Sure enough, James ended up making Beater, along with a seventh-year who was very disgruntled that he had to directly work with a third-year.

"I knew I could," said James proudly. "Didn't I? I said so."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "You've been practicing all hours of the day. Of course you did."

"And what's wrong with practicing?" James asked, hands on his hips. "That just means that I worked harder for it, doesn't it?"

"Nothing's wrong with practicing," said Sirius, grinning now. "We just can't say that we're proud of you because we're men."

"Men," scoffed Remus. "We're not men. We're thirteen. And fourteen."

Truth be told, Remus didn't want to grow up any faster than he already was. He wanted to stay at Hogwarts forever, in the safety of the castle walls, with a safe place to transform and friends who would never abandon him—well, probably not—but he couldn't imagine how different things would be when they were out of Hogwarts. Things were safe here, in the imitation of real life that Dumbledore had provided for the Hogwarts students, but Out There it was probably dangerous and terrifying… but Remus was only in third year. He was only a little kid. No one would make him fend for himself anytime soon.

"Got you a present, Sirius," said James. "I know things were busy yesterday, but I didn't completely forget your birthday. You're still my best mate, you know."

"Oh," said Sirius, waving his hand, "it's not that important. Charlotte and I are going to be spending a lot of time together, anyhow. I might not have time for Marauder-ish antics."

James looked absolutely bowled over. "Who are you and what have you done with Padfoot?" he asked.

Remus laughed. Sirius was legitimately trying to make James jealous. For some reason, that was the funniest thing in the world to Remus.

The Marauders set off to doing their own things—Remus and James worked on schoolwork, Peter read a book, and Sirius tried to turn his tie violet—and it was a full five minutes before Sirius, seemingly overtaken with curiosity, said, "Fine, James, show me the present."

James grinned triumphantly. "I got you a record player," he said. "I dunno if you already have one, but this one is your very own. Loads of magical features. And I also got you a couple records. There's this bloke named Dave Hippo, and he's super. Sings and plays the guitar. He's not as good as I am at the electric guitar, but still."

Remus snorted. James' electric guitar skills were woefully subpar. "I've been listening to records in the Hospital Wing," he offered. "I have some, too. Madam Pomfrey gets angry with me sometimes because she doesn't like them, but it's pretty fun."

"What sorts of music do you listen to?" asked Sirius, who was eyeing the record player with reluctant awe.

"No music. Just speeches. There was a werewolf advocate that Professor Questus really liked—Alexander Adamson—and he had twenty-three records. It was ridiculous. Apparently they're really cheap. No one really likes him during anti-werewolf times, but they keep producing him for some reason, and..."

"These are anti-werewolf times?" asked James.

Remus blinked. There was no way that James was that stupid. He knew that everyone hated werewolves these days, didn't he?

Then Remus realized that no one but him had any reason to pay attention to werewolf-related current events.

"Yes," he said slowly. "It's nearly always an anti-werewolf time, of course, but the war is making it worse. Werewolf attacks are going up in numbers, and some werewolves are working with Voldemort… people are afraid, and I can't really blame them."

James was silent for a moment. "You weren't here at the end of last year," he said.

"Oh, astute observation."

"Shut up, I wasn't finished. You weren't here at the end of last year… so you didn't see what happened."

"Dumbledore told me a little about it. He said that he had to make an announcement. There was a girl who lost a family member in the… in the massacre."

"Yeah, but there was more than that," said Peter quietly. "Everyone was terrified, Remus. Terrified."

"There was absolute panic. People thought for sure that the Death Eaters would come after their own families. Everyone was writing home… people were in the Hospital Wing, making themselves ill with worry… no one really says Voldemort anymore. Not here. It's only You-Know-Who."

"There were rumors," said Sirius, twirling his wand as if ready to fend off invisible Death Eaters at any minute. "People think it's the apocalypse. People are pretty sure that the world will descend into a dystopian nightmare of sorts—like that thing I saw in the Visionvines last summer, but much worse."

Peter nodded. "Muggle-borns were terrified. People with Squib relatives were, too."

"And I didn't go home last summer," said Sirius, "but I'm certain that Dad is still dealing with the aftermath of publicly announcing that he stands with a man whose followers murdered a whole town of people. Bet he regrets saying that now."

Remus remembered that article—Sirius' father had, indeed, proclaimed that he stood with Voldemort's ideals, even though he didn't stand with his methods. "Are people going to start thinking that your family are terrorists?" James asked.

"Dunno," said Sirius. "Hope not. I don't like my family much, so I couldn't care less how they feel... but I'm a Black, too, so their reputation affects mine."

"That's how I feel," said Remus. "Couldn't care less about what Greyback and his lot does, but it affects me. Every time there's an attack, werewolf prejudice increases exponentially. Everyone thinks that werewolves are terrorists... and in many cases, they're not wrong."

"You're not a terrorist," said James.

"Let me out on the full moon and I'll be worse than that. Besides, I'm not the only werewolf in Britain. Most aren't like me. Actually, there are none like me. I'm terribly interesting and unique." Remus tried for a smile, but it died on his lips.

"I'm kind of scared," said Peter, and his voice was so quiet that even Remus' werewolf hearing nearly missed it. "The Death Eaters can kill whole towns of people with just one spell. Who could possibly beat them?"

"Dumbledore," said Remus. "He can do anything."

"Then why didn't he stop the attack?"

"Because… well, he didn't know that it was going to happen."

James looked pensive. "Dumbledore can't do everything, Moony. And I doubt he could beat this Voldemort bloke… after all, Voldemort's been active for years and years, and Dumbledore hasn't beaten him yet."

"Maybe Dumbledore's just waiting for the right time."

"When will the right time be?" asked Peter. "How many people will die before the right time? It could be our families. It could be… it could be one of us."

"No," said James. Now he stood up with a renewed vigor, and Remus was almost frightened by the ferocity in his eyes. "None of us are going to die, Wormtail. We're the best at magic, aren't we? Padfoot and I are brilliant, Moony's read enough to know dozens of spells—and he's a great duellist, besides."

"And you're fantastic too, Pete," offered Remus.

"We're still gonna win the war once we leave school. We're going to fight, the four of us. Remember? We're going to go off on our own and kill Voldemort, and none of us are going to die before this war is over."

"Not a single one," said Sirius. "No man left behind."

"Right." James nodded vehemently. "Either we all live, or we all die heroic deaths in the heat of the war, bringing Voldemort down on the way… and then we'll all meet up in Wizard Heaven and have the biggest party known to mankind."

"And werewolf-kind," said Remus. "I wonder if werewolves go to Wizard Heaven." Remus wasn't entirely convinced that there was an afterlife, himself, but he wasn't sure that he'd be a part of it even if there was.

"Of course they do," said James stubbornly. "You're a wizard, aren't you? It's Wizard Heaven, not Human Heaven."

Remus smiled. "Right. Wizard Heaven. I'll bring the Butterbeer."

"Now, Padfoot," continued James, "it might be a little hard to bring your girlfriend on our Marauder-ish adventures. I imagine we'll be camping outside a lot. Maybe eating bugs. Belching and things. Probably not suitable for girls."

"I'll ditch her," said Sirius immediately. "Either that, or she'll wait for me in our nice, suburban house, waving a handkerchief and counting down the hours until my return."

"With your kids," said Remus.

"Yes, with my many children. All Gryffindors."

James laughed, and then the four of them lapsed into silence.

"Speaking of kids," said James, "anyone planning on having any? You know, after the war."

"You're thirteen and not romantically attached, Prongs," scoffed Remus. "Bit early to be thinking about all that."

"I know, I know… I was just thinking the other day that I might like to be a dad."

"You're joking, right?" said Sirius.

"No."

"What brought that about?"

"I was sitting learning about Muggle baby contraptions in Muggle Studies." James made a face. "They have to clean up their kids by hand, you know. And I thought… hey. It might be nice to have one of those. A kid, you know. We could run around and play catch and… well, I don't really know what to do with a kid. But it might be nice."

"I wouldn't want a kid," said Sirius. "It might annoy me."

"You'd corrupt your child before he's a year old," said Remus.

James laughed. "Hey, Moony, you'd make a good dad."

"No, I wouldn't."

"Yes, you would. A great dad, even. Brilliant. You're all responsible."

"I'm not going to be a dad."

"Why not? You'd be a brilliant dad, now that I think about it."

"No."

"Come on, Moony, we've got to be dads together so that we can bring our kids for playdates and things…"

"James, I am not going to risk passing on my condition to an innocent child."

Silence. Why, oh why, did Remus always have to kill the mood? It was so difficult to find the balance between talking about his lycanthropy too much and keeping it a total secret.

"Lycanthropy's not genetic, is it?" asked James after a while.

"Dunno. I've never had a kid. But it might be." Remus shrugged. "It doesn't matter, anyhow. I'd never get married or anything. That would be terribly irresponsible."

"Why? And why can't you just adopt?"

"Whomever I marry—or adopt, I s'pose—would be just as despised as I am. I couldn't support a family, because I'm going to have some trouble finding a job. Society would hate both me and my family. Anyone tied to me would be subjected to my own fate, minus the transformations… and I wouldn't force a burden upon anyone, especially when it's a burden that I can't handle myself at times."

"But those were the same concerns that you had when we became your friends, and that worked out all right."

"No," said Remus. "This is different. You can leave any time, but wedding vows are just that. They're vows. If I were to marry, then my wife wouldn't be able to walk away easily if things got too hard. I'd be trapping her, and she'd feel just as trapped as I do." Remus knew that James loved to plan—adored it—but Remus didn't like thinking about the future. He played with the thumb of his glove, trying to think about something else. "Do let's talk about something else. We'll just take things as they come. We don't have to think about the rest of our lives… we're thirteen."

"But if we die at thirty in some heroic battle, then our lives are halfway over," said Sirius impatiently.

Remus cringed. There was the dreaded Halfway Point again. He didn't like thinking about Halfway. It made him feel like he'd wasted time.

"No one's going to die at thirty," said James. "Look, Moony, our futures are bright, okay? Super bright. Shining. Positively blinding. We'll be okay."

Remus wanted to protest, but then he smiled and nodded. "Yeah," he said, hoping that would end the conversation. "Now let's start talking about something less sappy. Want to listen to a record? This Dave Hippo bloke sounds interesting."

It was only halfway through the first song before the James had memorized all of the words to the chorus. The song was long and complicated (especially the chorus), so the feat was quite impressive. The rest of the Marauders didn't know the lyrics, but they tried to sing along nevertheless—Remus had never imagined that singing a stupid song about hippos with his best mates would be so much fun.

"I HAVE A HIPPOPOTAMUS; HIS COURAGE MIGHT BE BOTTOMLESS, HE SEEMS A LITTLE OMINOUS, HE'S MORE OR LESS ANONYMOUS, BUT OFT HE GOES BY ROMULUS—that's almost like your name, Remus—HE'S ALSO QUITE MONOGAMOUS, AND USUALLY AUTONOMOUS, AND ALSO HE'S NITROGENOUS, HIS FRIENDS ARE ALL HOMOGENOUS, AND ALSO HE'S SYNONYMOUS WITH MOTHER'S PET RHINOCEROUS."

Sirius was trying to sing along, too, but he didn't know all the words yet. "I HAVE A HIPPOPOTAMUS, I HAVE A HIPPOPOTAMUS, I HAVE A HIPPOPOTAMUS, I HAVE A HIPPOPOTAMUS, I HAVE A HIPPOPOTAMUS, I HAVE A HIPPOPOTAMUS…." he sang, and Remus and Peter did the same.

"That song doesn't make any sense whatsoever," said Remus once it had ended, out of breath and grinning wildly. "It's just words that rhyme with 'hippopotamus'."

"It's the principle of the thing," said James.

"That doesn't make any sense, either…."

"But it's the principle of the thing."

"How many songs does this Dave Hippo have?" asked Peter.

"Eleven, and they're all about hippos," said Remus checking the back of the record case.

"They're not all about hippos," said James. "Mum told me that the fourth one isn't about hippos."

"Prongs, it's literally called 'The Hippo of Seville'…."

"Doesn't mean it's about hippos. Could be about kangaroos."

Remus shook his head. He'd read a lot of wizarding children's novels when he was younger (Maxwell Melephant and the Magic Elephant being his favorite). He'd grown up on absurdist wizard humor. But… he still didn't get it sometimes. "What's this next one coming on?" asked Peter.

"Hippopotamus Hambo," said Remus.

They were only halfway through "singing" the song when Puttle walked into their room, arms crossed. "You're being too loud," he said.

"But it's not past curfew yet," said Sirius.

"You're still being too loud! We can hear you all the way in the common room, and we're trying to get some work done! Some of us are in N.E.W.T.-level classes, you know!"

"Doesn't mean you have to be a fun-sucking Dementor," said James. "Do your homework in the library."

Puttle huffed. "I'm your Prefect, so settle down!"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said.

Puttle left, and the Marauders started singing again after only about five minutes. They didn't stop until McGonagall entered the dormitory—Puttle had probably snitched on them—and lectured them sternly about "respecting the needs of others".

Remus woke up that night with an awful nightmare that he had murdered James and Sirius and Peter, and there was a war raging around him, and he couldn't breathe, for some reason, and the air had turned to water, and his friends were only skeletons now.

He woke up tasting blood. He'd bitten his tongue.

"S'only a dream, Remus," said James sleepily.

It was two-forty-one in the morning, according to Remus' watch. He sighed.

The window was still watching him with its all-knowing, ever-threatening gaze.

The next morning, he woke up and smelled dog.

"I think Max is outside our dormitory," he said, puzzled, as he pulled a jumper over his white shirt. "He was following me all day yesterday. I wonder what he could possibly want."

"I'm telling you, mate, he probably wants to get up to some canine shenanigans with you," said Sirius sleepily.

Remus, who was now pulling on his gloves, heard a thump. He looked up. James had hit Sirius upside the head and now had a furious expression on his face. "He doesn't like those jokes," said James.

"I don't mind," said Remus.

"You say that, but you do. Do you know how derogatory it is to assume that full-moon-Remus is all-the-time-Remus, Sirius?"

"But I'm not the only one who jokes about it!"

"Not all jokes are created equal! Some things are appropriate and some aren't!"

"How do you know what's appropriate?" said Sirius, now infuriated. "I can't tell, Prongs! I don't know what kind of jokes Remus is okay with and what he isn't okay with! He doesn't tell us, now, does he?"

"Yeah, because I'm not made of glass," said Remus, arms crossed. "I can handle the odd joke about my condition, James. And Sirius: basically anything that suggests that I'm an animal doesn't sit right with me."

"But that didn't… I mean, you didn't…!"

"I don't mind when you make mistakes. I really don't. I know you mean well, so joke away."

"Okay! See, he said it! I have permission!"

Remus turned away from James' dumbstruck expression to brush his teeth. "I'm not a fragile china doll," he called.

Remus Lupin was not a morning person.

Max followed Remus and his friends the whole morning. He sat next to the table as the Marauders ate. He sat next to Remus' desk in Charms class (Flitwick gave Max permission to be in the room. He was, as Flitwick said, a 'very clever dog'). He wandered the corridors with the Marauders. He even followed Remus back to the dormitory, deterred only when Remus shut the door very firmly behind him so that Max could not enter. Max sat outside the door, patiently waiting, until Remus had to exit the dormitory again to go to class.

Finally, DAD arrived. The first thing that Remus did was walk up to Dilley and alert him of the fact that his dog was stalking Remus.

"Your dog is stalking me," he said.

"Maybe you're reverse-stalking my dog," said Dilley.

Remus blinked. "Er…? That doesn't make… sense?"

Dilley sighed. "I know, I know. Fact is, Max is a very clever dog. He usually knows what he's doing. I don't know what else to tell you."

So Max sat next to Remus' desk, curled up, put his chin on his paws, and waited there, half-asleep, for the remainder of class.

Remus could not get rid of him, and he wondered if perhaps Sirius had been right.

No, of course that couldn't be true. Sirius was hardly ever right.

AN: The hippo song is slightly inspired by "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General" from Pirates of Penzance. Give it a listen if you have extra time!