entire life had changed and he had been too young to fully understand what was going on. When he closed his eyes, he could sometimes remember what it was like to go a month without changing.
He hadn't understood what happened back then. His parents had stressed Stranger Danger but they had never warned him about puppy dogs. It had been late at night and he was playing outside for "just five more minutes" when the dog came up to him. It was a giant dog – grey with matted fur. Remus had always loved animals, so he had reached out to pet it . . . . The pain was incredible. When the dog . . . the wolf . . . the werewolf sank his teeth into Remus' shoulder and shook him like a rag doll. But he didn't kill him. Sometimes, Remus wished he had.
His mother had found him, lying in a pool of blood. If that sight alone hadn't been horrific enough, Remus' Muggle mother had to endure the reality that – not only were there werewolves in the world – her son was now one of them. She cried nonstop at the beginning. Remus' father wouldn't meet his eyes for months, particularly as the moon waxed larger; he had spent much of his time locked in his study, drinking and drowning in guilt for instigating Fenrir Greyback, the Dark Lord's lapdog. Remus' parents' marriage was never quite the same after the attack – what with the yelling and the fights, blame flying every which way.
Nowadays, Mrs. Lupin was overly protective of her infected baby – her only child. She wrote him letters every week, anxious to know everything about his comings and goings. Mr. Lupin was the opposite, maintaining a rather professional (albeint distant) relationship with his son. Life for Remus was usually best at Hogwarts, surrounded by friends who loved and accepted him regardless of his secrets . . . but apparently, he was just entertainment to one of them.
"Forgive him, Remus. He didn't mean anything by it," James pleaded.
"You always take his side," Remus grumbled, tossing the first aid kit back to James. "I have to go. . . ." He straightened his clothes and left the bathroom, ignoring his friend's frustrated sigh.