A Short Guide to Marauding

by Mireille

Here is a tale of MWPP as they have begun existing to me. Sirius is a screwball, Remus is a golden boy, James is an endearing jerk, Peter is number four, and this is their seventh year. [COMPLETE] (and freshly edited - 52203)

7. Three Musketeers

Chapter 7 – Three Musketeers

"Remus, I need to talk to you," said Lily.

Remus blinked.  He was walking back up to the castle after the Quidditch game in a torrential spring rain, from which his ratty old umbrella, found beneath the stands one fortuitous Saturday, protected him none too well.  Gryffindor had won, but that was a foregone conclusion whenever they played Hufflepuff, and Remus was tired, wet, shivering and afraid that a nasty cold might be in the works.  And the moon was only a day shy of full.  It was hard not to reply waspishly to this girl who had artistic curls about her face from the humidity, who had not a drop of rain on her and no umbrella but an Impervius Charm by the looks of it.  It was in fact exceptionally hard, and Remus was charming and courteous but also human.

"What?" he said.  "You want me to tell you what to get Jamesie for Valentine's Day?  No, that was a month ago.  When's the next holiday for blissful lovers?"

"I wanted to apologize," she said.

"For what?  Falling in love with someone else?"  Remus knew exactly how odious these words must sound but he was unable, perhaps unwilling, to check them.  "That's entirely my doing, since I was fool enough to be honest with you.  Luckily I spared you having to decide between wonderful me and wonderful James, because if you had James would have killed me in a wizard's duel for you.  My death would break your heart, wouldn't it?"

"I don't hate you," Lily said.  "But I don't blame you for thinking so.  I did treat you awfully, and I want to apologize.  I feel horrid about the whole thing."

Remus laughed mirthlessly.  "I'm not making you feel any better, am I?  Talk to me when I'm warm and dry and I'll give you absolution and pretty words, whatever you need to keep your conscience quiet.  Until then I have to beg your pardon because I can't forget all that on such short notice."

"I understand," Lily said in a tiny voice and darted away to leave Remus feeling as though he'd spit out something vile and putrefied.  He had had no right to say such things regardless of the fact that they were perfectly true.  It was unforgivably rude of him, and now Remus felt ill with more than disease.  He wondered, with a crooked smile, if Madame Pomfrey had a potion to fix irreparable faux pas.  That made him think of Sirius, and James, who were probably already back at the common room toasting their victory, and Remus could not abide the thought of smiling and congratulating them and looking them, James particularly, in the eye.

So he didn't.  He fought his way against the crowd and when they were finally, mercifully gone, he went down and walked around the lake, cheerless water fringed with cheerless trees, longer than he cared to think.  When he was tired he sat down underneath a bare gray tree, his legs sticking out in front of him and his head, flung back, resting on the trunk.  Someone spotted him out the front windows and the news was all over the castle within the hour, but he was spared that knowledge at least.

When the cold became unbearable, Remus went back up to the common room, only to find it deserted; he had been out so long that it was already suppertime.  There was a large paper bag with the top folded over twice and his name written on it.  Inside was a blanket, nothing else.

Remus curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace and pulled on a glamour over top of the blanket to make himself less remarkable, just enough not to be stepped on.  He was cold and hungry but that did not keep him awake very long.

Remus woke up in his own bed.  Lily was sitting on the floor cross-legged watching him.

"I didn't drool too much, did I?" he said.

"Not too much.  I got James to levitate you up here, then I convinced them to go for a few butterbeers.  I told them you wouldn't mind."

"You were right," Remus said.  He sat up, drawing his blanket around his shoulders.  He wanted to put it over his head too.  "I think I owe you an apology for being such a tremendous cad."

"You were perfectly justified in saying what you did," Lily said quietly.  "I deserved it."

"That doesn't mean I was justified in saying it that way," Remus said.  "The truth doesn't have to hurt."

"You could have dressed it up a bit, but the truth would still be the same," Lily said.  "I'm glad you were honest with me."

"I'm not."

"I won't ask you to forgive me," she said.  "I just don't want you to hate me."

"I'll try not to."

"Okay."

"Aren't you technically not supposed to be in here?" Remus realized belatedly.

"You'd be surprised what the Head Girl can get away with."

"Probably not," Remus said.  "I have some idea what the Head Boy can get away with."

Lily flashed her gorgeous grin.  "I'd better go anyway.  I told them I'd be down once I was sure you'd make it through the night."

"Gee, thanks.  No wonder everyone thinks I'm so sickly."

"Your attendance record is pretty convincing too," she said.  "By the way, Sirius generously offered you the edible contents of his trunk since you missed supper."

"Really.  How many Confundus did it take?"

"Actually I'm better at charming people into that sort of thing."

"Yeah, we all know what grades you get in that class," Remus said.  "Sheer beauty alone will get you onto the dean's list."

"Remus…"  She fixed him with those enthralling eyes.  "I'm sorry I didn't –"

"It's all right," Remus said.  "Quite often I don't like me either."

Still she looked at him.  "I don't know whether you make me want to laugh or cry," she said, and perhaps embarrassed by her own artlessness, she left him there.

Remus decided, upon reflection, that he didn't want to think about any of this too much longer, so he ate some Cauldron Cakes and went back to sleep.

* * *

For the Gryffindor team, Quidditch season was officially over and Sirius was inconsolable.  He didn't sleep, didn't putter among his potions, never smiled.  Most worrying of all, he hardly ate, the boy who was rumored to be little more than stomach and brain, and in fact neither of them seemed to be working; he tried to open doors that even first years knew were false, he left his books in the bathroom and his quills in his shoes.  It felt as though someone had died.  Remus actually dreamed one night that Sirius was gone, that he stood by the coffin knowing who it held and yet instinctually frightened to look at his face.

Remus woke up and Sirius was not in bed.

This did not alarm Remus at all; he felt as though he was walking into a long ago but still remembered dream.  Sirius was in the common room, as he'd suspected, and reading a book with a shabby water-stained cover.  He looked up at Remus, squinting – his glasses were nowhere in sight.

"I came down here so I wouldn't wake you up," he said, sounding faintly grouchy.

"What's that?"  Remus came up behind him for a look, but Sirius snapped it shut.  "More dirt?"

"The dirtiest book I've ever read is the dictionary, as you very well know," Sirius snapped.

"You're just looking at the pictures, then?" Remus said.  "Come on, it can't be that bad."

"You'd laugh if I told you," Sirius said glumly.

"I think you've got me mixed up with James.  Your eyesight hasn't gotten that bad, has it?"

"Just about," Sirius said.  "Without my glasses I can't tell a Blossom from a Firestarter."  That was saying something; Sirius could identify any broom on the field from the stands, make, model and year.

"Oh go on, laugh if you want," he added sulkily, handing up the book.  It was called When They Passed out Beauty, You Got Brains Instead: The Nerd's Compendium of Appearance-Altering Charms, Spells and Potions.

Remus couldn't speak for a minute.  "You're going to fix your eyes?" he said finally.

"And my teeth.  Actually, I was hoping you'd do it for me."

"Sirius, do you remember when I tried to transfigure myself into a wombat?"

"Vividly," he said.

"I don't think that's quite the look you're after," Remus said tactfully.

"I'll teach you how to do it.  I'll find someone expendable for you to practice on, like Snape."

"Get James to do it," Remus suggested.  "He's good at Transfiguration and better at preening."

"I already said I don't want him doing it."

"I thought you were joking."

"Of course I wasn't," Sirius said.  "I know he's capable of doing it right, but he'd think it was funny to give me a third nostril or something.  You wouldn't."

"I'd probably end up giving you a third nostril too.  The only difference is I'd feel bad about it," Remus said.  "Either way, you go to the hospital wing and everyone talks about it for a month."

Sirius put his face in his hands.  "I might as well kill myself.  My Quidditch career is over forever after a grand total of two games, and now my best friend refuses to help me fix my abysmal self-esteem."

"You're best friends with James, you shameless flatterer," Remus said.  "And I'm sorry, but don't even talk to me about hating yourself.  You've never had an irresistible desire to maul your classmates every month."

"Haven't I?" Sirius said darkly.  "Severus Snape for one makes me wish I had claws and pointy teeth."

"It's not funny," Remus snapped.

"Everything's funny if you think about it the right way," Sirius said.  "In fact I believe everything ought to be funny.  It would improve this world a great deal."

"Laughing at your problems won't get them solved," Remus snapped.  "You can sit there and fill up a book with witty insults and it doesn't make you stop hurting.  It just – kind of lets you ignore it for a while," he muttered, turning away from the dying fire.

Sirius scrambled up so he was facing Remus, put out his hand to pull Remus back.

"What?" Remus said thickly.

"I'm sorry – I didn't mean to –"

"It's okay," Remus said in the same voice.

"No it isn't, and don't you deny it," Sirius snapped.  "That doesn't help either."

"Fine," Remus agreed bad-temperedly.  "It's not okay and never will be.  Is that what you want to hear?"

"No, I want to stop laughing and fix it," Sirius said.  "You don't have to stand over there like a leper, you know."

Reluctantly Remus clambered over the back of the couch and sat down sideways.  He fixed his eyes on Sirius, which were so blank that Sirius had opened his mouth to ask if he was really that ugly when Remus said, "Okay, I'll do it."

"Why?"

Remus sighed.  "Because when you ask for something, I can never turn you down."

The answer frightened Sirius somehow, so he said, "I don't want you to do it just because you're too polite to tell me no."

"That isn't it, exactly," Remus said.  "There's just something about you, Sirius, and even if no one else sees it, I do."

"I don't get it," Sirius said.  "You're the one who has exclusive rights to wonderful."

"It's not that either," Remus said.  "I'm not even going to try to explain it because some things don't need to be.  Anyway, I'm not wonderful."

Sirius smirked.  "If you weren't, you wouldn't be doing this."

"You mean if you weren't so irresistible, I wouldn't be doing this," Remus said.

"No, you're going to make me irresistible," Sirius said happily.  "Remus, don't you feel like right now, you're exceptionally well qualified to run the world?"

"Yeah," Remus said, smiling at him.  "Yeah, just about."

"Could you give me a smile like yours?" Sirius asked suddenly.

"Anything," he said.  "Anything you want."

* * *

The quartet's final class on Thursdays was Defense against the Dark Arts.  For the seven years they had been there, and for many before that, it had been taught by Professor McGowan, an utterly unremarkable wizard.  He was everything that the various occupants of the post during Harry Potter's era were not, principally time-honored.  Also, McGowan was neither a Dark being of any description, nor a conceited fop, nor (so far as anyone knew) a supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  In fact he was head of Ravenclaw House and Deputy Headmaster, the first non-Transfiguration professor to hold the post in several decades.  (No one knew why the Transfiguration professor was typically Deputy Headmaster or Headmistress and head of Gryffindor House as well; it was just one of those inexplicable little things.)  Altogether Professor McGowan was the type that everyone knew, but nobody would be able to remember, five or ten years down the road.

Naturally Remus disliked the class, but not because of the professor and not because he did badly either – it was his second-best class after Ancient Runes.  He simply felt that he had no business learning how to defend himself against his own kind.  The worst of it had been when they learned about werewolves a few years back, and even that hadn't been so bad.  He was careful to remain expressionless throughout, and he'd been able to ace the test without putting forth a scrap of effort, which had made him feel briefly like James or Sirius or some other intellectual luminary.

But today it seemed he could do nothing right.  His only quill had been broken when he dropped it on the floor and Peter, going up to hand in his essay, had stepped on it.  Luckily he felt responsible enough for it to lend Remus one of his.  Then Remus discovered that his own essay was missing.  For one panicked minute he thought he'd left it in the dormitory, but Sirius's stifled giggles soon alerted him to its real whereabouts.  Unfortunately he didn't check it before handing it in and so did not notice Sirius's recent revisions, but that was a panic attack for another day.  To top it off, Remus's wand began to malfunction, conjuring a songbird above Sirius's desk where he had intended a flock of mosquitoes.  James even had the nerve to suggest that Remus had mispronounced the incantation, which might possibly have been the case, but Remus was far too irritated to admit it.  The bell could not ring soon enough to suit him.

When it did, he snatched his books, muttered to Sirius, "Gotta go to the library," and darted out of the room.

James watched him go amusedly.  "Someone's PMS is wicked this month," he said, using their shorthand for premoon syndrome.

"It's only the new moon on Sunday," Sirius pointed out as they left the classroom.  "Two weeks until the big guy shows up."

"Ah well," James said, waving to a couple of the Ravenclaw Chasers as they passed.  "He puts up with enough shit, he's entitled."

"Yeah, I feel kind of bad about his essay," Sirius said, "but it shouldn't affect his grade, should it?"

"Either way, it was bloody funny," James said.  "What's the password again?"

"Oh, the one you made up?" Sirius said.

"It's a good one, too," the Fat Lady cooed, batting her lashes at James.

"Sleeping dragon, that's it."

The portrait swung open to admit them and they entered, Sirius saying, "Boy, I don't know how you came up with that one."

"Stuff it, would you?" James said.  "I start to run out of ideas after five or six."

"Lily doesn't have any suggestions?" Sirius said, heading for the fireplace.

"Yeah, but hers are all obvious ones like 'Potter rules,' " James complained, flopping into his armchair.

"Oh, that's right, it has to be less than four words," Sirius agreed as he rummaged through his backpack.  " 'Potter is dead sexy' would be a wee bit too long."

"What's that you're doing?" Peter asked, leaning over to look at the parchment Sirius had begun filling in.

"My job application."

"Where're you working?" James said.

"The Half-Cup."

"Never been there."

"It's a tea place," Sirius explained.

"But you hate tea."

"Well, I don't have to drink it, do I?" he snapped.  "Be quiet, you're making me mess up."  He pulled out his wand and directed it at the parchment.

James sighed and snuggled deeper into his chair.  "That homework you're doing there, Peter?"

"Herbology essay."

"What is it with you and plants?" James demanded.

"They don't look at you funny."

"Oh, like we do."

"Aw, damn," Sirius said.  "I need permission from my Head of House and the headmaster.  I'll be right back."

"Arright," James yawned as Sirius got up.  "But make it snappy.  I need you to write my Potions essay."

"If I find my Transfiguration homework finished when I get back, I'll consider it," Sirius retorted, walking off.

"Arrogant, demanding bastard," James said, resting his head on the arm of the chair.  "Say, where's Remus?"

"No idea," Peter said absently, still scribbling.

"I don't like this."  James frowned.  "Snape might've waylaid him and taken him to his evil lair."

"Oh, Snape wouldn't do that," Peter said.

"Sure he wouldn't," said James.  "I'm going to go up and check."

"Okay," Peter said.

James took the stairs two at a time and, arriving at the door, announced, "James Potter."  The wards fell away and he entered, hastily scanning the Marauder's Map.  The first thing he spotted was a tiny figure labeled Severus Snape, which was swiftly approaching the gargoyle that concealed the entrance to Dumbledore's office.  Also, he was wearing an Invisibility Cloak.

"Shit."  James yanked the map off the wall and sprinted down the stairs and out the common room, yelling as he passed Peter, "Be right back."

James raced down the corridors, holding the map before him so he could keep an eye on Snape, but it was hopeless.  He stuffed the map into his pocket and ran faster, slowing only when he came up to the gargoyle and Snape was nowhere to be seen. 

Worse, an arm had been broken off the statue, probably by Snape in a fit of rage, but James knew that all the same, standing there by it made him the culprit.  He was just about to turn tail and run when he spotted Argus Filch pelting down the hall toward him, and he knew he was in for it.  Cursing softly, James pulled out the map, blanked it, and stuffed it back in his pocket just as Filch arrived, panting.

"So it was you," Filch wheezed, pointing at the defaced statue with a triumphant air.

"It was like that when I got here," James protested.

"Hah!" said Filch skeptically.  "And what business have you here?"

"I'm Head Boy," James said imperiously, flashing his badge.  "I need to see Dumbledore."

"You'll see him once I – what's that in your pocket?"

"Nothing," said James.

"Nothing!  And that's what you were doing to it when I showed up?" Filch snarled.  "Follow me, laddie."  He muttered something to the gargoyle, which was now cradling its broken arm.  It sprang aside anyway, and James apprehensively trailed Filch up to Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk.  Snape was sitting in an armchair facing him.  The Invisibility Cloak was folded on the desk.

"What is it, Argus?" Dumbledore said pleasantly.

"Give it to him," Filch snarled at James, who handed the mercifully blank parchment to Dumbledore.

The headmaster unfolded it with great care and tried several spells on it.  James closed his eyes briefly as their four messages appeared in turn, all of them written in Remus's green ink.

"How amusing," Dumbledore said, that twinkle in his eyes (patent pending).  "None of my parchment is nearly this creative."

Snape was glancing between the parchment and James, some sort of connection forming behind the glacial eyes.

"Get rid of it!" Filch spat, plainly not addressing Dumbledore.  When James had complied, Filch snatched it off the desk.  "If you don't mind, Headmaster."

"Really, Argus, I see no need to –"

"This is evidence of his guilt!" Filch protested.  "I need it to file his report."

"James has done nothing wrong so far as I know," Dumbledore said evenly.  "Mr. Snape has admitted to defacing the statue."

Filch brandished the parchment.  "That still leaves Potter in possession of a dangerous and possibly illegal magical object."

"Very well," said Dumbledore resignedly.  "Do as you like with it."

Giving James a triumphant glance, Filch marched out of the office, leaving James alone with Dumbledore and Snape.

"Mr. Potter, have you ever seen this cloak?" asked Dumbledore, indicating it with a long finger.

"It looks a hell of a lot like mine," James said angrily.

"Pardon me, I must have heard you wrong."  Dumbledore pantomimed cleaning out his ears.

"You certainly did," James said.  "I said that cloak looks astonishingly like my own which has been missing for almost a month."

"Is there any way to identify your cloak?"

"Why yes, there is," said James.  He unfolded the cloak and touched his wand to the material inside the neckline, where the words "H. Potter" glowed for a minute before melting back into the fabric.

"Have you changed your name recently?" Dumbledore inquired.  "Perhaps I ought to update the school records."

"This cloak belonged to my father," James said.  "His name was Halliferd."

"I see," Dumbledore said.  "Well, the use of an Invisibility Cloak is not against school rules, but that is only because it has been four hundred fifty-one years since a student has brought one to Hogwarts."

"They are rather hard to come by," James agreed.

"However, I'm sure you understand that given the current state of the wizarding world –"

"You mean the rise of Voldemort, sir?" said Snape.

Dumbledore gave him a quelling look.  "The standard way of referring to Voldemort is 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' or 'You-Know-Who,' which fits much more nicely into the Daily Prophet headlines."

"Of course, sir," Snape said.

"As I was saying, in the current climate it is rather dangerous for a student to keep such an item," said Dumbledore, "therefore I will keep it.  In a very secure place which no seventh year can possibly break into."

"But Professor –"

"I'm sorry, James," said Dumbledore, and looked it.  "I will return the cloak when it is once more safe with you.  Mr. Potter, you may go."

James left the office seething.  In half an hour's time, he had had his two most valuable aids to mischief-making confiscated.  Now the only thing of any value he owned was his broomstick, a souped-up Flycatcher, which thank the Lord was safe in the broomshed.

James stopped by to make sure it was there before returning to Gryffindor Tower.  Admittedly he was in no hurry to admit he'd lost their collective masterpiece, but the look on his friends' faces when he joined them in the dormitory told him they'd already heard the bad news.

"I went to see Dumbledore just after you did," Sirius said, looking thunderous.  "And what did I see but your cloak on his desk and Snape sitting there."

"This is a dark day for Gryffindor's Three Musketeers," said Remus.

"What about me?" Peter said.

"Haven't you ever read the book?  There were four of them."

"Oh," said Peter.  "Hey, where's the map?"

"I have bad news," James announced.

"Oh God, tell me Dumbledore doesn't have it," Sirius groaned.

"You're in luck," James said sourly.  "Filch has it."

This news was entirely too much for Sirius.  "Oh God," he wailed.  "Our career is over.  I'm a washout and I haven't even been eighteen for two months."

"Some of us are still seventeen," Remus pointed out dryly.  "Think how we feel."

"James, how could you?" Sirius whined.

"Listen, I was trying to catch Snape with the cloak," James snapped.  "It was just bad luck my running into Filch."

"You didn't see him?" Sirius said.

"I can't run and watch the map at the same time, and I'm willing to bet you can't either."

"Fine," Sirius said.  "It was just bad luck.  Now I can be mad at the whole world instead of just you."

"Great," said James.

"Can we steal them back?" Peter said.

"We wouldn't have a chance without the map and cloak," James said morosely.  "In fact, if Dumbledore wasn't exaggerating, we wouldn't have a chance with them."

The four of them sank into a profound and gloomy silence.  Things had never looked worse, and as you might have deduced by now, Dumbledore and Filch are not about to have sudden, convenient changes of heart so that the Marauding Four can continue to amuse themselves and us with successful, magically facilitated escapades.  Sorry.

* * *

The next day was horrible.  Sirius couldn't crack a smile in Potions and Professor Paquerette thought he was fatally ill.  Remus spent all of Ancient Runes staring at the floor and didn't even say hello to Rohanna Lynch, who spent the rest of class worrying about what she might have done to offend him.  None of them said a word to each other during lunch.  Afterwards James left with Lily and her friends, and Peter left muttering something about taking a nap.  Remus was about to leave too when Sirius clutched his sleeve and said, "Wait."

Remus looked at Sirius.  He felt like running and hiding underneath his bed.  "What?" he said.

"Will you go to Hogsmeade with me?"

"Okay," said Remus.

"Do you want to go?"  Sirius considered him for a minute, trying to see something other than gray fog behind his eyes.  "Or are you just going because I asked you to?"

"I'd rather go," Remus said.  "I don't want to sit in the common room and be like every day."

"Okay."

They left Great Hall and went out through the tunnel behind the mirror, together but saying nothing.  The gates of Hogsmeade where they came out read: Hogsmeade Established 1583 Enter Friends and Be Welcome.

"Think they'll let us in?" Sirius said.

"I hope so," Remus said.

They walked up the main street and stopped at the Half-Cup, a tiny clapboard building painted three shades of green.

"I just have to take in my application," Sirius said.  "I won't be a minute."

Remus waited five, leaning against the rough planks and watching the pedestrians.  They seemed equally interested in him, probably because of the prefect's badge and Hogwarts crest on his robes.  Remus didn't have his cloak, and by the time Sirius reappeared he was shivering.

"Let's go to the Broomsticks," Sirius said.

"I haven't got any money."

"I'll pay for you."

"But you're saving for the motorcycle."

"Pay me back then."

"All right."  Remus didn't want to argue, and for once in his life he wanted to drink butterbeer enough to float his eyeballs.

They took seats at the bar and Madame Rosmerta served them.  "No James today?"

"He's with Lily," muttered Sirius.

"Bad day?"

"That was yesterday."

Rosmerta raised her eyebrows.  "It must've been a doozy."

She moved off and Remus sighed into his tankard.  "I don't think this is big enough to drown in."

"That's why you have to have five or six."  Sirius took a long draught of his own.

"You have enough money?"

"It goes on my tab."  Sirius gestured impatiently.  "Drink up."

"Only you."  Remus complied.

"Why don't you ever have butterbeer?" asked Sirius.

Remus gazed fixedly into his glass.  "It isn't real," he said finally.  "I mean it might make you feel better, but it just isn't real because somewhere underneath it nothing's changed."  He took another draught.  "But I can't care now.  This is the end, you know."

"Not necessarily," said Sirius.  "I mean, the four of us are still here."

"But not the same," Remus said.  "And not for long.  Isn't it ironic" – he took another drink – "how all this time we've been thinking we're so great.  Like we had something that no one else did."

"But we do," Sirius said.

"And all it was was a bit of cloth and a bit of parchment.  Nothing more."  Remus started on his second glass.

"We've been friends just about forever, that counts for something."  Sirius twirled his own glass, still half full.

"It's not how it's been, though," Remus said.  "I don't leave my story out anymore, I keep it locked up.  Though I can't tell you where in case you're the one who broke in.  I can't leave without a reason and I can't come back without an alibi."  He thought about it for a while and asked at last, "Do you think it was me?"

"It was Snape," Sirius said emphatically.  "He was wearing the cloak."

"But how?" Remus pursued.  "How did he get in the common room?  How did he know when we'd all left?  How did he know what to burn and what to leave?  I tell you, he found out from one of us."

"Do you think it was me?" Sirius said tightly.

"I don't know," Remus said.  "I look at you and you look like Sirius, pretty much how you always have, and I can't see a change that big.  You'd think if you did something like that, you couldn't look at me like you have forever, but you do.  And so does everyone else."  Remus rested his forehead on his hand, looking worn out.  "Does it ever drive you crazy?"

"Sometimes," he said.  "I wonder if Snape found my golding potion himself, or if someone told him.  I wonder if I threw away the magic word or someone stole it.  I don't know what to think, so I don't."

"I don't want to," Remus said.  "But when I can't sleep, there's nothing to do and I wonder."

"That's why I don't try to sleep," Sirius said.  "It's better to be doing something and chase away the dark."

"Yeah," Remus said.  "Some times it's harder to chase away than others."

Sirius looked sideways at Remus, who looked exactly the same, and wondered what he had meant by that.  Then he shook his head to clear it of the thought.  Butterbeer could do that to you, he reasoned, taking another drink.

Remus looked sideways at Sirius and wondered what thought was making him frown into his glass.  Then, dismissing the thought, he took another drink.