It took an enormous effort of will, but gradually Sirius managed to drag his wayward feelings back under control. They were not any easier to bear - alarmingly, they seemed to be growing stronger by the day - but when Sirius was around his friends, he was able to hitch a smile onto his face and pretend, sometimes for several hours at a stretch, that all was well with him.

Whenever his thoughts about Remus wandered in too intimate a direction, Sirius would pinch himself hard on the leg. It worked, though he now sported a large and tender bruise just above his left knee. He still felt a secret thrill at being in Remus's company, and at the affectionate regard in which the brown-eyed boy held him, but he tried not to dwell too much on such private pleasures. Friendship, he told himself, was much more worthwhile and lasting than the counterproductive thoughts he had previously entertained.

It was good to be friends with Remus. Remus could make him laugh almost as much as James could. He was not anywhere near as swotty as Sirius had originally supposed, and delighted in doing wicked impersonations of their professors that had Peter holding his sides and James weeping with laughter. Even school work seemed to go a little faster with Remus's witty explanations of the murkier aspects of History and English.

If Sirius occasionally caught himself staring at Remus's mouth, or sometimes had to dig his fingernails into his palm to keep himself from touching the other boy in passing, well, he was not likely to die of it. There were plenty of other boys in the world. Gaveston still gave him the eye on occasion; maybe next time Sirius would return his look.

Meanwhile, there was plenty else to be getting on with. Lessons were harder, and the assignment load heavier, now that they were in the sixth form. Their professors were forever reminding them that the A-levels they achieved would greatly affect which universities were likely to accept them, as well as the careers they hoped to pursue.

Peter was frantic, and had to be reminded by his friends to calm down at least three times a week. James was also growing more serious about his studies, and between school work and rugby, he had less time for the pranking he and Sirius normally delighted in. Sirius himself was not greatly concerned about his future. He was a gifted student and his marks were excellent when he made the effort, and decent even when he did not. Some university would be pleased to have him, and if not, his family was well-connected enough to secure him a good position somewhere.

He experienced a moment of panic at the thought of being separated from Remus when they left St Godric's, two years hence, but told himself not to be ridiculous. He was not worried about the possibility of never seeing James again. He and Remus were friends. They would find time to visit one another, even when they no longer spent every day in each other's company. Sirius thought of asking Remus about his plans for the future, but decided against it. The temptation of aligning his own plans with Remus's might be too great to resist.

In the hope of spurring their students' ambitions, many professors invited special guests into their classrooms to talk about their careers and how a strong understanding of various subjects was integral to them. They had an engineer in Maths, a doctor in Chemistry, a journalist in English, an MP in Citizenship, and in late November, an archaeologist in History.

Sirius sat up straighter in his seat, exchanging an eager grin with James, when Professor Binns announced the visitor. History might be boring, but archaeology was not. According to the ratty paperback novels he sometimes borrowed from his best friend, it was all about adventuring and danger and finding long-lost treasure, usually made out of gold. Sirius eyed the guest as Binns droned on about his credentials, his position with English Heritage, and the importance of preserving the past, as if the visitor was not about to explain all of that for himself.

He did not look like the adventuring type, but Sirius supposed it was not always possible to tell by looking. Archaeologists were supposed to be fit and tan and have beards. This man was clean-shaven and rather podgy-looking, with a bow tie and thick spectacles. He waited with an expression of polite patience for Binns to finish his long-winded introduction before stepping behind the podium at the front of the classroom.

"Thank you, Prufessaw," he began, then turned to address the students. "There's uver twenty years I am travelan the wurld, oncoveran the 'idden secrets of the past."

The man's broad accent and odd intonation were not immediately placeable, and drew titters from a few of the students. Sirius turned to share a grin with Remus, and stared.

Remus had gone dead white. Even his lips had lost their usual rosy colour. His knuckles, too, were white where he gripped the edge of his desk, and the expression on his face was one Sirius had only seen on those nights when Remus had awakened in terror from nightmares of violation.

Guernsey, Sirius realised, heart sinking. It's a Guernsey accent.

The voice of the speaker rattled on, but Sirius had lost all sense of the words. His only thought was of Remus - how to distract him, or better yet, remove him from the situation entirely. Sirius knew better than to touch his friend in his current state, nor did he wish to draw attention to him. James and Peter and the rest of the class were enthralled by the speaker. No one had noticed Remus's odd reaction - yet.

"Remus?" he ventured a whisper.

Slowly, Remus's head turned towards him, staring brown eyes fixed on his face, but he did not seem to see Sirius at all.

"Remus, go to the loo or something," he begged. "Get out of here."

Remus did not so much as blink.

Tentatively, Sirius reached over to touch his friend lightly on the wrist. "Remus -"

The boy reacted to the touch as if burned. He stood up so suddenly that his chair overturned, and bolted from the classroom.

There was a moment of stunned silence as all eyes fixed on the slamming door.

Binns leapt to his feet in an uncharacteristic display of temper, and waddled into the corridor, shouting, "Lupin! Get back here this instant!"

"He's - ah - perhaps he's ill?" suggested Sirius, thinking quickly. "He said - before - he wasn't feeling well, Sir."

James shot him a curious look. Remus had said nothing of the kind.

Sirius stood, feeling shaky, body already inclined towards the door. "Shall I go check on him, Sir?"

Binns looked torn, but at last flapped a hand at him in exasperation. "Yes, yes, Mr Black. Go and see that he makes it to the matron's office, if he is unwell. And come back directly," he added as Sirius, needing no further urging to follow his strongest impulse, hurried out the door.

Sirius's heart was pounding as he hesitated in the corridor, looking up and down. Where would Remus have gone? Sirius was fairly certain he had not gone to the matron. She did not have anything for what troubled him. Stopping briefly to check the toilets, he left the building, eyes sweeping over the school grounds, but he did not see a living soul.

"Remus?" he called, but of course there was no answer.

Lacking a better idea, he headed to the dormitories, eyes scanning for any sign of movement. Remus was not in their room, nor was he in his study, nor the dormitory toilets. Sirius realised as he peered into the gloom of the stalls that he was being foolish. The last thing Remus would want in his current state was to be confined. He would be somewhere in the school grounds. As soon as Sirius thought it, he knew exactly where Remus was: somewhere outdoors, where he was unlikely to be found.

Sirius had no wish to startle his traumatised friend, so he let his footsteps crunch heavily across the gravel path in the direction of the administrative offices. On the far side of the chapel, he turned off the path, palms sweating.

Remus was there. He sat hunched, one shoulder leaned against the chapel wall, with his back to Sirius. He did not look up; he already knew who had found him.

"Go away, Sirius," he said in a dead voice.

"Remus -" Sirius edged around to face him. "Remus, I know you're upset. Talk to me, please. I -"

The sight hit him like a punch in the gut. Remus's left sleeve was rolled up past his elbow, and he gripped a pocket knife in his white-knuckled right hand. Long, shallow cuts bled freely all up and down his forearm.

Sirius fell to his knees with a cry. "Stop that! You're hurting yourself!" Quickly, he fished out a pocket handkerchief, and grasping Remus's hand, pressed the cloth to his wounded arm. Bright, bloody slashes soaked through the white linen almost instantly.

Remus did not react, nor did he look up. "Go away," he said again dully.

"No."

Sirius squeezed Remus's blood-smeared fingers in his own as desperation welled up inside him. He had thought that he was helping - that their late-night talks had somehow made Remus better, as he felt that he himself was better for talking out the darkness that haunted him - but if Remus could do this to himself, then maybe he had made no difference at all.

Sirius looked up hopelessly into Remus's face. More than anything, he wanted this quiet, clever, thoughtful, funny, wonderful boy to understand how important his happiness was - how much he was cared for - how much he mattered. Sirius let go of Remus's hand and raised bloody fingers to his cheek.

He had only meant to make Remus look at him - to let him see in his eyes all the things he could not say. He had not meant to lean in so close, and he certainly had not meant to press his lips against Remus's mouth.

Realisation hit Sirius, and he toppled over backwards, landing on his backside in the grass. "Sorry," he gasped. "Sorry! I shouldn't have - I didn't mean -"

Remus stared at him in openmouthed shock. Then he stumbled to his feet, pushed through the privet hedge that marked the boundary of the school grounds, and was gone, leaving the red-stained handkerchief behind. Sirius knew better than to follow.

After a few minutes, he got to his feet, belatedly recalling that he was expected to return to History. Feeling numb, he wadded up the linen square and returned it to his pocket.

Binns frowned censoriously when he shuffled back into the lesson that felt like it had begun years before. As he took his seat, James shot him an enquiring look. Sirius just shook his head. Then he bent forwards, resting his forehead on folded arms, and closed his eyes.

I am such an ass, he thought.

Remus did not reappear that afternoon. Nor at supper. Nor in the dormitory that evening as Sirius and the others readied themselves for bed.

"What happened?" asked James for the dozenth time.

"I don't know," Sirius lied again. "I couldn't find him."

James gave him a disgusted look that spoke volumes about his opinion of Sirius's credibility, but let the matter drop for the time being.

"Should we tell someone?" Peter asked timidly.

"No!" shouted his friends, rounding on him.

Peter looked terrified.

"We'll tell if he's not back by tomorrow," James relented.

Concerned though they might be, neither James nor Peter lost any sleep over Remus's absence. Sirius could not sleep at all. He lay on his side, the bloodstained handkerchief crushed in his fist, staring at Remus's empty bed and hating himself. He had wrecked any chance he ever had at friendship with Remus. Worse still, he had kissed him, putting himself firmly in the same category as everyone else who had ever done anything to Remus against his will.

Now Remus was gone, and maybe he would never come back. Maybe Sirius would never have a chance to apologise - not that he deserved any sort of chances at all - and he would have to live the rest of his life knowing Remus hated him and that he had earned it.

If he comes back, Sirius thought miserably, I'll trade beds with Peter and never come down to this end of the room again. I won't even talk to him unless he talks to me first. And I'll never, ever be alone with him.

Remus had not reappeared by morning. When he did not show up for lessons, Sirius and the others did not have to tell anyone that he was missing. The three of them presented a united front of vagueness when questioned concerning his whereabouts, but when told that "dunno" was not an acceptable answer, were forced to admit that they had not seen him since the previous afternoon. Unable to obtain any more information than that, Professor McGonagall assigned them three detentions each in disgust and sent them on their way.

Sirius was too demoralised to care about detentions or to do more than go through the motions of his day, though whenever they were outside, he would glance around for some sign of Remus. He was on his way back to the dormitories after lunch, hoping to catch a few minutes' sleep before afternoon lessons, when an arm shot out of the bushes and dragged him around the side of the dining hall. Sirius blinked, trying to bring James into focus, nose inches from Sirius's own.

"What. Happened." James's face was as dark and threatening as a storm cloud. His tone said that anything short of the truth would earn Sirius a thorough beating.

"I kissed him," Sirius confessed. "He ran off."

James sagged against the wall. "Jesus fucking Christ, Black! What did I tell you?"

"I know," said Sirius miserably. "I know it was stupid."

"You think so?" snapped James. "Bloody hell! I should sew your mouth shut. All it does is get you into trouble."

"I know it," Sirius mumbled. "I'll apologise if - when he comes back. Or I won't talk to him at all. Whichever you think is best."

James raised his hands in a quelling gesture. "No. I am not getting involved in this. You made the mess; you clean it up. And until you do, as far as I'm concerned, you don't exist."

He turned and walked away, leaving Sirius feeling even worse than before.

It was almost lights out when Filch, the doorman, delivered a grubby and disheveled Remus back to the dormitory. His hair was wildly tousled, and there were smudges of dirt on his face and uniform, as if he had been sleeping rough. Dried blood stained the cuff of his school shirt.

"Two weeks' detention is better than you deserve, you ask me," opined the sour-faced Filch. "And they did say I was to tell you that if you feel like scarpering again, don't bother coming back."

A ringing silence followed the slamming of the door. Without looking at any of them, Remus crossed the room to his bed and disappeared behind the dividing curtain. Sirius heard the squeak of the bed frame as he lay down, and glanced at James, who studiously ignored him in favour of a tattered and much-read spy novel. Sirius caught Peter's eye, but the blond boy quickly turned away, looking distressed. If James had declared Sirius persona non grata, Peter would not defy him.

Sirius flopped onto his bed, wondering just how much more miserable it was possible to be. He had his answer that night when the dream came to him, and no comforting figure appeared to lead him out of the wilderness of his own self-loathing. He turned over and pressed his face into the pillow, trying very hard not to make any noise as he cried himself back to sleep.