IX.

1.

On the night Sirius runs away from his home, he does his running on four feet instead of two. All the terrible things that he's seen, all that's been done to him, and all that he himself has done in retaliation – all this has begun to boil over in him as he creeps across the rooftops and then lopes through the empty streets. He is unable to think or plan or decide what to do next, once the need for immediate action has passed and the inevitable emotional reaction sets in. Sirius is in shock. So he leaves Padfoot in charge instead; the dog is mercifully incapable of comprehending the dreadful subtleties of human crimes and betrayals.

Padfoot runs endlessly through the night as the full moon above him sets; the physical act of running is pleasing to the dog, and, on some level, is calming to the newly homeless teenaged boy inside him. Sirius does not have any goal or destination in mind on this night of endless running, but Padfoot, whose thoughts are so much simpler and more direct, has. He makes straight for James Potter's house.

Had Sirius been doing the steering, he might not have allowed this. He knows that James will be at home, of course, his family still celebrates Samhain, just as the Blacks do, although they are moving further and further away from the old fashioned custom with every passing generation. But he would never want to involve anyone he cares for in the macabre disputes of his own ancient and grotesque family. And he would be terribly ashamed to describe to James, let alone anyone else, the events that can occur in a familial madhouse where moral niceties are so reversed and the mania for bloodlines is so paramount that full-scale sexual assault might be considered a suitable Halloween prank, or even an acceptable prelude to a marriage arrangement.

But Padfoot is also incapable of comprehending the concept of shame. He needs refuge on this night; food, warmth, welcome. He knows just where such things can be found. And although Padfoot is ascendant now, some small shreds of Sirius' own needs have remained behind in the dog's heart as well, just as they always do, and have influenced the dog's decisions. Padfoot needs refuge, but Sirius, more than anything else, needs his best friend on this terrible night, however reluctant he may be to involve him in his atrocious affairs. Padfoot simply takes them both where they most need to go.

Padfoot arrives on the Potter's doorstep just as the night sky above is beginning to grey into the dawn, and as that icy pre-dawn rush of cold air chills the world around him. Sirius inside the dog recognizes the location at once, but is so torn between want and will that he's unable to make any choice or provide any influence at all. Padfoot, however, is much more single minded; he directs his tired paws to the soft earth of the flower beds bordering the Potter's cottage and tramples through assorted medicinal herbs and flowers to the window of James' room. Once beneath the proper window-sill, he commences to scrape at the glass with his paws and whine piteously before Sirius can think better of it.

James' window rises shortly in response to Padfoot's whining, and his dark head pokes out over the casement not long afterward. His eyes are puffed from sleep, looking strangely naked without his glasses, and his hair stands out all over his head in corkscrews, even messier than normal. A fierce wave of love and pleasure and unadulterated happiness courses through both dog and boy at the sight of James, and Padfoot chuffs with joy to greet him.

"Padfoot?" James says, surprised and instantly concerned for his friend. "Sirius? What are you doing here? What's happened? Are you all right?"

He raises his window as high as it will go immediately, and beckons to the dog.

"Come on, quick, get inside. It's freezing out there. No, no – transform, you prat, Padfoot can't climb over this casement. Mum's gonna go spare, you know, when she sees what you've done to her mugwort plants. There, that's it…like that…"

James tugs, and Sirius, newly reconstituted into his human form, wriggles, and eventually, between the two of them, they manage to get Sirius through the window and into James' bedroom.

Once inside, Sirius is so overcome with bone-deep relief at seeing his friend, and is so dismayed at how very much he'd needed to see him, that he is unable to say a word. He simply stands and stares at James, hungrily taking in every feature of his familiar face, soaking up every bit of his comforting presence.

James stares back at him for some time, and finally speaks, very softly. He seems to sense that Sirius will not want to rouse James' parents without having to be told.

"Right. I can see it's something pretty bad. You'd better sit down. C'mon."

He puts a hand on Sirius' arm and gently guides him toward his bed, the nearest available soft surface for sitting. Once there, he moves his hand to his friend's shoulder and pushes down, just a touch, and Sirius responds to the nonverbal prompting by sitting on the edge of the bed, limbs moving in a rigid, cautious way that is completely unlike him. James then sits down next to Sirius, stretches his legs out and crosses them at the ankles, and simply waits.

In time, Sirius runs a hand through his hair and speaks, also very quietly. His voice has a strange, soft-rough quality to it, as though his vocal chords haven't yet completely adapted to shaping human language again.

"Thanks. For letting me in. I owe you."

"Oh, stop. You don't owe me anything, except maybe that two Galleons you still haven't paid me from that bet we had on the Cannons. Are you ready to talk yet? What have those loonies back at Chez Black done now?"

Sirius body jerks involuntarily at this all too accurate assessment. In part, he can barely even imagine telling someone like James, who has a normal, loving family, just how bad things can really get at "Chez Black". But another part of him wants, so desperately, to confide in the one person in the world he trusts above any other. He's full of some nameless poison; if he can just tell someone what has happened, some of that corrosive poison could, perhaps, be drained off.

"I've run away," he finally says to James. "Just so you know. I can't ever go back, not ever. There may well be some trouble about it down the line, and it could be … bad trouble. You need to know that too. Help me at all, and you're involved. Your parents as well. It's serious."

James nods, slowly, showing Sirius that he is indeed heeding his warnings in the grave spirit in which they have clearly been given. "All right. I understand. Now go on. Tell me what happened."

Sirius looks down at his hands a moment, lying white and lifeless in his lap. When he looks up again, he stares directly into James' eyes, and his own eyes are bright with the repressed tears he does not dare allow himself to shed.

"Are you quite sure you want to hear it?" he asks. "I'm not even sure I can tell you. It's just so … it's just so bloody awful. My life seems to have turned into some kind of a sick soap opera overnight. I …" He suddenly stands, a little shakily, nervousness starting to overcome him. "I'd better go. You'd be a lot better off if you just steered right clear, you know, Prongs."

James stands too, and faces his friend, partly blocking Sirius' body with his own. A gentle touch pushes Sirius back down. James sits next to him again, and smiles. "You know I can never stay clear of your messes, Paddy. Never have been able to, chuckle-headed sort that I am. No brains or better judgment at all. Evans would tell you. Go on – just tell me quick, it'll be easier." He puts his arm around his friend, and is alarmed at how tense the muscles of Sirius' body feel under his arm.

But Sirius always responds well to a friendly touch. Nothing gets through to him quicker; James knows this as well as Sirius' mother does, although it would never even occur to him to use the knowledge as a weapon. He feels those same tense muscles loosening slightly under his touch, and to both comfort and encourage his friend, he rubs Sirius' back a little.

"You can't ever repeat to anyone what I'd tell you," Sirius says, staring again into James' eyes. "Not anyone, no matter how close. Not your mum and dad. Not Peter. Not Remus. Especially not Remus. Understand? You have to promise me, James, all right?"

"But … I don't know what I'm promising, Sirius. What do you mean – especially not Remus? How'd he get involved in whatever this is?"

Sirius barks out a short, frighteningly bitter laugh, not his usual laugh but an ugly, harsh sound. There is no humor in it at all. "Oh, Moony's involved all right. Mixed up in it right up to his neck. I fucking saw to that. I know it isn't fair of me, but could you promise me anyway, James? I'm sorry it has to be that way - I don't want to …but it has to be that way. I'm sorry – I really am. Can you do it? Please?"

"Sirius…I…" James says doubtfully, and pauses, scanning his friend's troubled, overly bright eyes. And then all of James' doubt is gone: this is his brother, this is Sirius. "All right, then. I promise."

Sirius nods, only once. He needs nothing more than James' word, it is as solid and unbreakable as a blood contract. He then simply opens his mouth and recounts the night's events. His voice is a low, quick and almost lifeless monotone; he neither stumbles over the worst details nor glosses over the lowest points. Sirius tells his best friend everything. James is struck by an odd impression as he listens; it seems to him as though Sirius is somehow exorcising these horrible events in the telling, is somehow putting them away from himself.

Afterward, once the story is complete, both boys sit for a moment in silence: Sirius is deeply ashamed, and James is stunned. James recovers first, and his initial comments come barreling out of his throat without making any of the usual stops at his brain for suitable censorship.

"Bugger it all, Sirius! You don't have to let a thing like that go! Goddamnit, I'd like to fly over there right now and burn the house down over all their heads myself. You ought to have the whole lot of those perverted maniacs locked up. There are laws against this sort of thing, for God's sake."

"As if anyone in the world would believe me," Sirius retorts sharply. "Don't be stupid. I'm one of them – I'm one of the perverted maniacs you're talking about. Everyone in the wizarding world knows all about the Blacks, you know what they all think about us, don't pretend you don't. They'd laugh me out of the Ministry if I went there with a story like this. Or if I was really lucky, I'd get a sweet biscuit and a nice cuppa before I got tossed out. Because even if they believed every word I said, they wouldn't interfere. Not with the Blacks."

James is shaking his head, though he knows it's the truth. "You're not one of them," he says. "I always knew you must be adopted. It's the only explanation. You're not one of them."

"I'm not adopted, James, whatever you say. That sick bitch Bellatrix could be my twin."

James shakes his head again, but this time it is with a sense of futility. Then he remembers something, and he looks up at Sirius again. "I … I think Bella might be a Death Eater, Sirius," James says, worriedly. "I've heard a few bits of gossip, snatches of talk here and there – I wasn't going to say anything to you about it, since she's your cousin. What good would it do? But … but you've just fucked her up in huge way; it doesn't matter that it was self-defense, you know she'll want to fuck back if it takes her the rest of her life. So… if…if you mentioned Remus to her … er… while you were sleeping …and she was …then-"

"Then every Death Eater in Britain is going to know the name 'Moony' before the week is out. Yes, James, I know. All because I couldn't keep my bloody mouth shut while being ambush-fucked by my insane cousin. Nice, isn't it? Romantic, don't you think? I can hardly wait to tell him all about it. He'll be delighted."

"It's not your fault!" James argues, automatically. "He'd understand that. You know he would."

"James. Prongs… it … it wasn't self-defense. Don't you get that?" Sirius can no longer look James in the eye and gazes down at his hands again. The lines of his face have hardened, and for a moment, he looks very much the way he will when he is much older than he is tonight. Then he goes on.

"I just - I was just so - so angry and so frightened … anyway, I just went berserk … and then I … I got even. Not self-defense, James. Revenge. I got even with her. Not another thought in my fucking empty head. And now Bella is going to try and get even with me by fucking over Remus. Do you think he'll understand that?"

James moves his hand to his friend's shoulder and squeezes firmly, almost hard enough to hurt. "Look at me, Sirius," he says. He waits until he is sure that he has Sirius' full attention, until he can once again see his friend's eyes.

"Listen to me. What the hell were you supposed to do, send her flowers and a thank you note? Let her claim that you attacked her? Let your daft parents and hers announce your engagement, for God's sake? This is not your fault. That cow assaulted you - she thought you'd be easy prey for her nasty little games, and she was wrong. You fought back. You had a right. That's all there is to it. This is not your fault, Sirius."

"Whose fault is it, then? And what does it matter? Think about Moony for a moment, James. Think about how hard he is to get close to, about how long it took us to really make friends with him, to get him to trust us. Here's what I know about Moony – he's got more burdens on his mind than you or I can even imagine, and he's the most skittish, stand-offish person I've ever met in my life, and he's got good reason to be. You're the one who started calling him Fortress Moony; you know exactly what I mean."

Sirius stops, and lowers his voice. James can barely hear him. "I've never breathed a word to him about … how I feel, I wouldn't dare – he'd likely bolt – even leave school - if he didn't just drop dead of sheer embarrassment first. Honestly, I've hardly known myself what it was I felt about him, until my charming cousin gave me a little nudge. I still don't know if I'd ever tell him, even now, and that's the truth. Now imagine him finding out about it like this."

Sirius stops once more, rakes his hands through his hair again, and utters another sharp, miserable bark of laughter. "D'you want to know the real hell of it, James? God - what a joke all this is, at least Bella was right about that. I do hear what a lot of people say about me at school, you know, I've gotten the gist of it. Everybody knows I've fucked half our form, right? Girls, boys, the squid, whatever; I'm not picky, according to all the highly informed sources who'd be glad to tell you all the sordid details. But it's just all nonsense, the whole lot. Not a word is true. Believe it or not, Bella was my first. Think I should tell Remus that, too?"

James is unable to think of anything to say to Sirius that could make any of these things any easier for him. The only thing he really has to say will be the last thing his friend will want to hear. But he knows he will have to say it anyway, so he pulls Sirius a little closer, tightens his arm around his best friend's shoulders to soften the blow. It never occurs to James, not that night, and not until years later, that he is not actually surprised at all to learn that Sirius' feelings for their mutual friend go somewhat beyond the conventional. It is almost as though he's half known it all along. He pulls Sirius a little closer still.

"Sirius – I know all that," he says. "It's a cock-up – there are always some people who just hate the ground you walk on – just because you're you. The same way our good friend Mr. Snape hated my guts right from the first time he laid eyes on me, before I'd ever done a thing to earn it. Of course I believe that bitch from hell was your first if you say she was - I don't listen to all that stupid rubbish people talk about you - I know better."

He presses his forehead against Sirius', and his voice drops to a whisper. "But now you need to listen to me, Sirius. You need to warn Remus. Even if – even if it means telling him everything. Even if it means Fortress Moony going on high alert for the rest of our lives. You can't let Bella walk around with his name rattling about in her evil fucking head without warning him to watch out."

"No! No, James … I … I can't do that. I just can't. I just can't tell him, not about this. He'd never forgive me."

"You can't let him go around unprotected, Sirius."

"I won't. I'll do the watching out for him. I'll keep an eye on him, make sure he's all right – I'll protect him. I'm the one who got him into this whole revolting mess, after all, it's the least I can do."

"No, Bella got him into it – not you! If lightning just happens to strike you and someone standing near you gets hit, that is not your fault. Do you really think you can keep Moony under your eyes every minute of the day indefinitely? Do you think he won't notice? Do you think he'll appreciate you trying to wrap him up in spun wool? He's already bristling – haven't you noticed the way Snivelly's been dogging him all this year?"

"Yes," Sirius whispers, miserably. "Yes, I have noticed that. Yet another fun thing Remus can thank me for – Severus stalking him that way. The two of them probably wouldn't have had a problem at all, if not for me."

"If not for us, Sirius. I'm as responsible as you are, probably more so. The point is, Moony can't afford to be blindsided, especially now, with Snivellus crawling around after him, trying to figure things out. You can't watch out for him all the time."

Sirius eyes positively burn as he considers all that James has said. It all makes perfect sense. And he is completely unable to agree to any of it.

"Yes, I can," he says to James, closer to tears than he has yet been at any time in the horrible night just passed. "I can, because I'll have to. I am not going to put any of my twisted little family drama on Moony, not any of it. He's got enough of his own to deal with, and he is not going to pay just because he was stupid enough to be friends with me, or because I was stupid enough to – to – I'll watch out for him. You're right about all this, James, I know you are. But… this is the best I can do. I'm sorry – I just can't tell him. I'm not going to change my mind about this."

James gauges the haunted expression in Sirius' face, the hunched and closed set of his body, the painful brightness of his eyes.

"Sirius – for the last time. This is a mistake. It can't lead to anything but more trouble."

"I'm so afraid you're right, James." Sirius says, quietly. He hides his face in his hands.

Clearly, further arguments will be pointless. Sirius is thinking with his heart. It's his nature; he is who he is, he cannot be anything other. James wouldn't want him to be anything other. The question has become moot.

"You daft bugger," James says at last, and pulls his dearest friend into a full embrace, hugs him tight.

In time, Sirius relaxes into him, because nothing comforts him more than physical contact, it is the one language in the world he is most fluent in, despite precious little practice. After a time, he curls up and rests his cheek against James' knee and sighs tiredly. He must be exhausted, James suddenly realizes, and he strokes his friend's head, running his fingers over the thick black hair, forgetting, for the moment, exactly where the boundary between Sirius and Padfoot lies.

"All right, then," James finally says to Sirius, huddled in his lap. "We both know you can't keep an eye on him constantly, but I'll be damned if I let either of you get hurt. I'll help you. We'll both keep an eye on Remus, all right? I'll help you watch over him."

Sirius heaves another tired, gusty sigh. It racks his whole body, James can feel it under his hands and against his own frame. He doesn't know whether it signifies relief or misery or contentment. Perhaps it's a strange amalgamation of all three.

"All right, then, James," Sirius repeats, finally. His voice is small, and, oddly enough, sleepy. He has nothing left, clearly, his reserves are fully depleted. If James continues to pet him, he will be asleep in minutes. "If you help, maybe, between the two of us, we might actually manage."

"Don't count on it," James warns.

"I never count on anything much, Prongs. Except you. I do count on you."

"Only because, as I might have mentioned, you are a daft bugger from a long line of daft buggers and you don't know any better."

Sirius laughs, a little, the only really good laughter he has uttered in over twelve hours.

"Well, all that may be, Potter, but that's not the reason. And the reason's not your pathetic obsession with Lily Evans or your hideous snoring or your ridiculous hair either."

"I don't snore."

"Don't interrupt me. No, the reason is because you're the best friend I've ever had and because I …love you." When next he speaks, his voice sounds small and quiet again. "Thank you for helping me, I know it's against your better judgment."

James pets Sirius some more, because Sirius needs it and because James loves him too.

"What better judgment, Black? I thought we'd established what a mutton-headed prat I am when I let you in the house in the first place. And don't think I'm planning to take the blame when Mum sees how you trampled up her mugwort plants. Just wait until she finds out…"

James lets his dire predictions of maternal wrath trail off quietly. Sirius, lulled at last by James' familiar voice and James' soothing hands, has fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep.

2.

After four weeks of being treated to almost constant surveillance by two of his mates; Remus Lupin finally loses his temper.

James and Sirius have tried to take watching over Remus in shifts, hoping that some variation in which of them will be acting as his shadow at any given time may make the overall pattern of scrutiny less obvious. They have both known what a laughably faint hope it has been all along.

After the first week, Remus had asked James if anything was bothering him. James had feigned complete, baffled incomprehension, and Remus had not pressed him. Not that time.

A week later, he'd asked Sirius why on earth he was in such a foul mood lately, cranky and nervous as a cat, as well as a bit … well…clingy. Did Sirius think that he, Remus, was sick in some way? Sirius had vehemently denied everything, and that time Remus had pressed a little, in his generally reasonable, polite manner. Since Sirius was busy lying through his teeth at the time, and was acutely aware of it, his responses had been a bit less reasonable and polite than he'd intended, or than Remus' gentle questioning had warranted. A slight strain had developed between them as a result.

After four weeks of being unable even to slip off to the Prefect's Bathroom for half a minute without an honor guard, Remus' nerves have become critically frayed. Two days before the full moon, he leaves a small note on James' pillow on Saturday morning; the note reads

"Went down to breakfast 7:45, E.T.A. 7:50 AM – expected duration of meal 20.05 minutes unless A.) Second helping of toast consumed; or B.) Bacon available. – Will be in library appx. 8:10/8:15 AM – Pls inform Sirius if you are not on duty this morning. –R."

When Sirius shows up, rather out of breath, in the library at twenty minutes after eight that same morning, Remus asks him, very seriously, if he is a ghost.

"A what?" Sirius asks, utterly foozled. "Am I a what?"

"I asked if you're a ghost, Sirius," Remus answers, the temperature of his voice plunging as the expression on his face becomes more and more deceptively blank. "A specter? An apparition? A revenant? Are you a spirit, spook or long-leggedy-beastie? Are you a GHOST, Sirius?"

Sirius knows he's in deep trouble at this point, but he can't quite suppress the amusement Remus' increasingly sharp questions inspire. Nothing in the world is funnier than Remus in full sarcasm mode. Nothing much is scarier, either. Sirius also knows it's extremely unwise of him to be visibly trying not to laugh while Remus is staring at him in that quizzical way he sometimes has; such quizzical looks and arched eyebrows are often precursors to Remus' rare, but memorable, fits of temper.

"Well, Remus, I really don't think I'm a ghost," Sirius says, trying to get prepared to be verbally sliced and diced, and still trying not to laugh. "But, now that you mention it, I'm not entirely sure how one would tell with any real certainty. What makes you ask? Do I look like a ghost?"

"No. You act like a ghost."

"Er…how d'you mean, exactly?"

"I was just wondering if perhaps you'd died somewhere along the line and had forgotten to mention it? Have you decided to haunt me for the rest of my life? Pop up everywhere I go and never give me a moment's peace? Dog my footsteps every minute and follow me around constantly and generally drive me insane?"

"I … I have no idea what you're talking –"

"Why would you want to haunt me, Sirius, that's what I'd like to know. Was it that time I stole your chewy boot? Maybe that time I accidentally gave you that bad potion and your fingers sprouted vines? That time we put that Parrotus charm on Mrs. Norris so she'd say 'Hello, I'm a rotten cat' to everyone and you got caught and got detention and I got away clean?"

"This is nonsense, Remus! Complete rubbish. You're imagining the whole thing!"

Remus closes the book he's been reading with a resounding snap and rises from his seat as though he's on springs. Other than one tiny vein pulsing rather alarmingly in his forehead, his face might be made of stone.

"I see," he hisses. "You're not an apparition, you're a hallucination, is that right? A figment of my imagination? I'm not really seeing you in the library at eight on a Saturday morning at all? Is that what you're telling me, Sirius?"

"Well. Hmmph. Can't a fellow drop by the library for a bit of studying without you jumping down his throat? Do you own the place or something?"

"In the six years I've known you, I've never once seen you out of bed this early on a Saturday morning, much less in the library! I'm surprised you could even find it! Normally, we'd need a crowbar and a professional curse-breaker to pry you out of the kip before noon! And now you're telling me I'm imagining the whole thing? Are you standing there with an incredibly idiotic look on your face right now or NOT?"

"Remus … I … I really think you ought to try and calm down a-"

"Why are you and James following me everywhere I go? Why won't either of you tell me what's wrong? What in the name of God's gotten into the two of you?"

"But we're not following y-"

"STOP LYING TO ME, SIRIUS!"

Because this is the crux of the matter, these four weeks of virtually continuous lying, Sirius does not dare say a word to Remus. His face pales as he sits down heavily in one of the library chairs, eyes wide and regarding his friend mutely. The past weeks have taken their toll on Sirius' nerves too. In this moment, he is so tempted to confess all to Moony that he has to clench his teeth and press his lips together tightly to keep his own mouth shut.

Remus sees the blood draining out of Sirius face, sees the small tic in his jaw as his teeth clench. Some of the hot anger and frustration he feels fades as he marks the clear wretchedness in Sirius' expression. He makes one last effort.

"Sirius, you're my best friend. Not Peter, not even James. You. Please. Tell me what's wrong. Don't you know that there's nothing you can't tell me? Just tell me what's wrong and we can sort it out together, all right? How can anything be so terrible that you can't tell me what it is? Please, Sirius …"

Remus has taken a few steps closer to Sirius as he's spoken, and now he is only inches away from his friend, close enough to see the minute movements of his lips. He can see that Sirius' mouth is trembling, although he is struggling hard to suppress it. Remus impulsively reaches out toward Sirius in an extremely rare offering of physical contact; Remus does not yield any portion of his personal space easily or lightly. His fingers stretch tentatively toward Sirius' pale cheek.

And Sirius, who knows far too well that he will instantly break down and spill his guts if Remus' fingertips should even touch his skin, jerks his head away from the proffered touch and shrinks into his chair. He understands that Remus sees it as a rejection even before he has completed the convulsive movement. He has to shut his eyes for a moment against the sight of the quickly controlled hurt in Remus' face as he pulls his hand back and away.

"I see," Remus grinds out quietly, clipping his syllables short. "Fine. Just as you wish, then. I'm leaving."

As Remus stalks stiffly away from the library table, Sirius is almost too miserable to say a word. James has been right all along, this is a mistake, and it's a mistake that's growing and widening and deepening every day. Sirius isn't quite sure how he can bollocks things up any worse than he already has, but he is dismally sure that he'll probably find a way. He has a certain genius in that respect.

"Remus," he calls thickly, willing his suddenly recalcitrant tongue to move. "Wait."

Remus is near the door of the library, about to walk out. It is very good of him, Sirius thinks briefly, to stay his steps for a moment, to give Sirius one more chance.

A pity he'll have to mess that chance up too.

"Yes, Sirius?" Remus says carefully.

"Er …" Sirius says. "Where are you going? Where are you going to be?"

While Sirius paled a few moments earlier, Remus now flushes a hot, angry red. He opens his mouth to reply and Sirius can see his teeth, but then he makes an enormous visible effort, and bites back whatever scathing comment he had been about to make. Sirius, in six years, has rarely seen Remus so angry.

Remus clearly cannot trust himself to talk just now. But his actions are eloquent; it's the worst possible body language he could choose to use on Sirius. He wrenches himself about and deliberately turns his back on his friend.

Sirius very nearly cries out in pain. He has to bow his head against it.

Remus walks away.

3.

Two days pass. Remus studiously avoids the common room, and even stays out of the dormitory until he is certain his roommates will have sought their beds and he can slip in without having to talk to any of them. James and Sirius have to track his movements with the Map; he has not said a word to either of them in forty-eight hours. As the hours run down toward the full moon, James and Sirius become more and more desperate, Peter grows more and more frightened as he nearly smothers in the mysterious, swirling currents of charged emotion between his three friends, and the Wolf in Remus inexorably pushes forward as his time draws near, making the already angry boy more and more unapproachable.

James and Sirius discuss the matter privately, and decide that perhaps James has the best chance of broaching the subject of the upcoming full moon to Remus without getting his head snapped off. They both agree that Sirius, as things now stand, hasn't a hope.

But it's Peter who forces the thing to a head. He doesn't know that he's walking into a minefield, after all, and Sirius and James have been too distracted to warn him. On the afternoon before the full moon will rise, right after Potions, he patters after Remus, who is swiftly walking off down the corridor before the others can catch up with him. James and Sirius follow at a slight distance, trying to catch up themselves, both uncomfortably aware that they may well be witnessing a train wreck in progress.

They can't hear what Peter has said to Remus once he catches him up, but they can see how Remus has rounded on him in response, eyes blazing and hands drawn up into claws. They could both kick themselves for letting poor Peter in for this.

"Hear me now, Wormtail," Remus is growling when the other two catch up. "Watch my lips. I. Don't. Need. Your. Help."

"But … you …" Peter starts to object, shocked by Remus' uncharacteristic sudden rage. James quickly steps in and puts one arm around Peter's shoulders, drawing him aside while he shushes him with a finger to his lips. Sirius steps into the gap and blocks both of them from Remus' view.

"Remus – you need to be reasonable for a moment, all right? You will need us – just for a little while – just for tonight, and-" Sirius starts to say, but Remus cuts him short.

"I know this will come as a great shock to you, Padfoot, but I've been doing this all by myself every month since I was four. What were you doing when you were four?"

Getting the snot knocked out of me by my own mother every time I tried to give her a baby-kiss and learning how to cast curses, Sirius thinks, stung. Remus has never before used their special names for one another as insults. He pronounces them as though they are dirty words. Sirius tries very hard to remember that it is the Wolf doing the talking now, as much as it is Remus.

"Remus …" Sirius tries again. "Look …"

Remus is in Sirius' space in a heartbeat, so infuriated he almost seems to have grown in physical size. His anger takes up all the room that Sirius has.

"No, you look," Remus snarls, moving his face to within inches of Sirius' and lowering his voice to a rumble. "Set foot inside the Shack tonight, in any form, and I won't be responsible for what happens to you. Hear me, Paddy? Got your ears out? Stay away. Stay right the fuck away. Leave us alone."

Remus abruptly turns his back on Sirius once again, and then fairly sprints off down the hall. Sirius doesn't know whether to cast a quick hex on him before he can get out of range, or burst into tears.

"But he never calls himself and - and you-know-what -'us'," Peter says, too confused and upset to notice how frantically James is shaking his head at him. "Never, ever! Does he, Sirius? Why would he do that? Why doesn't he want us? Sirius? Do you know why-"

"BUGGER IT ALL TO HELL!" Sirius interrupts in tones that border on raving, and he pins Peter with a death glare that, if sustained, would quite likely kill him. Then he storms off down the hallway himself, long legs eating up ground furiously, in the opposite direction from where Remus has just gone.

After looking off down first the one hallway, and then the other, Peter, utterly bewildered, appeals to James.

"James? What'd I say?"