Remus and James did their Knocks on the dormitory door, which Remus still thought was stupid. There was no swaying James, however, who thought that it was the greatest thing since Quidditch. "Come innnnn," said Sirius grandly at the sound of their Knocks, and they entered. Remus noticed that the dormitory smelled of tea.

"It's time to talk," announced James, "because Pete has informed me that my communication has been absolute and utter rubbish recently. He says you're upset, Remus, which is absolutely ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous!" said Remus. "You shouted at me. I'm allowed to be upset!" Typically, Remus would have denied it and claimed that he wasn't upset after all, but the whole mess of things had confused him inside-out. He wasn't exactly sure how to feel anymore.

"No... I didn't mean... not ridiculous; I meant..." James sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah, I guess communication's still bad, then."

"I'll say," said Remus. He was still more or less bitter about the whole thing.

James sighed again. "Okay. Sirius, did you get the tea?"

"Tea?" Remus repeated. So that's why the dormitory smelled of tea.

"Yes, tea," said James impatiently. "We thought it would calm you down in case you try to run away again."

"I'm not going to run away. Unless... unless you want me to?"

"Why would we want you to run away? It was a right hassle to find you, mate. Sirius insisted that you were in the DAD classroom talking to John. Pete thought maybe you were wandering the castle. I thought you were in the library. And I was right!"

"Technically, he was still wandering the castle," said Peter. "He was in the corridors when you found him, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, but... he was coming from the library! We checked everywhere else first—they wouldn't let me choose first since the whole debacle was my fault in the first place—but I was right!"

"It wasn't your fault," said Remus. "It was mine. I shouldn't have overreacted."

James didn't seem to be listening. "Sirius, fetch him some tea," he ordered. "And Peter, you get the present. Here, you can have my blanket. And I'll get you Bufo." James threw Remus a slightly scratchy knit blanket—red and gold, of course—and placed Bufo on Remus' shoulder. Bufo croaked.

"I don't need a blanket," said Remus, confused. "And what present?"

"You do need a blanket! 'Cos you're always cold outside and always wearing a jumper. I thought maybe it would make you more comfortable. And the present's just something that Peter got for you. I don't know what it is, either, but Peter swore that it would make you feel better. He even used some of my wrapping paper to wrap it up. And Pete's actually really good at wrapping presents, believe it or not."

Remus wrapped the blanket around him and took the tea from Sirius. He was completely stunned. They'd put so much thought into this—and it was all to make him feel better. They were overreacting just a little bit, yes, but it was sweet all the same. He nearly started crying, but—to be quite honest—he was all out of tears. And he really did feel better with a warm mug of tea in his hand and a scratchy Gryffindor blanket that smelled of James.

As Remus contemplated how utterly brilliant his friends were (even though they were gits sometimes), Peter plopped something hard, heavy, and expertly wrapped into Remus' lap. Remus looked up at Peter with wide eyes. "No. It's not..."

Peter smiled. "It is."

"What is it?" Sirius and James chorused. Remus grinned and removed the tape with his fingernail, flattened the wrapping paper, and folded it up.

"It's Remus," said Remus, tears coming to his eyes for the second time that day as he gazed upon Remus the Rock. He couldn't tell whether he was crying or laughing out of his eyes, honestly. Merlin's beard, he was such a girl. "This is the best, Peter. The best. Thank you so much."

"Oi, Pettigrew, you can't give away my gift!" Sirius said indignantly, and Remus rolled his eyes in response.

"Oh, please," he said. "Either it's sitting by Peter's bed or mine. What's the difference?"

"There's the Remus we know!" said James proudly. "Exasperated and kinda mean sometimes. I'd wondered where you went."

"I'm not mean..."

"Well, you kind of are—but in a good way. You were acting weird for a while, but you're back now. I knew it would work. Well, not Remus. That was Peter's idea. But everything else. We even made you a card, Marauder-style."

"What does Marauder-style mean?" said Remus, wiping his eyes.

"You'll find out," said James ominously. Remus wasn't entirely sure he liked the sound of that—but at the same time, he really, really did.

James handed Remus the "card" (which was really just a single piece of parchment), and Remus read it slowly, savoring every moment. It looked as if they'd had a full conversation on the thing.

Remus Lupin, this card is to let you know that we are very very very very sorry.
What do you mean, 'we'? YOU'RE sorry.
Right. I'm sorry. It's not Sirius' fault or Peter's fault. Only mine.
And Snivellus'.
Right, mostly him. But really. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry too.
What did you do? You have no reason to apologize, Peter.
Sorry!
Ugh, the word 'sorry' is starting to look funny now.
Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry
Why is it even pronounced like that?
I dunno. Is it even English?
Remus could probably tell us the eteemolawgee or whatever it's called
See, this is why we need you, Remus. To tell us if the word 'sorry' is English or not.
And if you stop being our friend than I shall be very annoyed that I never get to find out.
And then we'll throw James in the Black Lake as punishment and he'll be eaten by a squid.
Oi!
Or the Slytherin dorms.
SIRIUS SHUT UP

Remus folded up the card and smiled brightly. "This is amazing," he said. "Thank you."

"So... are we forgiven?" said James. "I mean, am I forgiven."

"Yes, you're forgiven," said Remus, taking a sip of his tea. "Sirius, however, is not. Anyone who butchers the spelling of 'etymology' like that will never be forgiven in my book."

"How is it spelt, then?"

"E-T-Y-M-O-L-O-G-Y," said Remus at rapid-fire speed.

"E-T-Y-M-O-L-O-G-Y," repeated Sirius, just as quickly. "Got it."

Remus felt the envy rise up in his throat (it had taken him a long time to learn the spelling!), but he looked down at the card and it all disappeared. Sirius had probably already known the spelling, anyway. Remus had the feeling that he knew grammar and spelling and the like a lot better than he let on. And besides, Remus couldn't be angry at any of them right now.

"Do you like it?" asked James anxiously, running a hand through his hair again. "All this, I mean."

Yes yes absolutely yes yes definitely yes, thought Remus, but gushing over something so simple and stupid was the sappiest thing ever. "Sure," he said with a noncommittal shrug.

"You have permission to shout at me, James," said Sirius. "I want a second birthday, too."

"You're getting a whole Christmas party!" said James, and Sirius pushed him. As soon as James had steadied himself (and pushed Sirius back), he turned to Remus again. "Remus. Seriously. I'm sorry," he said again, and the earnestness in his voice made Remus want to absolutely melt. How did Remus get such good friends?

Well, not really good. Remus' friends were sometimes terrible people that just overcorrected for their mistakes. But that just as good. Probably better, even. They were learning and improving, weren't they? No, Remus couldn't be angry with them—not ever.

"Perfectly all right," said Remus, taking another sip of his tea. It was delicious.

"No, it's not. I really upset you. I've grown up with my parents, and their love is basically unconditional. Like, they've spoilt me within an inch of my life. I sometimes forget that not everybody is them, and I'm not really... supposed to be a brat at Hogwarts. And, as Sirius has pointed out, just because my arrogance is off-the-charts doesn't mean that everybody has enough confidence to be insulted and then walk it off. I'm so sorry." James had obviously memorized part of that speech, and Remus almost laughed in spite of himself.

"That part didn't really offend me," said Remus slowly, wondering how he could possibly explain. "I... I was worried that you didn't, you know, like me anymore... and I didn't want... This is really dumb."

"Yep. This whole conversation is right embarrassing," said Sirius.

"Dead sappy," said James.

"We should stop as soon as possible," agreed Peter.

"Let me get you some more tea," said James.

"No, wait!" said Remus, clutching his empty teacup. "I don't need more tea. The tea and blankets and presents and card were sort of... overkill, mate."

Sirius let out a long-suffering sigh. "We told him that you wouldn't want all that fuss. But he didn't care."

Remus smiled. "It was nice of him anyway. But... yeah, a simple apology would have been plenty."

James dragged his hands across his face. "But that's the part I keep messing up," he bemoaned. "Here, let me try again. Remember when I said that friendship isn't a lifetime commitment? Well, it isn't. But Maraudership is a lifetime commitment! Well, not if you don't want it to be. It is for me, though. Ugh, this is probably making you feel worse..."

"No. No, you are making me feel better. I think," said Remus, which was an utter lie. Anything with the words lifetime commitment made his insides go all squishy, and not in a good way. "But it needn't be a lifetime commitment for you, either. Maybe... maybe one day you won't want to be my friend. If you learn something, or I do something, or you do something... maybe you won't. That's okay. I'll be upset, but I'll get over it. You can do whatever you want, and if I feel that you think you're tied to me for whatever reason, then I'll just feel worse."

James was such a good friend, and Remus wanted to give him something in return. So here it was. Remus was officially giving him permission to hate him when they inevitably found out. "Maybe you won't like me someday," he continued. "You'll think I'm annoying and a lot of work to be around and tiring and... and I'd rather have friends who like me than... friends who think I'm... a charity case, just 'cos my mum's sick. If you don't like me, that's fine. I understand."

Sirius wrinkled his nose. "Why would we not like you? You're brilliant. You have a great sense of humor, and you're nice to people. Me and James aren't always nice to people."

"It's I, not me," said Remus. He felt a little ill hearing those words come out of Sirius' mouth. Sirius was lying; this was a direct contradiction of what he had said earlier.

"Fine. I and James. Seriously, though. I like you. You're no charity case."

Remus wrapped the blanket tighter around him and hugged his knees. "Remember my really good sense of hearing?" he said.

"How could I forget? You're not human, mate."

Remus' heart threatened to jump out of his chest. Perhaps he shouldn't tell them that he had overheard—they'd only suspect. But no. He couldn't just go around knowing that Sirius hated him and not say anything about it. "Well," he began, "I heard you lot talking in Defen- DAD, I mean."

Sirius' face drained of color. "The whole thing? How?"

"I told you. Good hearing. I..." Remus trailed off, trying to figure out how to explain himself. "I grew up indoors, reading. We don't even have a television set. I never heard loud noises at all growing up, and now my hearing's in perfect condition." Ooh, that was a good one. He'd have to write it down in the Booklet.

The other three Marauders were completely frozen, and Remus nervously fiddled with the blanket. "I'm sorry I eavesdropped," he said quietly, "but it was about me and I just couldn't help it."

"Woah, Remus," James finally said. "No wonder you were upset."

"You said that I'm high-maintenance and tiring and that you're relieved when I go home to visit my dying mum so that you don't have to see me anymore," said Remus. "And you weren't talking to me, so I know you were telling the truth. I can't be friends with people who don't actually like me."

"Well," said James, "it was Sirius who said that, not Peter or me. So Sirius: explain yourself."

Sirius swallowed and sat down. "Gee, thanks for throwing me under the Knight Bus, mate. Er. I..."

"I don't want him to explain himself," said Remus. "I don't want you to make up some kind of lie. It's okay if you don't like me."

"I do!" protested Sirius. "I do like you! I like you a lot!"

"Elaborate," said James.

"I like your hair," said Sirius. "It's really... er, floppy. Yeah."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" said Remus.

"And I like your tie. It's always really straight. And I like how much you revise. And your marks. And your dumb toad. And your weird breathing thing. And your itchy jumpers. I dressed up as you for Halloween! How could you think I don't like you? I laugh at your jokes! I listen to you recite poetry!"

"Just because you like the idea of me doesn't mean you like me," said Remus. That was really deep, actually. He should write that down, too. "Look, Sirius. I've heard it all. You can't possibly hurt my feelings more. So why don't you tell me the truth?"

Sirius paused and then blew out a puff of air. "Fine. I think you're a little annoying," he said, and James punched his arm. "Ow! He asked for the truth!"

"Not that kind of truth!"

Remus shook his head. "No, I want to hear what Sirius is saying. Stop punching him, James. Stop! You'll leave a bruise."

"Good. I want to."

"No, I want to hear him!"

"Fine. But don't come crying to me when he shatters your feelings and your heart. He's ruthless, that one."

"Okay," said Remus, now that Sirius was no longer experiencing the Wrath of James Potter. "Go on, Sirius. You won't offend me, I promise."

Sirius reached over and punched James in the arm for good measure before continuing. "I think you're annoying. And a little whiny. And you overreact. And you wake us up with nightmares all the time."

Remus nodded. That was how he felt about himself, too.

"But I like all those other things about you! I wasn't lying. You're a good friend. You're pretty cool. I've just never met anyone who acts like you before—you're so different from my family—and it's weird. So I get tired of dealing with you sometimes. Like—it's like, James is literally me. We're twins, pretty much. And Peter barely talks at all, but I get tired of him too. But it's hard around you because I don't know what you're thinking. And I... well, I guess I care about what you think. I care about what everyone thinks, mostly. And it's better to... talk about things... with you than James, sometimes. Because you know what it's like. TBC, remember? That club we started?"

"What's that stand for?" asked Peter.

"Terrifically Boring Conversations," said Remus, and the tension was broken. Sirius smiled and retorted.

"Tabby Brown Cats."

"Talking Black Crows."

"Tag, Ball, and Catch."

"What are you on about?" said James, and Sirius and Remus laughed.

"Anyway," said Sirius, now smiling, "It's my fault that I get tired of you sometimes. Not yours. You're just sullen and sad all the time and I feel sorry for you all the time, which is tiring."

"Talking of being sad," said James, "Is there something you're not telling us? There's something off about you. Something different."

"Why would there be anything I'm not telling you?" said Remus quickly. Too quickly. Fiddlesticks! His tone of voice had been horribly suspicious.

"Sirius and I were thinking," said James, "and Peter. Peter, too. You have too many irrational fears, and you're a rational person. There's no way you stayed inside all the time because you had this irrational fear of your mum dying if you left the house. And an irrational fear of friends. And of Transfiguration. And of nightmares. And people. Irrational fears are normal, but... well, Remus, you have a lot. And what you said just now was kind of odd, too. 'Maybe one day you won't want to be my friend if you learn something or I do something', you said. What, exactly, would we learn?"

Curse James' uncanny memory. "Er," said Remus. "Just how weird I am, I guess. There's nothing, James. Really."

"I saw you walking towards the Hospital Wing," said Peter. "Are you...?"

Remus' mind filled in the blank space. A werewolf. "No, I'm not!"

"You don't even know what we're going to say," said Sirius, bewildered.

"Yes! Yes, I do! I'm sorry—I'm sorry! I'll leave right now! I'm so sorry, I just—I..." Peter placed a hand on Remus' right shoulder and Remus calmed down a bit. He looked at his friends' faces. They looked confused. Worried. Not terrified. No, they didn't know the truth, and Remus had just dug a very deep hole for himself. How was he going to get out of this one? "Er," he amended. "I guess I don't know what you're going to say. I was... only joking. It was a rotten joke. You just looked like you expected me to explode and then run off, so I wanted to scare you. Carry on."

"That didn't look like a joke," said Sirius.

"I'm really good at acting mentally unstable," Remus said, and James choked back a laugh. He'd have to write that down in the Booklet, too.

"Okay, fine. We were only going to ask you if you were ill, too. You know. Like your mum. You told us earlier that you were healthy, but... we don't really believe it."

Remus considered. He wanted to deny it all, but it was a rather good cover-up. "What makes you think that?"

"It would explain why you were home all the time. Why you don't like people. Why you have nightmares. Why you showed up at the Hospital Wing but didn't tell anyone. And why Madam Pomfrey seemed to know you. And why you're thin and pale and sickly-looking."

It would, wouldn't it? Remus could pretend to be ill. It wasn't that far off from the truth, after all. "Yeah," he said somberly. "They think... they think that I've got what my mum's got. It's not contagious. Genetic. But I could end up like her someday."

"Is it... fatal?" asked Sirius. His face had gone quite pale again.

Remus didn't say anything. Would that explain anything away, saying it was fatal? It would explain why he didn't want to get close to anyone. But he couldn't let his friends think that he was dying; that was cruel.

Remus was about to respond, but he took a little bit too long—and, unfortunately, James took his lack of an answer as a yes. "Merlin's beard. It is," he said. "You're dying."

Remus looked at him, confused. Did he look like he was dying? He didn't like improvisation! He wished that he'd gotten some time to think over this! He looked over at Peter, who looked like he was going to cry as soon as the shock wore off. Oh, no. Remus couldn't do this. He couldn't let his friends actually think that he was dying.

"I'm not dying!" he said. "I'm not. I'm fine, see?"

"You don't have to lie to us," said James gently.

"I'm not lying!" said Remus, even though his entire existence was basically a lie at this point. "It's chronic. I have to live with it for the rest of my life—there's no cure. But it's not too terrible; it just makes me tired and ill sometimes. I'm not dying. My mum is forty-one; she's lived with it her whole life. I'm fine." Ugh, there was so much to write in his Booklet now. He was going to need to make a sequel.

"But your mum is dying," said Sirius. His face was getting more pale by the second. "You said so yourself. And you've got what she's got. Forty-one isn't a very good lifespan, mate."

Coincidentally, Remus' expected lifespan had been dramatically shortened due to his lycanthropy. But that didn't really bother him; werewolf lifespans were so unpredictable that it wasn't a concern. "She has it worse than me," he explained, "and they caught it sooner in my case. So I'm expected to live for a veryyy long time." Remus stretched out his arms on the "very" for emphasis, nearly dropping his teacup in the process.

"Are you sure?" said Peter softly.

"Yes! I'm sure. I expect to outlive all of you. It's not fatal, it just makes me feel... icky. Sometimes. It's a lot worse in my mum's case. And if it gets worse, I'll... I'll tell you."

"You'd better," said James. "No wonder you didn't want to get close to us. Woah."

"So what is it?" Sirius asked, ignoring James' dirty looks. "The name of the illness, I mean."

"Doctors don't know. They can only guess," said Remus, not wanting anyone to research his symptoms and figure out that something was amiss. He had a moment of inspiration. "S'got something to do with our blood. But Mum and Dad won't tell me much; they think it'll scare me." Lycanthropy was, indeed, a blood disease. Remus felt very clever. "Could we stop talking about this?"

"Yes," said James. "Just answer us one last question."

Remus looked at him expectantly.

"Marauder?"

"That's not really a question, James. That's just a noun pronounced with a slight inflection."

"Answer the question, Remus Lupin," said Sirius.

Remus thought about it. "Depends. Can I pelt Sirius with Remus the Rock as revenge?"

"Absolutely," said James.

"Then yes."

The rest of the evening began with chasing a yelping and giggling Sirius around the dorm, and ended with James sporting a magnificent pair of horns, Sirius clad in pink robes, and the dormitory covered in feathers.

Marauder, indeed.

AN: You know the feeling when you're running out of an essential item like toothpaste or cheese or whatever, and you keep meaning to replace it every time you use it, but you never do, so it just keeps running out and running out and you have to use less and less every time, but you're still too lazy to replace it, so you exist in a state of conservation, procrastination, and agitation, and I honestly don't know where I was going with this