Remus was sitting in the dormitory room, talking to his friends and chasing Sirius around. Feathers flew everywhere. Peter laughed, James smiled, and Sirius was hysterical. Everyone was merry now that they had made peace with each other, and Remus couldn't be happier to be a part of the Marauders. Moonlight shone through the window and spilled onto the floor, illuminating the happy faces of the photos on the walls. Remus smiled, feeling perfectly content, and then looked down at his hands.

Shaking. Like before a full moon. He realized with a jolt that he had been feeling ill all day. Tonight was the full moon. Why hadn't anyone come to fetch him? He was going to murder the whole school!

"All right, mate?" came James' voice, but Remus could barely hear him. Things were changing, shifting; his hearing was going in and out.

"James, Sirius, Peter, listen. I need you to lock me up. Knock me out. I don't care. But quickly, please!"

"What? We're not going to knock you out. You're our friend." James' face split into a grin. "Oh, I get it. This is a joke. Stop with the jokes, Remus."

"It's not a joke! I'm..." Oh, he had to tell them now. He couldn't be selfish any longer. "A werewolf. Full moon! If you don't know a good way to get me completely contained then you should leave. Shut the door. Lock it. Get Professor Dumbledore! Come on, I'm going to hurt you..."

But James and Sirius and Peter didn't believe him and they laughed and then Remus froze completely—it was seconds away—he begged them to leave, but they were laughing too much to hear him—and then there was pain and pain and pain and pain and fur and fangs and claws and then he had killed all of his friends...

Remus woke up panting and crying. What had happened? Had he transformed back? He heard heartbeats and breathing in the room and calmed a little. That was Sirius' heavy breathing. That was Peter's snoring. Those were was James' irregular, shallow breaths. And their scents were there, too.

Or was it just his imagination?

Remus suddenly tasted blood in his mouth and sat up straight in bed. It had been real! And now the Ministry was on its way to execute him and—oh, fiddlesticks—he had killed three eleven-year-old boys (Sirius was actually twelve, he remembered with a pang), just because he was selfish and wanted friends—he couldn't have friends!—and Dumbledore had trusted him... and for what?

"Remus?" That was James. "S'only a dream. Go back to sleep."

Remus drew in a breath, but it didn't quite reach his lungs. He swished the blood around in his mouth. It was Remus-blood. Not James-blood. It was his. He felt the pain, now: he had bitten his tongue in his panic. He had hurt himself because he was stressed, just as wolves did. That wasn't a comforting thought, but it was infinitely better than the alternative.

He heard the squeaking of bed springs and floorboards, and now James was pulling back Remus' curtains. "Hey. All right? You're making some weird choking noises."

"You... you needn't..." Remus was almost surprised to be talking like a normal human. He shaped his mouth around the familiar words with some concentration. "You needn't get out of bed. Go back to sleep. I'm fine." He tried to breathe again, but anything deeper than a shallow, panicked breath seemed to get stuck in his throat. "I'm fine," he repeated.

"You're not fine. You can't breathe," said James. He sat down next to Remus, and Remus scooted away, looking at the collar of James' red-and-gold nightshirt. "And now you're acting all small again," said James. "Look, mate. You need to talk about it. Sirius swears it helps."

"I'm not Sirius," Remus snapped, and immediately chastised himself for losing control. But James didn't look fazed; maybe he hadn't noticed the anger in Remus' voice at all.

"I know, but you've never talked about it. So how do you know it doesn't help? Your nightmares have gotten worse, Remus. At least try it."

Remus was not in the mood to make up a long and detailed story about his mum that couldn't even begin to compare with the horrors that he had just experienced. He couldn't even look at James properly—not without imagining his blood covering Remus' fangs, his bones snapping under the power of Remus' jaws like twigs, his broken body lying on the floor, and Remus feeling no remorse afterwards. That was so much worse than a dying mum... wasn't it?

Then he felt guilty again. He loved his mum. He'd much rather be a werewolf than his mum—his loving, caring mum who took care of Remus even though she was a Muggle and he was a wizard werewolf—dying. Wouldn't he? He imagined life without his mum and was very nearly sick when he realized that he might actually rather have a cure for lycanthropy than a living mother. Would he? No, probably not. But... in the heat of the moment, or when Remus wasn't feeling particularly noble... maybe.

Remus felt so incredibly selfish.

"I need to go to the Hospital Wing," he said. "I'm feeling ill."

James pressed the back of his hand to Remus' forehead and Remus nearly fell backwards in surprise. "You can't touch me!" he said in surprise, barely registering his own words. "You... can't touch me. It's dangerous."

"Thought you said you weren't contagious?" James frowned and drew his hand back. "You do feel hot. You're all sweaty. Ick. Here, I'll walk you down."

"I can walk myself."

"Nonsense," scoffed James. Suddenly, bedsprings started creaking from the other side of the room. "Oh, listen to that. Sirius is awake. Guess we were being too loud."

"What's wrong?" said Sirius, pulling aside his curtains and rubbing his eyes. "Another nightmare, Remus?"

"I didn't mean to worry you," said Remus. He was still breathing irregularly. He could still see the hatred in Sirius' face as he transformed, the fear in his eyes, his blood on the floor. Remus did not feel well at all. "You can go back to sleep."

"Shut up," said Sirius. "If this is still about what I said in DAD... I told you, I was being stupid. I'm just not used to people like you. Doesn't mean I hate you."

Remus idly wondered if Sirius would still be using the word "people" if he knew what Remus was. Probably not. "Please, just let me go on my own..."

"We're Marauders," said James firmly. "Marauders stick together." Remus felt himself being pulled out of bed and hauled to his feet.

"No, no, stop touching me," he said. "You can't. You don't know."

James paused. "What don't we know?"

Silence.

Remus could hear all of their hearts beating, including the sleeping Peter's.

And then he slowly, slowly came to his senses—and unadulterated horror flooded his chest as he realized that he'd nearly given the whole thing away. "I'm feeling much better now," he said. "I'm going to go back to bed, actually."

"Oh, no you are not," said James. "Hospital Wing. Come on."

They pulled him out of the dormitory. Remus tried not to think of their hands—touching him—touching his left shoulder where the bite was and the infected wound just below it. He tried not to think about anything at all, in fact. He could breathe now, at least. And walk normally (mostly).

Remus was being far too dramatic about it all, so he tried to summon his inner Professor Questus and ignore every last drop of emotion as he and his friends walked through the darkened corridors. It almost worked. As he was viciously trying to stop feeling things, he sensed someone familiar walking down the corridor towards them. "That's the Prefect," he said helplessly. "Ray Puttle. He's coming down the corridor."

"Good," said Sirius, rubbing his hands together. "We can finally show him up. After all, we've a right to be out after hours this time. Ugh, I hate Puttle." Remus wondered if Puttle had ever caught James and Sirius before on a Remus-less midnight excursion. He felt a little left out again, but he pushed the feeling down because that was a feeling and he wasn't supposed to feel things.

And, sure enough, Puttle rounded a corner and immediately caught an eyeful of the three pajama-clad boys. "You three aren't supposed to be out of bed!" he said sharply.

"Actually, we are," said James sweetly. "Our friend Remus here needs to go to the Hospital Wing."

Puttle looked all three of them over. "He does look ill," he said, and Remus tried to maintain his sickly expression. "But how do I know that you haven't made him look ill with some sort of spell? It's quite possible that this is all a ploy to get past me." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Aria!"

Another Gryffindor Prefect came down the corridor. She had light brown hair done up into ribboned plaits, and the ribbons were such a bright shade of blue that they seemed to shine in the dark. "What is it? Is our shift over? I'm tired, and I have a Potions test tomorrow..."

"No, it's Potter and two of his cronies. I'm getting tired of dealing with them. They claim that their friend has come down with something. Could you take him to the Hospital Wing while I bring Potter and Black back to their dormitory?"

"No!" protested James. "He's distressed, see? We should take him! He knows us; he likes us! And he's a fragile little china doll who doesn't like to talk to new people..."

"It's fine, I don't care," Remus mumbled, his face turning quite red. "I can go back to the dormitory, too."

"No, dear, you're ill," crooned Aria the Gryffindor Prefect. "I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey; she'll fix you right up. See you, Ray."

Puttle grabbed James and Sirius by the arms and dragged them back to the dormitory. Remus wanted more than anything to go with them.

Meanwhile, Aria was still speaking in a saccharine tone. "It's okay, dear. Just put one foot in front of the other. You're going to be all right."

Remus wanted to gag.

"What a brave boy," said Aria as they reached the Hospital Wing door.

"I'm not three years old," said Remus crossly, and he immediately felt awful for snapping at her. She was only trying to help, even though she was unfathomably annoying.

But Aria was unfazed. "Of course you aren't, dear. Go on, then. Do you want me to go in with you? I'm sure that a first-year like you isn't used to the Hospital Wing."

"I'm plenty used to the Hospital Wing," Remus muttered under his breath, but Aria didn't hear him.

"It's okay to be scared," she crooned, and Remus really did gag this time. Aria patted him on the head a bit and knocked on the door. Madam Pomfrey opened it immediately, and Remus wondered if she ever slept.

"What seems to be the problem?" she said.

"Oh, Madam Pomfrey, I found an ill first-year wandering the corridor with a few of his friends. He's really scared and upset, and I was hoping that you could do something for him. He's being very brave." Aria mussed his hair a little, and Remus shooed her hand away impatiently.

"I'm not scared! I'm not being brave! I just want to go back to my dormitory!" he said. "I'm fine!"

"It's okay, let it all out," Aria said soothingly. This has to be a joke, Remus thought desperately. She's playing a practical joke on me. No one is really this annoying.

Madam Pomfrey smirked. "Come on in, Mr. Lupin."

"I think he wants my company," said Aria. "I can stay with him."

"I'm sorry, Miss Dawsey. Your shift is over, and it's past your curfew. Get to bed, now."

Aria Dawsey pouted a bit and then flounced away, giving Remus an encouraging smile as she left. Remus had the odd urge to stick his tongue out at her.

Madam Pomfrey dissolved into giggles as soon as Dawsey left, and Remus gave her a fierce glance. "It's not funny, Madam Pomfrey! She shouldn't be treating me like that! I'm a Dark creature, not a toddler!"

"I believe I've asked you to stop calling yourself that before, Mr. Lupin," said Madam Pomfrey, her giggles giving way to a sharp tone.

"But I am. I am. I wouldn't give a second thought to murdering even one of my friends! Or a family member! And here I am, in a school full of children, only a ways away from a whole town full of people—the only thing that separates me from being a murderer is a thin wooden wall and some magic. I can't... I shouldn't..." Remus started crying again (which was terribly embarrassing), and Madam Pomfrey guided him to a bed and patted his back a little bit awkwardly.

After a couple of seconds, Remus forced himself to calm down. "Sorry," he told Madam Pomfrey with a slight hiccough. "I'm fine."

"That's another ten minutes in here for you," said Madam Pomfrey. "The fine rule still applies, and you've said it twice since arriving at my threshold."

"I'm sleepy, though! I don't want to stay here longer than I need to."

"You won't be relaxed enough to sleep until you tell me what's wrong. And something is very obviously wrong—you've been self-pitying in times past, but this is a new low even for you. Now start talking."

Remus sighed and put his head in his hands. "Ishavnglotsofnightmersnjamesusurtnthen..."

"I can't hear you, Mr. Lupin," said Madam Pomfrey, and Remus lifted his head blearily.

"I was having lots of nightmares before, remember?"

"Yes."

"And then James got hurt. Quidditch accident, remember? And, well, they—the nightmares, I mean—used to be about... me, just me. Being attacked. Six and a half years ago. And that wasn't so bad..."

"Not so bad?" said Madam Pomfrey faintly.

"Well, I mean... I told you, it was just about me. And it's already happened, technically, so it's nothing new. It wasn't that bad, truly—I woke up sweating and shaking and things, but I was fine."

"That's another five minutes."

"Madam Pomfrey!"

"Keep going, Lupin."

"Okay. Well. After James got hurt, I sort of... well..." Remus took a second to think about what he wanted to say. He really wasn't sure how to phrase it. "I'm not supposed to have friends. I can't be close to people. Seeing James hurt kind of made me realize what I could... do to them. With my mum and dad in the cellar it was... well, I'd seen Dad fend off a fully-grown werewolf before. The werewolf was, erm, distracted—but still. My five-year-old mind didn't really comprehend what I could do. Every kid thinks of their mum and dad as invincible. And I'd never escaped before. It was... it was all just another fact of life. The grass is green. Boggarts are scary. Remus can't escape from the cellar. It was a fact; I'd never really dwelt on it. But now..."

"You think that you're dangerous."

"I am. I am dangerous. James' arm was nothing compared to what I could do, what I can do... You saw it, Madam Pomfrey. You see it every month. I could do so much worse than that. I could kill them all—murder them in cold blood without a second thought, or worse..." Remus trailed off.

"Worse?" Madam Pomfrey's voice sharpened considerably. "And what do you mean by that?"

Remus shrugged and fiddled with his pajama shirt.

"Do you mean to insinuate that surviving a werewolf bite is a fate... worse than death?"

"No. I wasn't thinking," said Remus, and he was telling the truth. He honestly hadn't meant it. It had just been a very stressful night.

Madam Pomfrey looked quite disturbed, but she—fortunately—did not push the matter. "So you have dreams of... you? Attacking them?"

Remus nodded very slightly. He wasn't even sure if Madam Pomfrey had caught the small motion, so he nodded again. "I can't do it anymore. I know I told you that I didn't want anything for the nightmares, but I can't. I can't keep seeing that every night."

"I don't blame you."

Remus sniffled a bit and then yawned. "But I will, if you want me to. I suppose."

"Absolutely not. I'll give you a Nightmare-Reducing Potion. We have plenty. You can take it for three days, and then your body will—hopefully—remember what a good night's sleep feels like and you won't need it anymore. Does that sound all right to you?"

"Erm... it doesn't affect anything... besides nightmares, right? Like, not while I'm awake?"

"I don't believe so. If you think you have an allergy, then come to me right away."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey." Remus did not like mind-altering potions or spells one bit, and he didn't want to take anything that affected his mental processes while awake. But a potion that simply reduced nightmares didn't sound so bad. It sounded pretty pleasant, actually.

"And, Remus—if you should ever need to talk..."

Remus had heard that phrase far too many times, and it was getting annoying. He wasn't like Sirius. He didn't like to talk through things—well, sometimes he did, but not right now. He was tired. "I know," he said. "May I go now? I'm exhausted."

"In fifteen minutes. And after you take the potion."

Remus groaned, but he obeyed. The potion didn't taste so bad—and it didn't seem to affect Remus' mind. Perhaps everything would be okay after all.

No, not just okay. It would be fine. Remus could say that word in his head; Madam Pomfrey couldn't control his thoughts.

A little more than fifteen minutes later, Remus arrived back at the dormitory and opened the door as quietly as possible—only to find all three Marauders sitting up, fully awake. James was poking the destroyed fifth bed in the corner of the room with his wand. Sirius was lying off of his bed, upside-down, and making funny faces. Peter was reading his Charms textbook and frowning. As soon as Remus stepped into the room, James whirled around and dropped his wand, Sirius fell off the bed, and Peter looked up and smiled.

"Remus!" said Peter. "They woke me up and told me that something was wrong with you. Is everything all right?"

"Of course it's not," said James, his face a little pale. "You're dying, aren't you? You got some sort of relapse and now you're dying."

"I'm not dying!" said Remus, closing the door.

"Oh. In that case, you're in big trouble for forgetting to do the Knock."

Remus sighed and tapped Moonlight Sonata lightly on Sirius' bed-post. "I thought you were sleeping. Happy now?"

"As long as you're not dying," quipped Sirius.

"I'm not. Why aren't you lot sleeping?"

"Well," started James, "You looked awful. Like you were dying. So we thought that maybe you were. Sirius and I came back to the dormitory and woke up Peter, and then we... erm..."

"Yes?" Remus' head hurt in the way that it usually did before they did something weird. "What did you do?"

James pulled back Remus' bed-curtains. Remus the Rock was placed on top of a perfectly-made bed, with pictures of Remus lying neatly on the covers and Bufo sitting in the middle of it all mournfully. One of Remus' jumpers was hanging from the bed-post like a flag. "We kind of made a..."

"Oh, Merlin's beard." Remus rubbed the bridge of his nose and tried very hard not to laugh. "You made a shrine. You actually made a shrine."

"Yeah. And then we sat around and waited for someone to deliver the bad news. Sirius and I made a bet on who would break it to us. He said Minerva. I said Poppy. Peter said Albus. And then we tried to figure out whether you would come back as a ghost or not and where they would bury you."

"I said that we should have a say," said Sirius, "since we're your dormmates and your best friends. But James said that your family would probably want to put you in a nice cemetery somewhere."

"Where did you want to bury me, if not a nice cemetery?" Remus asked, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Not bury you!" said Peter, as if a nice burial was something to be abhorred. "Never bury you! We wanted to Transfigure you into something. Like a..."

"Like a daisy," said James with a slight shake of his head. "And plant you somewhere with a nice view."

Remus crossed his arms. He didn't believe James one bit.

"Fine. We wanted to Transfigure you into Snivellus and then put your dead body in his bed with the curtains and covers drawn, so that he would go into his dormitory to sleep and find a dead version of himself sleeping in his bed."

Remus covered his mouth to stifle his simultaneous laughter and horror. "You are something else."

"Do we have permission to do that, then? If you die? It would be soooo funny..."

"Absolutely not. In fact, my final wish is that anyone who goes by the name of 'Marauder' is not allowed anywhere near my remains."

"That's good. I was thinking of changing our name to the 'Hogwarts Hooligans', anyway."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Let me rephrase. James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius are not allowed anywhere near my remains."

"Remus! How are we supposed to mourn properly?"

"With the shrine, obviously. Speaking of which, who's going to help me clear it off of my bed so that I can sleep?"

"Wanna talk about the nightmare first?" said James.

"No."

"Come on," wheedled Sirius. "I think we deserve to know, since you woke all of us up."

Remus' innards squirmed guiltily. "Er."

"We aren't going to judge, Remus," said Peter, and Remus scrambled to come up with something horrible enough to merit his panic.

"It was stupid," he said. "Not even about my mum at all. I dreamt that my hands were made of fire and that anyone who touched me burned alive. It was rather graphic and unpleasant. I don't even remember it all. Just a feeling of panic that wouldn't wear off when I woke up."

James nodded slowly, and Remus could tell that he didn't believe him. "Fire, hm?"

"Yes."

"Remus, if you don't want to talk about it, then..."

"That's the truth." Remus moved to clear the photographs off of his bed, but Sirius grabbed his arm.

"Oh no, you don't. We worked far too hard on that. We're gonna do something with it tomorrow morning. A photoshoot, maybe—I wanna use that camera that James got me some more."

"Where am I supposed to sleep, then?"

"I'll sleep in James' bed. You sleep in mine. Budge over, James."

Remus rolled his eyes and called them idiots, but in truth, he was very happy to sleep away from the window for once. He wouldn't have any nightmares tonight, and not just because of the Nightmare-Reducing Potion.

"Erm," he whispered, just as he was falling asleep in the bed that smelled so strongly of Sirius. "I'm really sorry..."

"Shut up," said Sirius from James' bed. "You're still bothered about what I said earlier, aren't you? It meant nothing, mate. I like to complain. Sometimes I exaggerate. I'm happy you're here. Now stop talking about it; you're only making me feel guilty and uncomfortable."

Remus grinned. He was asleep in five seconds flat, and his dreams were completely devoid of werewolves.

AN: I was watching a random channel on the TV a while ago. I thought I was watching a funeral of sorts, but it turned out to be the Oscars. They're oddly similar at first glance.