Sirius is anything but subtle. And he doesn't take no for an answer. At least, that's how I see it. Hence this piece of silliness.

Disclaimer: Holograph, tumbleweed, banana split and copious amounts of absinthe. Yay!

Whenever there is a void, the void must be filled. The closest available material must be gathered, twisted, shaped to fit. At Hogwarts, the things that were needed to fill this particular void were people with brilliance, people with charm, people who could inject a healthy dose of defiance into the stuffy and overly reverential student body.

In the case of James Potter and myself, very little shaping was required. This school was just waiting for people like us.

And yet, something is missing.

We've picked up a few hangers on. Girls, of course, who follow James around with their tongues hanging out and give me moon-eyes every time I venture down a corridor. Then there are the ones who want to be us. James in particular seems to have got himself a one-boy fan club in the shape of a kid called Peter…uh… something. A chubby fellow who trots along beside him with a look of insipid adoration. Jamie seems quite fond of the little guy. Seeing as he shares a room with us, he's basically unavoidable…

Ah. Yes. I forgot about that, didn't I? I apologise. Bad storytelling on my part. I bet you are wondering how on earth I could be sharing a room with James, aren't you? Here's the thing; I actually got sorted into Gryffindor! Yes, you heard right. A Black is in Gryffindor.

I'll let you have a moment to absorb the full impact of that one.

The multitude of Blacks in the Slytherin hierarchy were not pleased. As far as I know, my parents haven't found out yet. I'm going to try and keep it that way for a little longer. Like, maybe forever. Or as close as I can possibly get.

Pettigrew! That's it. I knew I'd remember eventually. The kid's name is Peter Pettigrew. I think James enjoys the steady, unabated flow of admiration. I don't really understand it, but being in possession of an almost saint-like modesty myself I don't suppose I would. Anyway, I can't complain about James trying to make this Pettigrew a part of 'us'… whatever the hell that is…because I think that is what is missing. It can't just be Potter and Black forever. We're too similar, for one thing. Besides, I have my eyes on someone too. When I said I wanted to know more about scar-boy from the train incident, I meant it.

His name is Remus Lupin. The name wasn't hard to find out, what with them lining us up like lambs to the slaughter to put on that bloody hat. But apart from that, not much. He's like a bloody ghost – doesn't speak, doesn't really associate with anyone, does his work quietly in the corner. As far as I can make out he isn't from any prestigious family (a relief, to be honest) but he isn't muggle-born either, because the Slytherins haven't targeted him.

Or, at least, they weren't targeting him until he stood up for that red-haired muggle-born girl. Announced, calm as you please, that he had gone to a muggle primary school and would be happy to explain to her why her tellymafone-thingy wasn't working. He didn't even look in the direction of the half-dozen of Lucius Malfoy's cronies hovering around.

James was so impressed he even allowed himself to be talked into apologizing for trying to hex him on the train. With the one condition that I did too. Now, I don't usually do apologies. They aren't my style. But we gave it a shot, and to our immense relief Remus waved the apology away before we (meaning James) had really gotten started.

"Hey…I.. well, we…it's just that…on the train, uh - "

"It's fine, really."

"Really? Excellent!"

"Yeah, that's great! Friends, then?"

He gave us the oddest look, but nodded with a twitch of the lips that could have been a smile.

All in all, it was a lot easier than I expected. I'm feeling quite good about the whole thing. Positively exuberant, in fact. Plus, I've arranged a great surprise for him… ah! There he is.

"Remus! C'mon, mate, hurry up."

"I'm sorry?"

"C'mon. We're having a little celebration, welcoming you to our room."

"What?"

He's giving me that weird look again. Geez, it isn't difficult to understand. What is with this guy?

"Uh… Black, I already have a room… and you already have three roommates…"

"Not anymore! I did some swapping around. I had the house elves move your bags for you. And call me Sirius."

He's looking even more bemused now. Seriously, does no one know what friendliness is anymore? I even organised everything for him. Why is he looking at me like that? He should be happy.

"You… moved my things?"

"Absolutely. No time for waiting around. You're one of us now."

"Us?"

"Us."

"Right…"

He looks down at his hands, and I have the crazy idea that he might actually refuse me. It certainly seems like he's struggling with something, making some sort of decision.

"Well? Are you coming, Remus?"

A long pause. Too long. Then he looks up.

"Uh, I… yeah. Yeah, I'm coming."

"Well then, hurry up!"

Four. It's a great number, really. Much better than, say, two. Like the three musketeers, only even better. Four can be marvelous, mad, magical, mischievous, and marauding musketeers. And with Remus, now we are four.

Whenever there is a void, the void must be filled. At least, that's my theory. And I'm sticking to it.