As Remus' time at Hogwarts progressed, he found that the nights were slowly getting better. The frequency of Remus' nightmares decreased more and more. It was still difficult to fall asleep, of course, with the window looming over him, but Remus found that if he slept in a certain position, nearly completely covered his head with the blankets, and slept with his father's scarf and Bufo nearby, then it really wasn't so bad.

He still woke up about once a week with horrid nightmares that caused him to sweat and cry and feel as if he couldn't breathe, but that was a major improvement from his previous nightmares (which had occurred several times in one night). James woke up nearly every time to mutter something soothing ("it's only a dream," "go back to sleep, mate," "calm down, Remus," "s'okay, everyone's fine, you were dreaming"), which actually helped Remus ground himself in reality much more than he cared to admit. Indeed, this was a much more pleasant reality: there was no blood, there was no pain, there were no werewolves—well, there was one, but he was a skinny, pale preteen with holey socks and oversized pajamas.

It wasn't until the following week that Remus started to have more frequent nightmares that were much more terrible than Greyback.

The person who kickstarted his new horror-filled dreams was, ironically, James Potter. He was flying about on his Comet, (not-so-subtly showing off for Peter, who was watching with an open jaw), when he attempted a complicated dive. He didn't pull up quite fast enough and landed on the ground with a sickening crack that Remus had only ever heard when it was his own bones making the noise.

Remus was reading under a tree when it happened. He heard James' arm snap, he smelt blood, and he completely and totally panicked. He dropped his book and hurried over to James' small form: he was writhing in the sort of pain that Remus knew all too well.

"James. James! Are you okay?" Remus inhaled and smelt blood again, even stronger and more rancid, filling his nostrils and traveling to his brain, reminding him of... No. He couldn't think like that. This was about James, not him. He saw James clutching his arm: he rolled James over slowly—by the shoulders—like Madam Pomfrey did to him sometimes on the night after the full moon when the Pain-Relieving Potion wore off. He knew how to do this. Probably.

James was clutching his arm even more tightly. His hair was slightly damp around the sides from sweat, and his jaw was gritted. A couple tears leaked out of his eye. There was blood on the ground.

Sirius and Peter were standing ten feet away, and Peter's jaw was still open (but for a different reason now). From the looks of it, James had landed on a particularly sharp stick that had punctured his arm, and it was very clearly broken. Remus thought of Madam Pomfrey. Of Professor Questus. What would they do? "Okay, James, I need you to breathe," Remus ordered, trying to imitate Madam Pomfrey's Matron Voice. "And take your hand away from your arm so that I can see."

James did not, so Remus took hold of the uninjured arm. "James. Here, hold my hand instead. You can squeeze; I promise it won't hurt me."

James finally spoke, his voice breathy and agonized. "Of course'll... hurt you! Fragile china..."

"Finish that thought and I'll really hurt you," Remus threatened. "Don't worry about it." James finally let go of his arm and Remus surveyed the damage.

It was awful. The stick had torn a large cut in his arm, and blood ran all the way down it. Remus could see the bone. It wasn't the worst he had seen (obviously), but definitely the worst he had seen on someone else. Remus' stomach lurched. It looked like a claw. Like claw marks. Blood was on the side of James' face, blood was on his arm, and for a second, Remus' imagination told him that he had done it, that he had just transformed back after a full moon, that James had found his way into the Shrieking Shack and Remus had cut him up... and bitten him... and James was in pain and James was a werewolf and James was going to die at the hands of Remus, whom he'd trusted...

Remus noticed that he was hyperventilating and figured that he should probably stop for fear of panicking James even more. "Sirius, go get Madam Pomfrey," he said in the most level voice possible. "Peter, get me my wand. It's in my bag. And mind Bufo."

Both Sirius and Peter obeyed, and Remus muttered things to James, variations of what James told him after a nightmare. "It's only an injury... it'll be over as soon as Madam Pomfrey gets here... Madam Pomfrey's on her way... all the greats are injured at some point during their Quidditch career..."

The only one that seemed to have any effect on James' mental state was the last one. Remus rolled his eyes. Of course Quidditch was the only thing that could cheer James Potter up after a bad injury.

Peter handed Remus his wand, and Remus pointed it at James' arm. He had done this particular spell sometimes under his covers, as quietly as possible, to dress his wounds before bed. "Ferula," he said, but nothing happened. Why wasn't it working? What was he doing wrong?!

He was far too emotional, he realized. He channeled his inner Professor Questus. Emotionless. Sensible. Reasonable. Easy peasy, he told himself. Calm down, Lupin. This is one of the easiest spells that there is. A child could do it.

"Ferula," he repeated, and bandages sprung around James' arm. James' breathing slowed a little.

"Thanks, Remus," he said, trying to smile. "Oh no, your fingers! I'm so sorry!"

Remus looked down at his hand, which James had been squeezing with inhuman force. Remus hadn't really noticed until just then. His fingers were all red and swollen, and there were red marks where James' nails had dug into Remus' palms. "It's all right," he assured James. "I think... I think you squeezed them numb. Doesn't hurt at all." That wasn't the truth at all, but Remus had to uphold his "fragile china doll" exterior. Unfortunately. Besides, the injury a little higher up on the very same arm was far worse.

James sat up with a groan. "It... it hurts... so much."

"I know," said Remus. "What with you crushing my fingers to pieces and all."

James scowled. "If you ever tell anyone that we were holding hands, then I'll hex you to pieces."

"I never thought to before now," said Remus lightly, "but now that you mention it..."

"Git!"

"Arrogant prat."

"Annoying!"

Remus smirked a bit. "Fragile china doll."

James groaned and smacked his forehead a bit with his uninjured hand, wincing as he did so. "You're never gonna let me hear the end of this, are you?"

Remus shook his head. "Never."

Madam Pomfrey was arriving now with Sirius. "Oh, good heavens, Potter. That looks nasty." Her eyes dropped to the wand in Remus' hand. "Did you bandage it up for him, Lupin?"

Remus nodded, oddly proud of himself even though Madam Pomfrey already knew that he could do the spell.

"Good to see a first-year who already knows his remedies," said Madam Pomfrey. "Come along, Mr. Potter. Let's get that healed up. Would you come with us, Lupin, to let us know how it happened and what you've already done to help?"

Remus nodded and grasped James' uninjured arm to help him up. It always felt odd, actually touching his friend so casually. Skin-to-skin contact between Remus and someone besides his mum or dad was nearly nonexistent before Hogwarts.

James did not let go of his hand all the way back to the castle, but he didn't squeeze with nearly as much force. Remus pushed down the feelings of scorn towards this boy who was injured so rarely that it was difficult to walk back to the castle with a broken arm. If Remus only got a broken arm after a full moon, he would be overjoyed. A broken arm was nothing to Remus. How dare James be in pain? James didn't even know what pain was...

Remus felt awful for having such thoughts, so he pushed them down. They wouldn't help anything.

Sirius tagged along, too; his face was stark white and he hadn't said a word since James' accident. That was extremely rare for Sirius. Remus wanted to poke fun at him, but he didn't quite have the heart. As for Peter, he stayed back with Remus' things and James' broomstick. His mouth was still slightly open. Remus hoped that a bug wouldn't fly in.

Going to the Hospital Wing on a normal day was always a little strange for Remus. Fortunately, they did not go into Madam Pomfrey's office, which would have brought back far too many unpleasant memories. There were two other people in the Wing: a boy with purple hair and a girl lying in bed with her shoes still on (presumably stuck to her feet).

Madam Pomfrey asked Remus a few questions, but Remus didn't successfully answer any of them—James seemed more than willing to jump in and interrupt him before he could get a word out.

"What spell did you use, Lupin?"

"Ferul—"

"Ferula! Slight pain-relieving and bandaging charm! And executed in a perfect manner! Ten out of ten, Remus!"

"And what happened, exactly?"

"James was—"

"I was flying on my Comet, and I fell off while trying for a super-advanced dive. Landed on a stick! Sliced my arm nearly clean off! Bone was showing and everything! Arm broken!" James added sound effects for added emphasis. "Crack! Fwooooshhh! Bam! Ow! James, are you okay?"

"My voice does not sound like that," Remus interjected. "And you're far too cheerful for someone with a broken arm."

"Ah, Remus, you know nothing of pain! Quidditch players get injured all the time! A broken arm is nothing! Gotta learn to walk it off, you know? You can't possibly understand; I bet you've never broken an arm."

Madam Pomfrey covered her mouth and turned around, clearly laughing. "No, I haven't," Remus lied in a grave voice, and Madam Pomfrey exited the main ward to laugh more freely in her office.

"What's up with Poppy?" said James, thrusting a thumb in her direction. "And why are you so quiet, Sirius? You're never this quiet."

"No idea to either," said Remus, still maintaining a straight face. "You're the one who knows all about pain and injury. You tell me, oh All-Knowing Quidditch Player."

Remus and his friends waited in the ward with James until he was completely healed, and it didn't take long at all. In fact, much to Remus' relief (and slight envy, though he'd never admit it), Madam Pomfrey had James healed up in under ten minutes. Completely—no scars or anything. And James was more cheerful than ever after having had so much attention from both his friends and the matron.

"Was that brilliant or what?" he said, doing his Knock on the dormitory door. Knock-KNOCK, knock-KNOCK-knock, knock KNOCK, KNOCK. "That was so cool! And Remus even earned ten points for Gryffindor for helping me out! And..." James looked over at Sirius once again, who had a hand on his stomach and looked completely white. "Sirius, what's wrong?"

Sirius swallowed heavily. "It's only... I've never, ever seen... anyone... injured. Not ever. Not like that."

"You haven't?" said James incredulously, and Remus' stomach twisted unpleasantly in an expression of envy.

"No. Never. Not even in books—you know I don't read. I've never had anything worse than a scratch from the staircase railing—you know Mum doesn't let us play outside much, me and Regulus. I... I've heard it could happen, but to see so much blood at once and your... bone and..." Sirius swallowed again. "I thought I was going to be sick. Urgh, I think I still might...!" He ran to the lavatory down the corridor, shutting the door with a slam that seemed to echo throughout the dormitory.

James furrowed his eyebrows. "Didn't bother you that much, did it, Remus?"

Remus blinked slowly and thought about potential lies. "No," he said carefully. "My mum's had a few close calls. I know how it is. She's fallen down... the staircase, a few times, after fainting or losing balance during a spell. Broke her wrist once. I had to wait on her all day until Dad came home from work." That was based on the truth, at least, although the event had happened to Remus and not his mother. And he hadn't fallen down the stairs: he'd simply fainted in the middle of the sitting room while trying to stand up. He wouldn't have broken his wrist if he hadn't landed funny and had had such weak bones after that particular transformation. It had been rather awful, so Remus decided to stop thinking about it.

In any case, James seemed to accept it as truth. "Well, thanks for helping. I mean it. Hey, do you know where Peter is?"

"Dunno," said Remus. "He seemed kind of panicked, too. Last time I saw him he was outside with our things..."

"C'mon, let's go," said James, starting for the door. "Merlin's beard. Why are so many people more disturbed by me nearly taking my arm off than I am?"

Remus often wondered the same thing around his transformations. He felt wicked for thinking it, but sometimes he didn't think that his parents nor Madam Pomfrey had the right to pity him, to feel sorry for him based on his injuries, or even to worry. After all, it was him, not them—his injuries! Still, he knew that he'd do the same if he had been in their places. After all, he'd been worried about James, and James had only broken an arm.

Upon going to the grounds again, James and Remus found Peter chattering excitedly with some sixth-years. Remus wasn't sure if James could hear Peter's excited gossip, but Remus heard every word. "He was doing a dive, and he hurtled towards the ground—he tried to pull up, but his broom just bucked and he couldn't get up quick enough—and then he fell on his arm right on top of a stick—and there was blood and you could see the bone and..."

"Oi!" called James. "All right, Pettigrew?"

"Oh, hey, James!" said Peter, his face flushed with excitement and cold. "I've been out here the whole time, watching your things."

"Well, thanks, Peter," said James. "Telling the sixth-years about my day? Well, you left something out..."

Remus rolled his eyes, smiled, and started back towards the warmth of the common room.

Sirius didn't emerge from the loo until evening. He'd been in there for upwards of two hours. "Have you been vomiting this entire time?" asked James who was—horror of horrors!—actually doing his homework!

"No... only twice..." said Sirius, wiping his mouth. "But... I... ughhhh. I'm sorry, James."

"For what?" asked Peter. Remus had been helping him out with some Potions homework, but the essay was forgotten in the wake of Sirius' dramatics.

"I've... never seen... anything like that! Ever! You looked so hurt, I can't even imagine what that's like—I stubbed my toe on the bedpost two days ago, and it hurt so badly, and I bet that was way worse... and I can't imagine!" Sirius was looking a little green again. "I've never... even... thought about it! I can't! How is it even possible to be hurt like that?!"

Boy, have I got some news for you, Sirius, Remus thought dryly, thinking of the gruesome scene that lay just beneath his own left sleeve.

James walked over to Sirius and enveloped him in an awkward hug, ignoring Sirius' noises of protests that hugs weren't very manly. "C'mon, let's go hex some Slytherins. It'll make us feel better." Sirius nodded eagerly, and Remus didn't have the heart to try to stop them, no matter how opposed he was to casually hexing innocent Slytherins—and no matter how envious he was of Sirius' innocently oblivious aversion to blood.

That night, Remus lied awake in his bed. He couldn't quite get the picture of James' injured arm out of his head—deep lacerations, the open fracture, blood everywhere... Like scratches. Werewolf scratches. The same scratches and slashes that Remus saw on himself in the Shrieking Shack every month, the same ones that he remembered making with his own claws in a fit of fury and bloodlust... the same, perhaps, that his parents had seen on Remus' own body on February sixteenth.

What if James got curious one day and wanted to go to the Shrieking Shack again, but this time during a full moon? What if he got in? What if Remus killed him—and it was even more violent and bloody than his arm, and this time Madam Pomfrey could not heal him? What if James survived, but he had to live on as a werewolf and get injuries far worse than his silly old arm every single month, just like Remus? Remus wouldn't be able to bear it.

Remus had never really had these thoughts before in the safety of his own home: escaping and harming someone had not been a possibility in his eyes. After all, Remus' parents were so much older than him, and his dad was so powerful. Remus had been there when his father had blasted Greyback back out of his window. If Lyall Lupin could get rid of Greyback so easily, then he would certainly be able to hold Remus off if need be.

Besides, the cellar had strong walls. Remus had never escaped before, and he'd always just sort of figured that his father was powerful enough to get him back in before he hurt anyone. He'd never really dwelled on the thought of actually hurting anyone. He'd been transforming since the age of five, and it had always worked in the past. It was sort of like Remus' mum's car—he knew, somewhere deep down, that cars could be very dangerous... but Remus had been riding in it since childhood and nothing bad had ever happened before, so Remus had never had any reason to be afraid.

But now... now, in a new location, a creaky old house... surrounded by curious students and friends—he could actually, really hurt someone. The thought made him sick.

He rolled over and tried to erase the awful images from his mind, but nothing helped much. He saw them whenever he closed his eyes... whenever he blinked... whenever he breathed. They were plastered onto the inside of Remus' eyelids, and the white walls, and probably the inside of his mind. He could not escape the senseless worry that he, Remus Lupin, would somehow escape confines put into place by Albus Dumbledore himself. He had never been in such close proximity to so many people. If Remus were to escape, he wouldn't just harm his friends... no, he could harm a whole village... a whole castle... children and women and men and everything in between.

Now he was in the Shrieking Shack. Full moon. He stared at the boarded-up window, watching the silvery moonlight and quivering violently. Then he went still. He knew that the transformation was only a second away. It'll be over soon, he told himself, straightening his fingers and gritting his teeth...

And then pain...

And then he was a horrible, violent, bloodthirsty wolf and he wanted to kill everything in sight and he slashed at the furniture with his horrible claws and at himself with his horrible teeth and wanted—needed—blood and death and...

James' scent filled his nostrils. James entered the Shack. Here was James, and Remus did not even have time to think before he woke up, still tasting the wet blood in his mouth before he realized that they were only tears.

"Not you, too," said James, but James was dead, and Remus had killed him. Wait, no. No, that hadn't happened, because Remus was lying in his own four-poster, covered by his father's scarf... and Remus could feel in his bones that the full moon wasn't for a while. "Only a dream, Lupin," continued the-James-who-was-very-much-alive. "Come on, Sirius had one too."

Remus forced his breathing to slow and rubbed his eyes, as if to erase the horrible images of James covered in his own blood, dying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack at Remus' hands. Well, claws. Teeth. Remus shuddered and swung his legs over the side of his bed. He needed to see James and make sure that he was all right.

James wasn't in his bed; Remus inhaled and scented James sitting with Sirius in his bed. Remus lightly knocked Moonlight Sonata onto the bedpost. "Come in," said James pleasantly, and Remus pulled the curtains back.

There was James—perfectly alive and no blood on his face. An image popped up in Remus' head of this same face, terrified, staring at the giant wolf before it that was Remus. Remus sat down and wiped his eyes.

"Nightmare, too?" said Sirius. Remus noticed that his face was wet and he was hugging his chest. James had one arm around him. "Guessing it wasn't the same as mine."

"I told you, lots of people are afraid of blood," said James. "Nothing to be ashamed of. My... mum's... afraid of roaches. Roaches! Just tiny, itty bitty dots with legs. And Remus is afraid of people."

"I'm not afraid of people," said Remus, crossing his arms.

"Parties. Remus is afraid of parties! That's even worse. And we all know that he's a little fragile china doll..."

Remus hit James' shoulder good-naturedly. "So what are you afraid of, Quidditch King?"

"Ooh, I like that nickname," said James. "I'm afraid of you all figuring out my middle name. I'll never tell."

Remus had the odd feeling that James was not really afraid of anything. He was the Gryffindoriest Gryffindor to ever Gryffindor.

"So what was your nightmare about, Remus?" whispered Sirius.

Two pairs of eyes swiveled towards Remus. Even though Remus knew that it was really just a casual conversation between him and his friends, it felt as though he was about to disclose his secret before the Wizengamot. Adrenaline had made him even more fearful, cautious, and aware of every word that came out of his mouth... what if something gave away what he was? "Erm... Just my mum," he said. "Dying," he added as an afterthought, because of course his mum all by herself was not scary at all.

"You were growling. In your sleep. It was pretty funny," said James, and Remus' heart stopped.

He had been growling? Really? Growling? Like an animal? Remus rather wanted to vomit, but Sirius had done enough of that already. "Er. I don't know what that was about. Maybe I was thinking about... our dog."

"You have a dog?" Sirius perked up immediately. "I love dogs. I wanted a dog when I was younger, but Mum wouldn't let me."

"We used to," said Remus helplessly. His lies were getting more and more difficult to remember by the second. "We had to... give him away. Because we needed the money... to find cures. For Mum."

"What was his name?" said Sirius. "And what breed?"

Remus really needed to write all this down. "Er. He was a mutt. Brown. And I think we just called him Dog. I was young."

"Dog is a dumb name," said Sirius. "I would have called him Killer or something."

Remus winced. Nope, we've already got one killer canine in the family, thank you very much.

Sirius made a sudden movement—for a second, Remus was terrified that he'd made the comment out loud—but no, Sirius was just yawning. "All right, I'm tired again," he said. "Gonna go back to sleep. Go back to your own bed, Remus."

"Are you sure you're okay?" James asked Remus quietly. "Is there anything we can do?"

"No," said Remus. "I'm tired, too. Goodnight."

Remus returned to his bed and drew the curtains. Despite Sirius' proclamation that he was tired, Remus heard James and Sirius continue to talk in hushed voices.

"Suppose he's okay?" asked Sirius.

"Seemed worse tonight than it usually is, but I don't know why," said James. "I'm not worried about him, though. We can't help him if he doesn't tell us, and he doesn't tell us anything. I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine, James! It was only a bit of a nightmare."

"Wanna talk about it more?"

Remus could practically hear the grin in Sirius' voice. "Absolutely, I want to talk about it more. It helps."

Remus felt his eyes grow heavy; not long after, he drifted off to the sound of Sirius' voice in the dark. He felt a tiny bit left-out (and he almost wished that he had someone to talk to about his own problems), but he pushed the feelings down. He was a werewolf. It was good that he wasn't as close to James and Sirius as they were to each other. And of course Sirius hadn't invited him to chat; he could probably sense somewhere that Remus wasn't normal. Or else he'd just wanted to continue the conversation that he'd been having with James before Remus had so rudely interrupted... that was reasonable.

The next morning, Remus woke up to James' empty bed—he'd fallen asleep with Sirius, drooling on Sirius' pillow with his arm splayed across Sirius' chest.

Whoever said that a Pureblood fanatic and a die-hard Gryffindor couldn't be friends was even stupider than some of James' big ideas, and that was really saying something.

AN: So much angst in this chapter that I need to go watch a sitcom or something.