2. Remus
"It's Notfunny!" Remus Lupin flung himself down onto the ground beneath the beech tree by the Hogwarts lake. "Not Funny!" he repeated, thumping one fist into the grass. "Not At All Funny!"
Perhaps the leaves of the tree rustled sympathetically; or the lapping lake water listened, for there was certainly no-one else about to hear. Remus sighed, a great deep, very-bottom-of-one's-boots, sigh, and heaved himself round to sit leaning back on his arms, staring up into the tree. Now he was going to be in trouble with Professor McGonagall, as well as at odds with the rest of the Marauders. You could not leap up in the middle of a Tuesday morning Transfiguration lesson and storm out – but that was exactly what he had done.
Remus groaned, and leaned forwards to bury his head in his hands. He had walked out of a lesson … he had stormed out on James and Sirius and Peter … he was effectively playing truant hiding under this tree now … and he had been frighteningly, frighteningly angry. That was, Remus considered, the worst thing. Wild, wolf-like anger that he had thought for a moment, sitting beside Sirius in class, that he wasn't going to be able to control. Remus took another deep breath, to try and reassure himself that it had gone. He wasn't angry now, not like that.
He scrunched his knuckles into his eyes. He wasn't going to cry. That happened sometimes when the transformations had been too bad, and Madam Pomfrey would find him somewhere in the Shack, red-eyed and shaking. But he hadn't – really – been transformed, in the middle of McGonagall's classroom. He'd – Remus took several more careful breaths – he'd only been being teased. That was all it was. Only teasing. And James and Sirius had only thought it was good natured teasing; they teased each other like that all the time. Sirius on and on at James about Lily Evans, James on and on at Sirius about all the dozens of girls who eyed the tall, handsome Black family heir at every opportunity. It was just that this morning, they'd started on Remus instead.
Werewolves do not have girlfriends. Remus had made his mind up about that on his fourteenth birthday, and stuck to it every day since. It would be too dangerous: both for his secret that somehow, amazingly, still held despite his absence every Full Moon; and for any girl. Even the other Marauders didn't know what it was like to be the Wolf. So, werewolves do not have, will never have, girlfriends. It was easy enough, in a way. The slightest thought could easily be blotted out by the Wolf memories. But it didn't make it pleasant – and he Certainly didn't need to be baited!
Teased, Remus corrected quickly. Teased. Silly, silly, harmless teasing. He should be glad of it, glad that the Marauders spoke to him at all, or included him, or treated him as if he was just ordinary like them, instead of – different. For he was different, and they were very kind, and now-
Who'd want to speak to someone who got that angry? And what would the rest of the class think? He'd registered a glimpse of Lily Evan's startled face as he stormed out – Remus didn't like to think of that multiplied by thirty. And then they'd all wonder … and then there was McGonagall, who'd be angry … or she'd ask him what had happened, and that would be worse … you can't say you had a fit of temper because your – ex? – friends wouldn't shut up hissing jokes about some blonde-haired Ravenclaw who'd smiled at Remus twice in the Library yesterday … and … and …
"Moony?"
Remus stiffened, and jerked his legs up to get up, but James dropped down on the ground beside him before he could actually rise. "Hey, Moony."
"James," said Remus carefully.
"Do you mean, say 'Remus', not 'Moony'?"
Remus looked round in surprise, for James' voice had changed from the one of enquiring greeting to one of definite hurt. "No," he fumbled out. "I meant, hello – yes – you've found me – coming – McGonagall wants me in her office, yes?"
"Moony..." James put a firm hand on Remus' shoulder, although he stared rather fixedly away from him and out at the lake. "Pack it in. Of course I haven't come to haul you off to McGonagall; I was looking for you. Just looking. For you. I brought your books, for one thing."
"Thank you," said Remus stiffly.
"And I'm sorry we made you angry," James continued. "I think Evans may have said something about me being an arrogant toe-rag once or twice, and Sirius has absolutely no shut-your-mouth reflex whatsoever, and – er – er – I'm sorry we unthinkingly fell on you." He shook Remus by the shoulder a little. "I'm afraid arrogant toe-rags don't get much closer to a full and final apology than that, Moony."
"It doesn't matter."
"It does," said James, still keeping his eyes on the lake and his hand on Remus' shoulder. "It matters 'cause it makes you so mad you think you're about to become the Wolf, and so you rush out – and Sirius and Peter and I spend the lesson not taking in a word because we're worrying you're about to go throw yourself in the lake or something-"
"I expect you could have recited the lesson beforehand," Remus interrupted the tied-for-best transfiguration student in the entire Fourth Year.
"Yeah, but-"
"What?"
"Well..." James stared even harder at the lake. "You get mad when we joke about girls. I think you're wrong."
"James-!" Remus jerked away. "Werewolves don't have girlfriends!" he cried, somewhere between anger and anguish.
"And I think you're wrong!" James protested. "By all means, skip the fuss now, spare yourself all the silly girls making eyes at Sirius; or the being ceaselessly snubbed – she turned me down again, you know," he broke off to add.
Remus rolled his eyes, and tried not to laugh. "James..."
"But somewhere," James ploughed on, waving out at the mountains beyond the lake. "Somewhere out there, Moony, there's a girl. Sitting around, thinking there's nobody for her, 'cause she's different. I'm not saying she'll have your furry little problem, but different in some way! Made For You – and not breaking your heart and sharpening her wit on you in the mean time."
With Moony's future settled, James sighed in the way only a heart-broken, love-struck fourteen year old can sigh.
Remus stared out at the lake too. Werewolves do not have girlfriends. That wasn't going to change. He wasn't ever going to burden some girl with his problems, and he didn't need futuristic match-making. But – James meant it kindly. And if the kindness was about as tactful and graceful as the Giant Squid trying to waltz, that didn't make it any less real.
"McGonagall will probably want to give me detention," he said slowly.
James understood what the change of subject meant. "Nope." He shook his head. "We told her you weren't feeling well; Sirius is just explaining to Madam Pomfrey that you came down to get a stomach-upset potion, so she'll know when McGonagall asks her. He's planning on confessing to some sort of awful mischief we were about to attempt in class that you refused to take part in, which was why you really stormed out, you model student, you."
Remus turned, and stared at him. "James!" he protested, for quite a different reason to before.
"Moony!" James sprang to his feet and hauled Remus up after him. "C'mon, we're the Marauders! We stick together – and if we can think of a suitably awful bit of mischief during lunch, we can make it true by tea-time! Come on!"
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