Sirius always reminded him of the 'chicken or the egg' rumination: what came first? The thought or the dog?
Padfoot... Remus was a thinker, the thinker, if he was being entirely honest with himself, but he never stopped to consider why it was that, of all of them, Sirius' "marauder name" ended up getting used so often. It was little wonder, though: everything about Sirius screamed that his transfigured form was so much more a part of him than anybody else's. Even Remus' own: the werewolf, the change; it had been a part of him for so many years, since he was a child. It ruled him, it tortured him, and even from the onset of the disease Remus wasn't stupid enough to believe for a second that it wouldn't define him. It was as reliable--more reliable, Remus thought wryly, remembering his grandfather's watch that he had inadvertently smashed by the pure misfortune of his wearing it to the change--as clockwork. Werewolves were horrid, dark creatures who couldn't be trusted. Sirius--honest, loyal, brave, kind, exuberant Sirus--might grow old and forget his alternate form, forget his days at Hogwarts and forget his friends while Lupin would be tortured every single month by his curse; despite this, Sirius was more Padfoot than Remus could ever be Moony.
Just little things, but things intrinsic to Sirius: his short bark of a laugh, his intense loyalty to 'his pack'--his friends--, his irrepressible sence of self, his eternal optimism. They were all young and naive, relatively unaffected by the world thus far. Maybe the marauders would all grow up bitter and jaded men, but right now and for as far into the future as Remus could imagine, Sirius would always remain the big puppy dog that none of the girls could resist.
Padfoot... Remus was a thinker, the thinker, if he was being entirely honest with himself, but he never stopped to consider why it was that, of all of them, Sirius' "marauder name" ended up getting used so often. It was little wonder, though: everything about Sirius screamed that his transfigured form was so much more a part of him than anybody else's. Even Remus' own: the werewolf, the change; it had been a part of him for so many years, since he was a child. It ruled him, it tortured him, and even from the onset of the disease Remus wasn't stupid enough to believe for a second that it wouldn't define him. It was as reliable--more reliable, Remus thought wryly, remembering his grandfather's watch that he had inadvertently smashed by the pure misfortune of his wearing it to the change--as clockwork. Werewolves were horrid, dark creatures who couldn't be trusted. Sirius--honest, loyal, brave, kind, exuberant Sirus--might grow old and forget his alternate form, forget his days at Hogwarts and forget his friends while Lupin would be tortured every single month by his curse; despite this, Sirius was more Padfoot than Remus could ever be Moony.
Just little things, but things intrinsic to Sirius: his short bark of a laugh, his intense loyalty to 'his pack'--his friends--, his irrepressible sence of self, his eternal optimism. They were all young and naive, relatively unaffected by the world thus far. Maybe the marauders would all grow up bitter and jaded men, but right now and for as far into the future as Remus could imagine, Sirius would always remain the big puppy dog that none of the girls could resist.
