No further tears had been publically shed since the common room incident. Remus was wholeheartedly grateful for this. After all, he had needed to devote the whole of his heart to something, some slice of optimism in this whole disgusting mess, or he felt that it might just implode with suppressed emotion.

Remus had refused to hear Sirius' useless explanations. He had torn three feet of apology into narrow, jagged strips of parchment, and pretended that the mindless destruction was somehow therapeutic, a release of his pent-up frustration.

A silent contract had been drawn up by James, who had both lost and won a battle of loyalty with himself by remaining best friends with Sirius despite the betrayal. Remus didn't blame James for eventually forgiving Sirius. It was enormously difficult to bear a grudge against those haughty, laughing grey eyes for any length of time – unless of course they had forcibly dismembered your trust.

James' contract required the Marauders to return to their previous roles and forget the whole bloody Snape incident, because, after all, what kind of twat takes Sirius seriously anyway? Remus signed the contract (feeling rather ridiculous as he did so, taking into account the fact that the agreement was written up on the back of a scrappy old detention slip filched from the caretaker). As he scrawled a hasty signature at James' bequest, he noted the presence of Sirius' elegant calligraphy at the very top of the page.

The wide lettering seemed eager in its prominence, an echo of Sirius himself. However, although Remus signed the contract and bound himself to a ridiculous set of terms, he only committed himself to an empty act, and informed James of this decision. James had nodded sadly, but his brown eyes were understanding, resonating with compassion for the betrayal that hadn't been forgotten, merely forcibly ignored.

And so the Marauders were back on track, a solid unit of four unholy terrors (or marvellous pranksters, depending on the audience) who swept about the school led by a pair of black-haired boys. Smiles were a constant fixture, of course – the cheekier the better – but only three were ever genuine at the one time.

And then, as spring danced across the lake's wide surface, and the Giant Squid began to sun its tentacles each afternoon, the OWLs arrived, and there was no longer a need to pretend to smile. Not one of the four boys felt the urge to grin in the face of the dreaded Fifth Year exams. Pranking became impromptu, a last resort to achieving some form of peace (or quietly terrified quivering) in the Gryffindor common room.

As dawn broke on the day of the Defence Against the Dark Arts written examination, Remus had still not found himself able to forgive Sirius.

It had been a month. Or nearly.

Almost four weeks of agonising tension whenever in the presence of Sirius. Neither had mentioned the kiss. Of course, Remus knew that there had been times when Sirius was on the edge of breaking down, perhaps, maybe crawling across the floor to beg his forgiveness, but he had always read the signs and escaped before further irreparable damage could be done to whatever scraps of friendship remained between them.

Remus leapt out of bed, high on an adrenaline rush. His hands shook slightly in the shower as he ran though the signs of five signs of werewolf identification in his head – yes, more than slightly ridiculous, he knew, but still – and almost spilled the bottle of shampoo when he (ridiculously) forgot the fourth indication.

He crept past the other three beds in the dormitory, wary of waking the snoring boys. The irritating confidence of James and Sirius was just as effective as Peter's miniature panic attacks at destroying whatever trickle of calmness Remus managed to scrabble together. Remus preferred to spend the mornings of a life-threateningly important examination alone on the lawn beside the lake, immersed in numbing meditation.

Numbing meditation was unfailingly difficult to achieve. All too often, as Remus sprawled across the shore with his arm shielding his eyes from early morning sun, his thoughts would turn to the awful internal mess wrought by misery and betrayal and false friendship that he could conceal from the others, but never from himself.

He thought of Sirius, and felt his insides writhe. He pressed his fingers painfully against his eyes. The pressure helped him to keep a grip on himself. It would not do to fall apart visibly on the morning of an important examination. Falling apart was reserved for practical examinations, when the examiners were used to witnessing hysterics and tearfloods and puffy eyes.

Remus wasn't an idiot (despite the recent disaster of his practical Potions examination). Against all the evidence and all his actions, he was perfectly aware that Sirius had been suffering greatly ever since the incident. His eyes had watched Sirius closely over the past month. He had seen those grey eyes flicker over to his at mealtimes, sometimes hopeful, sometimes flooded with a feeling that Remus decided to wholly ignore.

Sirius hadn't stopped helping James target Snape. If anything, his actions became increasingly spiteful. Remus had decided weeks ago that Sirius was a terrible influence on James, who responded to his best friend's encouragement with hearty vigour, infuriating professors and his professed love, a wrathful Lily Evans, with his every prank.

The fact that Snape had revealed nothing to the school of Remus' dirty secret meant nothing to the lycanthrope. The bottom line was clearly legible – he still could. Remus had no doubt that James and Sirius could eventually drive Snape over the edge with their bullying, provoking him to spill the beans and destroy Remus' life. He hadn't mentioned this to the other Marauders. It wasn't like his opinion was ever worth that much. Sirius had made that fact quite obvious, one way or another.

The worst part of the whole betrayal thing, Remus decided, was that he could only lie to others, never himself. Oh, he could play along with James' friendship contract, he could sit under a tree with his nose stuck in revision while the others joked and laughed, but he couldn't stop the little voices remarking at the every gesture and word from a certain grey-eyed teenager.

He hadn't forgotten the kiss; far from it. That flustered, desperate, miserable moment clung at the forefront of Remus' thoughts, reappearing at odd intervals and destroying whatever peace of mind he could muster. He no longer knew what to think about the moment. Whenever he couldn't sleep at night, tossing under his restrictive blankets and heavy thoughts, his treacherous mind would summon an image of Sirius at that moment, a physical image constructed of pulling, tearing lips, driven by pain, a shared misery, a one-sided betrayal.

One picture always lingered in Remus' mind, that of Sirius afterwards, pulling back. That Sirius was red-cheeked, with red-rimmed eyes, and an odd look of frustrated despair stretched across his face.

As he felt the sun beat more strongly against his bare forearms, Remus knew it was time to grab a piece of toast before the dreaded exam. He was glad. He was always glad to escape these thoughts and lose himself in the bustle of a busy student's life. With one last glance across the glistening lake, pausing for a moment on the Giant Squid's exposed tentacles, he turned and headed back towards the castle.

"You make me SICK!"

Well, Remus was surprised. The exam hadn't tested at least fifty percent of what he'd crammed into his head in the last three days, which was both vaguely disappointing, and vaguely relieving. What didn't surprise Remus, however, was the reception that had greeted James' latest misguided attempt at reaching out to his lady-love.

He heard James shouting after Lily, but let his eyes linger on his Transfiguration test book. There was still another exam to go before glorious freedom (to dwell on unwelcome thoughts) arrived. He had every excuse in the world to ignore James, and Snape, who was probably hanging upside down by now, and Sirius, who had been goading James on.

He was grateful when the small crowd finally dispersed, and Snape had stumbled away, mouth still firmly shut on the topic of most importance, pulling his greying pants beneath his black robes. Remus really couldn't understand the motivation behind his friends' bullying. It made him nauseous behind the shield of his book. After all, he knew what it was like to be ostracised by a crowd.

"Did you see any of that, or what?" Sirius asked suddenly, and Remus knew that the question was addressed to him. He glanced up from his book, face set into the same mask it had become used to, and prepared a throw-away comment like those he had used all day. Sirius had talked to him a lot that day. It was absurdly different from the rest of the past week, during which Sirius had been notably distant, barely fulfilling the requirements of James' contract.

The past month had seen a talkative Sirius, an overly friendly Sirius, an angry Sirius, a resentful Sirius, a desperately sorry Sirius, a weirdly remote Sirius who barely even responded to James, and the brash, Snape-bashing Sirius who was possibly the worst of all options.

Remus set down the book, and prepared himself for communicative Sirius.

"Yeah. It was pretty terrible, you know."

He was surprised at himself. That had sounded rather close to the truth. He felt vaguely discomforted.

He looked up. Sirius' shoulders had tensed visibly. His grey eyes were fixed steadily on Remus.

"You know he deserves it."

There was no question in Sirius' voice. This was a change. A self-assured Sirius had not made an appearance over the past month – not when it mattered. There had been no true conviction in his communication with Remus. Not until now.

It was bizarre how this statement worked at Remus' nerves, rubbing against all the raw edges of his suppressed emotions.

"You know he deserved it," Sirius said quietly, his voice becoming hoarse at the end of the sentence. He cleared his throat roughly. "You know he deserved it."

Remus stood up. He felt shaken. This wasn't part of the silent bargain that had emerged between him and Sirius in the nuances of James' contract. His book lay abandoned against the root of the tree, but he was backing away now, fingers trembling into fists, holding his anger in. This wasn't right. He shouldn't need to hold his anger in. Concealing emotion was meant to be easy. It had been easy.

He backed away.

"You have to forgive me, you know," Sirius said more loudly, his grey eyes locked with Remus'. "Friday's the full moon, didn't you know? You need me there. We both know it."

Sirius gave a bark of bitter laughter, settling himself back against the grass.

Remus wrapped his arms about himself, seething with anger. He knew it. He had always known it, throughout the whole, long month. He needed Sirius when he transformed, not just to stop him from tearing himself apart, but to–

To what? Prove himself?

Remus' fingers drifted shakily to his lips, and that familiar unbidden image floated into his mind. Red face, red-rimmed eyes, pulling, lips–

"Oh right," Sirius said with an unpleasant smile, "we're going to have to talk about that too, aren't we? Wouldn't want one of us getting the wrong idea."

Remus' hand dropped to his side.

A/N: So. It's been a hard week. Exams have been frantically scrawled. Long words have been used. Pretentious words. Et des mots assez simples en français aussi. But finally, I have dredged up this chapter, despite feeling guilt for my nano (which has merely 5148 words).

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(Please reward my painful attempts at poetry. Heh.)

xx Froody