It was four in the morning the third day after the full moon, and Remus couldn't sleep because the moon was still fat in the sky and because his body still ached with the weight of it. He felt lazy, but at the same time he was unable to stand and walk long enough to get from class to class or climb stairs, and his head felt dizzy when he moved. He had spent the last two days in bed, drifting into sleep during the day while the others were at class, trying to eat at meals. Now he lay awake, miserable, staring at the ceiling. Sirius couldn't sleep for whatever reason, either.

"You want to go out?" he whispered across the quiet dormitory. Remus had no idea how Sirius had known he wasn't asleep. "Take James' cloak, he won't mind."

Remus, because he was Remus and Sirius was Sirius and it was just the kind of thing that happened, got up and put on his shoes and coat.

They went back to the Shrieking Shack, pausing every few yards for Remus to sit on the wet earth under the Cloak and catch his breath. Sirius wanted to go there because, he said, it was "eery" and he wanted to look around when there wasn't Remus's wolf form to worry about. That was more or less why Remus wanted to avoid it, but he didn't have anything else to do in the middle of the night and laying in bed was making his back ache waiting for it to be light.

In the Shack, there wasn't much of interest. It was mostly really broken tables and long claw marks from Remus's first two years at Hogwarts by himself, tearing the place apart in despair and wolfish terror. There was dust on everything. Remus hung back leaning against door-frames or squatting with his head swimming and his jaw aching while Sirius marched up stairs and burst through doors, occasionally exclaiming at one of the tooth marks Remus—age eleven or twelve—had left on a piano leg or a chair. Sirius set fire to an old newspaper in the fireplace with his wand, and it hissed at both of them and sent blue smoke up the chimney.

"Someone might see that," Remus said.

"It's two in the morning, anyone who is around to look deserves to get a glimpse," Sirius grinned.

Then of course he summoned Firewhisky. Remus worried about Sirius and alcohol.

After a while there was nothing left to do, so they sat and talked. Remus didn't want Firewhisky and so Sirius summoned him a Butterbeer (the distant breaking of glass in town made Remus wonder at what distance one could sustain an Accio charm—Sirius seemed to be quite good at it). Remus couldn't drink the Butterbeer either because he was queasy, but he pretended, for Sirius's sake. Sirius lit one of the old lamps on the wall with a wand. He lay on his back on the floor with his head propped against a moldy cushion with tooth-marks in it and half the stuffing torn out, staring at the ceiling. Remus sat in a chair with three legs, rocking back and forth. The chair creaked ominously. It was cold, in the Shack.

"I like being drunk," he said after a while.

"Good for you," Remus said, bored.

"It's really relaxing."

"That's very—that's very sad," Remus said.

"Is it?"

"I don't know. If that's the only way you can think to get relaxed."

"It's not very Pureblood of me, that's for sure."

"No."

"My mum would not approve."

"Probably not."

They were quiet.

"Remus," Sirius said suddenly, softly, in the dim blue light.

Remus glanced over.

"You remember what you said to me that one time? You know?"

Remus wasn't sure if he should laugh. "Oh yes, that one time."

"The one-" Sirius's tongue and mouth seemed to be struggling to produce speech. "You know, the one time you called me a queer. I was making fun of you and you did it back. You were on your way to bath. Anyway, you called me a queer."

Remus leaned backwards in the unsteady chair. "Yeah," he said.

"Well-" Sirius looked up at Remus, like he expected Remus to say something more. "Well."

Remus stared at him.

"I mean, do you think I'm a queer?" Sirius asked. His face looked very thin and his hands were icy blue against the bottle of liquor. His hair was everywhere like small circlets of ocean, curling around the edge of his eyebrows. He looked a little ill.

Remus shrugged uncomfortably.

"Just tell me if you do."

"Sirius, I think that's sort of—I mean, I wasn't saying it to be mean to you. I was just having a go." Remus was worried Sirius would start sulking again.

Sirius contemplated this. He rolled over on his side to look at Remus. "So you don't think I'm a queer. You were just having a go."

"Well-"

"I mean it makes sense. I make jokes about you enough. I'm sorry for being so stupid about it."

Remus wondered if Sirius was trying to pick a fight or comfort himself or have a conversation—a real conversation about something neither of them had said, till now, something that had remained in the back of their respective throats, itching. It was hard to tell with Sirius. But Sirius was drunk and it was very early in the morning and Remus hadn't slept in a while, so he chose to try and make it a conversation. "I don't know what I think of your queerness or lack thereof. I can't speak for you," he said. "That's up to you to figure out." He forced a laugh, which sounded tired and weak as it emerged.

"Of course," Sirius said blankly, in such a way Remus knew he hadn't been listening, rolling back to stare at the ceiling.

"But you know, I'm queer."

There was no sign, for a second, that Sirius had heard him. Then:

"You're queer?"

"Yes."

Sirius sat up and looked at Remus, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. "You're not joking?"

"I'm not," Remus said.

"You fancy boys, then?"

"I mean—yes. In a general kind of way," Remus said uneasily.

"I've been messing with you all this time and all the while you've been queer."

"I figured you all knew," Remus said, trying to laugh to make it sound true, surprised. He tried to read Sirius's face.

Sirius shook his head absently.

"I've known I was since third year," Remus continued. He thought: might as well tell him about me, so he can calm down about himself. "I mean, it isn't as if I'm ever around girls enough to get to know them or fancy them, so it might be that I fancy girls too. But I had a crush on that seventh-year that you all learned about the Witch Hump passageway from in third year." He paused and watched Sirius for a reaction.

"Do you read gay magazines, then?"

"Gay magazines?" Remus asked, incredulously.

"Like-" Sirius paused, and Remus was suddenly aware that Sirius must have a lot of these magazines and was now attempting to conceal his knowledge. "Like magazines with pics of girls in them, but with men. Skin magazines, you know. I've—I've seen them in stores," he added, defensively.

"Where would I keep them? We're in a room of four people. Someone would find them."

Sirius laughed uncomfortably, nervous. He ran his hand through his hair. Remus almost giggled aloud at him. "I don't know," Sirius said sheepishly.

"Do you read gay magazines?" Remus asked quickly, before he could think better of it.

Sirius looked uncomfortable. Remus looked at the ceiling and raised his eyebrows. There was a silence then that stretched on for fifteen or so uncomfortable seconds.

"What do your parents think?"

It was an unexpected question, coming from a direction Remus had forgotten existed. Remus's head ached. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Sirius said, hesitating, "do they know you-?"

"I don't do anything, Sirius, there's nothing to tell them."

"Did your mum know, then, that you liked-"

"That's really tactful, Sirius," Remus said sharply.

Sirius looked at his hands. "I'm sorry."

"She didn't. I never brought it up." Remus bit the inside of his cheek. "I mean, by the time I knew, she was dying. Dead."

"What about your dad?"

"No. I mean, come on. A werewolf transsexual for a son is enough for any man to deal with." Remus cracked an insincere smile. He never spoke to his father anymore on holiday—he was old enough now to wander out-of-doors during the day, and Lyall Lupin worked at the Ministry during the week. Remus doubted his father ever considered his son's existence except at the full moon.

"You're fairly easy to manage, I should think, you're such a goody-goody," Sirius grinned.

"It's in compensation for transforming into a ravening howling monster every month who destroys the baseboards and tears up the curtains."

"You don't still get locked in that room-"

"No, there's a forest now that's letting me go there in summer. Dad's got it set with the Department so it's cordoned off on full moon nights with magic so Muggles don't go there. But he never fails to remind me how grateful I should be to have somewhere to go where I won't hurt anyone."

Sirius's mouth twisted unpleasantly down. "That's bogus, mate."

"Not as bad as your folks," Remus said, shrugging.

"Yeah," Sirius shrugged. "But I've got loads of wizards who hate them right along with me and all that. James' parents think I'm an angel or something. It's not so easy with—you know, everything, the furry prob—the wolf thing."

"I get fed when I'm home and he doesn't touch me," Remus said. "That's about all I ask of a parent."

"Our parents are terrible," Sirius said.

"Isn't that just the way parents are?"

"Not all parents. The Potters are all right." Sirius was done with the Firewhisky for the night, it seemed; he was peeling back the boards of the wall and stashing it in a dusty nook filled with mouse droppings. "The Potters have it together."

"James' dad hates werewolves."

"No he doesn't."

"Sure he does, didn't you hear what he said when someone mentioned that story about the petition for werewolf housing?"

"He just meant they shouldn't rely on the Ministry for a living-"

"That I shouldn't rely on the Ministry, you mean."

"Well, he wasn't talking about you-"

"I'm a werewolf. He was talking about me."

"But if he knew you were a werewolf he wouldn't have said that."

"Sirius, I just mean that—I don't know," Remus said. He had no idea what he meant. "I guess parents are just not good for people like me. I think if I were normal my dad might be as nice as Potter's dad. I'm just not. Too much wrong with me."

Sirius laughed. "Well, what's wrong with me that mine don't like me, then?"

Remus shrugged. "Your parents aren't good people."

"My mum anyway. I mean my dad's an ass, but he keeps off my back." Sirius's jaw clenched. "If she found out I was a queer she'd kill me, I swear to god. Mind you, she might anyway."

Remus wasn't sure if Sirius had just told him he was queer or whether it was supposed to be a hypothetical situation. "How do you know she'd kill you?" he asked.

Sirius shrugged. "Well, she definitely uses sodomist as an insult for politicians she doesn't like all the time. And shouts it at the house elves."

"Lovely."

"It's funny because it's such a Muggle thing to hate queers. There's no justification for it in all the nonsense about blood status. It's all European and Christian. Not very ancient or respectable." He tried to laugh. "I mean, she nearly tore my arm off when I told her I was in Gryffindor. I've no idea..." Sirius trailed off.

"Is this—is this just if you were queer?"

There was a long silence.

"Well," Sirius said, "I mean, I'm a bit queer."

"A bit?"

"Not—I mean—I don't know, how queer do you have to be to be queer?"

"How queer do you think you are?" Remus asked, laughing. Something deep in Sirius's intoxicated eyes there was a flicker of recognition at the humor in this dialogue, and Sirius laughed too—a short, small laugh.

"I don't know," he said after a moment. "I don't think I'm really what you'd—I'm not a fairy," he said. "I just—I mean, I fancy boys, sometimes, but I'm not—don't laugh at me, Remus."

"I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing because you were so shocked earlier."

"I never knew you were. I thought it was just me, whatdoyoucallit, projecting."

Remus smiled. He felt like for a second there was a real connection between him and Sirius that there hadn't been before. "No, I'm a total pouf."

"I don't like that word. Pouf. I don't want to call myself that."

"What, because you fancy girls?"

"Well, no. I mean. I sort of—exaggerate to James how much I fancy girls. I don't really. I like girls. I mean, I do. But I..."

"Don't have to explain it to me."

"I just don't think I'm as queer as, you know, those blokes you see in London with face powder and tight pants and all that. That's why I said a bit."

"I don't think it's a bit sort of thing. But call it how you like."

"I've never done anything with a bloke-"

"Neither have I. I think it's about stuff in your head." Speaking of heads, Remus had a migraine to kill all migraines. It pounded rhythmically in his head. His elbows and knees hurt ferociously too for some reason. Remus hated the moon.

"Oh," Sirius said. He looked alarmed.

"Look, Sirius, it's not unpleasant to be queer." Outside, the rain pounded down. It must be five A.M, Remus thought.

"I know it's not. But it's unpleasant now. I'm fifteen. It's unpleasant to be queer and one of the House of Black."

"But you won't be there forever."

"I need to go back every summer. That's hard enough just doing. And you know what that's like? My mum and her sisters taking every chance to burn me with spells or lock me out of the house or messing with my head, like telling Kreacher to wake me up three times a night-"

"You need to get out of there," Remus said.

"It's hard. It's hard because Regulus is still there, in it all. And he takes it, you know. He takes it all to heart."

"Yeah?" Remus had never thought of Sirius caring about his brother.

"He's in Slytherin, and I don't know. He shouldn't be there. He's not—I mean, he's not meant to be there."

"If he didn't want to be there he wouldn't be." Remus combed his cold fingers through his greasy hair, feeling the flakes of blood and moss dislodge themselves and fall onto his shoulders, onto the hard gray wood floor. "Anyway, your mum will take care of him, won't she? He hasn't disgraced anyone."

Sirius shrugged and looked up at the rain coming through the roof. It was hard to tell what the expression on his face was. "Regulus doesn't eat right," he said.

"What?" asked Remus, not sure he had heard.

"He doesn't get enough to eat." Sirius spoke quietly. "He's going to starve."

Remus made a snorting noise. "Sirius, isn't it your mother's job to worry about how much little Reggie gets to eat?"

"No, it's not—it started when he was twelve," Sirius said. "He stops eating, for days at a time. Until he faints. Or he eats just weird things, like crusts of bread. Chews food up and spits it out."

"That's..." Remus trailed off. He didn't know what to say to that.

"He throws things up, too. I hear him on holidays after dinner. He just goes in his bathroom after meals and vomits. And it isn't him being ill, it's on purpose. He's got scars on the back of his hands from scraping his fingers on his teeth. He does it on purpose. He's already a fucking twig. It's just crazy." Sirius's voice was odd in a way Remus had never heard before. There was a welling-up kind of sound in it, as if Sirius was going to cry. "He's killing himself. But what am I supposed to do? It's not like there's anything I could say to him."

"Maybe not." Remus couldn't think of what to do. What did you tell someone whose thirteen-year-old estranged Slytherin brother was starving himself? He thought about reaching out and trying to comfort Sirius by patting his shoulder. He thought better of it.

"I think—I think it comes from the stress of being in that house, with them. He can't stand it either. It's driving him fucking insane." Sirius sniffed loudly in a way that was embarrassing to hear, so Remus turned away and looked at the gray dawn breaking outside the window.

"That makes sense," Remus said. "It's a bad place to be."

"I mean, we're both insane. Anyone could tell you that."

"You're not," Remus said quickly.

Sirius made a weird doubtful noise in the back of his throat, like a cough.

Remus thought of Sirius's deep sulking, speechless depressions and his flaming manias, and watched his friend's profile in the early light. He had never considered Sirius's moods a sign of insanity, but now he considered. He thought of how unpredictable Sirius's mood was. Sometimes it seemed like Sirius was going to sulk forever and other times it was like Sirius didn't understand what reasonable risks were, how he would pick fights as if it was impossible for him to lose, losing himself to bouts of frenetic productive energy mingled with chaotic overconfidence and high-strung paranoia. "You're a bit—excitable," Remus said at last. "Moody. You're not insane."

"He's just going to die if I leave him," Sirius said.

Remus couldn't think of what else to tell Sirius. "Maybe you should talk to Madame Pomfrey about it, ask-"

"And then Mum will find out and go through his room and take all his things and find out about the stack of Muggle lingerie magazines I gave him and she'll char his name off the family tree-"

"Yes, okay, okay," Remus said, interrupting. "But Sirius, please. I know you're worried about Regulus, but really, Sirius, you can't stay there and suffer just for his sake. Spend the holidays with me or James or someone, honestly. You'll just rot in your room otherwise and come back miserable and fucked in the head."

"I'm his brother," Sirius said. "I can't just- he's thirteen, Moony. Thirteen, and he's just so stupid, you know? Not stupid-stupid, he's smart in a lot of ways. But you know."

"He's figuring things out," Remus hazarded.

"He trusts people so much. Or I think he does. He seems like he does. He trusts Mum. It makes me worry. He trusts so many people." Sirius was scratching his arms with his fingernails, hard, in repetitive motions back and forth across the skin.

Remus patted Sirius's hand gingerly. It was a gesture he had not made before. It felt better now.

The daylight broke across the castle grounds, through the mist and rain. It was harder getting back into the building in the morning, because the dog had to find a way up the back steps without being shooed away by the groundskeeper. They got inside, barely. Remus panted on the way up the stairs, but it was the fourth day after the full moon now and he was getting back, at last, his strength.