The next day was the same as ever. Remus tried to refer to the building as the Shrieking Shack in his head; eventually, he stopped cringing whenever he did so. Madam Pomfrey was especially formal to him, as if to make up for her slip-up the day before. Remus appreciated it very much. He felt just like a regular patient when Madam Pomfrey called him by his surname and used her stern "Matron Voice" (as Remus had started calling it).

He read his textbooks for a few hours (to make up for what he'd missed in class) and wrote a couple of essays. Suddenly, he realized that it had been Sirius' birthday yesterday.

He suddenly felt very guilty. Everyone had forgotten—even James, probably—because of the Prank that they had played on Halloween. It had been so exciting that they simply hadn't thought about Sirius' birthday at all. Remus wasn't even going to see Sirius on his birthday unless Madam Pomfrey let him out early.

But maybe...

"Madam Pomfrey?" he asked tentatively while she was wrapping his arm in gauze. "It was Sirius Black's birthday yesterday. He's twelve."

"Good for him," said Madam Pomfrey, finishing his arm and starting on the other one.

"Could I... leave early? Just a little bit. This evening, maybe, after supper. I'd be very careful and change the dressings before bed, and I'd come back if I was feeling unwell, and I wouldn't go outside or run or overexert myself at all, I promise."

Madam Pomfrey considered.

Madam Pomfrey considered some more.

Three minutes passed. Madam Pomfrey held a potion up to Remus' lips. "Drink," she commanded. Remus obeyed, as if good behavior would get him out early. He didn't even gag that much.

Two more minutes passed. "Madam Pomfrey...?"

"Yes, yes, I'm thinking," said Madam Pomfrey sharply, and Remus fell silent.

She checked over Remus thoroughly. She placed Bufo on Remus' bedside table and straightened up the room. She Vanished some blood that had leaked onto the sheets. She straightened her robes and washed her hands. Three times. She was just stalling now.

Six and a half minutes passed. Remus had never been so apprehensive.

"Fine," she said at last. "You may leave early. But if anything feels off, then you come right back here, you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Remus, trying very hard not to smile. "Do try not to get too lonely without me here."

Madam Pomfrey snorted. "I'll certainly try," she said, "although you are terribly entertaining, Lupin."

"A sedentary Dark creature who does nothing but homework and reading. I'll bet I'm the best part of your day," Remus deadpanned.

Madam Pomfrey looked at him sternly. "I'd prefer you don't call yourself that in my presence."

"What? The best part of your day?"

"You know what I mean."

"But I am a Dark creature, Madam Pomfrey. I am. That's how I'm classified by the Ministry and society... and even the school textbooks. I'm fine with it."

Remus was lying. He wasn't fine with it. It was awful and degrading to be referred to as "Dark", and even more so to be called "a creature". But he told himself that he was one enough times in his head every day in order to come to terms with it. Remus found that saying things out loud, even if they weren't true, made them true eventually. He could desensitize himself to certain things—that was, after all, what he had done with the term "Shrieking Shack".

"Maybe you are, but I'm not," said Madam Pomfrey. "And I hope that they change that classification someday. Now, try to get a little sleep. I'll let you out at six-thirty."

Remus obediently lied down, and then shot up straight in bed. "Madam Pomfrey! I need to make a birthday card for Sirius!"

Madam Pomfrey sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Very well. But no more than one hour, you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am." Remus grabbed his wand, ink, and parchment, and spent the next hour writing in his very best handwriting and changing the card to brilliant multi-colored hues. Madam Pomfrey was so impressed with his handiwork that she let him work on it for another thirty minutes before turning off all the lights in her office and forcefully pushing Remus into a lying-down position.

Remus tried to sleep, he really did, but he couldn't seem to shut his brain off. What if Sirius was angry that he didn't get a party like Peter? What if he was angry with Remus because he had missed so much of his birthday? What if he didn't like the card? What if he...

Remus woke up and glanced at the analog clock on the wall. Six twenty-one. He impatiently stared at the clock for the next nine minutes. The second it struck six thirty, he swung his legs to the side of the bed and started to pace around the room. That felt good.

Remus paced a lot—his dad was a pacer, too. Some of the houses that they had lived in had had very squeaky floorboards, and Remus' mum often joked that at least one person in the house was pacing nearly all hours of the day. The squeaking floorboards nearly drove her insane. But once Remus had walked downstairs at four in the morning on the day of the full moon, and had nearly had a laughing fit when he caught her walking back and forth on the shaggy carpet, her arms folded in front of her in a very Remus-esque way. "A bad influence," she had called him. She had forbidden him to tell his father, but he did anyway.

Remus missed his family so much that his heart physically hurt.

Madam Pomfrey opened the door, and Remus stopped pacing with a jolt. "May I go now, Madam Pomfrey?"

Madam Pomfrey looked at Remus disapprovingly. "How's that leg feel?"

"Fine."

"I swear, Remus Lupin, I am going to forbid the word fine and all its variations from the Hospital Wing. You know what? Next month I'm setting up a fine swear jar and making you put a Knut in every time you say it."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. I think Professor Slughorn has about twenty spare jars."

"I only have a few Sickles' spending money."

Madam Pomfrey looked ashamed for a second. Remus wondered if his mother had told her how little money they had in one of her letters. Madam Pomfrey had likely only been joking, though: it was a bit tacky for teachers to take money from students. "Then for every time you say it, I am adding five minutes to your stay in the Hospital Wing," said Madam Pomfrey, which was completely and entirely unfair. "So how are you feeling? And I want the truth."

Remus sighed. He didn't want to risk it this time around. "It feels a lot better. It hurts a little when I put weight on it, but it's more annoyance than pain, really. And that sort of thing usually goes away."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it? Descriptive words are very helpful, seeing as it's my job to heal you. You're free to go, Lupin."

"Thank you so much, Madam Pomfrey." Remus grabbed his bag, Bufo, and the card for Sirius, and then stepped out of the Hospital Wing and into freedom.

James had not forgotten Sirius' birthday. James had, apparently, done all the planning on the day of the full moon, and then thrown the party the day after. He was a little miffed that Remus had missed it, but mostly tried to be sympathetic. And all of the other Marauders were duly impressed by the birthday card that Remus had made.

"I tried to bake a cake," said James. "But I couldn't remember how you did it and I ended up burning things and using far too much sugar. Pete wasn't much help. So I just asked the house-elfs to do it, but they were busy. So Sirius didn't get a cake. And Dumbledore told me that I couldn't do the Great Hall again, or else every student would want it decorated on their birthdays. So I nicked food from the Kitchens and we had a posh dinner in the common room."

"Really? I'm so sorry I missed it." Remus remembered Sirius saying that his family had posh dinners every year on his birthday, and was surprised that he wanted that at Hogwarts, too. Sirius didn't seem like the type to appreciate a posh dinner.

"It was brilliant," said Sirius. "James and Peter were pretending to be all posh, and then it all de-escalated and then we were chucking food at each other and insulting Slytherins and it was brilliant." Sirius smiled. "And don't worry, mate. James got me a bunch of presents and the Prank was celebration enough. I'm... sorry your mum's ill. She's okay, isn't she?" Sirius sounded as if he was trying very hard to force the sympathy. He was very bad at it, and it was almost amusing. Remus nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"It doesn't take much to make Sirius happy," said James in a stage whisper. "All you've got to do is make fun of his family and then throw something at him."

"You know it, mate," said Sirius. "And now I have something to remember over Christmas holidays while I'm doing the real thing."

"No hope of throwing food then, I imagine?" asked Remus.

"None. Mum would kill me slowly and painfully."

"And I suppose you're going to have to wear a top hat and dress robes?" joked James.

"Nah, top hats aren't the Black style. But definitely itchy dress robes. And the dinner's probably going to last at least five hours."

"Five hours?" yelped Peter.

"Yeah. Five pm to ten. It's unusual, but we're Blacks. We're supposed to be unusual. Special. And the chairs are so hard." Sirius frowned. "And the adults won't stop yapping and I'm supposed to be seen but not heard. Awful. It's torture."

Remus knew a bit about torture, and he was finding it difficult to sympathize with Sirius. After all, he had just spent nearly three days in an uncomfortable hospital bed, had his limbs ripped apart and forced into a new shape, spent all night clawing himself to a pulp, broke multiple bones, and nearly bled to death. He tried very hard to sympathize, but sitting at a table for a couple hours seemed like something he would gladly endure a couple times a year in exchange for his lycanthropy. Remus almost wanted to strangle Sirius for using the word torture so lightly.

He took three breaths—in through his nose, out through his mouth. Then he considered. Other people had it worse than Remus did, didn't they? There had been people in the past who were under the Cruciatus curse for so long that they literally went mad—they were insane for not just for one night a month, but for the rest of their lives. There were werewolves who went through all that he did, but they didn't have a kind matron, a loving family, a warm bed, food... Perhaps Remus was the one who didn't know the meaning of torture. He had no more right than Sirius to use the word.

Besides, he and Sirius were different. They could handle different amounts of pain before it became classified as torture. And Remus had plenty of physical pain, but he also had a loving family—which was something that Sirius did not have. Remus was loved by people, even if the rest of the world hated him. He had grown up surrounded by sympathy and hugs and warm soup. He joked with his parents, they read to him when he was little, they praised him when he had done well, and they loved him unconditionally—no matter how much of a monster society considered him to be. Remus wondered why Sirius didn't have any of those things. He was a good person with a good heart, so didn't he deserve them?

Well. Good heart was a little too strong. Sirius was an absolute git to Peter and downright rude to the Slytherins. But he was a good person. Remus couldn't put his finger on why. He hadn't planned Peter's party like James. He only ever spoke to Remus one-on-one when he wanted Remus' comfort or when he was teasing him (all in good fun, but still). He made fun of Peter mercilessly, who was supposed to be his friend. And Remus, even though he was inclined to ignore it, often heard Sirius whispering to James about how Remus was too dull, not good at magic, would only slow them down and always looked sickly. He was right, of course... but still. Why was Sirius a good person? Remus couldn't explain it, really. He just was.

Remus was impressed, actually, that the Pureblood from the Noble and Moste Ancient House of Black had turned out like he did. With a family like his, Remus would have expected Sirius to follow more of their influence—not because Remus was prejudiced—but he had read quite a bit on nurture vs. nature, seeing as the topic directly applied to him as well. Sirius probably did have a good heart to avoid his parents' influence like he did.

Although Remus wondered how much of it was genuine tolerance towards Muggles and how much of it was just rebellion. Sirius didn't really seem to like Muggles all that much, and he seemed fine with hexes (which were technically Dark magic). But he was trying, and that had to count for something.

Anyway. Someone as antsy and hyper as Sirius certainly would find sitting still in a hard chair and itchy robes for five straight hours torture. Remus wouldn't like it much, himself. Remus had not had an easy life, but neither had Sirius, and—as Remus had reminded himself when Madam Pomfrey had told him about her Boggart—just because he suffered did not mean that he was the only one who did.

He really needed to remember that.

"That's awful, Sirius," Remus finally said. "I wish you could stay at Hogwarts."

"Me too," said Sirius. "The food's not even that good. There's, like, three bites per course, but each course takes twenty minutes to eat. It's dumb. And gross. How do you do it, Remus?"

"Do what? I've never been to a dinner like that."

"You know. You didn't go outside much as a kid, either. I ran away a few times, and my Uncle Alphard took me places, but Mum made me stay inside mostly. But you stayed inside of your own accord. How?"

Because he couldn't play with human children. Because he was afraid to go out in the open. Because any type of animal with claws and teeth had scared him to death when he was very young. Because of the boys from Durmstrang who had hurt him when they'd found out. Because he was a bit of a coward, actually—and besides, he hadn't been allowed. His parents were simply too worried about him. "I like to read," he said lamely.

"Ah, that'll never work," said Sirius with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I hate reading. And no way I'll be able to read a book during supper."

"I memorize things, sometimes," said Remus tentatively. "Poetry and things. I recite it in my head when I don't have a book on me."

"You do?" James looked interested. "Never met anyone who did that."

"Can you recite something for us?" said Peter.

Remus' mother had always called him old and boring with a loving shake of her head. His father had tried to look interested, but was often distracted and didn't have the patience to listen. Remus had never thought that boys his age would actually think that it was cool.

Remus had never been around boys his age, though. He didn't really know what was cool and what wasn't.

"Erm, sure," he said, even though he was sort of embarrassed about the whole thing. "Do you know Edgar Allan Poe?"

"Edgar what now?"

"Muggle poet from the nineteenth century. He wrote about a lot of dark things, like death and psychological horror. There's this short story about a man getting trapped in a wall... one about a bloke who thinks that a dead man's heart is beating from under the floorboards... and a really gruesome one about rats and a pendulum. I don't like his stories one bit." No, Remus had had enough psychological horror to last seventy lifetimes. "But I like his poetry, even though it's a little disturbing. Good rhythm, you know. Clever rhymes."

"I don't often hear you say so much at once," Sirius chuckled. "Go on, then. Recite something."

Remus smiled a little. He'd do "The Bells". That was his favorite. "Er, okay. Hrm... hear the sledges with the bells—silver bells... what a world of merriment their melody foretells..." Remus kept reciting, studying their faces the whole time. They didn't seem to think that it was too weird. After a few minutes, he finally finished out the poem. "To the rolling of the bells—of the bells, bells, bells—to the tolling of the bells, of the bells, bells, bells, bells—bells, bells, bells—to the moaning and the groaning of the bells. That's it, I think."

"Woah," said Peter. "That's a lot of bells."

Remus giggled. "Yeah, I think it's meant to sound like... well, bells. All repetitive and clanging."

"My favorite part was about the fire," said James.

"In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, in a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire..." Remus quoted. "I like that part, too."

Sirius' eyes were wide. "Which spell was that?"

"What do you mean?"

"To memorize all that. Which spell?"

"There was no spell," said Remus, feeling very confused. "I just read it over and over again until I could recite it from memory."

"How long did it take?"

"A few... hours, I suppose. It's pretty repetitive, so not too long..."

Sirius groaned. "I can't sit still and memorize things for hours! Although I suppose I'm brighter than you are, so maybe I could get it in a half-hour. But still!"

"Sirius!" James scolded. "That's not very nice."

"No, it's fine," said Remus, who was not offended in the slightest. "He's much brighter than I am. We've gotten mostly the same marks, even though I spend hours studying and you don't even listen in class at all. That's ridiculous."

"Yeah, but your mum's a Muggle."

The room went silent. You could hear a pin drop.

"Sirius," said James slowly. "What do you mean by that?"

Sirius looked rather like a deer in headlights. "Er... I didn't call anyone a... well, a Mud... you know, that. What did I do this time?"

"Wizards aren't really considered any less intelligent because of their parentage," said Remus patiently. He wasn't offended. Not really. Sirius didn't know any better. "You're brighter than me because... well, you just are. It's got nothing to do with my mum."

"Really?" said Sirius. "I thought it was just a fact of life, that Purebloods were brighter. Like the sky is blue and all that. I thought Muggles just didn't care about cleverness and things. Even when Questus was talking earlier—I thought they were hard-working and intelligent enough, but not bright. Isn't that right?"

"No," said Remus.

"...Oh. Well, it's not my fault. I've never been taught otherwise. So where does intelligence come from, then?"

Remus actually wasn't sure. "I suppose it does have to do with how you were brought up, and genes," he said, "and being hard-working is often more important than being bright. But it... it's not about magic and blood. Muggles can be just as clever as wizards."

"So is your mum brighter than your dad, then?"

Remus considered. "Er, kind of. She has more street smarts, and can figure things out like dishwashers and sinks and things. But Dad's more book-smart. They've got their own talents. And I don't think it's because she's a Muggle; I think it's more because that's just how she is. Because, you know... Muggles are people, too."

Sirius nodded. "Wow. Okay." He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm kinda embarrassed that so much of what I know is wrong. I hate being wrong. Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"It's all right, mate," said James lightly. "If you say something that's prejudiced, we'll just smack you upside the head to sort you out. Here, I'll demonstrate." James hit Sirius with a pillow, and Sirius yelled at him and hit him back. Before long, all four Marauders were engaged in a pillow fight.

Remus smiled. So much for not overexerting himself.

AN: I always did think that Remus would like a constant rhythm, so I've done a lot of research on rhythmic poetry for future chapters :D I hope you like poems with a rhythmic pattern!