CW- discussion of mental health issues as weakness. Please remember that they're not, and if reading through Sirius's internal thought process is going to be triggering in any way, skip to the next chapter.

Getting back to the castle after the night of a full moon was always difficult, but the Marauders had their routine down. Sirius, James and Peter would leave the Shrieking Shack at the crack of dawn, run down to the Quidditch pitch, grab their brooms, cast quick Disillusionment charms, and then fly through their dormitory window. Sirius was certain that they were all skilled enough on their brooms to avoid detection- Peter was always worried about getting caught, but they must've done it hundreds of times by now, and had a perfect record.

Sirius had to admit it was tiring, spending the night running around and playing. Padfoot loved it, but the minute he transitioned back into his human form, he felt as though he'd been hit by a ton of bricks. Classes dragged on as he tried to keep his eyelids propped open.

James didn't even try, but rather, napped through Herbology. "Eh, let him sleep," Pomona had said. He even tried it again in Transfiguration, but Professor McGonagall transfigured his chair into a feather, and he ended up smacking his ass on the hardwood floor.

"Today we are learning about human transfiguration," she said, cracking a rare smile as James massaged his tailbone.

"Didn't we already learn about Animagi?" blurted a Hufflepuff with blonde bangs.

"Being an Animagus is far from the only way to transfigure your body," Professor McGonagall said. "You've already changed the color of your hair and eyebrows in this class, have you not? But human transfiguration stretches far beyond hair color. With proper training, you'll be able to do anything from getting rid of a pimple to changing your arms into wings."

There was an interested murder from the class. Suddenly, Sirius's eyelids weren't so heavy.

"Can anyone tell me what it feels like to, say, turn your eyebrow yellow?"

A Gryffindor boy with red hair raised his hand. "It's like, erm, squeezing the last bit of toothpaste out of a tube. It's really difficult."

"Precisely," said Professor McGonagall. She began to pace back and forth in front of the classroom as she always did when she was truly enthusiastic about her lessons. "And that's why you don't see people walking around all the time with animal body parts, new hairstyles, longer legs, etc… It requires immense amounts of practice and magical talent. Now, the NEWT exam asks you to be able to perform a couple of basic tricks- growing a couple inches in height, for instance, or turning your nose into a beak… but my students will learn to do much more." She peered at them impressively from under her spectacles. "Today, we'll start with growing and shrinking our fingernails. This is a simple charm- swish, flick, and twist, like so- and make sure, as always, that you're visualizing your intention and pulling through."

Pulling through. In Sirius's very first year, Professor McGonagall had compared the mental process required for transfiguration to the Muggle art of crochet. She had described it as pulling your intentions through some hole in your magic, and tying a sort of knot inside your brain, making a new shape with what was already there. This analogy had worked wonders for Sirius in becoming an Animagus, and as he looked at his fingernails, he knew just how to visualize, and pull-

"Black!"

A familiar voice cut through his concentration.

"Snape?" he said, turning around in surprise.

James gave Sirius a perplexed glance but said nothing.

"Uh, Professor, can I borrow Black for a second?" Snape asked hurriedly.

"Sure," said Professor McGonagall, more out of surprise than anything else.

Sirius stood up and went to join Snape in the hallway. The greasy-haired teenager was rummaging in his briefcase for a notebook, and once he pulled it out, he started frantically flipping through. "Ah! Here we go! The spell, the one your Mum- the one you got hit with, is it Perderium Tardius?"

"I dunno, I already mentioned, I didn't hear the incantation," Sirius said shortly. He didn't appreciate Snape pulling him out of his classes, acting like some sort of authority, where did he get off-

Snape is doing you a favor, you prat, he reminded himself, and resumed listening.

"Well, okay, but listen- here are the symptoms, right?" Snape leaned in towards his notebook. "It's described as a rush of cold... followed by hot, sharp pain, that ebbs quickly but never fully- and the intent is to break down muscle tissue. Does that sound right?"

"That- yeah, that's right! How did you find this?" Sirius asked, shocked. Holy shit. Snape had found it.

"Erm, my dad has some books," said Snape awkwardly. (He didn't need to be awkward about it. Sirius's dad had some books too.) "Anyway, um. If that's the spell, an antidote shouldn't be too hard to make… I'll keep you posted, I guess." As Snape's academic enthusiasm faded, he suddenly seemed to remember that he and Sirius were far from friends. His face hardened and his lip curled.

Sirius fought the responding sneer off his face. "Alright, yeah," he said. He headed back to his classroom, stopping just before he entered to say, "and Snape? Thank you."

Snape nodded tersely and walked away.

At this point, the Transfiguration students were split down the middle. Half the class were slowly, methodically growing their fingernails with smiles on their faces. The other half were slumped over their desks, frustrated and listless. James, though, had grown his nails so long that they curled, and was beaming.

"Professor!" he sang.

"Yes, Potter?"

"I did it," James said, flicking his wrist to show off his nails.

"Now turn them back." McGonagall almost always succeeded in not showing that she was impressed by James's transfiguration skills, but the entire class knew better.

James groaned and bent back over his desk, muttering incantations.

Sirius twirled his wand in his hand. Visualize, and pull. He muttered the spell as he thought of his fingernails growing. He felt for the hole in his magic, and there it was. One inch, two inches…

Slowly but surely, his nails grew…

And grew. Until they were far too long to fit in his personal space. "Dude!" James exclaimed, impressed and annoyed as Sirius's nails crept up the legs of his desk.

"Sirius!" Peter whined, watching the nails drag across the surface of his notebook.

"Black, knock it off," said a pretty Gryffindor girl named Angelica, rolling her eyes as the nails curled around her chair.

"Mr. Black, knock it off," said Professor McGonagall sternly. The nails were more than ten feet long.

"I… can't," Sirius said, horrified, looking down at his fingers; he felt like the hole he had found in his magic had widened, he couldn't pull it through. Couldn't pull through- everything was out of control, his heart leapt into his throat from pure fear.

McGonagall's eyes widened imperceptibly before she strode over to Sirius, all business, and crouched down in front of his desk. "Mr. Black. Close your eyes."

Sirius obeyed, terrified. He couldn't move his hands, the nails had wound and curled around everything nearby, he felt entirely out of control-

"Deep breaths. Now, I am going to cast a spell on you, do I have your consent?"

Sirius nodded breathlessly, desperate.

"Confundo," McGonagall muttered- and Sirius found himself struck by a splitting headache- headache? What a funny word! It was cold in the classroom. What was this class, anyway? Class. Haha. Class. Class. Ass.

"Mr. Black, stop growing your nails."

He did, without question. Why had he been growing them anyway? His nails were too long, now. He needed a manicure. Haha! Maybe he'd paint them pink. It was annoying, though, he couldn't move his hands and his head hurt.

Professor McGonagall waved her wand yet again, and Sirius's nails shrank back to their normal size. "Potter," she said, and Sirius heard the words as though he was underwater, "Potter, can you take Black to the hospital wing, please? I'm afraid I had to put quite a strong Confundus charm on him."

"Yes, of course," said James. You know what's funny about James, Sirius reflected, he's a 'potter' but he's never made any pots!"

Sirius stumbled upstairs, vaguely aware of James's supporting hand on his back. Somehow, he made it to the hospital wing. The beds were so fluffy, and soft, and he heard Madame Pomfrey murmur something, and before he knew it he was laying down, and before he knew it he had fallen asleep. Or passed out. He couldn't quite tell.

When he woke up, he had a splitting headache, but at least his brain was no longer running in idiotic circles about James's pottery abilities. He checked the clock next to his bed. 5:30. Okay. He'd missed History of Magic, but who gave a shit? Certainly not Professor Binns; the ghost never even took attendance.

He blinked, disoriented, unsure why he was here. Because... because McGonagall had cursed him! Why on earth would she do something like that? She must've had a reason… his nails kept growing…

And as all the pieces clicked into place, he was filled with a sense of overwhelming terror. What did he have left to rely on if not his magic?

He clutched his blankets in his hands until his knuckles turned white, desperately clinging to whatever sensation he could find to ground himself. He took a deep breath. One, two, three… in... and one, two, three… out.

"Ah, Black, you're awake," said Madame Pomfrey. The young nurse handed him a small vial. "Take this."

"What is this? I'm fine," Sirius said reflexively.

"Calming draught. Take it."

"I don't need it. I'm fine. I just messed up in Transfiguration, Decleau does it all the time and you don't see him in the hospital wing," Sirius muttered. He, of course, knew the difference between that idiot Slytherin Decleau's general incompetency and what had just happened. He wouldn't, couldn't, admit it to Pomfrey.

Apparently, though, it didn't need admitting. "You didn't mess up, Black. I'm well versed in this, it was actually my Healer's thesis- are you familiar with the term panic attack?"

Sirius nodded tensely. He obviously was. He'd almost just had another one, and that would've been the second time this week.

"In the Wizarding world," Pomfrey said briskly, "the emotional fight or flight response that triggers reactions such as hyperventilating, dissociation, and increased heart rate can also cause your magic- which is highly emotionally regulated- to go out of control. It's rare, but it happens. Professor Mc-er, Minerva, reacted exactly the right way. The Confundus allows one to become impressionable enough to allow someone else to control their magic when they themselves cannot."

Sirius nodded. He knew if he showed any emotional reaction to what Pomfrey was saying, it would only strengthen her assessment that he was a crazy person. "Well, I'm fine. It was a fluke. Won't happen again. Can I go now?"

Pomfrey shook her head. "Your teachers have been reporting lower grades, lower quality of work, have observed less interaction with your peers-"

"Well, that last one's bull, I've been with my mates all the time- and my grades are fine, they're all Es last time I checked- except History of Magic but that's no anomaly. And if my homework is lacking in quality, you'd do well to let me go do it."

Pomfrey sighed, pursing her lips in a way that made her appear distinctly older. "You are the most difficult student that I've ever had in my hospital wing."

"Yeah, in what, two years, that's not saying much."

Sirius didn't mean to be rude, he really didn't, but he hated the idea that he was laying in bed because of his own fucking brain, and that Pomfrey just wouldn't let it go.

"Well, if you don't want to address this issue, we can talk about your overall health. Have you consulted Mr. Snape?"

"I have, actually," Sirius said, glad to be able to dismiss something.

"And?"

"He, at least-" Sirius allowed himself a brief sneer at Snape's pompousness before acknowledging that the man truly did have some talent- "believes he's making progress."

"Well, that's good to hear," said Pomfrey. And then she didn't say anything else. Just stood there, looking at Sirius, her expression stern but with a slight note of sadness.

He stood up and cleared his throat, gesturing towards the door. "Can I go?" he asked, and Pomfrey didn't break eye contact as she nodded.

His footsteps echoed in the empty hall. Remus would be back by now, in the dorm room, well rested and the most fit he'd be all month. That's what Sirius needed, he needed Remus's arms, he needed someone to tell him it was okay…

Because it was all too much. All too fucking much. From his legs to his brain to his magic, to Peter's erratic behavior, to Snape knowing things that even Remus didn't get to know, control was running away from Sirius entirely. And he's spent his whole life fighting to keep everything under control. Fighting, and succeeding, until he decided he was too weak to tolerate his parents anymore- and look where that got him.

He was a burden to the Potters. His teachers were worried about him. He had even annoyed fucking Pomfrey, who was virtually impossible to rattle. And he had left Regulus, failed in his duty as a big brother.

All the while, Tom Riddle's power was growing- all the while, Muggles across the country were dying- and he, Sirius, had the gall to sit back and worry about himself.

To feel relieved that the full moon was over not because it meant an end to Remus's pain, but because it ensured that Remus could go back to focusing on him.

Could anyone be more of a selfish prick?

He thought not.