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Chapter Fifty-Five: Stars and Scars

Remus awoke before dawn on Saturday as a massive cramping spasm tore through his right leg. He could not stifle the initial gasp of pain and alarm, but after that he was silent, curling into the searing agony and bowing his back to clutch at his ankle. When at last the convulsions passed he melted miserably against the mattress, taking shallow gasps in an attempt to fill his lungs.

He could already feel his muscles stiffening and he knew that if he did not get up and use them he would be limping all day. He was anxious to avoid such a blatant show of weakness. Tomorrow night was the full moon – and for the first time the others would be aware of its significance. They would be watching him, gauging his behaviour and trying to take a measure of him. Their understanding of the wolf and its impact upon him would be defined by this transformation, and Remus desperately wanted to prove himself worthy of the respect of James and Sirius. He wanted to show that even at such a time he could be a valuable member of the group.

So though his muscles protested and his skin came out in gooseflesh against the morning chill he dragged himself from the cosy refuge of his bed. He parted the left-hand hangings and stood, putting most of his weight on his good leg. The first few steps were torture as the muscles of his right, weakened by the previous transformation and dragged on towards the next, stretched in defiance of the memory of the cramps. By the time he reached the foot of the bed Remus had mastered the worst of the discomfort. He promised himself that he would do half a dozen laps of the dormitory before retreating back to bed. That ought to be enough, he reasoned, to work out the stiffness so that he could still use his leg that day.

He had not taken two steps into the open part of the room, however, when he halted. Despite the early hour he was not the only one abroad. Perched on the window seat with one leg tucked up to his chest and the other dangling was James.

'G'morning,' he said, cocking his head to look at Remus. 'Bad dream?'

Remus shook his head. It seemed like ages since he had last been roused by a nightmare, and the occasional dream of the wolf was not half so terrifying as the images that had visited him before he had understood that James and Sirius would neither revile nor attack nor abandon him. 'I've got a cramp,' he whispered, keeping his voice low out of deference to the two who were still asleep. He gestured at his leg and took three steps forward.

James grinned sympathetically. 'Growing pains?' he asked. 'I get those sometimes.'

It was as good an explanation as any, and Remus was too accustomed to fishing for convenient excuses to refute it. If James wanted to believe this a normal part of growing up, why should he be disillusioned? Surely it did not count as a lie if Remus merely declined comment.

'You're up very early,' he said, taking several more determined steps. He tried to flex his foot properly, but gave up that effort when a fiery twinge in his calf threatened to trigger the whole series of spasms afresh.

'Couldn't sleep,' said James. He turned his face to the grey sky beyond the glass and sighed. 'It's stupid, I know, but I'm nervous.'

'It isn't the least bit stupid,' Remus told him, shuffling closer. 'You've worked very hard for this, and it's only natural to want to do well.'

James snorted softly, raking a hand through his unruly hair. 'There's a big difference between wanting to do well and being scared you just won't be able to.'

'Not for me,' Remus said kindly. 'I'm nearly always scared that I won't be able to do well. It's only because you're ordinarily brilliant at everything. You're not used to worrying.'

'You're meant to tell me there's nothing to worry about,' James said with a wry little chuckle.

'When Sirius wakes up I'm sure that's what he'll say,' Remus told him gravely. 'I think that there's usually something to worry about, but that doesn't mean that your worries will come to anything.' He flushed a little. 'The thing I was most afraid of didn't happen, but that doesn't mean the danger of it happening wasn't real. It was only luck that I wound up in a dormitory with you and Sirius instead of…'

'Instead of a pompous git like Andrews?' James asked. 'Or a bunch of slimy Slytherins?' His smirk softened into a sad smile. 'Remus, were you really so afraid we wouldn't stand by you?'

He very nearly hadn't, and but for Sirius would likely still be looking at him like he was scarcely even part-human, but Remus did not point this out. His anxious soul could not let him forget, perhaps, but all was forgiven. In his gratitude for the gift of tolerance Remus would have forgiven so much more than that – even supposing there was anything to forgive. After all, James had from the very start exercised more tolerance than werewolves were ordinarily afforded.

'I'm sorry,' James said softly, hopping down off the window seat and moving to grip Remus's shoulders. 'I haven't said that yet, have I? I'm sorry it took me so long to think it through. I wish I could be like Sirius and just forget all the stupid things I've been told, but it's not as simple as that for me.'

'I understand,' Remus said earnestly. 'It isn't natural. It goes against everything you've been taught to be friends with me, and I'm grateful.'

'Not everything,' said James. 'Mum's always saying you have to judge a person by his actions, and you've never acted like anything but a true friend. Well, except for the lies, but I can understand that now.' He grinned. 'There'll be no more of that, I promise.'

Remus wanted to thank him for that assurance, but he was afraid that his voice would break if he did so. 'All this isn't getting you ready for the match,' he said with a wavering smile.

'Damn. I was just forgetting all about it, too,' James said with a snap of his fingers and a roguish wink. 'I don't suppose you've got any better advice than worrying is normal, do you?'

'You bank left a little when you make a dive steeper than forty-five degrees,' Remus said. 'You ought to try and watch that.'

'I didn't know you were paying attention,' James said, sounding rather impressed. 'Or that you knew enough about Quidditch to notice things like that.'

'I know almost nothing about Quidditch,' Remus said matter-of-factly; 'but I do know a bit about mathematics, and you drift off the vertical axis when you dive.'

James laughed and reached to ruffle the light brown hair. 'I'll bear it in mind,' he said. 'Thanks.'

'Do you think we ought to try to get some sleep?' asked Remus. 'It's still almost three hours 'til breakfast.'

'Sure,' said James. 'But let's walk off that cramp first, okay? You need to be in top form for climbing up into the Gryffindor box. You are coming out to see us play, aren't you?'

'I wouldn't miss it,' Remus said. 'Not for the world.' Or for the moon, he thought as his muscles protested the motion contrary to the tug of the tides.

James draped an amiable arm around his shoulder and joined him in his pacing. The half-dozen rounds of the room passed more quickly and more pleasantly than Remus could have imagined with the encouragement of his friend to bolster his resolve. When he and James slipped back behind their respective curtains Remus fell asleep again cradled in the warmth of belonging. He understood now why he had so desperately craved it, for there was nothing so soothing to the spirit as the knowledge that one had a place in the world.

~discidium~

Just before eleven o'clock Remus found himself following close upon Sirius Black's heels as the taller boy eagerly elbowed older students aside to secure three coveted places in the very front row of the Gryffindor box. There were some good-natured protests, but no one seemed eager to begrudge Sirius what he wanted. Remus wondered if this was a gesture of respect, or a sign that no one wanted to be on the receiving end of the arsenal he had acquired the previous weekend. Whatever the cause, the result was that the three boys were perfectly poised to catch every move made on the pitch.

Sirius and Peter were on the outs after an unfortunate spill at the breakfast table, courtesy of the latter, had necessitated an impromptu changing of robes on the part of the former. So it was that Remus was obliged to sit between them despite his resolution to give Peter a generous berth. If the plump boy minded he said nothing, for he was too busy working himself up into a frenzy of excitement and telling anyone who would listen that his best friend was playing Chaser.

It was as well the match started when it did, for Sirius swiftly grew impatient with Peter's chirps and squeaks. He was beginning to look rather murderous when the whistle sounded and the two teams came out onto the pitch.

It was, James had said with no small measure of relief, perfect weather for Quidditch. The cloud cover was high and even – a downy grey that seemed to promise little chance of rain – and there was very little wind. Though Remus, bundled in a set of his wool robes and already wearing his winter hat and gloves as well as his hand-knitted Gryffindor scarf, found the morning rather cold he supposed a bit of a chill would keep the players from overheating.

The Gryffindor team looked most impressive as they strode onto the pitch. There was Eldritch McKinnon, Keeper and Captain in the lead. The three Chasers followed behind: Gabriella Walters and John Blotts and of course James Potter, who now grinning and strutting without a hint of nervousness. The Beaters, whose names Remus thought were Trask and McMillan, followed behind. Last of all came the new Seeker, a tall dark-skinned boy a year or two above Remus and his friends.

The Hufflepuff team, sporting two new players but otherwise much the same as the previous year, squared off and mounted their brooms. The Beater who had replaced Tonks looked rather anxious, and Remus could not help but feel sorry for her. After all, she was taking the place of a star player. James, for all his longing to succeed, had replaced a Chaser considered mediocre at best. Glenna Friessen, no longer a House player, was sitting two rows behind Sirius and watching the pitch rather bitterly.

The match began, and the noise grew deafening. Remus could scarcely follow the words of the announcer. It was one of the Smythe sisters; a Ravenclaw Prefect and therefore nonpartisan in this match. Though her voice was clear and loud it lacked any dramatic flair, and Remus quickly found himself tuning her out. Indeed, he soon found himself unable to focus on anything but James. He watched as his friend sped to and fro through the pitch, swooping and diving and climbing with skill. There were times when he actually removed both hands from the broom and gripped with his knees alone in order to make a particularly spectacular catch or an especially difficult throw.

He dodged the Bludgers with lazy ease, and every time he did so Remus could not help but grin, remembering Ronan rocketing through the air with a series of enthused hoots announcing his approach. The dark balls were not so considerate, but James almost seemed to possess a sixth sense. He had a trick of veering off to the left and then banking sharply right so that the Bludger whistled past his ear, and each time he did so the Gryffindor spectators howled with triumphant adulation.

James made the first three goals of the match, and then played some excellent defense while Hufflepuff advanced on the Gryffindor hoops. The other two Chasers seemed like accessories put upon the pitch for his use. James seemed able to read Gabriella's mind, and he was always in precisely the right position when she needed to hand off the Quaffle. Blotts seemed something more of a rogue factor, but he was very useful when James wanted to make a feint and together they managed another four goals to Hufflepuff's two. The score was sitting at ninety to thirty when the Hufflepuff Captain asked for a time out.

'Oh, he's brilliant!' Peter shouted, bouncing up and down and clapping his hands wildly. 'James is brilliant! Isn't he brilliant, Sirius? Isn't he?'

From the other side of Remus Sirius favoured the podgy boy with a strained grin. 'Yeah, he's brilliant,' he said. 'Why don't you tell somebody who's not just about ready to toss you down onto the pitch?'

Unperturbed, Peter turned around to babble at anyone and everyone within earshot, boasting of James's brilliance and the fact that Peter himself not only shared a dormitory with Gryffindor's new rising star, but was also one of his closest friends. He quickly found himself inundated with questions from interested parties, and from the timbre of the voices Remus knew they were not all first years. He sat quietly next to Sirius, who was leaning over the edge of the box as if he might hear what was being said in the two knots of strategizing players far below. It was wonderful to hear so many people speaking well of James; despite his worries it seemed he was playing spectacularly, and Remus was very proud of his friend.

By the time the match resumed Peter was positively possessed with the spirit of the game. Every time Gryffindor made a play, however wondrous or ordinary, he bolted off the bench, pumping at the air with his fists and cheering as loudly as his shrill little voice would permit. Remus sat stooped and rather hangdog on the bench. He could not help but wish that the match would end soon, for he was weary and sore and he was beginning to tremble with the first stirrings of a fever. He understood that the longer the Snitch went uncaught the greater the fun and glory for James, but he found himself thinking longingly of the roaring fire in the common room, and warm blankets, and mugs of hot chocolate, and anything other than the damp openness of the October day.

When the Gryffindor Seeker pulled into a sharp climb, the score was one hundred and eighty to fifty for Gryffindor. Hufflepuff's Seeker spied the dark boy's ascent and she followed him, accelerating so swiftly that she nearly collided with one of her own team's Beaters. James was apparently oblivious to this development, and he used Hufflepuff's momentary distraction to seize control of the Quaffle. He wove between the other players and managed a truly spectacular goal that arced neatly over the opposing Keeper's head before dropping just enough to graze through the hoop.

The two Seekers were neck-on-neck now, and the crowd was hushed as they watched them climb ever higher. Remus caught a glint of gold from the corner of his eye and he knew that they were indeed within fifteen yards of the Snitch. But another flash of light drew his attention back down into the thick of the action, where James, now under hot pursuit from all three Hufflepuff Chasers, dropped suddenly by about twelve feet, bowing low over his broomstick as the older students whizzed over his head. He turned the broom as if on a pinion, and tossed the Quaffle at John Blotts. Blotts almost lost hold of his broom as he reached for it, but somehow managed to keep his seat. He and James rose at the same moment, and the Hufflepuffs, perhaps confused by the surfeit of scarlet involved, went after James.

Realizing this, James crouched low over his broom, one arm crooked broadly against his chest to make it look as though he was carrying the Quaffle. By the time his opponents realized this was not the case, Blotts and Walters were bearing down on the Hufflepuff hoops. Another ten points were won for Gryffindor.

James spared a moment to shoot an appraising glance heavenward. The two Seekers were now jostling for a matter of inches, each with an arm outstretched as they leaned forward on their brooms. But the Quaffle was back in play and James did not have time to worry about how near the end of the game was. He watched, hovering patiently, as the Hufflepuffs tossed the ball from one to another as Blotts and Walters each tried to wrest it from them. Calculating his moment perfectly, James shot forward at precisely the right moment to pluck the Quaffle out of mid-air.

It seemed impossible that he should fail to drop it, but somehow he managed to balance the ball against his stomach with his left hand while pulling into a sharp starboard bank with his right. Remus leaned forward, captivated despite his discomfort as James set a winding course for the Hufflepuff hoops.

A Bludger came whistling out of nowhere and James flattened himself against his broomstick so that it narrowly missed clipping him between the shoulder blades. Remus stiffened as anxious fingers dug into his right forearm and he realized that Peter was touching him, grabbing hold of him in an unthinking expression of suspense. He had no time to wonder if his former friend knew what he was doing, or was merely lost in the moment, for James dropped into a sharp descent, pulling up abruptly and hurling the Quaffle high. The Hufflepuff Keeper, caught unawares, nearly fell as he tried to foil the goal. It was a useless endeavour: James had timed the shot perfectly. The score was now two hundred ten to fifty: even if Hufflepuff caught the Snitch at this moment Gryffindor would win.

The two Seekers seemed unaware of this, for neither flagged in their efforts. They were hurtling forward, shoulder to shoulder…

And then suddenly it was over. The Hufflepuff Seeker pulled back sharply, clutching her broom handle with both gloved hands and tossing back her shoulders in indignant defeat. Gryffindor's player kept moving forward, slowing gradually and brandishing one fist high above his head. Shimmering between finger and thumb was the Golden Snitch.

The silence endured for a breathless moment before the crowd erupted in a cacophony of warring noises. There were anguished moans from the Hufflepuffs, fading swiftly enough into subdued but very sporting applause. The Ravenclaws and even a good number of the Slytherins were cheering and clapping, for it had been a very impressive game and neither of their teams had lost the field. As for the Gryffindor box, it seemed to rumble with the sounds of victory. There were deafening cheers, and much stamping of feet. Many of the fourth years were hollering incoherently, and the firsties were beside themselves.

Before Remus knew what was happening Sirius had hauled him to his feet and they were both leaning out over the edge of the box, waving and cheering as James descended to the pitch. He looked up from the throng of his celebrating teammates, eyes searching the crowd for his friends. He flailed his arms at them, grinning enormously.

Sirius leaned out, shouting something rendered unintelligible by the roar of the crowd around him. Even Remus could not make sense of it, for at that moment two podgy arms flung themselves around him and someone plump and exceedingly excited hugged him tightly while bouncing up and down and laughing with delight.

Remus reciprocated the embrace without thinking, forgetting for a moment his promise not to touch the other boy. Peter was hysterical with joy, revelling in Gryffindor's triumph and James's part in it. It took him almost a full minute to realize who and what he had engulfed in his arms, and when he did his hands dropped to his sides. Remus withdrew immediately, ramming his gloved hands into his pockets and hanging his head.

'I'm sorry,' he murmured, 'I didn't mean… I didn't think…'

He stole a glance at Peter, expecting terror or revulsion. To his surprise the round little face was suffused with a deep crimson flush, and Peter's lower lip was trembling. All semblance of celebration was gone, and in its place was an obvious and abiding misery.

'I wasn't going to touch you…' he said helplessly, his mouth twisting in anguished discomfiture.

'I know,' Remus whispered. He was obliged to lean in so that he could make himself heard over the noise of the crowd, and his heart ached when Peter took a tremulous step backward, almost landing in the lap of a seventh year girl.

'Oi, watch yourself!' she laughed, scooting out of his way and getting up to join the crush rallying for the stairs. Glad of a moment's distraction Remus watched her go. By the time he looked back Peter was leaning down to wave to James, the enormous grin once more upon his face as he whooped and hollered and waved frantically at his friend.

~discidium~

Sirius waited until the congestion on the stairs cleared before herding the other two down onto the pitch. The Gryffindor team had already disappeared into their changing room and when Sirius tried to elbow his way in he was driven out by an irate Gabriella Walters. Undaunted and not in the least chagrined, he merely shrugged his acquiescence and stood aside to wait with Remus and Peter.

Eventually the door opened and James came out. He was back in his school robes, though his hair was still dishevelled from the game and his belt was on upside-down. He had a broad grin on his face and a euphoric light in his eyes.

'We won,' he said contentedly.

Sirius let out a shriek of victory that made Peter jump. 'You won, Potter!' he howled. 'D'you know there was only one goal you didn't either make or assist? You're a genius! A prodigy! A champion in the making!'

'It was brilliant, James, really it was!' Peter said eagerly, hurrying forward to hover at his friend's elbow. His upturned face was the very picture of adoration. 'When you took that last dive I thought I was going to die of fright!'

The next several minutes continued along the same lines: Sirius eulogizing happily about the game and reliving it in intimate detail while Peter gushed extravagantly about the new Chaser's talent and James beamed happily at each of them in turn. Finally he seemed to realize that there was a member of the group still standing aside, watching with quiet longing. He shrugged off Peter and elbowed past Sirius to look at Remus.

'Well?' he asked. 'Did I do any better on the vertical axis? I was trying.'

'Much better,' Remus assured him. 'You were wonderful.'

The enormity of the smile that met this pronouncement filled Remus with a gratified glow. James had the good grace to make it look as if this small praise was worth every bit as much as the other two boys' enthusiastic ranting. 'Thanks, mate,' James said. Then his eyes were grave for a moment, carrying Remus back to the predawn hour in the dormitory when he had tried to offer sensible reassurances to his friend. 'Thank you.'

The moment was broken when the changing room doors burst open and the rest of the team came flooding out. There was much congratulating and whooping and slapping of shoulders as the seven players ambled back to the castle, James's entourage in tow. That day at lunch the Gryffindor table was so noisy that Professor Binns did not drift off over his plate even once. The celebrations continued throughout the afternoon and well into the evening, until at half past ten Eldritch McKinnon himself stood up and howled for silence. The crowd in the common room was treated to a blistering lecture on the importance of sleep and the fact that this was, after all, only the first game of the year. Then the Quidditch team was ordered off to bed by their Captain, and if the party continued without them it was not audible from the boys' dormitory.

James, clearly worn out after the day's excitement, was asleep before he could even draw his curtains. Sirius discharged that task in his stead, moving quietly around the bed. Peter disappeared into the depths of his hangings, still making tiny excited noises in the back of his throat.

Remus dug out his nightshirt and tried to gather his strength for the ordeal of changing in his bed. He had not abandoned that habit, for even though the truth was out he did not want the others to see his scars. They were such a livid reminder of the ferocity of the wolf; an irrefutable illustration of the animal he became. More than that, they were profoundly embarrassing. He was ashamed of his riven imperfection, and he did not want the others to see his thin and ugly body – particularly not when James and Sirius were such perfect specimens of healthy youth. So he set his teeth and forced himself to climb onto the mattress.

'You don't need to do that,' Sirius murmured. He was sitting on his own bed, using his penknife to trim his toenails. 'I've seen, remember?'

Remus felt his stomach churn and he turned, slipping onto his tailbone with a force that would have been painful against a less yielding surface. 'You have…' he moaned, remembering.

'They're not…' Sirius's voice faltered and his jaw twitched. 'They're not so terrible.'

'That's kind of you to say,' Remus said, struggling to keep his composure; 'but I know that they are.'

'No, I mean it's terrible what's happened to you,' Sirius said. 'It's terrible that you've had to go through that. But the… the things… the things themselves aren't so bad.'

'They're dreadful,' Remus whispered, staring down at his dangling feet. 'They're hideous.'

'Do they hurt?' Sirius asked, a tremor in his voice.

Remus shook his head. 'Only the big ones sometimes, if I strain them,' he confessed.

'Isn't there anything the matron can do for you?' Sirius asked. 'Why hasn't she healed them properly?'

'She has!' Remus protested, unable to listed to the intimation that Madam Pomfrey had done anything less than her best. 'She has,' he repeated, more softly. He did not want to wake the others, nor did he wish to make Sirius feel badly. 'They're cursed bites,' he said quietly. 'There's not much she can do. Even some of the scratches… if the wolf spittle gets into them they scar.'

Quiet horror was creeping across Sirius's face. It was more awful than revulsion would have been. 'B-but what about something like dittany?' he asked. 'Wouldn't that help, at least a little?'

'When I was little my father tried it,' Remus said. 'It did help, a little. But it didn't make the scars go away, and it didn't even really make them smaller, only less raised. Dittany's frightfully expensive, and it isn't worth it for the tiny benefit it gives. I'd need ever so much each month, and it doesn't make them go away.'

There was a long silence until at last Remus raised his head, puzzled. 'How d'you know about dittany?' he asked.

Sirius shrugged lazily, but there was a shadow in his grey eyes. 'Mum buys it in pint bottles,' he said with almost convincing insouciance. 'You're right, too: it's awfully costly. Probably why she likes it so much.'

Remus wished he had not asked the question. A pint bottle of dittany, besides costing nearly as much as his parents paid on the mortgage in a year, would last him through three transformations. It seemed a ridiculous quantity for a normal family to keep on hand. And of course, with natural wounds – wounds that were not cursed – it was wonderfully effective. It would never leave a mark inflicted by physical means.

'Tomorrow night, right?' Sirius asked softly.

Remus nodded. He had wondered when one of the others would mention the impending full moon. They had been discussing it in Astronomy this week and the last, and Remus had been so grateful at the time that he did not need to fear for the loss of his secret.

'How does it work?' Sirius went on. 'Do you go straight down to the tree?'

Remus shook his head. 'I usually go to the hospital wing when I'm not feeling well enough to be in lessons anymore,' he said. 'As it's Sunday, though, I'll probably go when everyone is at lunch. Madam Pomfrey likes me to rest beforehand. If I don't…'

He stopped, aghast. He had very nearly admitted to the rage the wolf felt when he went into the transformation agitated or frightened. He did not want Sirius to suspect that his state of mind in any way impacted the severity of the change. If he did he might realize that the previous month's injuries had been due in part to Remus's anxiety over the impending revelation. The last thing Remus wanted was for his friend to feel that any bit of this nightmare was Sirius's fault.

'If I don't she worries about me,' he finished, telling himself that it was at least true, even if it was not the whole truth. 'We go down about forty minutes before sunset; that gives her time to get away before – b-before…'

He stopped again, his horror mounting. Never before had he spoken so candidly about what befell him when the monthly nightmare rolled around. It was frightening to give voice to these rituals, and he was suddenly mortified that Sirius knew so much about them.

'Can I come?' asked Sirius.

The words startled Remus out of his agony of embarrassment. 'What?' he exclaimed, his whispered voice rising to a sharp hiss of air. 'No! No, Sirius, you don't understand! I'd hurt you. I'd bite you. The wolf—it doesn't know the difference. I wouldn't be able to stop it! No one can come with me! No one could ever—'

There was a hand on each of his knees, gripping tightly. Sirius was squatting before him, looking up at him with tormented eyes. Remus swallowed his mounting tirade, though his heart still hammered with panic.

'I meant,' Sirius said, his voice firm and gentle; 'can I come with you to the hospital wing? It might be nice to have somebody there to distract you, mightn't it? I know if I was waiting for something like that I'd rather play some chess with a mate or the like than just lie there worrying.'

Remus felt his throat constrict, and hot tears prickled in his eyes. 'You'd do that?' he whispered. 'You'd sit with me, even though in just a few hours I'll be turning into a m-m-m—'

'If you say "monster", I'll beat you to a jelly,' Sirius said with a ghost of his usual roguish smile. 'You're not a monster, Remus. Maybe the wolf is: I don't know. But you're not; you're my friend. If it takes all the rest of six years I'm going to convince you of that. Do say you'll let me come and wait with you. I promise not to make a fuss or upset the matron.'

Remus looked down at the upturned face, so earnest and compassionate and kind. The fingers gripping his kneecaps were gentle and firm, anchoring him in the miracle of acceptance. He felt the corners of his mouth rising in a wavering smile that triggered only the smallest spasms of pain in his tense and aching neck.

'All right,' he consented softly. 'If you'd like to sit with me I'm sure Madam Pomfrey would allow it.' He hesitated a moment before adding, 'And I'd truly appreciate it, Sirius. You're right: it would be much nicer to have some company while I wait.'

Sirius nodded his head resolutely. 'That's settled, then,' he said. He patted Remus's right leg and stood up. 'Now go on and get changed on the floor like you ought to. I'll not peek if you don't want me to.'

'Thank you,' Remus whispered, sliding off of the bed and beginning to remove his robes. He waited, half expecting Sirius to turn his back. Instead the other boy busied himself in his own cupboard, digging out his night things and making a thorough but remarkably casual inventory of his socks.

Remus changed quickly, spending the minimum amount of time with his ravaged body exposed to the open air. By the time Sirius was finished rifling through his collection of underpants Remus was adequately covered, hugging his arms to his stomach. The fingertips of his left hand brushed the knotted scar that was a souvenir of his most recent visit to St Mungo's, but for the first time in conscious memory the feel of the ridges did not cause him undue pain or sorrow. When Sirius turned and grinned at him, even his dread seemed to fade.

'You ought to get some sleep,' Sirius said sensibly. 'You look done in, and I'm certainly knackered. It's hard work, isn't it? Being friend and confidante to a Quidditch star?'

Remus smiled earnestly. 'He did wonderfully, didn't he?'

Sirius bobbed his head emphatically. 'He was brilliant,' he agreed. 'Next best thing to being out there myself, watching James on the go. Confidentially? He's a much better flyer than I am.'

'You're just as fast,' Remus said. 'It's only that you've been using an old broom.'

Sirius grinned. 'I'm afraid not,' he said. 'Sure, I'm quick, but those turns he was pulling today – that's practically pro stuff. He's got the instinct for it. And he's had more practice,' he added. This time there was a tiny note of bitterness in his voice.

'It must be difficult to find the chance in London,' Remus murmured, unsure what else he could say.

''Tis,' Sirius snorted, letting out a puff of air that ruffled his hair. His eyes lolled towards the pilfered Cleansweep. 'Mind you, I've been getting a lot of time in lately. If I can catch up to Potter on that old thing I'll be outstripping him in no time the minute I'm back on mine.' An eager glint appeared in his eyes. 'And Uncle Alphard still has to make good on his promise of buying me a new one.'

'When he does,' Remus said; 'perhaps you ought to leave it with one of us over the holidays. So that you can get it whenever you want it, you see.'

Sirius shot him an appraising look liberally laced with earnest respect. 'You're downright devious, you are,' he said. 'I'm beginning to think we've underestimated your capacity for rule-bending.'

This, Remus knew, was a complement of the highest order and he chose to take it as such. He bowed ever so slightly. 'I have my moments,' he said. Then an enormous yawn cracked wide his face, loosening some of the tension in his jaw. 'I do need to sleep,' he said shyly. 'I… I shan't get much tomorrow.'

He waited, breathless, to see how Sirius would take this allusion to the transformation. His relief when the other boy nodded sagely precipitated his sinking back onto the mattress.

'Good night, then,' Sirius said. He wagged a finger at his friend. 'And don't you dare sneak off tomorrow,' he warned. 'You promised, remember?'

'I promised,' Remus echoed. He sat still, watching as Sirius dived into his bed and yanked the hangings closed. Then he flicked his wand to dim the lamps and crept between the sheets. Despite his fatigue he lay awake for a long time, running over the conversation again and again and savouring every tiny indication that Sirius was well and truly his friend: unafraid of the wolf, willing to stay with him while he waited to go down to the Whomping Willow, tolerant even of the scars.

Remus slept well that night.