A strange creature settled in at the Gryffindor table one morning. It had eight limbs, two heads, and yet, perceivably, only one conjoined set of lips. Stranger still, it looked remarkably like Sirius's best friend and Alodie Blunt.

Sirius watched them dispassionately from behind his porridge. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about this new development. He only had himself to blame, he knew that, but when he'd suggested Alodie to James, he'd only meant for a quick snog, not…whatever this was. Sirius had snogged his fair share of girls, though that had mostly been because he'd been bored and because people expected him to. But it was always a once and done sort of thing. They didn't follow him around the castle, or cuddle him in between classes, or permanently fuse their face to his at the breakfast table.

Sirius exchanged a weary look with Wenyi, who merely rolled her eyes and returned to her magazine. Sirius sighed. Remus was intentionally sleeping through breakfast this morning, and Peter was Merlin-knows-where. Sirius didn't like being left to his own devices. It usually meant he started thinking.

In a motion that was becoming mechanical, Sirius's eyes roamed towards the Slytherin table, seeking out his brother. Regulus was sitting alone, perfect posture, a book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. Sirius hadn't heard a word from any of his family since he'd stormed out of 12 Grimmauld Place on Christmas Eve, his jaw bruised, his forehead bleeding, his mother shrieking obscenities at him from the threshold. Regulus hadn't even looked at him once since that uncomfortable moment on the train. Sirius remembered what had happened to Andromeda. They'd all been forbidden from speaking to her. Total banishment. Sirius could perfectly imagine his mother blasting his own name off the family tree, all those glinting gold lines ending in nothing but a sooty stain.

He'd returned to Hogwarts full of trepidation. His time at the Potters' had been a glorious reprieve, but Sirius had expected something when he got back to school. Some form of retaliation. Some public acknowledgement of the fact that he was banished, disinherited, a failure of a Black and a disgrace of a son.

Nothing happened.

James had quietly asked Sirius one evening if he planned on telling Remus and Peter that he'd run away from home. Sirius had suggested James do it, and James had agreed. But his friends hadn't said much to him about it. Sirius suspected this was because Remus understood not wanting to talk about things, and Peter was scared of pissing him off. And so the whole thing hung over him like a storm cloud they were all pretending not to see. He knew it was there, and it was only a matter of time until the lightning struck.

Growing restless, Sirius turned back to his amorous neighbors. "Oi, Alodie," he said, prodding her shoulder. "You've got something on your face."

James and Alodie pulled apart; Alodie looked irritated, but James was struggling not to grin. Alodie seemed to sense this and after a moment decided to take the intrusion as an intimate joke. Her face dimpled into a laugh, and she rolled her eyes affectionately as she fixed her hair. "Boys," she sighed, tucking a curl back into its place.

Before they could recommence snogging, however, a flurry of owls swept overhead. The post had arrived.

"Oh, good," said Alodie happily. "I'm expecting a catalogue. Daddy said I could order new dress robes for my birthday."

"When's your birthday?" asked James, looking startled.

"Oh, not 'til May. But you know, the best robes can take months to prepare. We only shop at Beauchemise in Paris. Sirius, your family gets their robes made there too, don't they?"

Sirius was suddenly nostalgic for a time when her lips were otherwise occupied. He merely grunted and buried himself in the newly arrived Daily Prophet.

"Don't talk to Sirius about his family," he heard James mutter to Alodie.

"Why not?"

"Just…don't."

"Oi, look at this," said Sirius, spreading the newspaper across the table. They all leaned over to read the headline which blared:

JENKINS RESIGNS. HAROLD MINCHUM NAMED NEW MINISTER FOR MAGIC.

Beneath the headline was a photograph of an older man with a jowly, stern face, a bit like a bulldog. He glowered at the camera, as if he could project an aura of authority by sheer determination.

"Minchum?" said James. "Never heard of him."

Sirius skimmed the article. "He was head of the Auror Office, apparently."

"Well, that's good, right?" said James. "Having an Auror in charge?"

Sirius didn't respond, still caught up in scanning the article. He hadn't heard of Minchum before either, but that was probably a good thing. With a pit in his stomach, Sirius recalled his Uncle Alphard and Abraxas Malfoy discussing Eugenia Jenkins at the Christmas Party. What was it Lucius had been going on about before Sirius had clocked him? The removal of Mudbloods from the Ministry…

But Minchum didn't sound like a Death Eater sympathizer. The article quoted him promising to take hard action against "those that would threaten the Wizarding community of Britain." So that couldn't be a victory for the Malfoys, could it?

"Hard to say," concluded Sirius when he reached the end of the page. "He's pledged to increase the number of Dementors around Azkaban and station Aurors outside every Wizarding institution, with regular patrols in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade?" frowned Alodie. "They're not going to take away our weekends, are they?"

"I think it's good they're adding more security," piped up Wenyi. "Did you see about those Muggles in Leeds?"

"Yes, but that was Leeds," said Alodie. "Why would anyone attack Hogsmeade?"

"To frighten people," said Sirius, flipping a page in the Daily Prophet. "To terrorize them into submission. Scared people do drastic things. Scared people will give up a lot just to feel safe."

Like Muggle-born rights, he thought darkly to himself. Lucius Malfoy's sneer flickered in his memory.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see," said Alodie lightly as she disentangled herself from James. "In the meantime, I've got to run up to the Owlery and pop off this order. See you in class?" Instead of waiting for a response from James, she swooped down and bestowed one last, lingering kiss. "Come on, Wenyi."

James watched the girls go, his glasses slightly askew, a grin on his face.

"Damn," said Peter, who had just arrived with a fatigued-looking Remus. "You're smitten."

"I'm not smitten," scoffed James as Peter and Remus settled into their seats. "She's hot and good snog, that's all."

"Ah, so romance isn't dead," said Remus.

"You're all just jealous. And why are you here, Remus? I thought we agreed you needed to sleep?"

"I tried to tell him," said Peter.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Thanks, mum, but I'm fine. I'll go to the hospital wing after Herbology."

"No way," protested James. "It's freezing out there. You're sick enough as it is without trudging through the snow—"

"For fuck's sake." Remus scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm a wer—I mean, a you-know-what. It's not like I'm coming down with the flu."

Sirius was always amused by Remus's inclination for foul language around the full moon. Biting back a smirk, he said, "Tell you what, Prongs. We'll wrap him up in some extra scarves, maybe a balaclava. It'll be fine."

"Shut up," said Remus.

Sirius watched as his friend trawled a spoon through his porridge without much enthusiasm. He knew that Remus viewed attending classes even at the brink of collapse as a point of pride, a personal victory, but Sirius suspected this was was about something else. Remus was keeping an eye on them. They'd all agreed that tonight would be their first night transforming with him in the shack; he didn't want them coming up with any new plans behind his back.

"Fine," huffed James, "but if you get a cold, I'm going to say 'I told you so' in a very stern voice."

And so, Remus stubbornly accompanied them to class — but not before James tried to force a pair of transfigured earmuffs on him, and Remus threatened to hex James's own ears clean off. They somehow made it with everyone's ears intact, and Sirius and his friends found themselves holed up in greenhouse three for Herbology, listening to the tick-tick-tick of snowdrops against glass panes.

Today's project was deadheading fanged geraniums. It was a fairly monotonous task, but Sirius had grown to appreciate the time spent in classes. It was the only time these days when he was free of Alodie. Despite her new and disconcerting devotion to his best friend, she was steadfastly Wenyi's partner for all their schoolwork. This offered Sirius a bit of respite and a chance to conduct an Alodie-free conversation at last.

"So, full moon tonight," Sirius began in a low voice, glancing across the greenhouse to make sure Professor Sprout was still occupied with the other students.

"Shh!" pleaded Remus. "You can't talk about it here."

"Sure we can," said James with a sly grin. He pointed his wand at the nearest group of students and muttered, "Muffliato."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. He'd never heard that spell before. "What's that?"

"A spell that keeps people from listening in on private conversations."

"Where'd you get that?"

James gave a non-committal shrug. "A book I found. I'll tell you more about it later. Anyway, it's safe to talk now. Don't worry, I've tested it before."

"So what time to do we head out?" asked Peter.

Remus gave a wary glance around him, then sighed. He looked as though he wanted to try and talk them out of it again but didn't quite dare. "Madam Pomfrey will take me to the shack at half-past eight."

"Half-past eight?" said Sirius. "Full moon isn't until ten o'clock! So, what, you just sit by yourself in the shack for hours?"

Remus frowned. "I like to be safe. If something went wrong…if we were delayed…"

"Well, that's okay then," said James. "We'll leave the castle at nine. That gives us plenty of time."

As class ended and the Gryffindors trudged across the grounds through the freshly-fallen snow, Remus began to fade. Knowing he wouldn't eat anything anyway, the boys delivered him directly to Madam Pomfrey before lunch.

"I wish you wouldn't say 'delivered,'" complained Remus as they handed him off to the matron, "like I'm some sort parcel."

"But a very important parcel," insisted James. "The kind all wrapped up nicely with string and paper and sent by priority owl."

"Git."

The hospital wing appeared to be mostly empty, save one bed in the corner with the curtains pulled tightly shut. Still, it wasn't safe to talk openly. "Well," said Sirius, "we should get going. See you later, Moony."

"Right," agreed James. "See you…later."

"Bye," said Peter.

Remus opened his mouth, then shut it and turned away from them. Sirius thought he looked exceptionally small, standing there alone in the infirmary, shoulders hunched, a pair of hospital robes clutched to his chest by tightly-crossed arms. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but couldn't find the words. Then he just shook his head, said, "Bye, then," and turned his back on them.

Sirius and James exchanged a quick, meaningful look, and the three boys filed out.

The next part was the hardest. Harder than getting a hold of the books, harder than the litany of complex spells they'd had to learn, harder still than keeping a stupid mandrake leaf in their mouths for an entire month. Now, they had to wait. They fidgeted their way through afternoon classes. Dinner was a truly torturous affair. At last, back in the common room, Sirius and Peter sat by the fire, playing a rather uninspired game of chess and watching the time tick by. James had disappeared off into a corner with Alodie.

"What do you think it'll be like?" asked Peter after a long stretch of silence.

"Hell if I know," said Sirius. The minutes trudged on. He glanced at his watch. "It's nearly time. Your turn to go untangle James."

"Fat chance! I did it last time."

Sighing deeply, Sirius pushed himself from his chair and strode across the common room to the snug corner where James and Alodie were mid-snog. "Oi, James. Time to go, mate."

After a moment and a rather disgruntled noise, James emerged. "Already?"

"Time flies when you're snogging your brains out."

James gave him a sheepish grin. "Right. I'm off then," he told Alodie, standing up and smoothing his robes.

"Excuse me?" said Alodie, looking very offended indeed. "You're off? Where are you going?"

"Er — I've got a thing."

"A thing? James, it's nearly nine o'clock. What thing could you possibly have?"

James floundered for a moment. "Well, see, it's a secret. Look, I'll catch up with you tomorrow."

"James!"

"Come on, you like your men mysterious, right?"

Alodie scoffed, straightening her blouse. "Not really."

Sirius dragged James off nonetheless. "That went well," he snickered as they climbed the stairs to the dormitory.

"Oh, shut it," said James.

They'd gone over the plan a hundred times. The night before, Remus had finally given them clear instructions on how to get past the Whomping Willow's vicious boughs. He'd always been cagey with the details before, evidently not trusting his friends' promises that they wouldn't sneak down to see the Shrieking Shack for themselves. Now that he'd told them — you had to prod a specific knot on the tree and the limbs would stop flailing — it all seemed rather simple.

Peter transformed first in the dormitory so that he could travel in James's pocket. The rat safely stowed, they threw on their cloaks, pocketed their wands, and slipped out of the common room and into the empty halls, heavy with silence. They moved through the castle with caution — they didn't dare use their wands for light, and the last thing they needed was to trod on the tail of Filch's rotten cat. Years of mischief, however, allowed them to make it to the entrance hall without incident. With a great and unsettling creak, Sirius pushed open the large wooden doors. He glanced at James, who nodded, and out they went into the glimmering night.

Snow was falling heavily; so much so that they didn't even worry about the tracks their footsteps were leaving. They pressed on through swirls of snow until the shadowy form of the Whomping Willow loomed before them. Its limbs swayed placidly in the wind, not yet aware that trespassers were at hand.

"All right, Peter," said James, removing the rat from his pocket and placing him on the snowy ground. "Your turn."

Peter the rat gave a small squeak and after only the briefest hesitation, he scuttled off towards the trunk. The two boys watched in anticipation as the rat disappeared into the dark; then, in a sudden, startling moment, the tree froze as if cast in stone.

"Wild," said Sirius.

"Well done, Pete," said James.

They hurried forward. There, at the base of the trunk, practically hidden among the tangled roots, was a hole, just as Remus said there would be.

"Shall we?" said James, and Sirius nodded. James went first, tucking his elbows in as he slid through. Peter, still in rat form, scurried along after him. Sirius glanced around at the still night and the eerily frozen tree above him, relishing the moment. There was always that rush, an incredible feeling, being somewhere you weren't supposed to be. Then he ducked down and crawled through the roots, slipping down the slope. He landed with a graceless thud next to James.

"Lumos," James muttered, and their surroundings were illuminated in pale light. They were in a dark, earthy tunnel, its ceiling so low that they had to stand in a sharp crouch, except for Peter who was, of course, a rat. "Weird," said James, raising his wand to illuminate the long stretch of tunnel ahead. "And Remus does this every month."

"Well, come on," said Sirius. "Time is of the essence, eh?" He held out his own wand, lit it, and scraped past James to take the lead. James didn't complain, merely followed behind him, peering with interest around the tunnel, occasionally placing a hand on the wall as if it might tell him something. Peter scampered along underfoot.

"We would never have known this was here if it weren't for Remus," said James. "We thought that tunnel that led to Hogsmeade was unique, but I bet there are tons of other secret passages around the castle."

Sirius laughed. "First plumbing, now secret passages."

"Just think how much there is about this place we don't even know yet. And we know a lot more than most people!"

The tunnel began to rise and twist, and soon Sirius realized they were approaching the end of the path. The tiniest thread of light indicated a trapdoor above. "This must be it," he murmured. "Alohomora." The trapdoor sprung open. He reached up and pulled himself through. James followed, carefully clutching Peter the rat in his hand.

"Bloody hell," whispered James, shutting the trapdoor behind him. "We're actually in the Shrieking Shack."

Indeed they were. Sirius peered around and the narrow beam of his wandlight fell over a dusty room. The windows were all boarded up so that moonlight trickled through in mere slivers. The wallpaper peeled in thick ripples and looked as though it had had the help of gouging claws. He almost tripped over a chair, which was missing all its legs. Lowering his wandlight to the ground, Sirius felt his stomach lurch: The floor was splattered with horrible, dark stains that looked an awful lot like blood.

Remus's blood, he thought, his throat suddenly dry.

They moved out into a hallway caked in shadow. The rest of the house was in a similar state of wreckage: broken furniture, pried up floorboards, splotchy stains across the walls. In one room, inexplicably, a lopsided grand piano sat slumped against the wall, several of its keys missing like rotten teeth. There was a creak overhead and Peter let out a squeak.

"Oi, don't run up my leg, Pete," said James. "Here," and he scooped up the rat and tucked him safely in his pocket. Sirius rolled his eyes. Peter could be such a sissy sometimes.

They found a decrepit staircase, its banister broken into splintering rails, and stepped gingerly up the stairs, peering around as they reached the landing.

"Remus?" said Sirius cautiously. There was no response, but then, as quiet as a soft breeze, a low moan floated down the hall. Exchanging another glance, the two boys crossed the distance hurriedly and pushed open a crooked door that had lost one of its hinges. It creaked miserably.

The room, like the rest of the house, was in complete disarray, but a large four-poster bed with ragged, moth-eaten hangings remained. It looked as if a bite had been taken out of one of the legs and it stood cockeyed against the wall. What interested him more, however, was the figure on the bed. There, tightly-wound and curled like a claw, was the shivering body of Remus Lupin. He was dressed in only a thin set of hospital robes, which Sirius thought seemed downright cruel in this weather. His feet were bare and trembling, and his breath came in shuddering bursts.

"Remus," said Sirius again, and at this Remus jolted up with a gasp. He looked awful, his face clammy and pale, eyes wild with fear as he stared at them.

"What — what are you doing?" he cried, eyes darting between the two boys.

James frowned. "What are you talking about? You knew we were coming. We've been planning this all day."

"I mean — I'm going to transform any moment now, you can't—"

"Relax, mate, we've got…" Sirius glanced at his watch, "…twelve minutes until full moon rising." This information did not seem to console his friend.

"You shouldn't be here. This was a horrible mistake. You should go while you still can."

"We're not going anywhere."

"What if something goes wrong? What if you can't transform in time? You're new at this and Peter—"

"Peter's already a rat, and James and I are excellent at transforming. What are you so worked up about?"

"I can still hurt you," he whispered. "Maybe I can't turn you into a werewolf, but I can still hurt you. Look at this place — look around! I did this!"

"Well, no one ever said you didn't have a temper," said James lightly, sitting down on the bed next to him. Remus flinched away and James frowned. "I don't understand why you're so upset. You knew we were coming."

"I didn't know you'd get here before I transformed," Remus muttered, his eyes darting everywhere but to his friends.

"So what?"

Remus sat there, rocking slightly on the bed, his mouth opening and closing as though searching for words. Finally, he managed, "I'm not proud of it. I don't want you to see."

"Yesterday I saw Sirius transform and sniff his own arse," offered James. "How bad can it be?"

Remus let out a hiccoughing laugh. "Bad," he said. "Really, really bad. It's not like your transformations, all smooth and — I don't — I don't keep my mind the way you do." He struggled for a moment, then gasped, "You've only met me. You've never met the wolf. You only know me. I don't — I don't want you to see the wolf — the — the — the monster, I can't — I c-can't—" His breaths were coming in uneven sobs now; he was working himself up into a right panic. James gave Sirius a desperate look, utterly thrown by this display of raw emotion.

Sirius wasn't sure what made him do it — perhaps it was instinct, perhaps it was the way Remus's voice had stuttered — but with a deep breath, he transformed into his Animagus and the big, black dog padded over to the bed. He leapt onto the shredded mattress and nestled his head onto Remus's knee.

Remus stared.

Sirius nudged Remus's hand with his muzzle and whined. His friend let out a small choke of a laugh, sniffled, and began to scratch him behind his dog-ears. Sirius shut his eyes contentedly for a few moments, then lifted one lid to glance at James, who was watching this whole interaction with a slightly bemused expression on his face. But it seemed to work. Remus's breathing had become steady again. He was calming down.

"James," said Remus after another minute. "You should transform too. Now."

"Right," said James. He lifted Peter out of his pocket and set him on the bed next to Remus. Peter gave a little squeak of greeting, and Remus nearly smiled.

"Hi, Pete," he said.

Then Sirius watched as James stood up and walked a few paces away from the bed. He hesitated. "Remus," he said, and Sirius could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "Nothing that happens tonight will change anything. Not with us. You understand that, right?"

Remus didn't respond; Sirius felt a shiver course through his friend's body.

"Transform, James," Remus said urgently. "Do it now!"

James obliged, and Sirius was struck by what a strange image they must make: a decrepit room in an old haunted house, inhabited by a dog, a rat, a stag, and a shaking, shivering boy.

The image did not last long. A gleam of moonlight pierced through one of the boarded windows, and suddenly Remus's body stiffened, rigid as a board. "Get — back," he croaked. Peter the rat scurried away to a little hole at the base of the wall. Prongs took a few slow, cautious steps back. Sirius felt his hair stand on end, and he too moved away, crouching next to the stag, a growl in the swallow his throat.

With a gasp of pain, Remus doubled over. He forced his head up and looked at his friends. "I'm — not—" But whatever he had hoped to tell them was lost in an agonized scream.

It was perhaps the strangest, most horrible thing Sirius had ever seen in his life. Remus's whole body began to shudder and quake. He clenched his fists as claws grew and patches of fur began to cover his skin. His friend had been right: This was nothing like the smooth transition of an Animagus transformation. Remus seemed to be fighting the wolf at every twist and snarl. His head stretched and sharp teeth grew…the hospital robes ripped…and suddenly Remus wasn't there anymore. Before them, yellow eyes narrowed and teeth bared, stood a werewolf.

Shit, thought Sirius. Shit, shit, shit.

What had seemed like a fantastic idea all cozied up in the common room was suddenly a terrifying reality. This was as far as they had planned. None of them had spared a thought as to what they would do — Animagus or not — when faced with a fully-fledged werewolf.

Well, Remus had. And he'd told them to run.

The werewolf growled, rumbling like thunder, its hackles raised high.

Shit.

With a terrible, snarling noise, the wolf leapt towards him.

Sirius let his dog mind take over. He was every bit as big as the werewolf, and he met him claw to claw, thrashing and growling. Then he had him pinned, and the wolf whimpered beneath him — but with a forceful shove, Sirius fell back against the wall. He turned; Prongs had pushed him off with his antlers. The stag gave him a significant look and Sirius let out a penitent whine, ears back.

The wolf howled and took off towards the landing, clawing at the walls as it went. It hurtled down the stairs and slashed at the boarded-up windows. It threw its weight against the wall, again and again, shrieking in agony, clawing at its own face.

It wants out, Sirius realized. That's it — that's all it wanted. It wanted out, out, out.

And suddenly, Sirius felt a kinship — and a deep, throttling sadness — like he'd never before known.

The night dragged on. They did their best to keep the wolf from tearing himself apart, but there was only so much they could do, trapped in those tight rooms, in that prison of a house.

At long last, dawn rose. The wolf reared back, howling as fur receded into skin, joints knocking, muscles spasming…and then Remus Lupin stood before them once more, his naked skin scraped and bloody. He staggered slightly on his feet, until with a lurch and a painful sounding thud, he collapsed to the floor.

Sirius bounded over, still in dog form. Whining, he nudged Remus's cheek with his nose. Remus didn't respond. Sirius glanced anxiously back at Prongs, who gave a slight inclination of his antlered head, and Sirius changed back to human form.

"Remus?" he whispered.

Remus moaned.

Sirius bent down and lifted the boy, frail as a bone, and carried him back up the stairs. He reached the battered four-poster bed and laid him down as gently as he could, wincing at the bruises and cuts across the pale body. Remus shivered pitifully, and Sirius felt something clench inside him. How could they just leave him like this? He pulled one of the ragged, threadbare blankets from the bed and tucked it carefully over his friend.

"S-Sirius?" Remus's faint voice barely escaped his raw lips. Sirius looked at him. Pale lashes fluttered over pale eyes. Sirius stared for a moment longer, trying to distinguish if any sign of the wolf remained. There was none.

"What are you doing here?" said Remus.

Sirius frowned. Did he not remember? "I've been here all night, Remus."

"Oh…" A look of recollection overcame Remus's face, followed by a spasm of anxiety. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," he lied.

Sirius was suddenly aware of a presence behind him, and he turned to see James hovering in the doorway, human again. "How is he?"

Sirius just shrugged.

James strode forward and Sirius could see that he was favoring his right leg. "All right, Moony old man?" he said in that exaggeratedly pompous voice he always put on when he was unsettled by something.

Remus's chapped lips stretched into the ghost of a smile at the nickname. "That name's worse than Snuffles," he croaked. "Moony, I ask you. No points for subtlety."

James laughed, limped over, and knelt on the floor beside the bed. Remus's smile vanished. "I hurt you."

"Nah. I tripped. Bloody stag legs, you know."

Peter, still a rat, scurried over next to James. He was unhurt but fidgeting nervously.

"So what now?" said James.

Remus shifted. Winced. "Madam Pomfrey will come get me soon. You should go."

"No way," growled Sirius.

"You have to. She can't find you here."

"We'll hide," said James. "In one of the other rooms. Better that we hide in here than meet her in the tunnel, eh?"

"F-fine," Remus muttered, teeth chattering in the cold.

Sirius scowled. "It's bloody freezing in here. I can't believe they just leave you with nothing."

"What are they supposed to d-do? No point giving me a cloak. I'm a bit destructive. Maybe you noticed."

Sirius opened his mouth to retort when the sound of the trap door swinging open jolted them all to their senses. James quickly scooped up Peter the rat, and he and Sirius hurried to the other room, crouching in the shadows. Once again, they waited.

It seemed to take forever. They listened with bated breath as the creaky complaint of footsteps floated towards them, praying that Madam Pomfrey would not look into this particular room. Sirius had thrown a quick disillusionment charm over them, but that would only do so much.

But then the footsteps passed. Unable to sit silently by, not knowing what was going on, Sirius crept over to a part of the dilapidated wall that had been gauged out, undoubtedly by a wolf's claw. The sliver of a hole allowed him a glimpse into the other room, and, forehead pressed to crumbling plaster, he peered through to see the stark, clean profile of the school matron. She looked wildly out of place in this dusty, depressing old shack, but she moved with purpose and procedure towards the bed where Remus lay.

"Come on, now, Remus," said Madam Pomfrey gently. "Up you get."

Remus pushed himself up with a groan. The matron proceeded to check him over, healing up bruises and abrasions with her wand, saving the more serious cuts for proper treatment back in the hospital wing. Once satisfied with his state of health, she handed him a fresh pair of robes and a cloak, and turned politely away while he slipped them on. Remus was stone silent throughout the whole process. Then she led him out of the room and down the stairs. The wooden thump of the trapdoor punctuated their departure.

Sirius slumped back against the wall. James let out a whistle of a sigh. Peter, still in rat form, scurried out of the room to the landing to check that all was clear. He returned a few seconds later and squeaked three times.

"Oh, right," said James, and with the spell that had become so familiar, he turned Peter back into a boy. Sirius bit back a scathing remark. Surely one of these days Peter would figure it out on his own.

Properly human again, Peter sunk down on the floor beside James, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. "They're gone," he announced.

"Hell," sighed James.

Sirius looked around the half-demolished room, remembering the way the werewolf had flung himself against the boarded-up windows, clawing his own face in agony. "Five years," he muttered, hugging his arms to his chest.

"…Mate?"

"Five years," Sirius repeated, and he was as surprised as James and Peter to hear his voice shaking. "They've been sending him down here like this for five years. For five years, they've locked him in a cage and left him here to tear himself to bits."

"Yeah," said James, rubbing his neck uncomfortably. "Yeah, that was rather…grim."

"Grim? James, that was cruel. I can't believe Dumbledore allows this!"

"Hang on," said James, bristling at the criticism of their headmaster. Both James and Remus hero-worshipped Dumbledore in a way Sirius had never quite understood. "If it weren't for Dumbledore, Remus wouldn't be here at all. He said so himself."

"Maybe they don't know how bad it is," offered Peter.

"They know," said Sirius darkly.

"I'm sure they're doing the best they can—"

"WELL, IT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH, IS IT?"

Peter fell silent and James stared at Sirius, startled by this outburst. There was a long pause, punctuated only by the creaking walls of the shack as the wind blustered outside.

"No," James agreed at last. "It's really not."

This concession calmed Sirius down a bit. He let out a low growl and sat heavily on the floor, pressing his palms to his eyes. After a long moment, he looked up at James. "So what do we do now?"

James considered this, his gaze lost in a patch of shadow. Then he stood up, wincing at the evident pain in his ankle. "We make it better."