Sure enough, the Marauders woke Remus up the next morning to do a photoshoot next to the "shrine".

"Do we have to?" Remus moaned. "It's so early. The shrine isn't all that impressive, you know."

"It is!" protested Sirius. "You tricked us into thinking that you were dying, and now we are going to have the funeral that was promised to us."

"Promised to you by whom?" said Remus sleepily. "And what do you mean, funeral? I thought you were just going to take photos before you took the monstrosity down."

"By the universe," said James mournfully. Remus lifted his head and noticed that his friends were all dressed in black. He snorted in amusement before stuffing his head back under his pillow. "Now," said James importantly, "time to set the scene. Remus Lupin has died of a terrible, tragic illness. Poppy came into our dormitory last night..."

"No, Minerva," interjected Sirius, rudely ripping the pillow out of Remus' grasp.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!" said Peter.

"Fine. Questus. He likes Remus. Anyway, he came into our dormitory last night and said... Sirius, will you do the honors? You're best at impressions."

Sirius straightened up and gave them all a deadpan look with his eyebrows slightly raised. It was so Questus-like that Remus wanted to laugh, but he knew that he shouldn't encourage them... and he was still a little bitter about being woken up at six-fifteen in the morning. He'd been sleeping so well, too.

"Your friend Lupin's dead—died after a nasty bout of whatever illness he has. Had, past-tense. What is it, you ask? Don't know, don't care. The point is, he's dead." Sirius waggled his finger and narrowed his brows. "And this is no excuse to skip class tomorrow, I'll have you know."

Remus laughed a little, and James clapped his hands and continued the narrative. "Now we cry. Marauders: five minutes to mourn the loss of our dear friend Loopy McChinadoll."

There was a plethora of fake crying, and Remus struggled to keep a straight face.

"Okay! That's enough. Now we begin the funeral procession. Remus, pretend to be dead."

"I'm not going to pretend to be..." Sirius grabbed his feet, and James stuck his hands under Remus' arms, and then they lifted him into the air. It was very uncomfortable (especially with his wounds—which were healing, but still sore), and Remus shrieked and tried to wiggle free. "Let me go! I never agreed to this!"

"You're dead! Dead people don't speak. Now be quiet."

Remus wondered if it would be fun to play along. He figured he might as well—it wasn't as if he was going to escape his friends' evil clutches anytime soon. "I am dead. Bleurgh," he said sarcastically, and then he closed his eyes. That felt nice. He was very tired.

"Good. Well, not good. It's horrible that Remus is dead. Sing the music, Sirius."

Sirius started singing a song that Remus recognized as a sort of Latin Gregorian chant, but he didn't know which one, and Sirius' pronunciation was completely wrong (probably on purpose, Remus reflected). Sirius had a nice voice, actually, and Remus started to feel even more groggy. "I'm glad I'm not actually dead," he commented. "It would be a shame to miss this."

Sirius stopped singing to say, "Shut up. You're dead," and then resumed the song.

James tried to sing along, but he didn't actually know the words, so he just ending up saying "Death, dying, dead, death! Death, dying, dead, death!" over and over and over again like some sort of sick mantra in an awful falsetto voice. Remus tried very, very hard not to laugh. He lost the battle when Peter started singing God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs because "it was the only song he could think of".

"Stop—death, dying, dead, death—laughing!" protested James. "Dead people don't laugh!"

Remus shut up, and Sirius and James dropped him unceremoniously on the floor. Remus squinted his eyes open a little to watch James perform a flourishing cut-off, and the three Marauders' voices trailed off.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." started James, but Sirius interrupted him.

"That's a marriage, stupid."

"...to celebrate the marriage between Remus Lupin and the afterlife," continued James, glaring at Sirius. "So I'm right."

Remus blinked. "That makes no sense."

"You're dead!"

"Sorry."

"Anyway. Remus Lupin was a wonderful friend. Mostly. He was such a respected member of society that he even had a rock named after him. I'll never forget the time that he saved my life after I fell off of my broomstick—not my fault!—and the time he saved Sirius after falling off a staircase—also not my fault!—and the time he interrupted Minerva's class and got a whole ten points for it. And when he helped us throw a Dungbomb into Snivellus' common room."

"I'm going to miss his wonderfully sarcastic comments," Sirius said, but his words were somewhat obscured by melodramatic weeping. "And the TBC. The Buffalo's Call, for those of you who are uneducated. I won't miss his constantly correcting my grammar, but I'll miss his endless revising and the fact that he dressed up as James for Halloween and all that. Life will be so boring without him!"

"I don't know how I'm going to pass my classes without him!" wailed Peter. "I'll fail everything! And who am I going to have conversations with? And who's going to tell me I'm not stupid, even though I am?"

"You're not stupid," said Remus without thinking, and Peter improvised admirably.

"It's almost like I can still hear him... a tiny voice in the air telling me that I'm not stupid. I suppose I shall always have his voice in my head. He's never truly gone."

"He lives in our hearts!" wept Sirius. "Forever! I don't know how I'll ever be rid of him, the annoying git!"

James punched Sirius' arm. "And that's a good thing, because we love that annoying git to pieces! Right?"

"Are you still trying to make up for what you said yesterday?" said Remus. "Because I'm over it. Completely."

"Did you hear something?" said Sirius, turning to James.

"No," said James. "Did you, Pete?"

"Nope," said Peter. "Nothing. Only the sound of the wind."

"If Remus' dead body had its eyes open right now, I would tell it to close them," said James sharply, and Remus closed his eyes.

Sirius started to sing again (James joined in with "Here Comes the Bride") and Remus eventually drifted off to sleep from his place on the floor. He knew that falling asleep in the middle of his own funeral was probably a bit tacky, but he really was exhausted. And it was so comfortable on the floor.

Even though he was getting an awful crick in his neck.

He woke up to more sobbing, and he wondered if the "funeral" had been going on the whole time. He kept his eyes closed and listened. From their scents, they were all standing very close to him. "Wow, he really does look dead," fake-sobbed James. "Perhaps we really did kill him with all this talk of funerals."

"Poor Loopy!" wailed Sirius. "It won't ever be the same without him."

"May you rest in peace," said Peter quietly.

And idea formed in Remus' brain, and he sat up as fast as he could. "Boo!" he shouted, and Sirius fell backwards, James yelped, and Peter ran all the way to the other side of the room.

"Merlin's beard, Lupin! That was terrifying!" said Sirius, a little out of breath. "Breakfast is in fifteen minutes. But I got oodles of photos. And we... might have tried—and failed—to open your trunk."

Remus glanced at the purple antennae sprouting from James' head and arms. "I can see that," he said dryly. "You know, going through a dead man's possessions is hardly proper etiquette."

"But you're not a man," said James, and Remus froze.

They'd figured it out. He was a wolf, a werewolf, and he was a complete and utter monster... that's why they had been so afraid when he suddenly sat up, that's why they had been secretly hoping that he would die and they could perform his funeral...

"You're a boy. You're only eleven. Like us. So it's perfectly fine to go through your stuff," explained James, and Remus' heartbeat slowed down. His thoughts had been irrational anyhow, but they never seemed to be so in the moment.

"Okay. Fine. But I really don't like it, and I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop doing that," said Remus crossly. He sat up and stretched. "You'll have to show me those photos after breakfast."

"Sure thing!" said James. "Come on, let's go. You have permission to not be dead anymore, Remus."

"You split an infinitive," Remus mumbled, and Sirius pushed him back down.

"Stay dead if you're gonna be like that," he complained, and Remus laughed and tried to push him off.

"You idiot. You need me; you said so yourself. Now let me up so that I can change. And brush your teeth—if I have to breathe in any more of your morning breath, then I'm going to die for real."

Breakfast was interesting for a variety of reasons. First, the Daily Prophet finally published that article that Dumbledore had told Remus about after the last full moon: the reason why suspicion of werewolves in the Shack would decrease. He really had come up with a brilliant plan.

Shrieking Shack Fosters Complaints. Hogsmeade Villagers have been complaining about odd shrieking noises coming from the building outside Hogsmeade. These shrieking noises have been getting more and more frequent: in fact, they've been happening every other day since December second. "No wonder Dumbledore relocated those ghosts," says Burton Tenney, shopkeeper in Hogsmeade. "They must be extremely dangerous to be so vocal." Villagers are warned to stay away from the house.

But not all the villagers agree. "Ghosts aren't dangerous," argues Tenney's wife. But Dumbledore addressed this topic a week ago, saying that these are not ghosts, they are spirits—spirits akin to the likes of Peeves.

"You're likely to be humiliated, bothered, and possibly killed if you enter," says Dumbledore while attempting to knit a pair of slippers. "I've been keeping them locked up in a wardrobe, but they're becoming far too strong to keep in there. Don't worry: the Shrieking Shack should keep them contained for the time being, although I might have to move them again in a few years, depending. Oh, bother." Here, Dumbledore missed a stitch, dropped his knitting needles, and was too busy looking for them to continue the interview.

Remus brandished the article under James' nose triumphantly. "See? No werewolves!"

James made a face. "Okay, yeah, we get it. Dad's moved on from werewolf rights, anyhow. Probably saw sense. Now he's focusing on the practical use of television sets in wizarding homes."

Remus wasn't sure whether he was glad that James' dad was no longer focused on werewolves or disappointed that there was one less person fighting for werewolf rights.

"Anyway," said James, brightening up considerably, "I want to do Marauder Christmas on the nineteenth. Saturday. Tomorrow. So I need you to pick out presents for us, so that I can buy them for you. That's what I was trying to discuss with you in History of Magic the other day before Snivellus cursed me, that greasy git."

"I can't take your money," said Remus uncomfortably. "The book that you bought me for Peter on his birthday was plenty."

"Hey, not fair for you not to get us gifts," said Sirius, waggling his finger. "We all got you gifts already."

"You did?"

"Of course! You thought that we would expect you to get us presents and then not get you any?"

Remus tried to imagine Sirius, James, and Peter each picking out a gift for him. It made his heart hurt a little, but in a good way. "Er, I... can't take your money," he protested again.

"Stubborn twit," said James. "I have plenty. Don't worry about it."

"I'll get your gifts on my own," said Remus. "You don't need to pay for me."

"And how, pray tell, will you get us gifts?" Sirius said. "We already know that you don't have money. We're not judging or anything."

"If you don't mind not getting expensive gifts, I'd like to get you something on my own."

"Okay, fine. Fine. Do whatever you want."

"If you're okay with it..."

"Your presence is presents enough," said James, giving Remus an exaggerated, sweeping bow.

"I know," said Remus, nodding. "You live to bask in my glory."

"You sound like James," said Sirius, and James chucked a sausage at him.

Remus knew exactly what to get for Sirius.

He had brought one of his dad's photo albums from home (in case he got homesick). Seeing as he hated looking at pictures of himself, he hadn't really looked through it. That afternoon, he skipped lunch to go up to the dormitory alone and empty it out.

There were pictures of his mother and father that Remus looked at with a slight longing. There was one of his dad laughing after Remus had been practicing with his wand—his hair was bright blue and there was a plant growing out of his head. Remus' levitation charm had failed miserably.

There was one of his mum cooking supper with Remus sleeping on the couch. The full moon had been two nights before. Remus' arm was hanging off the side of the couch, his mouth was slightly open, and he was pale as death itself. His mum was clearly trying to smile as she stirred the pasta, but wasn't succeeding. Remus shuddered and put the photo aside.

There was one of Remus on Christmas. They didn't have a tree, but Remus was wearing a red jumper and there was tinsel in his hair and tape on his nose. He was laughing here, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

There was one of Remus and his mum hanging upside-down off of the couch. They'd been in a competition to see who could do so the longest. Remus didn't remember who had won.

There was one of Remus and his dad playing catch, but Remus was doing so on the couch because he hadn't had enough strength to go outside. There was one of Remus trying to fold a piece of paper into a butterfly. There was Remus helping his mum make dinner and wearing a silly apron.

He sighed and set all the photos aside. They just made him feel sorry for himself. Finally, though, the album was empty and ready to be re-gifted to Sirius. It was Muggle, so it could be duplicated very easily if Sirius wanted to make copies. Sometimes wizards put charms on their products to bar duplication spells so that they could make more money, but Muggles, obviously, didn't do that. It was the perfect gift, especially since Sirius had talked about a "Marauders photo album" earlier. Remus put the discarded photos at the bottom of his suitcase, plucked a photo off the wall of all four Marauders posing for the camera, and put it in the album. There, that would start Sirius off.

James had showed Remus the photos from Remus' funeral during breakfast. Most of them had been dramatic poses of Sirius, James, and Peter next to the shrine or the limp body of Remus (who was fast asleep). Remus didn't like seeing his unconscious form; that's how he'd looked half of the hours preceding and following the previous full moon. But at least his friends had had fun.

His friends. He'd never tire of the phrase.

The gift for James was a little bit harder; it took a lot of research in the library. He decided to work on it while his friends were in detention. Again. Their detentions were adding up to about five or six days a week. This particular detention was for charming beetles to stick in Evans' hair during Herbology.

It took two hours to figure out how to perform the spell for James' present, and it was very difficult to focus with the looks that Madam Pince was giving him. He was borrowing five books, all at the same time, and he had them all spread out on a desk to the pages that he needed. He couldn't cast the spell nonverbally, but Remus was very good at being quiet due to his enhanced hearing. Still, the noise was apparently too much for the stern Madam Pince.

After some amount of time, Remus had successfully performed the spell on a pebble. Now it was time to do the real thing.

Curfew was about thirty minutes away, so he put all the books away (carefully and quietly) and then started making his way to Hagrid's. It was snowing, but fortunately, Remus had brought his scarf.

"Hullo, Remus!" said Hagrid when Remus finally arrived, teeth chattering. "Come on in! On'y have twenty minutes before curfew, but tha's plenty of time fer a cuppa!"

"No thank you, Hagrid," said Remus as politely as possible. "Maybe another day. I was only wondering if Fang had any extra balls. You know: plastic, rubber. Preferably rubber. I saw some in the corner the other day and I was wondering if you had any to spare."

"O' course!" said Hagrid. "Fang's a lazy lump, he is. He never really plays with anything. Why do yeh need it?"

"Present for James," Remus explained, squeezing out his wet hair. "For Christmas." He explained what he wanted the ball to do, and Hagrid laughed.

"From what yeh've told me abou' James, tha' seems like the perfect gift. Tell me wha' he thinks of it!"

"I will," said Remus, and thanked Hagrid profusely as Hagrid handed him a small, red rubber ball.

He returned to his dormitory and performed the charm behind his curtains, being careful not to disturb his friends (who hardly noticed him anyway; they were having a fierce pillow fight). The charm worked perfectly, and Remus smiled before placing it in his hexed trunk. Then he joined the Marauders in the pillow fight—unfortunately, he was beaten mercilessly by Sirius.

Remus thought long and hard about Peter's present, but he couldn't think what to get him at all. Peter didn't have any passions, like Sirius and photography and James and Quidditch. He was good at plenty of things, Remus was sure, but empathy and bravery wasn't really... giftable. So Remus thought long and hard.

Finally, the idea fell into place—as if it had been there all along—and Remus just knew that it was perfect.

The next morning was the nineteenth. Remus woke up before curfew with the intent of nicking James' Invisibility Cloak, but James woke up upon hearing Remus get out of bed. "Please don't tell me that you have to visit your mum," James groaned. "Today is Marauder Christmas!"

"Don't worry," Remus assured him. "I'm staying here today. May I borrow the Cloak?"

James sat up straight in bed and rubbed his eyes. "Remus Lupin out after curfew, completely unprompted? This is new! Can I come?"

"No," said Remus. "It has to do with Marauder Christmas. It's a surprise."

"Fine," mumbled James before lying back down and sullenly pulling the covers over his head. Remus took the Cloak, even though James hadn't technically granted him permission, and threw it over himself. This was going to be fun.

It was a lot easier to sneak around the castle without three other people under the Cloak, and he could stop and hide from teachers, Mrs. Norris, and Prefects without worrying about his friends noticing his super-human sense of smell and hearing. He managed to get everything done in time to return to the dormitory and get dressed before his friends woke up.

He wore his red jumper and sat down on his bed with a book, smiling madly.

Today was going to be wonderful—poor or wealthy, werewolf or human, Pureblood or half-blood—and Remus could not wait.

AN: This is a friendly reminder to stop procrastinating.