author's note: rofl, I really can't write Remus. And this is totally clichéd. And I'm not sure where it's going, I just felt like writing it. (: Reviews make me sing.
"My name is Remus Lupin... and I'm a werewolf," I say quietly, rolling my eyes as James and Sirius clap frantically, then nudge Peter to do the same. He looks as baffled by all this as I feel, but I doubt that it's showing up so clearly on my face; Peter's emotions do tend to be rather obvious.
"Why am I doing this again?" I ask slowly, careful in case one of them decides to take great offense and stomps out. Neither does, but Sirius gives me a look that screams "well, isn't it obvious?". This does not, however, answer my question, so I stubbornly avoid his gaze and look at James instead.
"Remus," James tells me, sounding exasperated, "we have been through this. You need to accept yourself. You need to embrace... er, well, you need to be more sure of..." He pauses, obviously unable to think of a good way to put it. "You need to make the best of things," he settles on. I don't need to ask what he means by 'things', and I do find it slightly sweet that they are doing this, even if it is completely unhelpful. Why they think that saying that I am a werewolf in a deserted classroom which Sirius has soundproofed (he's extremely proud of how well he's apparently done this, so the amusement will be some consolation if half the school knows by tomorrow) is going to make me feel good about myself, I'm not entirely sure. I don't tell them this, but share a look with Peter. With any other person the look would be a mixture of amusement, disbelief, and exasperation, but Peter's been a Marauder for as long as I have and we don't need to define our looks. We both know the other is thinking the exact same. (Well, mostly the same. I like to think my thoughts aren't completely identical to Peter's at any one time, no offense to Pete or anything.)
"I've said it," I point out. "So... can we go back to the common room now?"
"I don't think that's really acceptance, Moony," Sirius remarks airily. "You don't sound too enthusiastic."
"I wonder why," I snap, then feel bad for it. "Sorry. I just don't think this is the best idea. I mean, it's not like I don't appreciate it or anything, but..."
"I'm mortally offended," James informs me flatly. I pause, unsure whether it's all joking or whether he means it a bit, and he laughs at me and says, "How is it that even when you're arguing you're always polite? It's creepy."
"I happily await the day when he will roar swearwords at me and throw things," Sirius says solemnly.
"You're making fun of me," James says, looking shocked. Sirius just grins and James looks away before suddenly flicking his wand and sending a quill at Sirius' forehead. This is done without James so much as glancing at him, because James likes to give the impression that he is amazingly clever and talented. Which most of our teachers reckon he is.
"Sorry, mate, that was meant to be a paperweight," he says, smirking. Since I'm not entirely sure what a paperweight looks like, I don't know how close he was. Predictably, James and Sirius start bickering, and I notice that Peter is looking a little anxious. Actually, I am too. So the room is soundproofed, but that doesn't mean someone won't burst in and give us all detention. Besides... I'm not scared of the dark, but I dislike being up and about late at night. All my bad memories are related to night, you see.
"Shall we just go, then?" I suggest loudly. Sirius gives me a scornful look and then ignores me, because he is Sirius Black and therefore does not need to listen to anyone else, while James doesn't even seem to hear me. I do get a very sympathetic look from Peter, who's now chewing his lip, but I know from experience that getting Pete to speak up is impossible.
"You can argue in the common room, can't you?" I try desperately.
"We aren't suicidal, Moony."
I am obviously incredibly stupid, as I completely fail to see what is suicidal about arguing there. Sirius evidently notices this, as he gives me a pitying look and explains that waking everyone up at gone midnight is not the best of ideas – in an extremely patronising way, I might add. Thankfully, because of my stupidity they seem to have forgotten their quarrel and when I request leaving for a third time they agree.
When we are finally in the dormitory (after an argument with the Fat Lady about staying out too late), Peter turns in my direction and says, "It was a good idea, though."
There is no reply, and for some reason I can't even begin to comprehend he feels the need to add, "Maybe you should talk about it. When were you bitten, anyway?"
I try to stop moving towards the bed, but my legs won't obey me and when I manage to stop walking I fall backwards, feeling dizzy. I put my hand on the window sill to support me, and my grip on it tightens until I am clutching it for dear life, as if is somehow rescuing me from the question. It's not that I haven't noticed the others' curiosity when I brush past the subject, but I honestly wasn't expecting to be asked as bluntly as that. I'm not annoyed with Peter: he doesn't mean any harm by it, he never means to upset anyone. I'm simply shocked – even though it's probably irrational – by the suddenness of it. By the fact that I actually have to answer: James and Sirius aren't even pretending that they're mad at Peter or don't want to know, but are looking at me and waiting.
"I..." I falter. I think how unfortunate it is that this has to be discussed now, and then I remember that 'now' is only now now. Which is a bit of a confusing sentence to say, even though I'm only thinking it in my head and my mouth is entirely uninvolved. And really, 'now' is a good a time as any to discuss my becoming a werewolf, the point being that it is still not a good time because there isn't a good time, and dear lord I'm thinking complete rubbish and they're still looking at me and expecting a reply. "I was... six."
Seven in five days, and I was looking forward to it because my mother had hinted I might get a Rememberall for my birthday. It wasn't as if I needed one, but the changing of colours fascinated me. I had borrowed one from a cousin just before and deliberately forgotten things just to watch it. Looking back, it's a good thing I didn't end up getting one; leaving behind random belongings just so that I could watch it would not have been a good idea... I shake these thoughts away, because they are not useful or constructive. The others are looking at me as if they expect me to go on, but there is no way that I am telling the whole sorry story. It isn't anything personal; I don't even repeat it to myself.
"It's late," I point out.
"Moony." James states. I wait for him to continue, which he doesn't. There is a length of time in which we all stay completely still and silent – possibly a few seconds, or several days. Eventually, by some unspoken agreement, we all decide to leave it. Ten minutes later it's still and silent again, and the lights are off, and Peter is snoring gently because he has an enviable knack for just falling asleep. I sigh and close my eyes, but I'm pushing sleep away. I have a feeling that I am going to have a nightmare I used to have as a child if I fall asleep; a nightmare regarding what exactly happened that day. It was summer, 1966.
And, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Little Red Riding Hood, and ate her all up.