All characters are JK Rowling's.
Slowly descending from McGonagall's office and then back up to Gryffindor Tower, Remus was thoroughly exhausted in both body and soul. He kept his face hard through the common room but no sooner than he shut the door to the empty dormitory than the tears spilled free.
He collapsed onto his bed and wept deeply and bitterly until his red Gryffindor pillow was stained a dark burgundy from his tears. He had never had reason to cry so heavily at Hogwarts before, and to do so now felt like a contamination, cold hands reaching out from his past to seize him and snatch him away from a present he had already begun to take for granted. How close he was to being expelled- or if not expelled, simply brought home by a father unwilling to let him make the mistake that would expel him. How close he was to losing everything.
When the first wave of emotion had passed, he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, letting the tears swim in his eyes so his vision blurred. He rotated his wand slowly using the fingers of only one hand, pondering the oft-common theoretical paradox Hogwarts students discussed but professors refused to answer, the question of whether it was possible for a wizard to commit suicide with his own wand. And if not his wand, then what? He could break the tower window and throw himself out, transfigure a bedsheet into a rope to hang himself from the rafters, or drown himself in the adjoining toilet. His mind drifted lazily around the room, attaching itself to objects and assessing their deadly uses.
It was far from the first time he had had these thoughts. It had taken his parents years to take it seriously, and even then they insistently simplified it as a chemical side effect of lycanthropy or roaming Dementors in the area, but Remus had been fantasizing about suicide practically since the day he'd been bitten. At barely five years old he had been conscious that his life and future as he had known it had disintegrated, as his life locked into monthly cycles marked by agonizing transformations, full of experimental potions and being kept hidden in constantly-changing homes with no foreseeable end. He deduced quickly from his father's refusal to take him to St. Mungo's and hushed discussion of the Werewolf Registry that he was part beast and thus something less than a person. What was death if he didn't have a future anyway?
Though his circumstances had changed, by now his death fantasies had become a kind of habit, something he came back to easily any time he met with severe disappointment, rejection, or loneliness- not just around full moon. His parents and friends would never understand, but he found it strangely soothing remind himself that all of the shame and isolation he had ever felt could be gone in a moment.
The only trouble was now he had more to live for than ever. And as if to remind him of this, right on cue he heard the ruckus of his three roommates on the stairs.
He sat bolt upright, kicking himself inwardly for his premature emotional release when it was still the weekend and he should have known they could be back anytime. He should have waited a few more hours until past nightfall, or gone to the showers and run the hot water to cry as his tears were washed away. He sniffled and rubbing his eyes uselessly to try to disguise that he had been crying, but he knew it would be obvious anyway. The only way he could think to hide in time was to throw the covers over himself in fakery of a post-moon nap.
He heard them enter and observe the tell-tale lump in his bed. Sirius spoke first, and loudly, completely disregarding that he might actually need a nap. "Moony! We didn't see you all morning, and as soon as we go down the hospital wing to check, you're up here. Sneaky, mate."
Remus faked a waking-up yawn through the duvet. "You should get to work finishing that map, then," he teased, wishing his voice didn't croak so much. "Maybe then you could keep up."
Sirius shoved him gently through the bedclothes, then sat heavily on the end of his bed, purposely trying to jostle him.
"Did you hear we won the match?" James asked, undoubtedly thrilled there was still one more person with which he could relive his victory.
"I saw!" Remus replied, his voice brighter but still muffled by the blankets. "Didn't Sirius and Peter tell you? I stayed until the Snitch was caught."
"It was brilliant James!" Peter congratulated him again. If Remus couldn't scratch the itch, Peter would dutifully feed James' ego for at least the next couple of days. "Moony wouldn't have missed it for anything!"
"I thought you were supposed to be in the Shack by 3:00?" James asked. He wasn't accusatory, just curious, but Remus bristled with embarrassment and a little irritation that even in the midst of the match James had kept better watch of the time than he had. "It was nearly sundown when we won. I bet Pomfrey wasn't too happy about it, was she?" He laughed as if her disapproval were a joke.
Remus did not respond in time; there was a pregnant pause and instead of speaking, Remus only shuddered as he tried to keep a dry sob from bubbling up.
Sitting at the foot of his bed, Sirius was close enough to recognize it for what it was. "Moony?" It only took a gentle yank to pull the covers back, revealing Remus's tear-streaked face. Horror and embarrassed showed in Sirius' face as he regretted humiliating him. "Moony, what's wrong?"
Although the damage was done, Remus pulled the covers back to his chin. "It . . . it was a rough night in the Shack," he started to explain feebly.
"Did you get in trouble for running late?" Peter asked with shocking accuracy, though he looked confused as to why this would cause such a response. Remus had the best track record for behavior of any of them but he wasn't such a goody-goody as to cry over something as small as a detention or House points.
Remus looked around at his three friends carefully, not wanting to talk or think any more about it but knowing his friendship owed them honesty. "Well . . . yes," he confessed, unable to look them in the eye. "McGonagall gave me detention for the week and . . . and my dad asked her to ban me from Quidditch matches and Hogsmeade outings for the rest of the year as well."
The three of them erupted at once.
Peter: "Just for running late?"
Sirius: "Your dad was here?"
James: "A ban on Quidditch? What is he, some kind of sadist?"
"Yes, my dad was here," Remus sighed, answering the only question that hadn't already been answered. His friends knew Hogwarts encouraged parents to let the school take care of things, especially given the complications of arranging a visit, but parents did sometimes make visits, usually for one of two occasions: severe injuries and severe trouble. James and Peter had never had the honor, but Sirius's mother had made a couple visits once she realized Howlers were ineffective as discipline and only served to embarrass the family by broadcasting their firstborn son's misdoings. Though according to Sirius, Professor McGonagall had taken to lying to her that she was out, since she didn't enjoy her visits any more than Sirius did.
Sirius stared at him very hard. "And are you alright?"
"Yes," Remus replied, a little startled and confused by Sirius's intensity.
Sirius still looked suspicious. "What did he do to you?"
Remus felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach when he realized what Sirius was implying. Sirius had said before that parents only came to Hogwarts for one of two things: to yell about things they were too embarrassed to say in a Howler- or when they wanted to do something more than yell.
"Nothing. My dad—my dad's not like that." He couldn't think of a better way to say that his father didn't lay hands or wand on him, that he wasn't at all like Sirius's father. "He just sat in with McGonagall and me, while she assigned me detention, and he tacked on a couple of his own ideas."
James briefly tried to return the conversation to the most important topic in his world: "So you seriously can't watch Quidditch? Can you play Quidditch? Should I break someone's arm and hold a mid-season tryout?"
"That's not all of it. Remus, mate, you're crying. What on earth did he say to you?" Sirius pressed, paying no mind to James.
"James, you know I'd be no good at it," Remus replied impatiently. His mind was on the skeptical look Sirius was giving him, which was making his heart thud more quickly against his chest. "What are you getting at, Sirius?"
"I just mean you ran late, McGonagall gave you a detention and your dad tacked on a couple extras . . . and now for some reason you're looking as if you want to turn your wand on yourself? It doesn't add up."
Remus tried his best not to react to the wand comment; surely Sirius just meant it as a figure of speech. "It adds up because it wasn't about running late. The only reason I can be at Hogwarts in the first place is with the understanding I'll be safe away from other students during full moon. Otherwise, I'm a danger to everyone. I could have killed someone. I could have killed the two of you," he looked desperately between them, "staying in the stands as long as I did."
"But you didn't," Peter shrugged.
"But I could have," Remus insisted.
Sirius scoffed. "And I could walk up to Snivellus next time I see him, hex him stupid, sever his head, and give it to Bellatrix for her birthday. I suppose someone should put me away in Azkaban right now, right? Just because I could?" his voice dripped with sarcasm. "People don't get punished for things they could do, Remus; just the things they do. That's not good parenting, mate."
It had taken a long time for Sirius to admit to the extent of his family's cruelty, hiding his secret just as Remus had guarded his own. After only three years it was still difficult to accept the family that had, at least seemingly, loved him as the son and heir now regarded him with disgust and shame that oozed through into their every interaction with him. What he revealed to his friends in pieces he spoke of with such a painful mix of bitterness, betrayal, embarrassment, and self-doubt that it never even occurred to them to doubt him or presume exaggeration. Now this boy who was regularly screamed at, shut in closets, hexed, beaten, deliberately humiliated in front of his brother and cousins- was suggesting to Remus that his father was abusive?
"There were still students out on the grounds when Madam Pomfrey and I were walking out the Willow," Remus pointed out. "In the hospital wing, I almost transformed in front of her!"
"But you didn't," Peter pointed out again.
They were starting to make Remus angry. "But I almost did. And if it happens again, if Hogwarts doesn't expel me, my dad will withdraw me just the same. And for good reason, it seems!"
"Yeah, don't be daft, Sirius; it's a bit higher stakes than for us," James defended, apparently the only one who could see from Remus's father's perspective. "You can't think it's entirely unreasonable for his dad to have gotten a bit more upset about it than our parents would be."
Sirius eyes flashed in irritation. Although James had since amended his perspective, Sirius had clearly not forgotten that the first time he had admitted to the extent of his parents' punishments, fearing the eve of Easter holiday after a hellish first Christmas home, that James' advice had been to "Maybe try and be a little less difficult on purpose, and see if it helps?" James at barely 12 years old could not imagine beyond his own family, his tolerant parents who as far as Remus could tell barely so much as scolded him for anything, and the staunch sense of loyalty he felt to them. James' instinct was still to assume parents were in the right.
"So Remus ran a couple minutes late, and suddenly his dad is threatening to take everything normal about his life away from him and that he's as good as committed murder. Does that sound reasonable to you? Does that sound fair? We've done more actual damage to people ten times over and I don't think we've even gotten a full week detention."
"Good thing we don't have Remus's dad, then," James tried to laugh, though no one joined in, not even Peter.
Sirius shook his head. "Your dad has really done a number on you, Remus."
"You've never even met my father," Remus snapped.
"I know all of those scars aren't self-inflicted," Sirius started, referring to the wounds Remus had casually admitted were accidental, incidental to the measures his father used to take to keep him confined and silent during transformation. "I know he was so paranoid about people finding out that you couldn't even have a remotely normal childhood. And now I know that apparently his first reaction to even the slightest chance that someone might discover you is to drag you back into hiding- your future and your sanity be damned. And honestly? That's all I need to know."
"What would you expect from him? What would you have done in his position, trying to protect not only me but a non-magical wife?"
"At the very least I'd trust you were safe once you were at Hogwarts. Does he really think that he was doing a better job of keeping you and your mother safe than the minds and power of Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey working together, at Hogwarts, the most secret wizarding location in Britain?" Sirius replied. "Could he be any more paranoid? It really begs the question if keeping you safe is actually the point. Rather than just keeping you hidden."
"The two go together," Remus argued, eyes narrow.
"Greyback bit you in the first place because of your father's open hostility towards werewolves," Sirius continued. Remus bristled at ever having trusted him enough to confess to this, a confession his father himself had kept from him for years. "Do you think those kind of prejudices change overnight? Do you think he genuinely likes werewolves any better just because you've become one? The less of a problem your lycanthropy is for him, the better. He's not hiding you just to protect you. He's bloody ashamed of you."
Remus could not have felt a more cold shock if he had flung a bucket of icy water over him. His hands were shaking with an irresistible urge to lunge at Sirius and hurt him somehow, claw at his eyes or wrap his fingers around his neck, but luckily the rest of his body was completely limp. And yet the truth hung there in the air between them as if it had corporeal form. Remus could not immediately confirm that Sirius was lying. But he tried. "How dare you. My parents have done everything to try to cure me!"
"Yes, to cure you. Because they can't stand you the way you are."
"Oh, right!" Remus did not expect to laugh in a discussion like this, but what Sirius had said was just so utterly ridiculous he couldn't help it. He sounded maniacal. "I'm sure acceptance would be the end of it! If we can all just happily accept I'm a werewolf, everything will be perfect! I'll just walk into the Great Hall right now, 'Top of the morning! I'm a werewolf, how do you do?' and everyone will just give me a big old pat on the back, right?"
Sirius's eyes narrowed but his lips remained pressed together in silence. Remus sucked in a restorative breath and continued earnestly. "You just don't understand, Sirius. The smallest mistake and my entire life could be ruined. At least my dad knows that- and he knows that only way to protect me to make sure that never happens."
"You've been living in a prison all your life," Sirius said very quietly. "It's no wonder you can't see past it."
James and Peter had hung back from their exchange the moment Sirius had begun to accuse Remus's father of the truly sinister, watching the words volley back and forth as if it were a sinister Quidditch match. But at this moment of chilling silence, James finally piped up lest this unpleasant conclusion drive an unpleasant wedge between them he and Peter would have to tiptoe around in the coming days.
"Well, ah, Remus is still at Hogwarts with us," James pointed out awkwardly, "and he doesn't have to see his father until Christmas, so . . . why don't we get dinner or something?"
Peter's stomach growled audibly in agreement.
"You can all go ahead," Remus replied sullenly. He wasn't in the mood to fake pleasantness with Sirius and in front of all the other students in the hall. Plus he was certain his face still carried traces of his grief from earlier, and he was exhausted to boot. "I'm not hungry and I need to take a shower before my detention—Madam Pomfrey's orders," he said, and he took his leave. He had already made enough mistakes for one weekend ignoring her instructions for the sake of his friends.