It was, interestingly enough, Peter who first noticed something odd about their softspoken, mild-mannered friend. Remus liked to go home about once a month - once every month, in fact - and he liked to take home with him massive amounts of cranberry scones.
Of course, Peter himself was excessively fond of cranberry scones, having a shortage of them at home. Peter's home life was something he didn't like to think about. His father was rarely home in body and his mother was rarely home in mind. Anything that might have helped unify the three of them instead tore them apart, and he had grown up a weak, frightened boy who was desperate to find some secure footing in the world.
And the secure footing revealed itself in the friendship of James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin.
Remus was carefully stuffing some of the scones into a container, presumably to take home to his mother (in reality, he was the one who liked the scones, and they provided him with an odd sense of security when he paced about restlessly in the Shrieking Shack, wishing he was a twelve year old boy and not a wild, dangerous monster). Peter watched him with a slight frown. Something was off about the entire scenario. It clawed at the boy from dawn until dusk, sometimes even at night, and he asked James about it second. He'd asked Sirius first but Sirius had only laughed and told him it was because "no one fancied Remy Lupin had a weakness for pastries, even if he is a twelve year old boy".
But it just didn't feel right, and it was another two months - and two batches of cranberry scones - that Peter worked it out.
"My Mum worked in a bakery," Remus had told them when they'd first met, "A magical bakery where everything you ever wanted would be made then and there. She taught me some basic things, like ..." and he had flushed with embarrassment.
So if his mum worked in a bakery, why did she depend on her son to bring home cranberry scones? Cranberry. SCONES?
And when he brought this point up with James, James's hazel eyes were perturbed.
So, unbeknownst to Remus, his friends watched him. It was February now, and Valentine's Day was fast approaching, and that was when they decided to hatch their little plan.
Remus had a crush on Dorcas Meadowes for the longest time, despite the fact that Dorcas was a fourth year and a Ravenclaw and could stare down anyone who dared to approach her within three seconds. James and Sirius slowly goaded him, carefully so that he could not back out of it, and sat with smug smiles stretched across their mouths as he constructed a card. It was a pretty card, not pink as one would expect on such a day but a pale, thoughtful shade of blue. He hoped that something different would get to her.
The day before Valentine's Day, Peter, James and Sirius watched as he collected cranberry scones with a disturbed look on his face.
Remus didn't notice James and Peter bent over a scrap of parchment; he assumed that it was just Peter's Transfiguration homework which hadn't been done the right way the night before. In fact the two were making notes, taking dates and exchanging surprised and enlightened looks.
"When are you going to tell us?" Sirius remarked casually, wrapping an arm around Remus's shoulders to reach for one of the cranberry scones.
"Tell you what?" Remus asked, instantly defensive. "I didn't think you would... I mean..."
"Remy," Sirius said as James and Peter straightened each other's ties and looked across the table with uncannily serious expressions on their faces. And then Sirius leaned in so as to not let other people hear. "Why didn't you tell us you were a werewolf?"
Remus's eyes widened.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Sirius asked intensely, his grey eyes darkening. "Why didn't you tell us?"
"Your mum's not really sick, is she?" James asked quietly.
"And who are the scones really for?" Peter added, not to be outdone.
The questions came too fast; Remus put his elbow into a plate of scrambled eggs and blushed scarlet as a merry guffaw travelled down the Gryffindor table at his accident.
"I'm sorry..." he said softly, and, gathering up the scones, departed from the Great Hall, leaving the pale blue Valentine lying on the tabletop like a forgotten heart.