Hello, Darkness: Chapter 3: Second Year
Chapter 3
I have my books,
And my poetry to protect me
I am shielded in my armor...
Sirius Black looked somewhat out of sorts.
This did work to improve Severus Snape's mood exponentially, when normally he was plunged into chasms of vexation whenever he so much as heard the name Sirius Black. Or James Potter, for that matter. Or Remus Lupin. Or Peter Pettigrew, though Pettigrew was a much nicer sort than the other three. He was never actively offensive. In fact, he never actively did much at all to set Severus off. He was simply reviled by association. Sometimes, such inevitabilities couldn't be avoided.
At least Severus never lied to himself.
There was something to be said -- and nothing pleasant, mind -- about four boys who spent every waking minute together. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly, that made Severus so aggravated. He didn't particularly want to act as asinine as that impossible quartet of even more impossible individuals. He didn't particularly want to have friendships that hinged on the medium of in-jokes and pointed but hardly clever remarks insulting the facial features of others.
It merely got on his nerves that they were the ones to have such camaraderie, while he made Potions.
And not to be misunderstood a second time. Severus liked Potions. He'd always had a knack for the precision and the patience required to brew them. He'd always liked the sound of something, anything, simmering in a heated cauldron. He'd always liked the delicate balance of ingredients, the way even the slightest miscalculation could throw a week-long experiment out the window. (Severus rarely, if ever, made even the slightest miscalculation, as he had a head for figures, mathematical formulae and a natural instinct on top of all that. Hence, he enjoyed the necessity for detail, detail, detail, because he could provide for it.)
Unfortunately, Severus' propensity for such a subtle art gave him very little time to do much else. Friends were hardly high on his list of priorities. It was hard to make them when there was always something boiling in the back of his mind, when a Potion needed tongue of bat or eye of newt or the slightest sprinkling of powdered Hippogriff spleen at exactly five-fifteen. Even lower on his list of priorities was bathing, or getting out much, the former made less offensive by the latter, of course.
In any case, the Potions Master had told him since the very beginning of his first year he was going to achieve great but unsung status in the very near future.
This was all well and good. Except, of course, that one, Severus Snape didn't particularly want to be unsung, and two, he rather liked Defence Against the Dark Arts, in which Sirius Black excelled, in which James Potter excelled, in which Remus Lupin excelled and in which Peter Pettigrew excelled, but in which Severus, though talented to be sure, was not particularly favored. Being a Slytherin, one wasn't exactly expected to get top marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts. On top of that, their current professor was rather biased, Severus suspected. It was all very maddening.
And so seeing Sirius Black looking somewhat out of sorts was a pleasant afternoon treat, when all was said and done. Severus, who spent a lot of time skulking in the shadows because it was, he'd read, a useful life skill, and also because the lighting in the shadows was much more forgiving of unwashed hair, continued to skulk in the shadows. You could uncover an incredible amount of interesting information that way. He'd learned this even before coming to Hogwarts. It was the sort of thing you Knew, when you were a Snape.
"You didn't see it! I did! It burned him! It burned his hand!" Sirius was trying, Severus noted, to impart that this news was Very Important, while yet remaining Very Cool lest anyone was watching. Severus was both distinctly unimpressed and distinctly envious. The latter was unacknowledged. Who, he insisted stubbornly, needed to be cool when you were a Potions prodigy?
Who, indeed.
Severus scratched at his admittedly greasy scalp -- extreme dedication to Potions had all been much easier before the sudden occurrence of hormones -- and continued to eavesdrop.
"Maybe it was hot," James offered. "Sometimes you don't know where these things've been."
"But I had it in MY HAND," Sirius explained. "And it wasn't hot at all. It was just water!"
"Maybe he just cut himself?" Peter offered. "And when you gave it to him it hurt the cut?"
"Well," Sirius began, "he did cut himself, actually -- I'm sure of that. It's just that then I saw his hand and it looked like he'd burnt himself, all black and scabby and weird and things, and he saw me looking at it -- and now where is he? At the nurse's, I'll bet you. Getting it treated. Because if he doesn't, then -- "
"But -- there could be other reasons -- " Peter said hesitantly. Sirius clasped a hand on his shoulder.
"Sometimes," he said, "you've got to really give it a good think, and you realise -- "
Sirius cut off sharply for the second time. It was then that Severus realized his prime mistake: he'd been focusing so hard on listening that he'd come out of the shadows without noticing it.
"I'd know that nose anywhere," Sirius said, eyes narrowing.
"Bugger," Severus said. It was so hard to be eloquent when the game was up.
"Listening in on conversations? Don't you have anything better to do?" Severus saw Sirius was already clenching his fists, not even bothering to roll up his sleeves.
Intent on remaining calm, Severus stepped out of the shadows, trying to compose himself and maintain some level of dignity. Why he would try to do so with Sirius Black -- who had established himself as a bully out of mere carelessness and some level of selfish indifference -- was ever a mystery to him. The higher ground, of course. So long as he had the higher ground, he had everything. "I can assure you," Severus began, "I hardly find your conversations scintillating or--"
"You talk like a poof," Sirius said.
And then it happened.
It was to remain, the stigma of Severus' childhood years, and an oft remembered nightmare of his adulthood.
Sirius Black decided to give Severus Snape a nickname. It was hardly clever or particularly well thought out. That didn't matter, Severus supposed. As it was, it was still very catchy.
"You talk like a poof," Sirius repeated, lips curving into a nasty grin, "Snivellus."
"That's wonderfully original of you, Black. Stooping to name-calling. How unimaginative of you--"
But Sirius Black had already punched Severus in the nose and stormed off.
Severus sat down. Hard.
"Sorry about that," Peter said, before he followed James, who was following Sirius.
"Bugger," Severus said again. After all, there really wasn't much else to say about it.
***
"So if you had to kiss a girl -- "
"Ech!"
James sighed. "I know, I know, but if you had to?"
"On a dare, like?" Peter asked, lounging back on the grass. James, who was leaning against the oak tree behind them, shrugged.
"Sure. If you absolutely had to, who'd you kiss?"
Peter screwed up his pleasant face, thinking. Finally, he sat up.
"Well, Lily is nice," he said.
There was a long silence. Then, James burst out laughing.
"Fat Evans?" he demanded. Peter just grinned sheepishly.
"She's nice," he persisted. "And, you know, she doesn't go around flipping her hair and talking behind peoples' backs and all."
James continued to laugh, slipping down the tree until he was seated beneath it. "I'm telling Sirius," he grinned. "Peter's got a crush on Fat Evans!"
"I do not," Peter replied, imperturbably good-natured. "It's just that -- "
"Oi, James, Pettigrew!" Sirius skidded up to them, nearly slipping on the grass, and grabbed James, hauling him up by the elbow. Peter scrambled to his feet when he saw the look on Sirius' face.
"What?" James demanded. Neither boy had ever seen Sirius so agitated. It must be something dreadful, James figured, because nothing short of a natural disaster could pierce Sirius' Cool.
"We're in trouble," Sirius gasped, then visibly calmed himself. "Listen, you won't believe what just happened -- Lupin's a werewolf!"
James and Peter stared.
"No, course he's not," James said finally. "We'd know. He'd've told us."
"I'm telling you!" Sirius blurted. "Listen, we were in the Common Room and..." He paused, trailing off, and glanced all around them, before lowering his voice. "I know what I'm talking about, and he's a werewolf."
***
"Still studying, Lupin?" Sirius asked, lounging with his feet propped up on the wide study table. He had just about put the finishing spit and polish on being Cool, he decided. He even sat Cool. Not that it was important when it was just Lupin around, since Lupin wasn't ever impressed by it anyway, but anyone could come into the Common Room at any minute and see them. Being Cool was an art form, a way of life. It was all about being prepared.
"Just finishing up," Remus replied. "I know you supergeniuses were done ages ago, but I'm afraid some of us are only human, Sirius."
"Huh," Sirius said. "And some of us are just more into footnotes than others." He rose and crossed to the window, pouring himself a cup of water. The other day, he'd nicked one of the scrying cups from its case in the library, and wanted to show it off at every opportunity. It was real, heavy silver, with inscriptions all round the rim, and he thought it looked extremely Cool and also a little Dangerous.
"Could you pour me some?" Remus asked. He didn't look up from his parchment, quill moving quickly over the paper, an open book under his slim hand. Sirius, grinning, refilled the goblet and walked back to the table. "Ta, Sirius -- "
He took the cup from Sirius without looking, and the next thing Sirius knew there was a sizzling noise and water was running everywhere, over the book, the half-filled parchment, Remus' clothing. The cup clunked dully as it hit the floor.
Remus himself let out a pained whine, and tucked his hand immediately against his chest before Sirius could get a clear look. But what Sirius saw was enough. He stared.
"How'd that -- what -- " Sirius looked from Remus to the cup to Remus again. Remus had his eyes closed, and was rocking forward, body curled around his hand.
"It's nothing," Remus ground out. Sirius frowned deeply. He wasn't stupid -- far from it. It obviously was something, something bad. Sirius knelt and touched the cup. It was cool, and didn't hurt in the slightest as he picked it up, but Remus shied away from it.
"Why didn't you use a normal cup?" Remus demanded.
Sirius stared at the cup, then at Remus, and several little building-blocks began to pile themselves up in his head.
That was when it came to him. Why hadn't he seen it before?
He snatched Remus' uninjured hand, holding it firmly even though the other boy cried out for him to let go. There was brown hair growing across the knuckles, and the fingernails were harder, just slightly too long.
He met Remus' eyes and saw more fear there than was warranted by the pain.
Then, Sirius bolted.
***
Peter and James had objections and questions at first: surely it wasn't true, why would Sirius think such a thing, how could he know for sure, it was probably just an honest mistake and once they talked to him they'd find out it was all a big misunderstanding. Meanwhile, Sirius struggled to convince these two daft disbelievers that for a year and a half they'd been sharing their bedroom, nicking socks off, borrowing ties from, lending books to, wrestling, eating and studying with a Dark Creature.
A monster.
"Where are you going?" James asked. He hurried after Sirius as Sirius stalked off, fist still throbbing from crunching Severus Snape's nose.
"To Dumbledore," Sirius growled. "I'm having that monster thrown out of school by tonight."
"Steady on, Sirius, he's hardly a -- "
"He's a Dark Creature! He could have attacked us at any moment!" Sirius said explosively, turning on Peter. James stepped back, in case Sirius was going to punch Peter, too. "He's filth! Everyone says so! My dad says those-- those-- they ought to be locked-up year round. And he's been-- ech, I've eaten food off his plate!"
Peter stared, wide-eyed.
"But he's Remus," he said softly, though Sirius was already moving again. James, torn between a stunned Peter and a furious Sirius, hesitated. He shifted his weight, swaying, and then with an apologetic look given to Peter, he followed Sirius.
"Must have lied his way into Gryffindor somehow," Sirius was muttering. "Lied about where he's been -- sick mum my arse!"
"Well," James said. By now, he was nearly running to keep up with the furious boy. "My mum says they're just like us, really, only they need special locking-up sometimes. Full moon sometimes, I suppose."
"Every bloody day of their miserable lives!" Sirius insisted. "He doesn't belong here, James, he's not a real wizard, he's not even human!"
James refrained from pointing out that none of them had known the difference. Still, it was rotten of Lupin to lie about it. And his parents had said that decent werewolves oughtn't to mix in polite company. If James met one, ever, he was supposed to be distant and quiet and polite, but make sure to get away as soon as possible.
"Listen, either you're with me or you're a fool," Sirius said, stopping abruptly. Almost as if he could read James' thoughts. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to Dumbledore."
James frowned and hesitated.
"I'll go with you as far as his office," he said, finally.
***
"But why?" Sirius demanded. "Why would you protect a-- a werewolf?"
Albus Dumbledore, unfazed by Sirius Black's very loud and very verbal outrage, watched the boy over the crescent rims of his spectacles. His imperturbed attitude -- even the unfailing sparkle in his eyes -- only served to further incense Sirius. How could Dumbledore be so calm about this? How could he have allowed a dangerous monster into their midst, enabling him to sleep and eat and just live with them? And, worse yet, how could he stand by his original decision when faced with the error of his ways? How could he continue to defend and protect Remus Lupin -- who was an unregistered werewolf?
Sirius had always thought something was off about Headmaster Dumbledore. Mum and dad told me he wasn't quite all right in the head, Sirius remembered. Now I know they're right about him.
"Are you quite finished, Mr. Black?" Dumbledore asked, startling Sirius from his stunned thoughts.
"Not if you're going to keep defending him, I'm not!" Sirius exclaimed. "How can you be so calm about this? He's not even human, he's not like anyone else, he's--"
"A very smart boy and a very fine young man," Dumbledore interrupted. "One who has spent too much of his time hiding himself for this very reason -- if even his friends cannot accept who and what he is, then who will?"
"Well, James and Peter weren't all that worried," Sirius muttered sulkily. Was everyone in the world mad but him? Perhaps, he thought now, he ought to have been a bit more Cool about things from the start. Dumbledore was treating him like an irrational child. Not right in the head at all, Sirius agreed with himself. Absolutely touched in the head, if you ask me.
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed.
"Mr. Black," he said, suddenly stern. "How many people did you tell?"
Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his chair as Dumbledore's normally twinkling eyes pinned him against the back. The man was definitely off his rocker. He could go from benevolent old fruitcake to scowling old fruitcake in no time at all, and that just wasn't on. Sirius swallowed.
"Er," he began.
"The truth, Mr. Black," Dumbledore warned him, "And I'll know if you're lying, so you needn't bother yourself to try."
"Just James and Peter," Sirius admitted. "But don't think I'm not going to--"
"I don't think you're not going to," Dumbledore agreed. "In fact, I know you're not going to." He leaned forward across the desk, pressing Sirius back with his scowl -- an expression which Sirius later swore actually burnt holes into you when you were that close to it. Sirius mustered all his Cool, which served as a defense mechanism when he'd lost all his Brave, which was soon to be followed by most of his breakfast.
"You don't know any--"
"Because if you do tell anyone else," Dumbledore continued, "you will give me no choice but to expel you."
Sirius stared.
"Expel me?" he asked at last, bereft of all his Cool, and therefore sounding like a fish out of water. "You can't expel me for telling people the truth!"
"On the contrary, Mr. Black," Dumbledore said, cheerful once more. "I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, not you. Therefore, I can do whatever it is I want, should I feel it necessary, or should it so much as please me."
The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes became somewhat more disturbing when coupled with a statement like that one.
Sirius opened and closed his mouth, and found that nothing was going to come out of it. Dumbledore smiled brightly at that reaction, leaning back easily in his chair. He'd won, Sirius realized. How had he won? The man was letting a werewolf -- a bloody werewolf! -- go to his school, and here he was, smiling smugly and unwrapping a lemon sherbet!
"Have I made myself completely clear, Mr. Black?"
"Yes, Headmaster," Sirius said. He had never said anything more sullenly in his life, and by age six he'd already perfected the art of Sullen.
"Absolutely and totally?" Dumbledore pressed.
"Absolutely and totally," Sirius echoed.
This was humiliating.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together happily. "Now. I believe I have some pressing business to discuss with your friends, Mr. Potter and Mr. Pettigrew, mm?"
"Mm."
"I hope you've found this conversation useful," Dumbledore half-hummed as he showed Sirius to the door. "Do feel free to drop by at any time you have other such issues to discuss. Oh!" There was the crinkling of plastic wrap, and Dumbledore fished a little yellow carton out of a deep pocket. "Lemon sherbet?" He offered.
Yes, Sirius Black decided, Albus Dumbledore is definitely insane.
***
That night, Sirius nicked James' invisibility cloak, an inheritance from his grandfather that James had smuggled out to school with him, and left the Common Room before Remus had returned. Word had it he was spending the night in the infirmary for a stomach flu.
Some stomach flu. Sirius bet werewolves didn't even get stomach flu. They got fleas, or something.
He made his way to the library with parchment scroll, quill, and inkpot tucked in his bag. If Dumbledore was going to be obstinant, he'd write to his parents, who knew people on the Hogwarts school board. He could do it just like an essay. It would be easy enough to find out what werewolves did and why they oughtn't to attend school with normal human boys. And hadn't he always known there was something funny about Lupin? Hadn't he felt it from the very first, when they'd gotten into that fistfight on Platform 9 3/4?
He found the section on Dark Creatures easily, and sure enough, there were several volumes on werewolf lore. He took down the three biggest, and carried them to one of the small tables near the comfortable chairs. Having long forgotten Cool -- you didn't need it in a dark, abandoned library -- he slumped into the chair and opened the first book.
Twenty minutes later he closed it, very confused.
He opened the second book and, instead of starting at the beginning, as he had with the first, went straight to the index in the back. To his surprise, it didn't list "dangers" at all. The closest he could find was "habits" which would have to do. He flipped to that section, and started reading.
Soon enough, he stopped reading again.
Both books seemed to think that werewolves weren't even really separate creatures, not exactly. In fact, they treated werewolves like humans. They even used the pronouns "he" and "she" instead of it. Maybe his mother was right, Sirius thought, and books were for people who hadn't enough independence of thought to make up their own minds.
His bibliophilic soul rebelled at this. Sirius liked books, respected books, and trusted books. Books had to prove their claims.
He opened the third one. This was more like it! The very front was a plate of a beast --
No. No, it wasn't, was it. On closer inspection, it was a man, doubled over, his face twisted into a rictus of pain, both arms clutching his sides. The next page showed fur sprouting along the man's spine and shoulders -- and, opposite that one, a fully-Changed werewolf -- and Sirius flipped past it quickly. The artist had done a very realistic job.
The final page was also a drawing. Here was the same man, human again, curled up in a ball. There were scratches all over his body, some of them bleeding freely, and Sirius frowned.
Figures 1 - 4, read the caption. Transformation in progress. Note evidence of self-mutilation, as a werewolf without prey will attack itself. Wounds heal quickly but may scar. Transformation, as shown, is extremely painful.
Sirius' prior words echoed in his own head.
They ought to all be locked up.
Sirius could hear his parents' voices, too, telling him that Dark Creatures were meant to be imprisoned, and werewolves were especially unsafe because they often masqueraded as regular people. They could Pass, after all, for human, until the day came when they turned on you and ripped your throat out.
But the man in the picture looked so miserable.
He flipped to the text, and began to read, this time not skimming over it as he had done before. He discovered that most werewolves were victims of attacks, and weren't born that way. Which meant, he thought logically, only one thing: they were born human.
He'd never actually been told that.
He discovered also that the transformation was incredibly painful, as was the entire experience; since most werewolves voluntarily locked themselves up, their only target was themselves, and they would bite and tear at their own flesh rather than risk someone else being hurt.
He'd never been told that, either.
In fact, he was beginning to suspect that of all the lies about werewolves he'd encountered, Remus Lupin had told him the fewest.
He paged slowly back to the first picture, of the man bent over in pain. It certainly wasn't how he'd thought werewolves looked, when and if he thought about werewolves at all.
He'd always assumed that werewolves were drooly-jawed, blank-eyed zombies most of the time and mangy, hairy beasts the rest of the time, who preyed on innocent people and ran wild in the forests. But Remus didn't drool. He certainly wasn't a zombie, except when he hadn't had much sleep the night before. And who wasn't a zombie then, really.
In fact, Remus was all in all a tidy, quiet, obedient person. If you looked up Opposite Of Werewolf, that'd be Remus.
And even when he'd touched the cup, he hadn't snarled or turned into a monster or bitten Sirius, had he. He'd held his hand, curled up like that last picture almost. He'd whimpered. He'd tried to hide.
Someone wasn't being honest with Sirius Black, and Sirius thought suddenly it wasn't Remus or Dumbledore or James or Peter. It certainly wasn't the books, open on the table before him.
And every time he looked at the picture in the second book, he felt something odd. Akin to pity, perhaps, but not quite that. Sort of like what he felt for the other two Gryffindor boys in their year, who were always vaguely left out of things.
So this was -- this was sympathy.
For a werewolf.
He must be insane.
They weren't humans, they were Dark Creatures, and their only usefulness lay in how much they could be controlled.
Except...
Sirius slammed the book shut. He'd just go see for himself.
***
When Sirius arrived at the Infirmary it was already past sun-up, and Madam Pomfrey was talking softly to a weary looking Remus at the very far end of the room. Sirius, hidden by James' cloak, watched and listened and took very careful mental notes. There some things a book couldn't tell you, some things you had to learn first hand. Like how it was to plant a dungbomb where it would do the most damage, or how it was to catch a snitch or, Sirius now supposed, how it was to be a werewolf.
Madam Pomfrey was busy tucking a blanket up around Remus' waist, clucking over his bandages with a worried fondness, as a mother might have done. As Remus' mother might all too often have to do. Sirius crept closer, making sure his breathing was quiet as he could make it. After all, Remus always heard him coming a mile away, and heightened sensory perception because of -- of what he was -- only explained the problem. It didn't make it go away.
"There, now," Pomfrey murmured. "How was it for you, this time around?" Seeing Remus' pained expression, she softened, face pinched with concern. "No better, then?" she asked.
"No worse," Remus offered. "Just as always."
Sirius took inventory of the bandages Remus now sported. He soon realized there were just too many to count, and more, no doubt, which Sirius couldn't even see.
"Would you like an extra few blankets?" Pomfrey asked kindly. "It's been chilly in here, for a while now."
"Yes, thank you," Remus said.
Sirius continued to weigh what he knew and what he'd been taught. Werewolves were not Remus Lupin, because werewolves were not polite and well-mannered and soft-spoken and ridiculously good at Arithmancy and perhaps too obsessed with footnotes. Werewolves were not Remus Lupin, because they didn't end up in the infirmary looking tired and miserable and all bandaged up, like a mummy, just because of what they were. But here Remus Lupin was, and here the werewolf was, and everywhere there was every manner of conflicting information, banging about like Cornish pixies let loose in Sirius' head. Sirius rubbed underneath his nose with the back of his hand and scratched at his cheek, and decided he was going to have to speak with Remus immediately.
A task which, he discovered moments after, would be made nearly impossible by Pomfrey's presence.
"I'll get the blankets, then," Pomfrey was saying. Sirius, who was full of fewer ideas than James, at least had enough of them to feel proud of his abilities more often than not, got an Idea. He'd been getting more and more of them, lately. He was sure he'd show James Potter yet.
"Thank you," Remus said again. His words were followed by a weary smile. In an instant, his brow furrowed as the blankets, folded neatly two cots down, seemed to disappear in mid-air. Sirius' breath snagged in his throat as he realized he'd been caught.
"Now that's funny," Madam Pomfrey said. "I thought -- well, I just had the extra blankets, right here! Oh, Merlin, where have they gone off to, then?" She shook her head, looking about the room twice before turning back to Remus, apologetic smile on her face. "If you'll just give me a moment, Remus, dear," she explained, "perhaps the house elves will know where the extra blankets have gotten to." Remus nodded wearily, and madam Pomfrey bustled down the long row of cots, and out the infirmary door.
"You can come on out now, James," Remus said, once Pomfrey had gone. "Needn't make Madam Pomfrey run around if you don't have to -- you can steal the blankets off me once she's gone, and it'll just bother me, not her."
Sirius heaved a great sigh. It always was hard -- near impossible -- to pull a fast one on Remus Lupin. Sirius tugged the cloak off and let it fall over the back of a chair near Remus' bed.
"If you just hadn't seen me do it," Sirius said, "you have to admit, it would have been a great one." He set the stack of blankets on the edge of Remus' cot, and followed suit soon after, sitting down beside him. The look on Remus' face should have by all means been a triumph -- you couldn't buy shock like that, and certainly not from Remus' Lupin you couldn't -- but Sirius just felt uncomfortable looking at it.
Right on cue, Sirius whipped out his Cool.
"Look like you've seen a ghost," he said, grinning. "Or, y'know, a werewolf. Or something." Remus winced, and looked away.
"James told me," Remus began. "He said that you were -- "
"What does James know about me," Sirius scoffed.
"An awful lot, I'd say," Remus ventured.
"Well, all right, I'll give you that," Sirius admitted. "But what do I know about werewolves?" Remus said nothing to that, lips in a tight line, eyes focused on Sirius' and their expression unreadable.
"I don't know," Remus said finally. "What do you know about werewolves?"
"Well," Sirius began, "they stay up all night working on Potions assignments and still can't finish them?" Sirius toyed idly with the edge of a folded blanket. In order to remain Cool, he knew he couldn't meet Remus' eyes. "And they don't think it's funny when they wake up with a horklump in bed with them on a Sunday morning," Sirius added. "And they're allergic to dungbombs, which really puts a damper on things. Oh, and sometimes, they're a teacher's pet, and it ruins the hard-earned reputations of their friends."
"Oh," Remus said. He scrunched up his nose and stared at the ceiling, and Sirius realized after a few minutes of agonizing silence he just wasn't going to say anything else. Or maybe he couldn't. Either way, it was really annoying.
"And they pack a mean punch," Sirius continued. "Not as mean as they could, but, you know. And they never share their chocolates with anyone, no matter how much anyone begs them to."
"Hard-earned chocolates, those," Remus said. His voice was very quiet.
"Besides, werewolf metabolisms run at a hundred and thirteen percent of what humans do, and the heart rate is faster, though only noticeable during extreme agitation. Aconite in powdered form causes athsmatic reactions in adolescent to young-adult werewolves and full on respiratory failure in older classes, though in infusion form it's used as a mild sedative on infants. And of course there's the silver allergy, caused by a decrease in some skin oils, which likewise is the result of the increased metabolism without increased requirement for food intake. Because werewolf bodies are much more efficient than human bodies," Sirius finished, looking proud. "I got that from one of the books."
Remus said nothing still, eyes focused on his hands, which rested -- one of them bandaged -- in his lap.
"So," Sirius said, after enough silence had passed once more, "are you here after every full moon?"
Remus shook his head. "Only the worst." A pause. "It was the silver," he explained. "Any other day it wouldn't have mattered that much, but tonight was..." Remus trailed off, flushing. "You know. I mean-- you knew right away."
"Course I did," Sirius said. "Just not everything. Now I do."
"Right."
"Anyway, if Pomfrey gets back and finds me here disturbing your precious rest, she'll skin me alive as a warning to others." Though Remus didn't so much as crack a smile at that, there was relief in his eyes. Sirius still didn't know quite what to think, but he knew not to hate Remus and not to tell the whole school about him or anything like that. He wanted, maybe, to knock his nose in for keeping this a secret for so long -- even if he had had a very good reason for doing so -- but he wasn't about to do that with Remus all wrapped up like a present in fresh, clean bandages, which were already stained with copper-dark blood.
"I suppose she will," Remus murmured. "Protecting me from-- from bad influences who sneak around all night with someone else's invisibility cloak, after all."
Sirius grinned again. He wanted to say, That's the spirit, Mr. Lupin, but said instead, "Don't need three extra blankets, do you? One'll do you fine, won't it?"
"Well, yes," Remus nodded, "but I -- "
"Thought so," Sirius said, cutting him off. Still looking the epitome of Cool, which he'd managed to maintain throughout the whole conversation, he thought proudly, Sirius unfolded the top blanket and draped it over Remus. He didn't do it very delicately or even very kindly; the point was, he was doing it, and it wasn't his style. For the second time that morning, Remus' face was flooded with unfiltered surprise. Sirius just shrugged. "Take care of that stomach flu," he instructed. He picked the invisibility cloak up, ducking underneath it. "Drink tea with honey and have lots of plain toast and listen to everything Madam Pomfrey tells you to do, and you'll be good as new in no time, I think."
Then, Sirius disappeared beneath the cloak, leaving Remus to the silences of the infirmary at night.
***
"Ahem."
Sirius, who hadn't had all that much sleep after returning to Gryffindor tower, blinked blearily up at Peter's cherubic face, illuminated by the early-morning sunlight through the windows, and waved him off.
"I'll skip first class," he mumbled, rolling into his pillow. He'd left peace offerings of the other two blankets on James and Peters' beds -- the hospital blankets were nice and fluffy. He was in no mood to have a row this morning.
"Wake up, Sirius," Peter said, and Sirius felt his weight as he sat on the edge. Finally, he sat up, pushed his unruly hair out of his eyes, and sighed. It was impossible to be mad at Peter. He was the most innately inoffensive person Sirius had ever met.
"What is it, then?" he asked. Peter cleared his throat again.
"I've been sent as an ambassador from James," he began, mock-officiously, "who feels that in light of yesterday's events -- "
" -- I've been a monumental prat?" Sirius supplied.
Peter gave him a shy grin. "James had some really great words for it," he said.
"I'll bet he did. You go ambassador back to him and tell him if he wants to duel with me over Remus Lupin's honour he can damn well come himself. No offence," Sirius added. Peter shrugged.
"Guess you changed your mind?" he said, picking at a loose thread on Sirius' quilt.
"Had it changed for me," Sirius answered, pretending mild disinterest. "Be really cool and all, you know."
"Yeah?"
"Well, yeah, I mean, if we ever really find out we hate someone, we just, you know, we've got a ghoulish beastie at our disposal, haven't we?" Sirius asked. Peter frowned a little, but shrugged.
"I'll tell James you're all right then, shall I?" he asked.
"Whatever," Sirius shrugged.
"But you won't be mean to Remus on account of this, will you?" Peter persisted. Sirius waved a hand.
"He's a mate," he said. "A rotten liar of a mate, but that's no reason to hold a grudge."
Peter hopped off the bed, and gave Sirius an enormous grin. "All right then," he said. "All right. I'll go tell James. Ta, Sirius..." he got about five steps from the bed before he turned and dashed back.
"And whatever James says, I do not have a crush on Evans!" he said, before running off again.
Sirius, loathe to think about any of the things he'd said yesterday or how James would -- at least, when Remus wasn't around -- toss them back in his face for ages or at least a month, rolled over and went back to sleep.
Wouldn't it be brilliant, was his last drowsy thought, half-forgotten as soon as it appeared, if we could feed that git Snape to Lupin...
I have my books,
And my poetry to protect me
I am shielded in my armor...
Sirius Black looked somewhat out of sorts.
This did work to improve Severus Snape's mood exponentially, when normally he was plunged into chasms of vexation whenever he so much as heard the name Sirius Black. Or James Potter, for that matter. Or Remus Lupin. Or Peter Pettigrew, though Pettigrew was a much nicer sort than the other three. He was never actively offensive. In fact, he never actively did much at all to set Severus off. He was simply reviled by association. Sometimes, such inevitabilities couldn't be avoided.
At least Severus never lied to himself.
There was something to be said -- and nothing pleasant, mind -- about four boys who spent every waking minute together. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly, that made Severus so aggravated. He didn't particularly want to act as asinine as that impossible quartet of even more impossible individuals. He didn't particularly want to have friendships that hinged on the medium of in-jokes and pointed but hardly clever remarks insulting the facial features of others.
It merely got on his nerves that they were the ones to have such camaraderie, while he made Potions.
And not to be misunderstood a second time. Severus liked Potions. He'd always had a knack for the precision and the patience required to brew them. He'd always liked the sound of something, anything, simmering in a heated cauldron. He'd always liked the delicate balance of ingredients, the way even the slightest miscalculation could throw a week-long experiment out the window. (Severus rarely, if ever, made even the slightest miscalculation, as he had a head for figures, mathematical formulae and a natural instinct on top of all that. Hence, he enjoyed the necessity for detail, detail, detail, because he could provide for it.)
Unfortunately, Severus' propensity for such a subtle art gave him very little time to do much else. Friends were hardly high on his list of priorities. It was hard to make them when there was always something boiling in the back of his mind, when a Potion needed tongue of bat or eye of newt or the slightest sprinkling of powdered Hippogriff spleen at exactly five-fifteen. Even lower on his list of priorities was bathing, or getting out much, the former made less offensive by the latter, of course.
In any case, the Potions Master had told him since the very beginning of his first year he was going to achieve great but unsung status in the very near future.
This was all well and good. Except, of course, that one, Severus Snape didn't particularly want to be unsung, and two, he rather liked Defence Against the Dark Arts, in which Sirius Black excelled, in which James Potter excelled, in which Remus Lupin excelled and in which Peter Pettigrew excelled, but in which Severus, though talented to be sure, was not particularly favored. Being a Slytherin, one wasn't exactly expected to get top marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts. On top of that, their current professor was rather biased, Severus suspected. It was all very maddening.
And so seeing Sirius Black looking somewhat out of sorts was a pleasant afternoon treat, when all was said and done. Severus, who spent a lot of time skulking in the shadows because it was, he'd read, a useful life skill, and also because the lighting in the shadows was much more forgiving of unwashed hair, continued to skulk in the shadows. You could uncover an incredible amount of interesting information that way. He'd learned this even before coming to Hogwarts. It was the sort of thing you Knew, when you were a Snape.
"You didn't see it! I did! It burned him! It burned his hand!" Sirius was trying, Severus noted, to impart that this news was Very Important, while yet remaining Very Cool lest anyone was watching. Severus was both distinctly unimpressed and distinctly envious. The latter was unacknowledged. Who, he insisted stubbornly, needed to be cool when you were a Potions prodigy?
Who, indeed.
Severus scratched at his admittedly greasy scalp -- extreme dedication to Potions had all been much easier before the sudden occurrence of hormones -- and continued to eavesdrop.
"Maybe it was hot," James offered. "Sometimes you don't know where these things've been."
"But I had it in MY HAND," Sirius explained. "And it wasn't hot at all. It was just water!"
"Maybe he just cut himself?" Peter offered. "And when you gave it to him it hurt the cut?"
"Well," Sirius began, "he did cut himself, actually -- I'm sure of that. It's just that then I saw his hand and it looked like he'd burnt himself, all black and scabby and weird and things, and he saw me looking at it -- and now where is he? At the nurse's, I'll bet you. Getting it treated. Because if he doesn't, then -- "
"But -- there could be other reasons -- " Peter said hesitantly. Sirius clasped a hand on his shoulder.
"Sometimes," he said, "you've got to really give it a good think, and you realise -- "
Sirius cut off sharply for the second time. It was then that Severus realized his prime mistake: he'd been focusing so hard on listening that he'd come out of the shadows without noticing it.
"I'd know that nose anywhere," Sirius said, eyes narrowing.
"Bugger," Severus said. It was so hard to be eloquent when the game was up.
"Listening in on conversations? Don't you have anything better to do?" Severus saw Sirius was already clenching his fists, not even bothering to roll up his sleeves.
Intent on remaining calm, Severus stepped out of the shadows, trying to compose himself and maintain some level of dignity. Why he would try to do so with Sirius Black -- who had established himself as a bully out of mere carelessness and some level of selfish indifference -- was ever a mystery to him. The higher ground, of course. So long as he had the higher ground, he had everything. "I can assure you," Severus began, "I hardly find your conversations scintillating or--"
"You talk like a poof," Sirius said.
And then it happened.
It was to remain, the stigma of Severus' childhood years, and an oft remembered nightmare of his adulthood.
Sirius Black decided to give Severus Snape a nickname. It was hardly clever or particularly well thought out. That didn't matter, Severus supposed. As it was, it was still very catchy.
"You talk like a poof," Sirius repeated, lips curving into a nasty grin, "Snivellus."
"That's wonderfully original of you, Black. Stooping to name-calling. How unimaginative of you--"
But Sirius Black had already punched Severus in the nose and stormed off.
Severus sat down. Hard.
"Sorry about that," Peter said, before he followed James, who was following Sirius.
"Bugger," Severus said again. After all, there really wasn't much else to say about it.
***
"So if you had to kiss a girl -- "
"Ech!"
James sighed. "I know, I know, but if you had to?"
"On a dare, like?" Peter asked, lounging back on the grass. James, who was leaning against the oak tree behind them, shrugged.
"Sure. If you absolutely had to, who'd you kiss?"
Peter screwed up his pleasant face, thinking. Finally, he sat up.
"Well, Lily is nice," he said.
There was a long silence. Then, James burst out laughing.
"Fat Evans?" he demanded. Peter just grinned sheepishly.
"She's nice," he persisted. "And, you know, she doesn't go around flipping her hair and talking behind peoples' backs and all."
James continued to laugh, slipping down the tree until he was seated beneath it. "I'm telling Sirius," he grinned. "Peter's got a crush on Fat Evans!"
"I do not," Peter replied, imperturbably good-natured. "It's just that -- "
"Oi, James, Pettigrew!" Sirius skidded up to them, nearly slipping on the grass, and grabbed James, hauling him up by the elbow. Peter scrambled to his feet when he saw the look on Sirius' face.
"What?" James demanded. Neither boy had ever seen Sirius so agitated. It must be something dreadful, James figured, because nothing short of a natural disaster could pierce Sirius' Cool.
"We're in trouble," Sirius gasped, then visibly calmed himself. "Listen, you won't believe what just happened -- Lupin's a werewolf!"
James and Peter stared.
"No, course he's not," James said finally. "We'd know. He'd've told us."
"I'm telling you!" Sirius blurted. "Listen, we were in the Common Room and..." He paused, trailing off, and glanced all around them, before lowering his voice. "I know what I'm talking about, and he's a werewolf."
***
"Still studying, Lupin?" Sirius asked, lounging with his feet propped up on the wide study table. He had just about put the finishing spit and polish on being Cool, he decided. He even sat Cool. Not that it was important when it was just Lupin around, since Lupin wasn't ever impressed by it anyway, but anyone could come into the Common Room at any minute and see them. Being Cool was an art form, a way of life. It was all about being prepared.
"Just finishing up," Remus replied. "I know you supergeniuses were done ages ago, but I'm afraid some of us are only human, Sirius."
"Huh," Sirius said. "And some of us are just more into footnotes than others." He rose and crossed to the window, pouring himself a cup of water. The other day, he'd nicked one of the scrying cups from its case in the library, and wanted to show it off at every opportunity. It was real, heavy silver, with inscriptions all round the rim, and he thought it looked extremely Cool and also a little Dangerous.
"Could you pour me some?" Remus asked. He didn't look up from his parchment, quill moving quickly over the paper, an open book under his slim hand. Sirius, grinning, refilled the goblet and walked back to the table. "Ta, Sirius -- "
He took the cup from Sirius without looking, and the next thing Sirius knew there was a sizzling noise and water was running everywhere, over the book, the half-filled parchment, Remus' clothing. The cup clunked dully as it hit the floor.
Remus himself let out a pained whine, and tucked his hand immediately against his chest before Sirius could get a clear look. But what Sirius saw was enough. He stared.
"How'd that -- what -- " Sirius looked from Remus to the cup to Remus again. Remus had his eyes closed, and was rocking forward, body curled around his hand.
"It's nothing," Remus ground out. Sirius frowned deeply. He wasn't stupid -- far from it. It obviously was something, something bad. Sirius knelt and touched the cup. It was cool, and didn't hurt in the slightest as he picked it up, but Remus shied away from it.
"Why didn't you use a normal cup?" Remus demanded.
Sirius stared at the cup, then at Remus, and several little building-blocks began to pile themselves up in his head.
That was when it came to him. Why hadn't he seen it before?
He snatched Remus' uninjured hand, holding it firmly even though the other boy cried out for him to let go. There was brown hair growing across the knuckles, and the fingernails were harder, just slightly too long.
He met Remus' eyes and saw more fear there than was warranted by the pain.
Then, Sirius bolted.
***
Peter and James had objections and questions at first: surely it wasn't true, why would Sirius think such a thing, how could he know for sure, it was probably just an honest mistake and once they talked to him they'd find out it was all a big misunderstanding. Meanwhile, Sirius struggled to convince these two daft disbelievers that for a year and a half they'd been sharing their bedroom, nicking socks off, borrowing ties from, lending books to, wrestling, eating and studying with a Dark Creature.
A monster.
"Where are you going?" James asked. He hurried after Sirius as Sirius stalked off, fist still throbbing from crunching Severus Snape's nose.
"To Dumbledore," Sirius growled. "I'm having that monster thrown out of school by tonight."
"Steady on, Sirius, he's hardly a -- "
"He's a Dark Creature! He could have attacked us at any moment!" Sirius said explosively, turning on Peter. James stepped back, in case Sirius was going to punch Peter, too. "He's filth! Everyone says so! My dad says those-- those-- they ought to be locked-up year round. And he's been-- ech, I've eaten food off his plate!"
Peter stared, wide-eyed.
"But he's Remus," he said softly, though Sirius was already moving again. James, torn between a stunned Peter and a furious Sirius, hesitated. He shifted his weight, swaying, and then with an apologetic look given to Peter, he followed Sirius.
"Must have lied his way into Gryffindor somehow," Sirius was muttering. "Lied about where he's been -- sick mum my arse!"
"Well," James said. By now, he was nearly running to keep up with the furious boy. "My mum says they're just like us, really, only they need special locking-up sometimes. Full moon sometimes, I suppose."
"Every bloody day of their miserable lives!" Sirius insisted. "He doesn't belong here, James, he's not a real wizard, he's not even human!"
James refrained from pointing out that none of them had known the difference. Still, it was rotten of Lupin to lie about it. And his parents had said that decent werewolves oughtn't to mix in polite company. If James met one, ever, he was supposed to be distant and quiet and polite, but make sure to get away as soon as possible.
"Listen, either you're with me or you're a fool," Sirius said, stopping abruptly. Almost as if he could read James' thoughts. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to Dumbledore."
James frowned and hesitated.
"I'll go with you as far as his office," he said, finally.
***
"But why?" Sirius demanded. "Why would you protect a-- a werewolf?"
Albus Dumbledore, unfazed by Sirius Black's very loud and very verbal outrage, watched the boy over the crescent rims of his spectacles. His imperturbed attitude -- even the unfailing sparkle in his eyes -- only served to further incense Sirius. How could Dumbledore be so calm about this? How could he have allowed a dangerous monster into their midst, enabling him to sleep and eat and just live with them? And, worse yet, how could he stand by his original decision when faced with the error of his ways? How could he continue to defend and protect Remus Lupin -- who was an unregistered werewolf?
Sirius had always thought something was off about Headmaster Dumbledore. Mum and dad told me he wasn't quite all right in the head, Sirius remembered. Now I know they're right about him.
"Are you quite finished, Mr. Black?" Dumbledore asked, startling Sirius from his stunned thoughts.
"Not if you're going to keep defending him, I'm not!" Sirius exclaimed. "How can you be so calm about this? He's not even human, he's not like anyone else, he's--"
"A very smart boy and a very fine young man," Dumbledore interrupted. "One who has spent too much of his time hiding himself for this very reason -- if even his friends cannot accept who and what he is, then who will?"
"Well, James and Peter weren't all that worried," Sirius muttered sulkily. Was everyone in the world mad but him? Perhaps, he thought now, he ought to have been a bit more Cool about things from the start. Dumbledore was treating him like an irrational child. Not right in the head at all, Sirius agreed with himself. Absolutely touched in the head, if you ask me.
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed.
"Mr. Black," he said, suddenly stern. "How many people did you tell?"
Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his chair as Dumbledore's normally twinkling eyes pinned him against the back. The man was definitely off his rocker. He could go from benevolent old fruitcake to scowling old fruitcake in no time at all, and that just wasn't on. Sirius swallowed.
"Er," he began.
"The truth, Mr. Black," Dumbledore warned him, "And I'll know if you're lying, so you needn't bother yourself to try."
"Just James and Peter," Sirius admitted. "But don't think I'm not going to--"
"I don't think you're not going to," Dumbledore agreed. "In fact, I know you're not going to." He leaned forward across the desk, pressing Sirius back with his scowl -- an expression which Sirius later swore actually burnt holes into you when you were that close to it. Sirius mustered all his Cool, which served as a defense mechanism when he'd lost all his Brave, which was soon to be followed by most of his breakfast.
"You don't know any--"
"Because if you do tell anyone else," Dumbledore continued, "you will give me no choice but to expel you."
Sirius stared.
"Expel me?" he asked at last, bereft of all his Cool, and therefore sounding like a fish out of water. "You can't expel me for telling people the truth!"
"On the contrary, Mr. Black," Dumbledore said, cheerful once more. "I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, not you. Therefore, I can do whatever it is I want, should I feel it necessary, or should it so much as please me."
The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes became somewhat more disturbing when coupled with a statement like that one.
Sirius opened and closed his mouth, and found that nothing was going to come out of it. Dumbledore smiled brightly at that reaction, leaning back easily in his chair. He'd won, Sirius realized. How had he won? The man was letting a werewolf -- a bloody werewolf! -- go to his school, and here he was, smiling smugly and unwrapping a lemon sherbet!
"Have I made myself completely clear, Mr. Black?"
"Yes, Headmaster," Sirius said. He had never said anything more sullenly in his life, and by age six he'd already perfected the art of Sullen.
"Absolutely and totally?" Dumbledore pressed.
"Absolutely and totally," Sirius echoed.
This was humiliating.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together happily. "Now. I believe I have some pressing business to discuss with your friends, Mr. Potter and Mr. Pettigrew, mm?"
"Mm."
"I hope you've found this conversation useful," Dumbledore half-hummed as he showed Sirius to the door. "Do feel free to drop by at any time you have other such issues to discuss. Oh!" There was the crinkling of plastic wrap, and Dumbledore fished a little yellow carton out of a deep pocket. "Lemon sherbet?" He offered.
Yes, Sirius Black decided, Albus Dumbledore is definitely insane.
***
That night, Sirius nicked James' invisibility cloak, an inheritance from his grandfather that James had smuggled out to school with him, and left the Common Room before Remus had returned. Word had it he was spending the night in the infirmary for a stomach flu.
Some stomach flu. Sirius bet werewolves didn't even get stomach flu. They got fleas, or something.
He made his way to the library with parchment scroll, quill, and inkpot tucked in his bag. If Dumbledore was going to be obstinant, he'd write to his parents, who knew people on the Hogwarts school board. He could do it just like an essay. It would be easy enough to find out what werewolves did and why they oughtn't to attend school with normal human boys. And hadn't he always known there was something funny about Lupin? Hadn't he felt it from the very first, when they'd gotten into that fistfight on Platform 9 3/4?
He found the section on Dark Creatures easily, and sure enough, there were several volumes on werewolf lore. He took down the three biggest, and carried them to one of the small tables near the comfortable chairs. Having long forgotten Cool -- you didn't need it in a dark, abandoned library -- he slumped into the chair and opened the first book.
Twenty minutes later he closed it, very confused.
He opened the second book and, instead of starting at the beginning, as he had with the first, went straight to the index in the back. To his surprise, it didn't list "dangers" at all. The closest he could find was "habits" which would have to do. He flipped to that section, and started reading.
Soon enough, he stopped reading again.
Both books seemed to think that werewolves weren't even really separate creatures, not exactly. In fact, they treated werewolves like humans. They even used the pronouns "he" and "she" instead of it. Maybe his mother was right, Sirius thought, and books were for people who hadn't enough independence of thought to make up their own minds.
His bibliophilic soul rebelled at this. Sirius liked books, respected books, and trusted books. Books had to prove their claims.
He opened the third one. This was more like it! The very front was a plate of a beast --
No. No, it wasn't, was it. On closer inspection, it was a man, doubled over, his face twisted into a rictus of pain, both arms clutching his sides. The next page showed fur sprouting along the man's spine and shoulders -- and, opposite that one, a fully-Changed werewolf -- and Sirius flipped past it quickly. The artist had done a very realistic job.
The final page was also a drawing. Here was the same man, human again, curled up in a ball. There were scratches all over his body, some of them bleeding freely, and Sirius frowned.
Figures 1 - 4, read the caption. Transformation in progress. Note evidence of self-mutilation, as a werewolf without prey will attack itself. Wounds heal quickly but may scar. Transformation, as shown, is extremely painful.
Sirius' prior words echoed in his own head.
They ought to all be locked up.
Sirius could hear his parents' voices, too, telling him that Dark Creatures were meant to be imprisoned, and werewolves were especially unsafe because they often masqueraded as regular people. They could Pass, after all, for human, until the day came when they turned on you and ripped your throat out.
But the man in the picture looked so miserable.
He flipped to the text, and began to read, this time not skimming over it as he had done before. He discovered that most werewolves were victims of attacks, and weren't born that way. Which meant, he thought logically, only one thing: they were born human.
He'd never actually been told that.
He discovered also that the transformation was incredibly painful, as was the entire experience; since most werewolves voluntarily locked themselves up, their only target was themselves, and they would bite and tear at their own flesh rather than risk someone else being hurt.
He'd never been told that, either.
In fact, he was beginning to suspect that of all the lies about werewolves he'd encountered, Remus Lupin had told him the fewest.
He paged slowly back to the first picture, of the man bent over in pain. It certainly wasn't how he'd thought werewolves looked, when and if he thought about werewolves at all.
He'd always assumed that werewolves were drooly-jawed, blank-eyed zombies most of the time and mangy, hairy beasts the rest of the time, who preyed on innocent people and ran wild in the forests. But Remus didn't drool. He certainly wasn't a zombie, except when he hadn't had much sleep the night before. And who wasn't a zombie then, really.
In fact, Remus was all in all a tidy, quiet, obedient person. If you looked up Opposite Of Werewolf, that'd be Remus.
And even when he'd touched the cup, he hadn't snarled or turned into a monster or bitten Sirius, had he. He'd held his hand, curled up like that last picture almost. He'd whimpered. He'd tried to hide.
Someone wasn't being honest with Sirius Black, and Sirius thought suddenly it wasn't Remus or Dumbledore or James or Peter. It certainly wasn't the books, open on the table before him.
And every time he looked at the picture in the second book, he felt something odd. Akin to pity, perhaps, but not quite that. Sort of like what he felt for the other two Gryffindor boys in their year, who were always vaguely left out of things.
So this was -- this was sympathy.
For a werewolf.
He must be insane.
They weren't humans, they were Dark Creatures, and their only usefulness lay in how much they could be controlled.
Except...
Sirius slammed the book shut. He'd just go see for himself.
***
When Sirius arrived at the Infirmary it was already past sun-up, and Madam Pomfrey was talking softly to a weary looking Remus at the very far end of the room. Sirius, hidden by James' cloak, watched and listened and took very careful mental notes. There some things a book couldn't tell you, some things you had to learn first hand. Like how it was to plant a dungbomb where it would do the most damage, or how it was to catch a snitch or, Sirius now supposed, how it was to be a werewolf.
Madam Pomfrey was busy tucking a blanket up around Remus' waist, clucking over his bandages with a worried fondness, as a mother might have done. As Remus' mother might all too often have to do. Sirius crept closer, making sure his breathing was quiet as he could make it. After all, Remus always heard him coming a mile away, and heightened sensory perception because of -- of what he was -- only explained the problem. It didn't make it go away.
"There, now," Pomfrey murmured. "How was it for you, this time around?" Seeing Remus' pained expression, she softened, face pinched with concern. "No better, then?" she asked.
"No worse," Remus offered. "Just as always."
Sirius took inventory of the bandages Remus now sported. He soon realized there were just too many to count, and more, no doubt, which Sirius couldn't even see.
"Would you like an extra few blankets?" Pomfrey asked kindly. "It's been chilly in here, for a while now."
"Yes, thank you," Remus said.
Sirius continued to weigh what he knew and what he'd been taught. Werewolves were not Remus Lupin, because werewolves were not polite and well-mannered and soft-spoken and ridiculously good at Arithmancy and perhaps too obsessed with footnotes. Werewolves were not Remus Lupin, because they didn't end up in the infirmary looking tired and miserable and all bandaged up, like a mummy, just because of what they were. But here Remus Lupin was, and here the werewolf was, and everywhere there was every manner of conflicting information, banging about like Cornish pixies let loose in Sirius' head. Sirius rubbed underneath his nose with the back of his hand and scratched at his cheek, and decided he was going to have to speak with Remus immediately.
A task which, he discovered moments after, would be made nearly impossible by Pomfrey's presence.
"I'll get the blankets, then," Pomfrey was saying. Sirius, who was full of fewer ideas than James, at least had enough of them to feel proud of his abilities more often than not, got an Idea. He'd been getting more and more of them, lately. He was sure he'd show James Potter yet.
"Thank you," Remus said again. His words were followed by a weary smile. In an instant, his brow furrowed as the blankets, folded neatly two cots down, seemed to disappear in mid-air. Sirius' breath snagged in his throat as he realized he'd been caught.
"Now that's funny," Madam Pomfrey said. "I thought -- well, I just had the extra blankets, right here! Oh, Merlin, where have they gone off to, then?" She shook her head, looking about the room twice before turning back to Remus, apologetic smile on her face. "If you'll just give me a moment, Remus, dear," she explained, "perhaps the house elves will know where the extra blankets have gotten to." Remus nodded wearily, and madam Pomfrey bustled down the long row of cots, and out the infirmary door.
"You can come on out now, James," Remus said, once Pomfrey had gone. "Needn't make Madam Pomfrey run around if you don't have to -- you can steal the blankets off me once she's gone, and it'll just bother me, not her."
Sirius heaved a great sigh. It always was hard -- near impossible -- to pull a fast one on Remus Lupin. Sirius tugged the cloak off and let it fall over the back of a chair near Remus' bed.
"If you just hadn't seen me do it," Sirius said, "you have to admit, it would have been a great one." He set the stack of blankets on the edge of Remus' cot, and followed suit soon after, sitting down beside him. The look on Remus' face should have by all means been a triumph -- you couldn't buy shock like that, and certainly not from Remus' Lupin you couldn't -- but Sirius just felt uncomfortable looking at it.
Right on cue, Sirius whipped out his Cool.
"Look like you've seen a ghost," he said, grinning. "Or, y'know, a werewolf. Or something." Remus winced, and looked away.
"James told me," Remus began. "He said that you were -- "
"What does James know about me," Sirius scoffed.
"An awful lot, I'd say," Remus ventured.
"Well, all right, I'll give you that," Sirius admitted. "But what do I know about werewolves?" Remus said nothing to that, lips in a tight line, eyes focused on Sirius' and their expression unreadable.
"I don't know," Remus said finally. "What do you know about werewolves?"
"Well," Sirius began, "they stay up all night working on Potions assignments and still can't finish them?" Sirius toyed idly with the edge of a folded blanket. In order to remain Cool, he knew he couldn't meet Remus' eyes. "And they don't think it's funny when they wake up with a horklump in bed with them on a Sunday morning," Sirius added. "And they're allergic to dungbombs, which really puts a damper on things. Oh, and sometimes, they're a teacher's pet, and it ruins the hard-earned reputations of their friends."
"Oh," Remus said. He scrunched up his nose and stared at the ceiling, and Sirius realized after a few minutes of agonizing silence he just wasn't going to say anything else. Or maybe he couldn't. Either way, it was really annoying.
"And they pack a mean punch," Sirius continued. "Not as mean as they could, but, you know. And they never share their chocolates with anyone, no matter how much anyone begs them to."
"Hard-earned chocolates, those," Remus said. His voice was very quiet.
"Besides, werewolf metabolisms run at a hundred and thirteen percent of what humans do, and the heart rate is faster, though only noticeable during extreme agitation. Aconite in powdered form causes athsmatic reactions in adolescent to young-adult werewolves and full on respiratory failure in older classes, though in infusion form it's used as a mild sedative on infants. And of course there's the silver allergy, caused by a decrease in some skin oils, which likewise is the result of the increased metabolism without increased requirement for food intake. Because werewolf bodies are much more efficient than human bodies," Sirius finished, looking proud. "I got that from one of the books."
Remus said nothing still, eyes focused on his hands, which rested -- one of them bandaged -- in his lap.
"So," Sirius said, after enough silence had passed once more, "are you here after every full moon?"
Remus shook his head. "Only the worst." A pause. "It was the silver," he explained. "Any other day it wouldn't have mattered that much, but tonight was..." Remus trailed off, flushing. "You know. I mean-- you knew right away."
"Course I did," Sirius said. "Just not everything. Now I do."
"Right."
"Anyway, if Pomfrey gets back and finds me here disturbing your precious rest, she'll skin me alive as a warning to others." Though Remus didn't so much as crack a smile at that, there was relief in his eyes. Sirius still didn't know quite what to think, but he knew not to hate Remus and not to tell the whole school about him or anything like that. He wanted, maybe, to knock his nose in for keeping this a secret for so long -- even if he had had a very good reason for doing so -- but he wasn't about to do that with Remus all wrapped up like a present in fresh, clean bandages, which were already stained with copper-dark blood.
"I suppose she will," Remus murmured. "Protecting me from-- from bad influences who sneak around all night with someone else's invisibility cloak, after all."
Sirius grinned again. He wanted to say, That's the spirit, Mr. Lupin, but said instead, "Don't need three extra blankets, do you? One'll do you fine, won't it?"
"Well, yes," Remus nodded, "but I -- "
"Thought so," Sirius said, cutting him off. Still looking the epitome of Cool, which he'd managed to maintain throughout the whole conversation, he thought proudly, Sirius unfolded the top blanket and draped it over Remus. He didn't do it very delicately or even very kindly; the point was, he was doing it, and it wasn't his style. For the second time that morning, Remus' face was flooded with unfiltered surprise. Sirius just shrugged. "Take care of that stomach flu," he instructed. He picked the invisibility cloak up, ducking underneath it. "Drink tea with honey and have lots of plain toast and listen to everything Madam Pomfrey tells you to do, and you'll be good as new in no time, I think."
Then, Sirius disappeared beneath the cloak, leaving Remus to the silences of the infirmary at night.
***
"Ahem."
Sirius, who hadn't had all that much sleep after returning to Gryffindor tower, blinked blearily up at Peter's cherubic face, illuminated by the early-morning sunlight through the windows, and waved him off.
"I'll skip first class," he mumbled, rolling into his pillow. He'd left peace offerings of the other two blankets on James and Peters' beds -- the hospital blankets were nice and fluffy. He was in no mood to have a row this morning.
"Wake up, Sirius," Peter said, and Sirius felt his weight as he sat on the edge. Finally, he sat up, pushed his unruly hair out of his eyes, and sighed. It was impossible to be mad at Peter. He was the most innately inoffensive person Sirius had ever met.
"What is it, then?" he asked. Peter cleared his throat again.
"I've been sent as an ambassador from James," he began, mock-officiously, "who feels that in light of yesterday's events -- "
" -- I've been a monumental prat?" Sirius supplied.
Peter gave him a shy grin. "James had some really great words for it," he said.
"I'll bet he did. You go ambassador back to him and tell him if he wants to duel with me over Remus Lupin's honour he can damn well come himself. No offence," Sirius added. Peter shrugged.
"Guess you changed your mind?" he said, picking at a loose thread on Sirius' quilt.
"Had it changed for me," Sirius answered, pretending mild disinterest. "Be really cool and all, you know."
"Yeah?"
"Well, yeah, I mean, if we ever really find out we hate someone, we just, you know, we've got a ghoulish beastie at our disposal, haven't we?" Sirius asked. Peter frowned a little, but shrugged.
"I'll tell James you're all right then, shall I?" he asked.
"Whatever," Sirius shrugged.
"But you won't be mean to Remus on account of this, will you?" Peter persisted. Sirius waved a hand.
"He's a mate," he said. "A rotten liar of a mate, but that's no reason to hold a grudge."
Peter hopped off the bed, and gave Sirius an enormous grin. "All right then," he said. "All right. I'll go tell James. Ta, Sirius..." he got about five steps from the bed before he turned and dashed back.
"And whatever James says, I do not have a crush on Evans!" he said, before running off again.
Sirius, loathe to think about any of the things he'd said yesterday or how James would -- at least, when Remus wasn't around -- toss them back in his face for ages or at least a month, rolled over and went back to sleep.
Wouldn't it be brilliant, was his last drowsy thought, half-forgotten as soon as it appeared, if we could feed that git Snape to Lupin...