Dumbledore had been right. As far as Sirius' tormented muscles and overtaxed skeletal structure were concerned, a decent night's sleep was so long overdue that he was practically asleep before hitting the mattress of his four-poster. It wasn't that he had forgotten his friends' presence on the castle grounds the night before, or the cringe-worthy scene he must have made, groveling before McGonagall. Come morning, Sirius would be in for more jeering than Peter when he wet his pants their first night as a first-year. And even if he took the next few days off, as the headmaster had suggested, it was far too much to hope that the grinding gears of his exhausted brain would come up with a story decent enough to satisfy the Marauders. They'd witnessed far too many of his lies covering one escapade or another.
Hence, of course, McGonagall's reaction the night before.

Heaving open the silent door to his dormitory, Sirius had braced himself for a barrage of questions that surprisingly didn't come. No lamp burned in the untidy rectangular room. The only light was the sleepy chill of early morning. The sun had risen, of course, else he'd still be a wolf-but it was filtering as well as it could through triple layers of morning mist, thick iron-paned glass, and heavy maroon curtains. Barely enough to make out the shadowed forms of his friends, heaving with the deep breath of sleep. James, Peter, and Remus had stayed up late in conference, Sirius could see at a glance. Probably waiting for him to come back with his tail between his legs (metaphorically, as far as they knew) and a fortnight's detention from McGonagall. That the four beds were pushed together, leaving the bare corners of the room exposed, was nothing out of the ordinary. The Marauders made a point of staying up late, joking and plotting. But not one of their curtains had been pulled shut; not even by Remus, who occasionally grew bored of the other boys' chitchat and attempted to block it out for the sake of sleep (or worse, study). Peter, sprawled across his covers, was still wrapped in a woolen sweater, Sirius made out through the lightening dimness, and James hadn't removed his watch from his dangling arm.

It must be shortly after six in the morning, Sirius calculated, sliding into his own bed with its undisturbed curtains. Any other morning after the full moon he'd be slinking home right now, aching with new-healed cuts and untended bruises. Maybe Dumbledore was right, and things really could get better…

But as Sirius uncorked the bottle the headmaster had given him, his drifting thoughts returned to their previous tenor. There was really no explanation for this, nothing to justify his behavior the night before. He was fated to be a laughingstock, or, far worse, an outcast. From the only friends he'd ever known, the only group to which he'd ever belonged. His pack, one could almost say.

And yet Sirius, sinking back into the delicious softness of his neglected pillow, couldn't make himself fret properly. It was unthinkable to shatter the strange sense of peace that had settled over him. Perhaps the potion was making him feel this way, or more likely the forced confession to Dumbledore...the awful, but wonderfully freeing conversation. Either things would work out as the headmaster had said, or they wouldn't…

Either way, Sirius slept.

He didn't awake until nearly evening. As the dormitory faced east, shadows had begun to creep through the apartment hours before. The incongruity of waking in darkness dazed Sirius for a moment, but no longer. No sooner had his eyes opened then a mighty rebound of bedsprings sent him skyward. Peter had leapt onto the mattress. A lamp flickered on.

"He's awake!"

"No I'm not," Sirius groaned, trying to roll over. "Why aren't you in class?"

"He really is out of it," came an amused tone to his left. "It's Saturday, doofus. Not to mention nearly eight o'clock."

Blast. Sirius would much have prefered a day or twelve to fortify himself to the two seconds he'd had. He decided to play it cool.

With a groan he sat, fortifying himself against the bedframe. Dumbledore had helped him remove the outright bruises and scratches, but his muscles still ached like anything. Rearranging one's physiology into canine form was a workout of epic proportions.

But now that Dumbledore knew, came the sudden thought, he could go to Madame Pomfrey, couldn't he? She'd have a potion for this. Maybe there were perks to transparency after all…

If Dumbledore doesn't change his mind and kick me out.

If the Marauders don't learn my secret.

James was hovering four inches from his face. "Helllloooo sleepyhead."

Sirius brushed him aside. "Shove off. It's past dinnertime?"

"Indeed," said James gallantly. "But fortunately for you, your three good friends, superior above all others, have you covered. Remus, show him."

Remus upended his schoolbag with a flourish, and Sirius' mouth dropped open. Honeydukes sweets of all colors poured onto the mattress.

"You lot snuck into Hogsmeade? Are you mad?"

"Generally speaking, yes," muttered Remus under his breath. At the same time James intoned, "Not at all, my good man. Something has McGonagall seriously distracted. I haven't seen her like this since Abbot put Filibusters down the prefects' toilets."

"The mission went smoothly," Peter reassured him, reaching for a stick of sugared fairydust.

"Watch out," snickered James. "You'll sparkle all day if you eat that."

Peter hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "Worth it."

"Up to you, Tinkerbell."

"What's Tinkerbell?" asked Peter curiously.

"A type of Muggle fairy," said James knowledgeably. "I went to Connor's place over the summer, his parents are Muggles. Did you know they have their own sort of moving pictures?"

"Come off it."

"Yeah. It was sort of cool, actually. Uses ecktricity."

Sirius let the conversation flow around him, grateful for once for James' flights of distraction. The ribbing would begin at any moment, but for now…he reached for a Pumpkin Pastie.

"Whoa there," said Remus, at his elbow. "You finished that thing in two bites. We don't need you choking to death."

"Already thought we'd have a corpse on our hands last night, the way McGonagall was carrying on. That was interesting strategy on your part, by the way."

There it was. Sirius ignored James and plowed on.

"I've never seen anyone consume twelve chocolate frogs in one sitting," said Peter in a hushed voice.

"And I've never seen anyone grovel like that."

"Come off it, James...he was trying to distract her for us."

"Yeah, but since when does one Marauder go off on a little forest adventure without the others?"

"And what did they do to make him sleep so late? Mate, did they actually have to sedate you?"

"The hysterics were pretty impressive," Peter pointed out, fairly.

"Don't shove that many Pepper Imps in your mouth at once. Oh...oh no."

"He's smoking from the ears."

"Sirius, I'm starting to actually worry. Are you all right?"

"Protein," Sirius croaked.

James looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Answer me seriously. How many calories does wailing at McGonagall consume?"

"More than you know," muttered Sirius darkly, pushing himself out of bed with a groan. He moved shakily toward the door.

"Where are you going, Sirius?" asked Remus, blocking the doorway. "Don't get sore. We're just joshing you."

"I know," croaked Sirius. "Kitchens."

"Without the Invisibility Cloak?" asked Peter incredulously. "Mate, you are out of it."

"Perhaps we can delay the roasting session until later," said Remus, with a significant glance at James. The latter sighed.

"All right, but he's getting off easy. I still want to know where he was going in the dead of night."

"I should think that was pretty obvious," muttered Sirius, ducking around Remus.

"You are the maddest of us all," admitted Remus. "And I mean that as a compliment."

"Yeah, but you're not giving us the slip again," said James, rummaging through his trunk and emerging with a quicksilver cloak in his hands. "Together, this time. Even if it is just to the kitchens."

"I'm not sure he can walk," interjected Peter in some concern. "This isn't one of your monthly flu things, is it?"

"I think you're onto something," said Remus. James narrowed his eyes.

"What did you say, Peter?"

Peter looked up, brow furrowed.

"Monthly flu. You know? Every few weeks he gets like this. A proper Victorian maiden."

"That's true," said James thoughtfully. "You mean this isn't McGonagall-induced PTSD? Sirius, you're not secretly a girl, are you?"

"You've got me," croaked Sirius, rolling his eyes. This turned out to be a bad idea in his state of poor coordination; he tripped over his feet on the dormitory stairs and went down. And no wonder, he could barely move his feet. This month's transformation had been bad, worse than usual.

"Oi!"

Three pairs of hands were grasping at his sleeve.

"Up you get," said Remus in a steadying tone. "James, leave off him. I mean it."

James offered no resistance. A crease of worry had actually appeared above his nose.

"What should we do?" asked Peter in a low voice. "Get Madame Pomfrey?"

"Get him back to bed," said Remus firmly. And they hauled him bodily back onto his four-poster, over and above Sirius' weak protests that he was fine.

"Enough about fine," ordered James, wrapping himself in the cloak. "You can barely walk. We'll go to the kitchens for you. What do you want?"

"Meat."

"As you wish," said James, making a mock bow. The effect was mostly lost, as he was merely a floating head. "What do you think, Nurse Remus? Can you keep him alive until we get back?"

"I'll do my best."

"Then adieu, dear friends, until we meet again." He raised the cloak theatrically for Peter to join him. Remus watched them disappear and listened to the footsteps fade, then sat on the edge of the bed, heedless of the sweets spilling onto the floor.

"All right. Will you tell me what's really going on?"

Sirius met his eyes miserably. "No."

Remus was silent a few moments.

"None of us are stupid," he said quietly. "They'll figure it out soon."

A cold thrill of terror ran down Sirius' back.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I have."

No.

Sirius bit down his panic. Remus hadn't. He was lying. He couldn't have, there wasn't enough evidence...or could he? Remus was the most quiet and observant of the Marauders. James was too distracted by his own theatrics, and Peter by fawning over James half the time. Remus was the one who sat back and watched, offered a cool comment every once in a while, injected a note of common sense into their strategy discussions. And sometimes Sirius thought Remus knew him better than James did. If anyone had figured it out, it was Remus.

"I don't believe you," he said anyway.

"Suit yourself." Remus slid off the bed and walked to the window. "You know what was funny about last night?"

"What?" Sirius asked in spite of himself.

"The moon. Bigger and brighter than I've ever seen it before. My mum calls it a 'supermoon'. The Muggles have it all figured out, apparently. Bet Professor Sinistra does too."

"Merlin," Sirius said, resistance flooding out of him. "Is that why I ache so badly?"

Remus turned back toward him. "That would be my guess," he said impassively.

A pause, while Sirius struggled for breath. Despair was flooding over him. Despair and panic. It had happened. Dumbledore had warned him that if his secret got out, none of the measures they'd discussed could keep him in school. And he hadn't been able to keep the secret for a single day.
And yet. Remus wasn't running and screaming. Sirius wondered what that meant.

"So what really happened last night?"

Sirius sighed, and told him.

Remus listened to the story without expression, and when it was over he sat beside Sirius again and reached for a sweet.

"So you were trying to save us," he said. "I wondered. Only I thought it was McGonagall you were trying to save us from."

Sirius grinned weakly. "That too." The smile slid abruptly from his face.

"Well," Remus said, pocketing his candy wrapper. "This all leaves just one question."

Dread crept into Sirius' throat again. "I'll go home," he promised thickly. "I'll never bother you again. I should never have come to Hogwarts and endangered you all. Never should have made myself one of you. I swear, Remus, I won't be so selfish again, to you or anyone. Last night was too close-"

"Shut up," said Remus.

Sirius shut up.

"I don't want you going anywhere. Get that through your thick skull. You're one of my best friends."

Sirius blinked at him. "I'm a monster."

"Yeah, well, so is James half the time," Remus pointed out. "And he's not been kicked out, though sometimes I think it's only a matter of time."

"You're not facing reality," said Sirius vehemently. "Do you know what will happen if Dumbledore's plan doesn't work? Do you know what will happen if anyone finds-"

"Do you really trust your friends so little?"

"I have hopes for their self-preservation instinct," snapped Sirius. Remus' declaration of loyalty had made hope flare in his chest again, and it took everything in him to quash it down, remind himself that it was only a matter of time. If Remus had figured it out the others would too. Perhaps not Peter, but James...James was no fool.

"This is self-preservation," argued Remus, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Of a sort. We're the Marauders, and you're one of us. End of story. I think you should tell them."

Sirius was silent.

"Really?"

"I do," said Remus firmly. "They'll figure it out at some point. You can't keep a secret for seven years."

Sirius grinned crookedly at him. "I can keep it for three."

"I take my hat off to you," Remus answered, with a flourish reminiscent of James. "But whatever you decide, do it now. They'll be back at any moment."

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut-the better to think, he had supposed, but a hot tear ran down his cheek. Startled, he reached up to brush it away. Crying again, for the second time in twenty-four hours?

But he couldn't help it. Some dam had broken inside him, and the pent-up tension of years, of a lifetime really, was spilling out of him faster than he could keep it in. Remus had the grace to turn away and place a Silencing Charm on the door as Sirius fell back against his pillows and audible sobs filled the dormitory. He couldn't stop it if he tried. Facing his friend's danger, his own death, his worst secret, and now Remus' compassion in the space of a day had drained him so utterly that at last he was unable even to sob aloud.

Was it possible? Could friendship be so strong?

There was only one way to find out.

Sirius had cried himself out by the time the others arrived, and in between ravenous bites of fried chicken, he told them his story.