Sirius listens carefully to a conversation that only he fully understands. It would be funny if it weren't the end of everything.
He knows he only has one chance to not make everything worse. It's easy. He can do this. It's so hard to concentrate with Remus so close, so angry. There's an urge to run away that he thought he'd suppressed entirely, but even more prevalent than that is the urge to crawl back in on his belly and grovel.
He transforms awkwardly into his human form and collapses in an ungainly heap; he hasn't transformed back since a brief panic attack after coughing up half the north sea and he doesn't like it, not to mention he's gained a rather nasty leg injury from the mess of an apparition earlier, and retrieves his photo – his only hope.
He tries his best to mop up the fallen blood as he hears Remus finally get around to introducing himself. It doesn't help the situation.
"Lupin? Sirius' friend?" Nem says. Oof.
"I am not his friend!" Remus snaps immediately, furious. A room away, Sirius feels a sharp, horrible pain that has nothing to do with his leg. He transforms back and carefully picks up the photo between two sharp teeth. Maybe he can get back before Remus says anything more hurtful.
"I haven't been his friend in twelve years. Probably even before that. We were probably never friends. Filthy betraying traitors don't have friends."
Or not.
Sirius can't decide whether he wants to bite the idiot or beg more. They had been friends. Good friends. Best friends. He almost remembers it clearly.
He pushes open the sitting room door just in time to see Nem – brave, loyal, wonderful Nem – slap Remus in the face.