Sirius Black hated Remus Lupin.

Hated him. Hated him. HATED HIM!

How dare Remus? How dare he trick his friends into trusting him? How dare he lie? It was ridiculous! It was morally questionable enough to lie about something so terrible as one's own mother being deathly ill, but all those other things?! Sirius didn't even know who Remus was anymore! It was all so stupid!

Sirius was almost blown off of his feet by the injustice of it all, and the horror of the Secrecy Sensor buzzing in his pocket as Remus detailed his entire life haunted his every thought whenever he looked at Remus. Because this was supposed to be Remus. This was supposed to be Remus Lupin, with whom Sirius had always felt a sort of kinship. James and Peter had great lives, but Remus was the only one who understood exactly what it was like to have a hard one. They'd even formed a little two-person club back in first year. The "Tragic Backstory Club", they called it, though they'd tended to change the name whenever they spoke of it.

Sirius thought of the hours spent talking to Remus behind bedcurtains—the hours' worth of sensitive, true information he'd shared with this pathological liar. Sirius had only ever asked for Remus when he was particularly distraught—James was always the perfect listener, but the fact that his life was just as perfect as his listening skills sometimes made Sirius angry. Sirius liked finding solidarity in Remus' awful life. Remus' life wasn't as awful as Sirius' was, no, but Sirius loved to talk about things—he loved having people to connect with. He could connect his awful life with Remus' awful life, and the fact that he wasn't the only one with an awful life made him feel safe.

Had Remus lied about all that? That was downright villainous of him. Unfair. Sirius hated Remus Lupin.

Because Remus' mother had never been ill, and he wasn't ill himself. Remus had told Sirius once, in a moment of sympathy for Sirius and his awful family, that his own extended relatives had disliked and eventually disowned him. Had that ever happened, though? What was a lie, and what was the truth? Sirius didn't know, and James had ordered that they didn't confront Remus about it (for some stupid reason. Sirius loved James, but sometimes he was so stupid).

And it hurt so much. Remus was the only other person besides James that Sirius could trust with the details of his life, but that was all gone now. Who was Remus? Who was the person that Sirius had told all of his secrets to? Because it certainly hadn't been the person whom Sirius had known and liked!

And Remus had been so nice and understanding and clever, too. Not as clever as James and Sirius, of course, but clever all the same. He always said the right things, and he always made the right jokes. Remus had a perfect balance of humor-to-sympathy when Sirius was telling him things, and Sirius always appreciated that. He appreciated Remus, because he was Remus Lupin: a good listener, a good friend, and the keeper of an annoyingly straight moral compass.

Except that wasn't true anymore, because Remus was a pathological liar. It had never been true. One couldn't have a moral compass at all and lie that much.

Who was Remus, really? Sirius had no clue. At this point, Sirius wouldn't have been surprised if Remus was actually a six-year-old girl named Steve who lived in Ukraine and liked to smoke cigars. Because none of it had been true. It had all been a lie. It had all been a sick manipulation of Sirius' thoughts, emotions, and logic, and it was ultimately unforgivable (even though James said there was probably a good reason behind the lies. Because what good enough reason could there be?).

Remus had been the only person in the world that understood... but did he even? Why had he lied?!

Sirius told all of these things to James (behind the privacy of James' curtains) the night that Remus was mysteriously missing (again).

"Look, mate," said James, doing that thing with his hair. "Remember when you came here and you were throwing around slurs like they were nothing?"

"Yeah, that dumb M-word. I don't really get why it's bad, since 'Pureblood' isn't a dirty word. Why would the opposite be a slur? Why haven't they gotten rid of the word 'Pureblood', too? But yeah. I remember, and I stopped. Well, mostly. I'm working on it. Felt kind of awful that I'd fallen for my family's lies like that."

"Yeah, I remember. You were worried I'd hate you and think you to be a prejudiced git like the rest of them."

"Uh-huh."

"And I told you that I didn't care. I didn't care about your family, and I didn't care about your upbringing, and I didn't care what you were used to saying and hearing and doing. I didn't care who you used to be; I only care about who you are now. And you appreciated that, didn't you?"

"Are you waiting for me to say 'thank you'? Because I'm a man. Men don't say 'thank you'. My dad never does, at least."

"No, I'm trying to make a point. Look, Sirius: I don't care about how Remus used to be, either. His background doesn't really matter, does it? The only thing that matters is who he is now, and I know for a fact that he's a good person."

Sirius thought about it. It actually kind of made sense. But still. How could James know if Remus was a good person or not? Remus hadn't told the truth about anything else, so perhaps his "nice person" exterior was merely a front. "It's just that he hasn't been open about his problems," said Sirius. "I was open about mine, wasn't I?"

"Little too open and talkative sometimes," chortled James, and Sirius lobbed a pillow at him. "Kidding! Only kidding."

"Git. But Remus... he lied about everything. Why couldn't he just have told us that he had a secret?"

"You really think that we would have stopped pressing him for answers?" said James. "We'd've been curious forever. We'd've kept prodding him until he either told us the truth or left Hogwarts. Depends on how awful the secret is."

We'd've. Relaxed grammar made Sirius so happy—he copied James' grammatical errors and informal contractions all the time. It was so different from the Perfect Pureblood Syntax that Sirius' parents had instilled into him at an early age. And the fact that Remus kept good-naturedly correcting him made Sirius feel like he was doing something against the rules—something truly rebellious against his awful family. Sirius liked that.

But it hurt to think about Remus with anything other than annoyed derision right now, so Sirius donned the derision once again and imagined punching Remus' face in.

"You think we'd've prodded him? I dunno, like what we're doing now?" said Sirius bitterly. "Maybe you would've prodded him. I'd've stuck by him. I'm a good friend like that."

"Like you're doing right now?" echoed James, a self-righteous smirk on his face.

"Shut up. I am. But it's different now, 'cos he lied to us." Sirius looked in the direction of Remus' empty bed, as if he could see through the curtains. "And now he's gone again."

"I told you, he really is ill. I can vouch for him."

"He's not ill at all, though. The Secrecy Sensor said so."

"But he wasn't ill then, stupid. Maybe that's what the Secrecy Sensor meant. He wasn't ill at the exact moment that we asked the question, but he does get ill a lot."

That sort of made sense. "Okay," said Sirius. "Doesn't change the fact that he lied to us a ton."

"I do hate how he didn't trust us," said James, frowning. Sirius leaned forward eagerly. James didn't often talk about his own feelings—he much preferred to be the all-knowing, self-righteous helper—and Sirius was quite curious about how James was really feeling. "I just... we trusted him with so much. You told him about your family. I told him I'm afraid of cockroaches, and that's extremely sensitive information. Peter must've told him a bunch of things—they spend so much time together alone. Why couldn't he have told us the secret?" James sounded genuinely hurt. "I would've stood by him no matter what."

"But now...?" said Sirius, desperately wanting James to feel the same way he did.

"I still will, of course." James gave Sirius a scrutinizing look that looked kind of ridiculous on the twelve-year-old face with the thick, rectangular spectacles. "And so will you?"

Sirius thought about Remus. He thought about James. Then he thought about his other options... but it didn't take long, because he didn't really have any. He couldn't lose this; he'd go insane without his friends. Sirius was a little like Remus (if Remus had been telling the truth about this particular thing) in the sense that he'd never really had friends before. He and his brother had played together, sure, before his brother was stupid enough to act like a Slytherin before he'd even gotten his letter. Sirius had also played with Andromeda as a kid, and there had been other Pureblood children that he didn't mind having about. But he'd never really had friends like James... and Remus, even. He would never give that up.

"Yeah," said Sirius finally. "No matter what. After all, I'm a bit of a prat sometimes, too. We've all got our faults."

"Exactly!" said James. "We're annoying, Pettigrew's dumb as rocks, and Remus is a pathological liar. Look at the four of us!"

"The Marauders," said Sirius.

"Marauders," echoed James.

"Marauders," said Sirius, wanting to have the last word.

"Marauders!" said James.

"Marauders!"

"Marauders!

"Marauders!"

"Good night, you annoying git."

"Good night, you self-absorbed prat."

"Good night."

"Good night."

But neither of them went to sleep—they kept talking for hours about whatever popped into their heads. Merlin's beard, Sirius loved having a friend like James Potter.

But.

Then again.

The talk with James hadn't snapped Sirius out of it like he thought it would, and he couldn't help but treat Remus like the liar that he was over breakfast one morning. He'd tried to be nice, he really had, but it was so hard. Being nice was for losers, anyway, and now that he'd finished breakfast and thoroughly offended Remus, Sirius was ruminating on his Not-Mistakes (they were not mistakes, because Sirius had meant everything he'd said, and it wasn't his fault that Remus had gotten all sad and self-pitying. Remus was annoying like that).

As he sulked in the dormitory, James and Peter came dashing in. They didn't even do their secret Marauder Knocks first, which soured Sirius' mood even further. "What is wrong with you?" James hissed. "I thought his past didn't matter! I thought you were going to be nice!"

"I tried."

"You didn't try very hard."

"But he's being all sensitive, isn't he?" groused Sirius. "I didn't even say anything wrong."

"It's more about what you didn't say," said James. "And how you acted. Idiot. We're returning Bufo because Remus is too afraid of you to come back up to the dormitory. He's hanging out with Minerva. Proves how desperate he is for company, eh?" James plopped Bufo onto the knitted Gryffindor hat that Remus had repurposed as a pillow (Remus' father had tried to make it—supposedly—but it had been so badly knitted that it was unwearable—supposedly. Sirius couldn't trust anything that kid said anymore).

Bufo the Toad croaked, and Sirius vaguely wondered if Bufo was even a toad. Was he even real? Was he a cardboard cutout? He couldn't trust a thing of Remus' anymore, and he hated it.

James didn't seem to be deterred by the cardboard cutout's croaks. "I'll fix my tie on the way down, Pete. We've got a few minutes left. Let's go. Coming, Sirius?"

"No," muttered Sirius. "Skiving."

"You're pretty young to be a delinquent," said James, and Sirius' heart lifted a bit at the jest. "All right, Pete. Run like the wind. Or a Nimbus!"

Then they left the room, and Sirius was alone.

He walked over to Remus' bed and sat there, closing the curtains and looking around. Remus had put photos of the four of them on the top of his four-poster (Sirius could see them perfectly lying down) which was actually rather sweet. Sirius hadn't known about that.

He peeked under Remus' bed. There were a myriad books, and Sirius frowned. He hated books. He was pretty sure he was allergic, actually. As he was considering nicking them all, just to be a git, he saw a small bundle of papers. It couldn't hurt to take a look, right...? He stretched out his hand...

...and then changed his mind. Knowing Remus, they were hexed. Besides, Sirius really couldn't trust anything of Remus' right now.

He walked over to James' bed. He and James shared a trunk now—James had shared so many of Sirius' things at this point that it wasn't really distinguishable what was James' and what was Sirius'. He started flipping through their shared trunk idly.

There were some textbooks, never opened for more than a few seconds. There were some clothes—not all of them were clean. There were lots of Dungbombs, and quite a few sweets. And then... there was a book.

It had a glossy cover, and Quidditch Strategies was written on it in dark ink. Sirius grinned and flipped it open, wanting to see James' handwriting in his time of emotional distress. James wouldn't care. James had no secrets (unlike Remus, that horrible liar).

But the book, keeping up with the theme of foolery and deception that seemed to be following Sirius wherever he went, did not contain Quidditch strategies. It was a store-bought book about—Sirius opened to the cover page—about werewolves.

Werewolves.

Well, it was worth a read, even though Sirius was probably allergic to books. It was probably left over from James' stupid "Remus' mum is a werewolf!" theory. Besides, Sirius needed something to take his mind off things, because he was going to go mad if he kept...

Wait.

What?

Oh.

Oh!

As Sirius flipped through the book, the truth became blindingly apparent: things he'd already known, but hadn't been together in one place before... things they'd attributed to other causes... things Remus had explained away with that same panicked look in his eyes. Terrible things. Suspicious things. Incriminating things. Things that finally, finally made sense.

Werewolves are ill before and after the full moon... werewolves are very dangerous in wolf form and must be restrained... there is no known cure for lycanthropy... werewolf bites and scratches will never fully fade... can only be sealed with a mixture of silver and Dittany...

Holy mackerel. Merlin's pants. Blimey!

"Well, give me some gold and call me a Niffler," Sirius mumbled. "This is the only thing that's made sense all day."

That was why Remus was usually peaky—he wasn't ill; he was a werewolf. And that's why Remus disappeared on the full moon—he wasn't visiting his sick mum; he was a werewolf. It couldn't be cured. He might not live long. He wasn't dying. He had scars all over him (from the werewolf that bit him, probably?).

Sirius remembered the tiny bottle that Remus always carried around—it fell out of his pocket while they were goofing around, sometimes, and he'd always hurriedly pick it up and put it back in. Or he'd take it out when he thought no one was looking and rub a bit on his thumb... and sometimes he left it in his trouser pockets, and then he'd panic and look through the pockets of his dirty laundry to find it before he went out anywhere. Sirius had thought that it was some sort of medication. Was it silver and Dittany? In case he accidentally scratched someone... or himself?

Remus Lupin—lovably stupid, sarcastic, bookworm extraordinaire—was like Fenrir Greyback. He was a werewolf, with fur and claws and horrible long teeth once a month.

Blimey.

Sirius ground his teeth together and flipped to another page. It was a drawing of a werewolf, with shaggy fur and muscles all over and fangs protruding past its lips, dripping saliva. It had a tufted tail and a short snout, and its claws were long and sharp.

That was Remus! Seriously! Once a month, that was Remus Lupin.

No, that couldn't be right. It couldn't be right at all.

Sirius put down the book and furrowed his eyebrows so deeply it hurt. Remus? A werewolf? It fit together so nicely... but it couldn't be right! Remus was only twelve! He was... well, he was Remus! Twelve-year-olds couldn't be werewolves—not quiet, nice ones like Remus. No, werewolves were dirty, feral, and murderous. But Remus wouldn't hurt a fly, and he'd probably start crying and apologizing if he did it accidentally, that annoying crybaby.

And Sirius knew about werewolves. They lured people in... gave them a false sense of security... and then, when the time was right, they struck with all the glory of a hulking monster on four legs! Werewolves were monsters all the time, even when they looked human. Yes, indeed! That had never been in question.

...Right?

Sirius' mum had ranted for hours about a "murdering half-breed" being allowed to live. Sirius' father had glimpsed Greyback once, and he had waxed poetic about how awful the monster was. Sirius' family were definitely not supportive of werewolves—before James had mentioned his father's obsessions last year, Sirius hadn't been aware that any good and decent person could be "supportive of werewolves". Like, seriously?! Who could support werewolves? They killed people! That was like being supportive of trolls or something. Werewolves were only dumb animals, and Sirius' mother had always said...

Hang on.

Sirius' mother.

Sirius' mother didn't like werewolves. But she didn't like half-bloods, either... or Muggle-borns. She didn't like anyone, much.

But James... James said that half-bloods and Muggle-borns were all right. James' dad said that werewolves were all right, too. And Sirius wanted to believe that Remus was "all right"... yes, he so desperately wanted to believe in Remus' humanity, and not just because he didn't particularly fancy being murdered in his sleep by a ravenous monster.

He had already gotten rid of so many of his prejudices and ideas about society. His family had been wrong about so much. What if...?

No.

But... yes. Yes. Remus was only Remus. It was like James had said: Sirius already knew Remus. He liked Remus. Remus was a good person, if one ignored all the lying and sneaking. It wasn't much of a stretch for the Black family to be wrong about another thing, right? What if Greyback wasn't a monster, either? Perhaps the newspaper articles had been wrong about him...? Just as the books had been wrong about Remus!

Sirius remembered his late-night conversation with James—he loved late-night conversations with James, huddled in the dark of night behind the curtains, Remus' deep sleep-breathing and Peter's snores surrounding them as they whispered, reverent and hushed as church mice. Behind the curtains that night, Sirius had basically sworn to support Remus no matter what.

No matter what!

James didn't know Remus' secret, no. But Sirius did, and Sirius would support Remus, because they were friends!

And Sirius' family were wrong!

Take that, Blacks!

Sirius was used to taking full one-eighties after receiving information from James, but now he was making a one-eighty on information that he had decided for himself. His family no longer controlled his thinking. No one did. He was going to make his own decisions, make his own friends, and be his own person. He was Sirius, friend of James Potter and Remus Lupin. He was Sirius, good on a broom and in the classroom. He was Sirius, who was friends with a werewolf and proud of it! Heck, he was Sirius Black, and his surname didn't define him one bit! His mum would never approve, but thank goodness for that! She didn't deserve to approve, and Sirius didn't care about her, anyhow. He was twelve now, almost thirteen. That was plenty old enough to make his own decisions!

Sirius didn't want to rely on anyone, not even James, because there was no telling how James would react. James' father supported werewolves, but people weren't their families, so that didn't necessarily mean that James supported werewolves. They'd never really talked about it before, and Sirius seriously doubted that James was a secret werewolf supporter. Sirius would've known if James was, because James had no secrets from Sirius.

Now, Sirius had a secret from James... but it was okay, because it was for James' own good! And James had never been angry with Remus for keeping secrets, so Sirius saw no reason why he'd hate Sirius for doing the same.

Besides, keeping Remus' secret was the right thing to do as a good friend. Sirius would keep Remus' secret for the rest of his life. He'd drag his own friends away from finding out, just as Remus had. He'd stick with Remus through thick and thin. His mother would hate it, his father would hate it, his brother would hate it... but Sirius didn't care about any of them. And it was possible that James would hate Remus, but... well. Sirius loved James even more than his own brother, but James didn't need to know the truth—he was supporting Remus just fine without it. And now Sirius would support Remus in his own way. He'd keep Remus' secret, he'd help Remus with all his might, and he wouldn't even tell Remus that he knew, because that would only make Remus panic.

He was like some sort of undercover superhero! Oh, this was going to be fun.

But wait.

With an awful jolt that he felt in the pit of his stomach, Sirius remembered all of the awful things he'd said about Greyback. That terrible thing he'd said about Remus' mum back in first year while Remus was in the shower... back when James had thought that she was the werewolf... If they had any sense of decency, they'd get rid of her. She could hurt someone.

He had actually said that. He'd essentially said that Remus deserved to die. That Remus' family were stupid and indecent for keeping around a werewolf.

That was why Remus hadn't told them. Maybe he'd been working up the courage, waiting to see if he could trust them... and then Sirius went and made some stupid comments about werewolves! This was Sirius' fault!

But it was okay.

It was fine!

It would all be okay, because Sirius Orion Black was going to fix it if it was the last thing he did. That was his Undercover Superhero Mission, and he was going to succeed—come fire, come rain, come hail, come death. He would succeed no matter what, because Sirius was a good friend... and, what was more, his mother would be furious if she found out (and she wouldn't find out, of course, but it was the principle of the thing).

Sirius grinned into his pillow. Making his mother furious, even if it was just in his imagination, was one of his favorite pastimes.

"Of course I don't have a problem," said Sirius to Remus that evening, and he tried his best to be nice in a happy-go-lucky sort of way. "I'm really sorry for making you think I do, mate. I only got a letter from my mum... and I was caught off-guard. But I'm not angry with you. No one is. You're brilliant."

Remus' face rearranged into a stunned expression, and then he... almost smiled. The edge of his mouth quirked up just a little, and his eyebrows knitted together slightly—like he was confused and happy all at once. Sirius felt a little wave of panic as he gazed at Remus' mouth, and then reminded himself that Remus wasn't going to eat him and reprimanded himself sharply for his own prejudice. He wasn't like his family.

Sirius kept stealing glances at Remus as he was flying with James, watching the sky turn to dusk and the students trickle inside as curfew began. Remus had an book on his lap, and he was shivering slightly in the chill of the evening with his jumper clutched around his arms, and he was smiling. A real smile. He had his hand over his mouth, but he was smiling all the same.

Sirius cringed as he realized why Remus covered his mouth so much. He was probably hiding fangs or something of that nature.

But Sirius didn't care! He wasn't like his family. He was his own person. And Remus wasn't like society thought him to be, because he was his own person, too.

And, now that Sirius thought about it—maybe Remus hadn't been lying about his life. Not completely.

He'd been scared to leave the house as a child? That was probable, if the wizarding world was out to get him. His family had mostly left him? Also probable, if he was a werewolf. He'd been lonely as a kid? The Marauders were his first friends? Probable as well. Remus hadn't been lying after all—he'd merely been twisting the truth a bit.

And he was still Remus. He was still the same Remus that Sirius quite liked. He was still the same Remus as he'd always been! And Sirius wasn't afraid of him, not one bit.

So as the four of them were walking back to the castle, walking as quickly as they could because they had pushed curfew quite a bit, Sirius slung his arm around Remus' shoulders—yes, he was touching a werewolf, and the thought was insane. Remus stiffened a bit and looked at Sirius, but Sirius wasn't deterred. He merely smiled and waved his hand a bit, motioning for James.

James came over now, too, and put his arm around Remus' other shoulder. And then Peter put his around James'. They walked like that, shoulder to shoulder, Remus with the same surprised-happy look on his face.

"Today's a good day!" declared James, making Remus jump. Sirius snickered, and Remus punched him in the arm a little.

"That's so random," said Remus, rolling his eyes. "And can the two of you let go of me? You're being annoying."

"Nope," said Sirius, and Remus tried to punch him again, but James grabbed his arm before he could—a quick tussle ensued that Remus unequivocally lost—and then they continued walking, still arm-in-arm like a quartet of idiots doing a three-legged race. Well, not three-legged. Five-legged.

Sirius couldn't help being a bit proud of himself—here he was, touching a werewolf, and he wasn't even panicking. It felt totally normal. Sirius was touching a werewolf, and he didn't even care. Take that, Mum! Take that, Dad! Take that, Blacks!

He gave Remus a knowing look—I know about you, and I don't care, he tried to say with his eyes.

Remus raised an eyebrow quizzically. "You look constipated, mate."

Sirius rolled his eyes and swatted Remus' arm (not too hard, though. Sirius wasn't quite brave enough to start a real fight with an actual werewolf. It was entirely possible that Remus had been hiding super-strength this whole time).

They rushed down the corridors, arm-in-arm—Sirius and James were much faster than Remus and Peter, so Remus and Peter were lagging behind and laughing, being dragged mercilessly by James' long-legged strides and Sirius' sprinting. It was kind of uncomfortable, actually, but it worked—if one ignored Remus' half-hearted complaints as they positively dragged the poor boy down the corridor. They passed McGonagall, and Sirius stopped in his tracks. The four of them separated.

"Hey, Minerva," said James, and Sirius snickered.

"Good evening. Curfew is very close, you four," she said. Then she looked at Remus and smiled. Remus smiled back, still breathing hard for trying to keep up. "Four points from Gryffindor for running in the corridors. Hurry back, now... but don't run."

"Sure, Minerva," said Sirius.

"Sounds great, Minerva," said Peter.

"Okey-dokey, Minerva," said James.

"Of course, Professor McGonagall," promised Remus.

Sirius poked him in the side. "You don't really understand how this game works, do you?"

"I think Lupin understands the game far more than you three do," said McGonagall, a small, tight smile gracing her features. "In fact, I do believe that he has earned another point in whatever game he is playing."

Sirius couldn't make head or tails of that, but it seemed to make Remus happy. Maybe it was secret werewolf language. Minerva stalked off, and then James took off down the corridor at warp speed. Sirius got ready to follow him... and then he changed his mind and walked along Remus and Peter. Remus was limping, he noted. From the last transformation? Had it hurt him?

"You're being weird," said Remus, walking as briskly as he was seemingly capable. Sirius flung his arm around Remus' shoulder again, imperceptibly supporting him as he walked.

"I'm not being weird. You're being weird."

"No, you are. Peter, back me up."

"You're being weird, Sirius," said Peter.

"Shut up, Pettigrew; you don't know anything," said Sirius scornfully. "I'm not being weird. I'm always weird: ergo, I'm being normal. Come on, let's catch up to James."

"I'm not running," said Remus. "Too tired."

"Good, 'cos I don't want to run, either. James wore me out, flying broomsticks and all that."

"Yes, because sitting on a broomstick is such a strenuous aerobic exercise."

"I'll have you know it takes plenty of core muscles to hang onto that teensy little stick."

"I'll take your word for it. I had enough flying in first year, thank you very much."

The three of them were late back to their dormitory, but no one caught them. And Remus looked like he was starting to warm up to them again, even though Sirius had been a right berk to him for such a long time. Sirius was glad. Remus had been a bit emotionally distant since vacation, he felt, which was entirely unwarranted. Sure, the three of them had spent time together without Remus a lot. Sure, they'd had a birthday party for Peter without him, even though they'd planned it together in the notebooks. Sure, it had been a little cruel of them. But honestly, it seemed as if Remus was being all distant by choice.

Because he was a werewolf. Because he was scared of them. Because of Sirius' offhand comments about his... what was the word? Species? Kind? People? Affliction? Sirius started to feel weird again. What was that feeling?

"Hey, Remus?" he whispered after everyone was in bed.

Remus sat up and pulled his curtains back. "What's up?"

"You read a lot, right?"

"I mean." Remus looked utterly confused, and James and Peter were hiding snickers behind their curtains. "I s'pose."

"So you know a lot of words?"

"Yeah, maybe...? What are you getting at?"

"I need a word, that's all. What's the word for when you feel angry at yourself for doing something, and you feel sick even thinking about it? And then you start to hate yourself and especially everybody else who got you into that situation? And you want to punch a wall or something, but mostly you just want to vomit? And also, you're hungry?"

"Er," said Remus, and James and Peter started to laugh. "I think it's guilt. With a little bit of a... Sirius-y twist."

"Ooh," said Peter, surprising Sirius. He'd forgotten that Peter was there. "I have one. I'm thinking of a number between one and a hundred..."

Sirius had meant it as an honest question, not a game, but he humored Peter and joined in anyway. "Seventy-seven."

"Yeah, that's it. How'd you get it so quickly?"

"You're so predictable," sighed Sirius. "You couldn't keep a secret if your life depended on it. I spy with my little eye... something red."

"Literally everything of James'," Remus deadpanned.

They played until eleven pm, and all the tensions between the four of them were lost completely—dissolved into the wind itself, ceasing to exist, much like Sirius' former inhibitions about werewolves.

AN: I don't typically focus on Sirius characterization as much as Remus and James (he's so unpredictable and turbulent, even in my own writing, that he can be hard to write), but I really do love him. This was a fun chapter!