October-November 1971

"Psst! James!"

Silence.

"James! Oi, James!"

The sounds of a fluffy pillow being thrown across the darkened dormitory room are heard.

"MMF! Sirius, what the hell-!"

"Shh! Quiet, you'll wake Pete! C'mere!"

"No, you come here, you're the one that had to throw a pillow- "

"Oh, it didn't hurt, quit whinging- just come here!"

James sighs melodramatically, flings back his quilt, and shuffles over to Sirius's bed, hissing at the touch of the cold floor. Peter's snores fill the room, he sleeps peacefully. Sirius yanks the hangings shut behind James, and they both crouch in the darkness, legs folding into soft blankets, arms wrapped around cold and knobbly elbows.

"So? What's so important?"

Sirius pauses, twisting his mouth. He's not quite sure how to broach the topic, and decides there's nothing for it. He takes a breath.

"Well- it's just, have you, um, have you noticed that Remus is gone an awful lot?"

There is a brief silence while James considers this, then-

"Well, he's just gone off to visit his sick aunt again, isn't he?"

"Don't you think his aunt is sick a little too often?"

"No, wait, last time I think it was his uncle-"

"Doesn't matter! His family- any of them, aunts, uncles, his Mummy's fluffy pet bunny rabbit- they can't all be sick that often! It doesn't make sense!"

"No, no, I- I know, I noticed it too-"

"And you know what the funny thing is?"

"That it's always once a month?"

"…yes. And…and have you noticed anything else about when once a month?"

Silence.

A shocked intake of breath.

"You don't think-!"

"It's the full moon! Look!"

They both scramble off the bed and sprint silently to the large window. The moon gazes at them solemnly through the thick panes of glass. Tendrils of cloud wisp past it, curling across the sky. They stare at the moon, and the moon stares back at them. They trade a moment of silence, where breaths have frozen in awe and eyes take in all of the night that is possible. Their ears perk as, from far away, a howl is heard in the distance. It is a distinct howl, the type that makes your skin crawl and your hairs prickle, the type of sound that tells you in no indistinct terms that Something is Out There. James looks at Sirius, and Sirius looks at James, their eyes popping in the breathtaking thrill of it, ragged breaths caught in the curve of their throats. At the same instant they scramble back to the bed, wrench the hangings shut, and jump under the covers. Their toes touch, and Sirius can barely restrain himself from reaching out to hold a part of James- hand, ear, a good handful of pajama, anything- but he doesn't want to show he's a little bit petrified. James quivers under the quilt, a little mass of boy terror.

They lie in silence, ears straining for that spectral howl to resurface. It doesn't.

Their fingers eventually find each other and they clasp hands, lying stock still in the chill of the night, eyes wide and unblinking, staring at the canopy of the bed. They know their linked hands are something they will never admit, not even to each other, but Remus is a werewolf and the full impact of that knowledge is hitting them, hard.

Sirius wonders if it will always be like this, if every person close to him will betray him in some way. It's not that Remus has betrayed him, not really- he can't help who he is- but it still hurts, to know that Remus Lupin, the boy he steals quills and shorts from when he's run out, is presently anything but human. He wants to do something, because it isn't fair- but life seems, suddenly, a little less fair, and a little less bright.

"James,"

"Yeah?"

"We have to do something."

"What? What could we possibly do? He's a werewolf- there's no cure, you know that-"

"But we still- I dunno, something- we have to do something to make it better,"

Sirius tightens his grip on James' hand, just a little. His fingers are sweaty.

"We have to- we have to, to take care of each other," Sirius says into the night. It's a little grown-up of him, he knows, but in this mad world of sometimes-dark-things, this fact is cutting through him like a knife. He doesn't know what it's like, to lose your humanity to the moon, but he can make a guess, and his imagination runs with the shadows in his mind. The silence swirls about them, thick and viscous.

"Sirius," James' voice angles through the dark, "We'll tell him and- and maybe mess about, a bit, to let him know it's alright. That it's alright, with us. He'll- he'll need that. To know. It's alright."

"Ok."

Silence.

"D'you think..d'you think, it might be..Wildly Inappropriate? To mess him about before we tell him we know?"

"Possibly. Quite probably, actually."

"He might panic."

"Yes. Yes, he probably will. But he'll…I don't know, he'll be in the throes of relief and whatnot when he knows we don't…care. Not really, not at all!"

"And what about Pete?"

Peter's makes a slight snork! in his sleep. They listen in silent acknowledgment, considering.

"We'll tell him…eventually. But not yet."

Sleep creeps slowly upon them, as the pounding of hearts ease. Heavy lids drift shut, and the warmth of the bed overtakes them, hands still clasped in boyish reassurance.

In the wee hours of the morning, when the moon has finished its sojourn across the restless sky, the battered wolf lets loose a last cheerless moan. His bones are bruised, flecks of saliva and fur dot the lacerated walls and furniture of the Shack. Remus doesn't ride the wolf's mind, but is forced into a small space where he waits through the night, hazing through clouds of sensation and pain and instinct. The wolf circles in a tight ring, drooping tail trailing along the floor. He drops heavily, curling into a ball, nose tucked away and ears twitching, eyes peering into the darkness. Somewhere, Remus waits for the coming of day.

**SB**JP**RL**PP**

"So how is she?"

"What? Who?"

"Your aunt- Ermine, was it?"

They are walking in the corridors, after a rather festive dinner in which a particularly nasty nose-biting teacup was inserted into Snape's drawers. En lieu of a nose to bite…Snape was levitated to the Hospital Wing. Because he could not walk. They all watched him try, and watched him surreptitiously attempt to dislodge the offending teacup. Remus cringes in secret sympathy, and then cringes again because James and Sirius remembers his Aunt's name. They are not supposed to remember his Aunt's name, it was supposed to be a very casual, nonchalant, un-memorable event to cover up the..problem.

"Er- yes, Aunt Ermine- " Remus chokes out- he assumes he must look a bit as if he's swallowed a cream puff.

"Well then, go on, how is she? Is she Saucy? Is she Feisty? " Sirius has something between a smirk and a gloat swiped across his face. James looks equally as smug, and Remus is not quite sure it has to do with the teacup in Snape's shorts. The beginnings of anxiety are swirling in his gut- Danger, danger!

"Er, well, she- she has, prostate cancer, you see-"

"OOOHHHH, PROSTATE cancer, is it?"

"Yes. Yes, cancer of the- of the prostate."

"The prostate, as a I recall, Sirius, is what we more commonly call Our Bits."

"You know, I do believe you're right, James. Our Bits."

"So Aunt Ermine has Bits, does she? Manly Bits?"

"Erm-" Remus is squirming, they can all see it now. James and Sirius advance on him like a cat, Peter happily puttering alongside. Why, Remus thinks, WHY is he so STUPID?

"How else could we put it.."

"Has she got a Willy?"

"A Tiny Tadger?"

"A Trouser Snake? Of the one-eyed variety, of course- "

"John Thomas?"

"Funky Monkey?"

"I think in America they call it Junk!"

"…Do they, Pete! Well done, man," Sirius claps Peter, who is looking outrageously pleased with himself, on the back. "Point being-" he fixes Remus with a stare- "Aunt Ermine has a prostate, does she?"

Remus can't look away. He is beginning to panic, in a very, very bad way. The anxiety has turned to panic, and the panic is quickly becoming flat out dread. His stomach begins to contract, and he wonders if perhaps he will be sick. He could flee, he supposes- but he can't, because they'll just corner him later, and also that is not the Manly Way. He steels himself. Courage, Lupin! He licks his lips, and speaks in the most convincing and relaxed way he can muster.

"Erm..yes. I mean no! Well, not really, she's- she's, you see, she's a- a, a wotyoucall- a trans-sexual," he finishes a bit helplessly. There, that's done it, he thinks. I am doomed.

"A trans-sexual, eh? Can we meet her, then?"

"Sounds like she could use some proper guests, prostate cancer and all- poor thing- "

James and Sirius sport identical manic grins. Peter is beginning to look confused.

"Erm, no, she's in hopsital- "

"Oughtn't we to send her sweets, at the very least?"

"Cockroach clusters?"

"Blood lollies?"

"In America they've got 100 Grand bars, and candy buttons, and- "

"Bloody hell, Pettigrew, what is it with you and the Americans- !"

"I've an aunt," he mutters, going slightly pink.

"Anyway-"

"No! no, she's in hospital, she needs rest, and not- not sweets- "

" Ah, more's the pity- when will you be seeing her next? On the 2nd?"

"Well yes, but- " Remus freezes. The 2nd is the full moon. For all their attempts at innocent expressions- their twistings of lips and twiddling of thumbs- Remus know something is afoot. Their eyes are wicked, and triumphant, and a little sad. His dread-panic is quickly turning into a scream, the will to just throw a punch, have it done with- he feels a bit like a cornered animal-

"Well then, tah, Moony! We've detention- mischief to uphold, and all that, you know!

And they dash off, snorts of laughter echoing off the walls. Remus is left standing with Peter, feeling odd and dodgy and uncomfortable, pulling at the fraying cuff of his jumper. They know. Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod.

"Should we go back? I've got that Transfiguration essay to finish, and it's hopeless." Peter sighs. Remus begins to walk automatically, but he really just wants to run. Peter glances at him, all joviality, a little puzzled and slightly irritated, but there is also a hoard of 100 Grand bars that his aunt sent him stashed in a little corner of his trunk, which he is very much looking forward to.

"Your face is really very white, did you know? Are you alright? Oh, and why did they call you Moony?"

Remus breathes out slowly, passes a hand over his face, and says, "You know, I haven't the faintest idea."

**RL**SB**JP**PP**

Remus Lupin is studying. He is trying to study, is a more accurate way of putting it- but the funny thing about studying, or about anything, is that even if you carve out a moment where you really ought to be doing a thing- studying, or practicing, or writing the Great American Novel, if your mind says, nope, none of that now! Then that's it, and bully for the studying.

Remus Lupin is trying to study, but the anxiety-panic-dread that has committed itself to his innards is steadily becoming a rather alarming shade of fear. It's not exactly fear of his friends finding out about his.. problem- he has become resigned to this fact, James and Sirius are much too smart for their own good, and Peter will know eventually- no. He fears that when they come and speak to him, Hallo, Remus, old pal, old chum, did you know, when the full moon comes we've noticed that you've a tendency to turn into a wolf of outrageous proportions?- when they do, finally, come to speak to him, it will be different. That will be it, they can say they don't mind that he's a werewolf all they want, but it will be different. How does one reconcile twelve year old secretly Jane Austen-loving boy with very large, drooling animal with deplorable tendencies? Because once it's out in the open they will want to know things, like how does it feel? and what's it like to think like a wolf? and do you ever, you know, eat, you know, eat other animals, and things? Like rodents? Do you eat rodents? And he will never be able to live it down.

It is ridiculous, he knows, that this, of all things, is what he is tearing himself up over, but he has enjoyed, really enjoyed, being a normal boy with friends who tolerate his innate dustiness. What if it wears old? What if, soon enough, I am left alone? Again? And it is this that he cannot stand. He rereads, for the seventeenth time, This particularly bloody and gruesome death of Yvonne le Terrible was yet another motivation that led to the 164th Goblin Rebellion in the year 1347, Anno Domini.

A shadow falls over his book. The end is nigh.

"Hallo, Remus, old pal, old chum, did you know, when the full moon comes we've noticed that you've a tendency to turn into a wolf of outrageous proportions?"

"Yes, we have noticed that, have you noticed that, Remus?"

Peter has looked up from the house of cards he has been building, his face a mixture of stunned jellyfish and curious owl. Remus trembles.

"I, er- no. No I haven't."

"Oh, come now. Don't deny it." James grins, an earnest, full smile filling his face. Sirius peeks at him with an echoing smirk, chin balanced on James' shoulder.

Remus looks quickly around the common room. No one of consequence is there, a few fourth years lounging by the fire. He stands suddenly, knocking his chair back, seizes his books, and marches up the stairs. The boys follow in his wake, Peter urgently stuffing the cards into his back pocket.

Remus collapses onto his bed, and waits for the inevitable. The door is snapped shut. They are alone, and suddenly none of them quite know what to say. Remus takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and says, "Yes. It's true."

"What's true? I-"

" YES! I knew it!" Sirius crows, fist pumping in the air.

"I don't understand-"

"Don't you see, Pete, Remus is a werewolf!"

The werewolf in question is lying on the bed, eyes pinched shut. It's just a very bad dream. Wake up, you idiot. But of course it's not a dream, and he is awake, and the rest of them have plunked down on the bed with him. He makes a noise in his throat, because he knows Sirius's trainers are full of mud and dirt and other questionable particles, and they are now taking up residence on his sheets. "You're all going to leave me now, aren't you? If not now, then soon." He feels as if he might cry, and his voice is tight and choked with desperation, though not a trace of it shows on his face. He thinks.

Instead, he is assaulted by flailing arms and the odd tie that has managed to bind his legs and what he thinks might be some of Pete's cards. "Wha- geroff-!"

"Leave you? Moony, you are full of tragedy and angst, it's unbecoming!" Sirius's head is somewhere under his armpit and his cold nose is in his ribs, and he feels his own head unceremoniously pinched into a headlock with James scrubbing his hair mercilessly. Pete seems to be sitting on his stomach, cards scraping cuts into his stomach.

"He has no faith, Sirius, it's appalling!"

"I still like you, Remus, don't worry," Peter says consolingly, patting his leg.

Remus can't breathe. "I can't breathe."

"Oh, darling, do you need more convincing? We'll never leave you, maybe if I stuck my tongue in your ear-"

"No! Nono! Can breathe! Am convinced! No!" Remus yelps, but there is already disturbingly slurpy sounds deep in his ear canal, and- "Nnnaugh! No, nonono, yes I am a werewolf and I also can bite and have canines and apparently noodly arms that do no good whatsoever and get off getoffgetoff augh PLEASE get off..!" James has left equal amounts of slobber in his destroyed hair, I will never be clean again, and croons "Ohhh, muffin, that's just what we wanted to hear!"

He is released, and lies in noodly defeat, Peter still perched on his stomach, munching a 100 Grand bar he has produced from somewhere, and flanked by two of the most disgusting boys in existence. "Nnnnnaugh," he moans piteously.

"Oh cheer up, it's not that bad- you just turned out to be an immensely dark creature."

"Remus Lupin, werewolf, who knew?"

"Mmmf." There is spit in his eyeballs and other ungodly places.

"Wish there was something, you know, we could do and all,"

"Mmmf."

"Where do you go to change, anyway? Does Dumbledore know?"

"Mmmf. Yes. Cabin. Hogsmeade." He waves his hand listlessly in a general direction implying Not Here. "Philistines, you know," Remus mutters, vaguely combing saliva from his hair, "the lot of you."

"Well."

They sit in companionable silence, soaking in the full impact of their friendship, strengthened with the awesome weight of a brilliant secret. Boys, it seems, will find a way to fix their messes, with the physicalness of boys, the unquestioned closeness that youth brings.

Peter digs into his pockets, burps soulfully, and brings out a hand filled with 100 Grand Bars.

"Chocolate?"

"Right here!"

"Yes, please."

"Good man, Pete."

**RL**SB**JP**PP**

Peter lies awake in bed, the small sounds of sleep surrounding him on all sides. Little turns and breathy whines, and James, who wheezes and has got a slight cold and probably a plugged nostril.

It's not that he's scared of Remus, now that he knows- it's that he didn't know, that James or Sirius hadn't bothered to tell him. It's a little, niggling feeling that sneaks up on him in the quiet times of night, when he thinks that maybe he is a little disposable. James and Sirius are ace at…everything, and now Remus turns out to be a bloody werewolf, and…where does that leave Peter? Short, a little round, a little pink, and a little helpless. It is at times like these, when he is left with only his mind for company, that the inadequacies begin to gnaw at him- slight, at the edges of his brain, like a rat nibbling a sock in the dark.

He pushes the thoughts emphatically aside, and squeezes his eyelids together. Because, even if he isn't tall with the beginnings of dashing good looks, or perfectly brilliant at transfiguration and charms and just about everything else, or even an official dark creature, he has friends, real friends, that keep him around for his- for his good fun, is what. Because Peter is a Sport. Yes, he thinks, as his thoughts begin to drift, any group of friends needs a normal, cheerful, bloke. And that's me.

They sleep, in the heavy, blissful way only children can.