Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: My first story! This follows all four Marauders through the first full moon of 1982. It is EXTREMELY angsty. There will probably be seven chapters; here is the first. Please enjoy, and leave a review!

Sunset

Death is not freedom.

No; the dead are bound by rules and regulations, and as James stirs the water of the gazing-pool with his fingers (the ones that don't exist) he thinks that is the worst of it.

The gazing-pool is open all hours of the day, but seeing things from above is not the same as being there. If he wants, he can dive into the pool and hover invisibly behind the people he loves, but he has exceeded his quota of visits for the moment. In approximately two minutes, however, he will be able to return to the world again, and so he is sitting by the pool and twitching with impatience as he stares at his son.

Harry is sleeping, his small chest rising up and down as he lies in the cot in the room he shares with his demonic cousin. Any other evening, James would dive into the pool to spend the night simply watching his child sleep. He has only been a father for a year and a half and even death has not quite made the novelty wear away. Harry will never see him, but that doesn't mean that he can't spend his (infinite) time with his son.

But, well, it's a full-moon night and that changes everything.

His restriction time is over. He glances over at Lily, sitting against a tree and hugging her knees to her chest, before leaning forward. He whispers the name Remus Lupin to the water and dives head-first into the pool.

It feels hot and bright, the exact opposite of the soft, cool darkness of dying. The first time James made a visit he was convinced that he was coming back to life. He's used to it by now, though.

He is never sure why he keeps coming back here during the full moon. Perhaps it is in keeping with old traditions, or just a morbid desire to be there if Remus dies. Or maybe it is the fact that Remus is his brother and brothers stand together.

(They must have forgotten to tell Peter that.)

The basement in which Remus transforms is dark and cold. The first time James saw it, (back when he lived) the impossible had happened: he had actually appreciated the Shrieking Shack. That was the first time he had realised that Remus was a lucky werewolf. The thought made him sick.

The last, dying rays of sunlight accentuate the smell of blood, and if James had a throat he would feel bile rise up in it. But where is Remus?

There! Remus is huddled up in the corner, hugging his knees to his chest like Lily back in heaven. He is shivering, too, with not even a blanket wrapped around his shaking shoulders. Remus... Remus is crying.

James wishes he were able to kill himself.

.

The shadows are strong tonight.

Sirius has been counting days, scratching tally marks into the stone wall of his cell. It's too dark to see them now, but he doesn't need to. He knows what tonight is. Ten years of being friends with a werewolf have given him a strong mental calendar. But it's not a happy thing, and the Dementors can't drive it away.

Usually, he doesn't let himself remember. Hide the happy memories, bury them deep within your soul, (like the secret he gave to someone else) and the Dementors can't get at them.

But, well, it's a full-moon night and that changes everything.

Remembering hurts. It's a battle of wills against the Dementors, and usually there's a predetermined winner in that fight. But Sirius is strong. They will not take these memories from him: black-and-white jumbles of howls in the night and running free under the full moon. They can't take those memories from him.

He's never quite sure why the light of the full moon makes him remember. Perhaps it is some form of self-punishment (his fault that Remus is alone, his fault Remus is hurting, why is it that everything he does hurts Remus?), or else just the desire to keep with old traditions. Or maybe some stupid part of him thinks that Remus can feel his guilt, his misery, his desperation.

The last glimmers of red light are fading. A picture flashes in front of his eyes, of Remus alone and ill in that basement he transforms in. His friend's eyes are heavy with dread, but he does not complain. He suffers in silence, plasters smiles onto his face every day, and only those huge eyes betray the magnitude of his loss.

Sirius wonders if Remus hates him. He supposes he does. When he was told he would be thrown into Azkaban without a trial, he demanded to speak to Dumbledore. Dumbledore refused. Then Sirius lost control and screamed for Remus, called his friend's name over and over again. He did not have any illusions about being freed, but he just needed to see Remus one more time. He needed to say sorry.

But Remus wouldn't see him.

Sirius doesn't blame him. Everyone hates him now. Sirius hates himself. James doesn't hate him, and he clings to that thought on the bad days, but – James is dead.

Cousin Bellatrix is laughing. He isn't sure why. Perhaps she doesn't know, either. Bella has always been insane, and Azkaban isn't helping her. (His greatest fear is ending up like her.)

He wonders where The Rat is. A small growl issues up in his throat, and he shakes the thought away. Tonight is for thinking of Remus.

Remus, shaking in the basement's corner as his muscles spasm with the beginning of the change; Remus shivering with fever and never crying out in pain; Remus all alone.

(Remus, whom he didn't trust.)

The sun sinks below the horizon and Sirius whimpers involuntarily. Remus, he's sorry.

.

Anything is preferable to dying.

That was what Peter told himself over and over, when Caradoc Dearborn and Marlene McKinnon and Edgar Bones were murdered. That was what he told himself when James and Lily died. At least it isn't me.

But Remus has always been different. Peter tells himself that James and Sirius thought he was a worthless tag-along, that he's better off without them; but Remus didn't. He never has.

(The truth is that Remus never did anything to hurt him, and Peter repaid him by stealing everything he cared about.)

The fire in the living room of The Burrow is warm and inviting, and Peter would have to be a fool to go outside on any other night. Outside it is cold and dark and full of owls just aching to snatch up a nice, fat rat. Peter should just stay in the house.

But, well, it's a full-moon night and that changes everything.

He slips out of the back door and runs (like a coward and a rat) until he reaches the end of the garden. There he flattens himself to the ground beside the hedge and watches the sky, which is slowly fading from bloodstained red to the inky-blue-purple of twilight.

Sometimes Peter loathes himself. It is rare that he is this honest with himself, but tonight he knows that it is his fault a child has been orphaned, his fault an innocent man is locked up, his fault Remus is all alone.

(Remus trusted him.)

The world thinks Peter is a hero. He has even read his own obituary: Peter was braver than anyone, including he, thought. Finally, he has the recognition he always deserved. Rest in peace, old friend. Remus wrote it, of course.

Peter isn't brave. Remus is brave, because no matter what happens to him he can carry on living. If one thing could make Peter come out of hiding, it would be Remus – clever, strong, kind Remus. But Peter is a coward and a traitor and more than anything, a liar – because he can't bring himself to tell them all the truth.

Remus thinks Peter is a hero. And Peter can't bear to lose that.

The blood-red sun vanishes and he sighs. Remus is suffering, Sirius is suffering, James is dead – and Peter hides, because he's not strong enough to face the consequences of his actions.

Yes, Peter hides. After all, if there's one thing rats are good at, it's surviving.

.

Monsters can't hide under human skin.

Sometimes Remus thinks, with the quiet introspection that makes him – well, Remus, that the apartment building he lives in is rather like him. It is calm and respectable on the outside. His flat is neat and clean, if a little shabby. But it has a dark secret: this basement, with its hard stone floor and stench of blood and wolf. There are shadows in its corners and bloodstains on its walls, and it looks the furthest thing from innocent.

Obviously, there are no windows in the basement, but Remus does not need to see the sky to know that the sun is on the verge of vanishing. He imagines the Thames turned blood-red in the fading light and cannot help but shiver.

One of the hardest things about the two transformations he has had since – since – since it is the beginning: he has grown used to people helping him out of his robes, taking his wand and hiding it where the wolf can't possibly get at it, stroking his forehead in an attempt to bring down the fever. Right now he is tired and drained, but still he points his wand at the basement door, muttering wards that he hopes are powerful enough for the wolf to stay away.

(He should have known it wasn't going to last.)

He pulls off his clothes, Levitating them to the top of the room and praying that this will be enough to keep them out of harm's way. But these are futile hopes – he's agitated, and he knows it will be a bad moon. Then again, which moons aren't?

(The ones that they were there for.)

There are ghosts in this room. Remus draws his knees up to his chest, staring around in fright as James finishes the wards on the door, Peter tidies away his clothes and Sirius sits down beside him, telling jokes to take his mind off the transformation. He can see them; he's sure of it.

(Even when he's in Azkaban, even when they're dead, they can't stop bothering him, can they?)

Normally, Remus doesn't let himself cry. He struggles through his daily life, meets the eyes of the people he talks to and smiles when they tell him that they don't employ werewolves. If he cracks, they'll know he's not good enough, know that he's weak, know that he's out of control and grieving and not-only-a-monster-but-miserable-too. If he cracks, Sirius will have won.

But, well, it's a full-moon night and that changes everything.

He's just so tired. Tired of pretending, tired of living, tired of being alone again. He bends his head and cries, desperately, brokenly. Please, please, please, he wants to shout. Can't you just come back? Can't you stay with me – PLEASE! Nobody answers.

(Nobody listens to a monster; everyone knows that werewolves can't have friends.)

He makes a small, keening noise; this close to the moon he is more canine than human, his muscles beginning to spasm and his eyes slowly turning amber. His sobs echo off the stone walls as his legs start to twitch and the fever mounts relentlessly. He's so tired of everything, and he just wishes they were here. This is what happens when Remus dares to trust. Monsters can't afford to trust.

(He's had his fun now.)

A/N: Well, that's the first chapter! I do hope you enjoyed it; please tell me in a review! I adore the Marauders and Remus especially.

~Butterfly