If I'm the King of Cowards, You're the Queen of Pain

When James Potter woke up on the 9th of September 1976, the morning after the full moon, several thoughts ran through his head. They weren't consecutive thoughts, one after another in logical order, and they weren't an illogical ramble of ideas all smushed together awkwardly, either. Rather, they were two observations arriving in tandem.

The first was a very mild acknowledgement of Oh, I must've fallen asleep.

The second was a much more urgent, almost scolding, Shit, I fell asleep!

He sat bolt upright so quickly his spine popped in a most unpleasant way. He glanced down at himself, mildly surprised to find he was still fully dressed in yesterdays uniform, pants pulled uncomfortably to the right, digging painfully into his thigh, and his shirt half unbuttoned and hanging unceremoniously off one shoulder. His tie was still fastened around his neck, bizarrely, apparently unfazed by the digressions of his collar.

He jumped off his bed and attempted to straighten his clothes as he made his way to the small window between his own four-poster and Peter's. It was still pitch black in the room, and he had to squint to make out the rough shape of the bedside table, so as to avoid walking into it.

It had been a stormy night, rain lashing the stone walls of the castle ceaselessly, and the grounds were still sodden and dark. So was the sky, grey and cloudy and unwelcoming as was only possible in Scotland.

For a few minutes, James thought it was still too early, that he had only closed his eyes for a second and it was still the middle of the night. But the window of the tower was north facing, and when he leaned out far enough he caught the pink and yellow tint in the clouds over the eastern mountains. The sun had risen enough for the transformation to be over.

Fastening the last of his buttons, he turned back into the dim room. He glanced down at Peter as he passed, the boy having pulled his covers over his head in the night and was thus reduced to a snoring crimson blob, and decided not to wake him just yet. They wouldn't be able to visit Remus until after breakfast anyway.

Instead, he padded quietly across to the other side of his bed and began his ritual morning sock hunt. It was in vain, he knew, but he searched regardless, muttering to the drawn curtains of Sirius' bed behind him.

' You going to hide in there all day?' he asked, as coldly as he could manage.

It wasn't very effective, to be fair. James never could stay angry at his best friend, even when said friend was being an idiot.

' C'mon, Pads,' James said, abandoning he attempt at hostility altogether. ' I know you can't sleep on full moon nights.'

Still no answer.

For a moment he considered that maybe Sirius, too, had dosed off, but quickly dismissed the idea. Sirius was, if possible, even more protective of Remus than James himself was.

At least, when he wasn't being a complete arsehole like the day before.

James instinctively touched a tentative finger to his cheek. The flesh around his eye was still tender and he hadn't been able to completely rid his skin of the purple tinge that remained of the bruise. But he took great satisfaction in the knowledge that he gave as good as he got, and busted lips took longer to heal that black eyes.

Finally having located a passable pair of socks - a nice, thick woollen pair that he had only worn once before loosing them down his mattress - under his bed, James straightened up.

' Padfoot?' he tried again as he pulled them onto his pneumonic toes. ' Sirius?'

He groaned when only silence followed, panicking a bit now. His fears were confirmed when he pulled back the scarlet drapes to find a very empty, very neatly made bed.

Sirius never made his bed. He hadn't come up to the dorm all night.

Shit.

James groaned again, muttering to himself, ' Please don't have done something stupid.'

This is Padfoot we're talking about, he reminded himself, Of course he's done something stupid.

With a final curse, he bolted from the bedroom, not even bothering to find shoes, but grabbing his invisibility cloak as he went. Beautiful object. He really had to thank he dad again for it.

James hurried through the castle mostly unhindered. It was still early, and most of the schools population hadn't risen for breakfast yet. He dodged the few wandering students and staff with practiced ease, glad that his thick socks muffled his footfalls as well as preventing his feet from freezing to the icy stone floors.

He only halted once, to avoid Peeves, who was attempting to dismantle a suit of armour - which was, in turn, protesting very loudly. James edged carefully around them, holding his breath and only relaxing again when he heard the poltergeist zooming away humming an obscene rhyme about Mrs. Norris that James tried very hard not to laugh out loud at.

' Very well,' the remains of the metal man said in a quiet voice that was outwardly resigned, but buzzed with suppressed amusement. ' It isn't as though legs are a fundamental component in my structural integrity, so long as you make good use of them tormenting small animals.'

This time, James didn't quite manage to stifle his chuckle. He ducked around a very bewildered looking forth-year Ravenclaw and made a mental note to devise a prank involving the metallic guardians of the castle, as they seemed to have a rather good sense of humour.

He pulled the cloak off and stuffed it haphazardly into his pocket as he rounded the last corner before the hospital wing. He opened the heavy door and caught a glimpse of the tightly drawn curtain at the very back corner of the room before the matron shooed him back out of the sterile white hall.

' He isn't well, not at all! Absolutely exhausted! No visiting today!'

Madam Pomfrey was one of the younger members of staff at Hogwarts, not even thirty - which was impressive, given the years of training required to become a fully certified practicing healer outside of Saint Mungo's. She was a lot like McGonagall, James thought. Stern and no-nonsense, but with that underlying affection that occasionally shone through the rough exterior.

James wondered if it was a Gryffindor loyalty thing, like with McGoogles, but he couldn't honestly remember ever hearing which house Poppy Pomfrey had been in. Maybe it was a Marauder charm thing, instead, he decided as he jumped right in with one of his best smiles.

' Poppy! I didn't mean to surprise you! Just, you know,' he added a touch of sincerity that couldn't have been forced if he tried, and continued, ' You know we worry about him. I just wanted to check he got back okay this morning.'

Her face softened a little and she nodded.

' Good lad,' she said, approvingly. ' He's lucky to have friends like you boys.'

James half raised an eyebrow in hopeful question, and she added, a bit firmer,' Still no visits.'

' What about this afternoon?' he pleaded, borrowing that kicked-puppy look his friends did so well. ' He likes to see us. Please.'

She faltered. She liked Remus, and - despite Sirius and Peter's constant remarks as to exactly how much - had mothered him every month for over five years. She was visibly struggling with herself. James considered fluttering his eyelashes at her, but that might have been overkill. Instead, he stood quietly and waited for her to convince herself of Remus' best interests.

' I'll see,' she said, finally. I'll see what he wants when he wakes up.'

' Thanks,' James said, turning to leave before he remembered why he had been out so early in the first place. ' Madam Pomfrey? You haven't had Sirius up here, by any chance?'

' No,' she said, sharply. ' What can that boy possibly have done to himself now?'

I don't know, that's the problem, James thought before answering, with more humour than he felt, ' Oh, I'm sure he'll think of something to keep you on your toes.'

She gave him a very sceptical look, but said nothing as he left.

It was only after another hour and a half of fruitlessly searching the grounds, that James realised he had absolutely no idea where his best friend was. Sirius didn't have any regular haunts - like Remus had the library, Peter had the kitchens and James had the highest available open-topped towers.

He wasn't involved in any outside activities - never one for study groups, or Chess Clubs, and his ban from Quidditch was indefinite. He certainly didn't have any family he could've gone to. At best, he could've wandered aimlessly about the school all night. At worst, James didn't want to think about it. Sirius had been known to disappear for hours at a time in first year, and return with very unexplained, very obviously self-inflicted injuries on his hands and wrists, usually from punching walls, or other people.

James suddenly felt like a failure.

He tried to think of anywhere he knew Sirius would go, but drew a blank. Over summer, James had managed to wheedle from him the fact that he stayed in the Defence block with Professor Knox after The Prank. But seeing as how the DADA Curse had prevailed yet again, she hadn't returned this year.

Bugger it all.

He was despondently making his way back to the common room to grab some shoes, when he passed the tapestry of Godric Gryffindor on the transfiguration corridor. It was a depiction of the founder commissioning the Goblins for the Sword of Gryffindor and, much more importantly, behind it was what looked like a very large murder-hole that led through to a small tower. They had used it for their plotting back in first and second years, before they had mastered comprehensive silencing charms. James hadn't been back in years.

It was a significantly tighter squeeze than he remembered it being, and he almost abandoned the attempt. When he finally pulled himself into the small circular room, he was glad he hadn't.

Sirius was slouched against the back wall, pale and clammy and not looking well at all. He didn't look up, but made a strange exhaling noise that might have been a laugh.

' Nice socks.'

' Shit, Padfoot,' James found himself saying, kneeling by his friend and pressing a hand to his forehead. He was sweaty, but cold, like his body couldn't decide which was better. ' What the hell have you done?'

' Something stupid,' he mumbled, closing his eyes and resting his head back to the wall.

' I could've guessed that,' James said impatiently, tugging Sirius' soaking shirt off his arms. ' A little more specifical…'

He trailed off as the fabric pulled away from the frozen skin of his best friend, revealing significantly worse blemishes than goosebumps.

Three long, open slashes ran down Sirius' side, cleanly following the curve from shoulder blade to hip. The ragged edges were a sharp, hot red in contrast to the cold, ivory of the rest of his clammy skin. The wounds weren't bleeding, but were leaking a pungent, unpleasant yellowish white liquid.

James gagged, and turned away.

' Is it that bad?' Sirius asked, slurring a little.

' Yeah, it is,' James said quietly, steeling himself to turn back.

When he did, Sirius almost looked like he was asleep, except for the constant shivering of his limbs. James drew his wand, swallowed hard, then knelt back down and got to work cleaning the scratches. He looked up after a minute, and found Sirius had opened his eyes.

' Don't tell him,' he said, flatly. He let his head loll to the side, allowing him to meet James eyes. His own grey ones were listless, empty. ' Please, just don't tell him.'

' Him?' James asked, things finally clicking to place in his brain. ' Moony?'

He hadn't stopped to think about where the cuts came from, but it was so obvious! They were clearly animal scratches, long and deep and tinted with something. Something dark. Something cursed. Something like Lycanthropy.

' Sirius!' James shouted, grabbing his friends face. ' Tell me you were in your fur. Tell me you were a dog!'

The boy nodded weakly, muttering in that hollow voice, ' I'd be dead otherwise.'

' You're an idiot, Black! Fucking idiot!' James said, harshly. Then added, quietly, ' I won't tell him.'

' Thanks.'

' Don't thank me yet, you twat. This is going to scar, you know. Badly. Best keep your shirt on more often. Since when were you so unbelievably fucking stupid?'

Sirius mumbled something to quietly for James to hear, not that he was listening anyway.

' You're lucky I'm so good at these healing spells,' He said, as he finished guiding the abused skin back together. ' That'll have to do. Now come on, I can't fix Hypothermia. Up! To the hospital wing!'

Helping his very wobbly and weak friend to his feet, but one who was still taller and heavier than him, James was very thankful for Poppy Pomfrey, the school Matron, who is competent and efficient and secretly concerned.

And, best of all, who doesn't ask any questions.

I am so, so, so very sorry for the wait! It's the longest I've taken between updates, and I cannot apologise enough. In my defence, I have spent much of the last week bedridden and delirious with fever-dreams. Cursed stress and psychosomatic infections. I am Sorry! Please forgive me and my haunted brain!

Ahem. Right, yes. I think that is it. Thank you to everyone who reviewed last time, and Thanks to all the people who added this to watch and faves and such. There were rather a lot of you, and I can't remember all your names, but thanks regardless!

Thank you for taking the time to read this, I appreciate your feedback! Danke Schoen!