Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine.

Note: Here is the final installment. That's really all I've got to say.

Part Three

When light filters into the dormitory on Sunday morning, Sirius rolls over with a groan. The night before has taken its toll on his calves, and his arms, and his back. He sits up slowly and painfully and looks over to see if Peter has been let out of the clutches of Madam Pomfrey yet. No such luck.

Through the half-drawn curtains around Remus's four poster, however, it is obvious that Moony has returned after his intimacy with several bed pans. He is drawn up in a ball, knees to his chest. Sirius wonders if he's feeling any better, and never one to remain still, he climbs out of bed and tiptoes over to his sleeping friend.

"Moony...?" he ventures softly, poking Remus in the middle of the back. Unlike his counterparts, who all sleep in boxers and sometimes (mostly in Sirius's case) nothing at all, he wears sweatpants and an undershirt to bed.

Remus shifts and rolls over, looking to be as sore as Sirius feels. He's only half awake, and still looks partially ill, but he smiles anyway. "Morning Sirius," he murmurs. "Time is it?"

That's a good question. Sirius looks down at the watch perpetually strapped to his wrist. "Almost ten." A disbelieving look crosses Remus's face, and for good reasons. The first being that Sirius never wakes up voluntarily before noon on the weekends, and the second being that after last nights adventures they have slept for total of five hours.

"Why'd you wake me up?" he demands, his eyes closing again, and his face mashing into his feather pillow.

"I just wanted to make sure you were feeling better," Sirius says. Immediately afterwards he feels like an over-worried mother. Remus isn't in the hospital wing, and he's not retching anymore, or having nightmares, so obviously he's feeling better. Better doesn't necessarily equal good, though, he justifies to himself.

A moan emerges from the depths of the pillow, demanding to know why Sirius won't just let him sleep in peace. "Yes. Loads. I believe after intense therapy I will be able to look at tomato juice without feeling ill."

Sirius shivers, remembering what they had seen. "What d'you think did that?" he asks. Although he grew up in a household that didn't believe in shielding children from the effects of horrible spells and creatures, he's never seen something so shredded. He's not even sure what it used to be.

The lines of Remus's shoulders tighten, and he doesn't say anything for a long while. He turns his head slowly, so that his face is no longer pressed against his pillow. "I'd rather not think about it."

"I know, but it was so...animals don't do that. They kill and then take what the need, and leave the bones or the...well...this was just..." he trails off.

Remus says nothing. He looks to be thinking on something and then he says. "We roamed the Forbidden Forest last full moon."

That's all he needs to say to make Sirius feel very stupid. "I'm going back to sleep," he adds, and rolls over, back facing Sirius again.

Sirius sits there quietly and awkwardly, then gets up and lies back on his four poster, staring up at the ceiling. He wonders what to do about it for some time, then finally decides that maybe ignoring the problem at hand is the best way to deal with it. After all, despite his best efforts, Sirius does not seem to be bred for angst.

The dormitory door opens, and Peter wanders in. His arm is impressively bandaged, and he's a sight paler than usual, but other than that he actually doesn't look too bad. "Morning Sirius," he yawns and crawls into bed without any indication of anything else.

Maybe it's the Marauders that aren't particularly bred for angst. Or perhaps it's just the fact that as boys they all ignore problems.

Sirius decides he likes this and goes back to sleep.