Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Warning: This chapter contains slight mentions of self-harm. As the rating is T, I think you should be able to handle it, but if you are sensitive feel free to skip the latter half of Sirius's section.

A/N: Three months, I hear you shout. It's been THREE MONTHS since I updated. All I can say is that I'm really, really sorry, guys, and I've been incredibly busy the last few months. I have posted quite a few other stories in the meantime, if you want to check those out, but still... I'm so sorry. I wish I could promise that you won't have to wait that long again, but unfortunately the way I've planned this story out mean that the next chapter will be quite hard to write. Again, I'm really sorry, and I hope this chapter will be worth the wait!

Midnight

Somewhere, a clock chimes.

James doesn't hear it, of course. He's trapped in the basement as the wolf snarls and howls and thrashes, his consciousness bound to the horror unfolding before him. But he can still tell when it turns midnight – the wolf's eyes blaze brighter and more savage and its howls become louder. The moon is at its zenith, and James knows that the next few minutes will be the worst of the entire night.

He draws his non-existent presence over to where the wolf is sitting, tearing at its hind leg and snarling horrifically. Trying not to look at the bloody mess where teeth come into contact with flesh, he stares at the fierce yellow eyes of the beast and wonders if there is even a trace of Remus still there.

Remus's eyes are a warm golden-brown. They gleam when he is excited and freeze up when he is angry or sad, and when he is scared they widen to twice their normal size. Remus is mostly unreadable, always has been – a necessity for keeping his condition secret. But James knows him well enough to be able to search his eyes for expression easily. Now, unable to turn into the stag and distract the wolf from harming itself, he stares at the harsh yellow orbs and tries to find some kind of emotion.

(But they are blank and empty and void of anything Remus; the monster that sits before James is not his friend in any way.)

Almost as if it can sense James's sorrow and regret (because it shouldn't be Remus; Remus doesn't deserve this), the wolf's head jerks up and it snarls again. Then it flings back its head and howls, and James is reminded of Remus screaming as the transformation begins. He retreats instinctively as the wolf tears towards him, flinging itself at the heavy door with frenzied energy. After a moment, he recognises what it is doing as an escape attempt: it can smell human blood close outside.

Finally giving up on the door, the wolf sinks its teeth into its shoulder. The wound is deep and blood begins to trickle across the floor, a dark testimony to what happens in this room every month. Apparently, however, this still does not give the wolf satisfaction; it growls in rage and slashes its sharp claws down its foreleg, all the way from bleeding shoulder to huge paw, and finishes the thing off by gnawing on the joint which will turn into Remus's elbow once morning comes.

(James's heart would stop if it hadn't already – there is so much blood and he does not think he can take it but he cannot close his eyes.)

Even though it is awful and terrifying, James finds that he is glued to the sight of the wolf harming itself so severely; there's a kind of twisted perfection in the sight of the dark blood spilling out across the floor and the fact that Remus is finally letting out all his bottled-up emotions.

(Because Tom Riddle was handsome once and the screams of the tortured sound like music; and there's a little beauty mixed in with every horror.)

Lying on the floor of its prison and surrounded by a pool of blood, the wolf raises its head and gives another howl. James notices that this lacks a little of the rage and energy of its predecessors and lets relief swamp him momentarily; the worst part of the night is over.

They are half-way through.

.

Somewhere, a clock chimes.

Through the haze of fear and wistful memories, the sound strikes Sirius like a hammer: it is far away and beautiful, and he thinks if moonlight made a sound it would be exactly like this clock-tower bell.

(He supposes that only proves that nothing is as it seems; after all, the silver light bathing the floor of the corridor is making Remus scream, and once Sirius thought his mother's laugh was the most wonderful sound in the world.)

The moonlight is almost blindingly bright as it reflects off the grey stones; Sirius can tell that the moon is at the highest point in the sky. A little sob of frustration builds up in his throat as he imagines the wolf howling, sinking its teeth into its flesh, bleeding… He shudders involuntarily and wraps his arms around himself in a vain attempt to shut out the ever-present cold.

For a moment he envies Remus – Remus has done no wrong, has no stains upon his soul. Remus can take out his anguish and loneliness with the red, red blood running down his sides and just for a moment he can feel complete again. For a moment Sirius considers it: he could turn into the dog and scratch and bite and claw, and maybe something of the wolf's boundless rage can burn away the hard, still coldness inside him.

(He can see it so clearly – he wants to bleed and bleed and set himself on fire; even in this dark and shadowed place Sirius needs to blaze bright.)

Then suddenly the image is gone and replaced with one of Remus lying in a hospital bed, his face far too white and bloodstains still visible on his chest a week after the moon – the guilt surges up in Sirius's throat and he hates himself all over again.

He can't envy Remus. Oh, he can envy the fact that Remus can bleed out his grief once a month when the full moon rises; but how can he want the prejudice, the misunderstanding, the constant battle against bitterness that can so easily descend upon him?

(How can he want to be all alone in the world?)

He gives a long, shuddering breath and the fierce hysteria begins to cool down: still shaking slightly, he leans against his cell wall and meets Bella's eyes unblinkingly.

His cousin has only been in Azkaban for a month and a half, but Sirius has already noticed that the only other time she has been this coherent and sane was the last full moon. For a moment he feels an instinctive stab of fear (she knows, she's going to tell everyone that Remus is a werewolf) before reality catches up and he relaxes. Bella is not trying to scare him – Sirius doubts she even has the presence of mind necessary to notice that the moon is at its fullest. More likely, she can feel his anger and sorrow and simply feeds off it, becoming stronger the more upset he is.

(Is it a coincidence that she seems to function like a Dementor? Sirius doesn't think so.)

He notices that the moonlight is dimming ever-so-slightly on the corridor floor and closes his eyes for a moment, trying hard to be a Gryffindor. The rest of the night is a cruise in comparison to whatever has just happened.

They are half-way through.

.

Somewhere, a clock chimes.

Peter's ears flatten against his head, a mannerism he picked up from Sirius a long time ago, and he presses himself to the ground. One chime – two – three – four… he scuffs the earth with his tiny paw as they reach twelve and glances up at the vast sky. The world has been painted silver-white and as the moon reaches its highest point his heart clenches.

The winter nights are long, too long. Remus has already been a wolf for close on eight hours and he still has another eight to go – eight more hours to scratch and claw and maim. Eight more hours for Peter to worry, and the next few minutes are the worst and most violent of the entire night.

(He doesn't think he can stand it anymore, but he's made a promise to himself and he'll keep it or die; let it not be said that Peter Pettigrew is heartless.)

In the distance a bird crows – Peter jumps and his overactive imagination swiftly transforms it into a wolf, throwing back its head and wailing with pain, twisting and thrashing as the blood pools around it and then turning to face him with Remus's eyes.

(Remus's golden-brown, never the wolf's yellow; this imaginary wolf has Remus's mind and Remus's heart, Remus's soul-eating sorrow at the loss Peter has caused him.)

But Remus does not know that it was Peter who has hurt him. He thinks the traitor is Sirius – brave, loyal Sirius who can never hurt his friends. Peter remembers the mad rage in Sirius's eyes that night, the fierce heartbreak and the hint of Black insanity, and he wonders if Sirius would have killed him. He wonders if he could have killed him.

(No matter now; Peter is safe and Sirius and Remus are both trapped in their own versions of hell.)

Peter jerks back to himself to notice that he is shuddering; he lies on his side in plain view of predators, twitching and gasping. Maybe this is the rat version of tears.

The fit passes and he shrinks back, glancing around for birds of prey or the Weasley boys' old cat before relaxing. He's still hidden. Still safe.

He can hear the howls of agony carried on the breeze, smell the blood that drips onto the basement floor and see it staining his paws red. Remus's blood on his hands, he thinks. James's blood. Lily's blood.

(They're dead because of him and it is his fault that Remus is bleeding.)

Peter blinks and the image vanishes, but he knows that it will linger in the back of his mind and that whenever he is feeling complacent it will return to haunt him. That is the nature of the human mind, and even as a rat his mind is human.

Trying to take his mind off the nightmare, Peter turns his gaze back to the sky. His tiny shoulders sag a little in relief as he notices that the moon is beginning to sink again and its light has dimmed almost imperceptibly.

They are half-way through.

.

Somewhere, a clock chimes.

The wolf doesn't pay any attention to it. Remus does.

He will never know it, but there is always a tiny part of his mind that stays human during the full moon. Its memories are wiped out by the pain of the transformation back to his human form, but still, it is there.

(Just like a tiny part of the wolf's mind lingers in Remus during the rest of the month; he'll never tell anyone, but its instincts are always with him.)

Killkillkill, snarls the wolf, leaping for the basement door. Human blood, Remus realises: some unwitting Muggle is passing nearby. He is powerless as the body that doesn't belong to him flings itself at the heavy wooden door. All he can do is pray that his wards were strong enough. Please, let them have been strong enough.

The wounded hind leg, he realises, is a blessing in disguise: it's slowing the wolf down enough that its escape attempt is futile. The downside, of course, is the blood gushing across the cold stone floor, but he can live with that.

(It will be a different story come moonset, but Remus decides not to think of that for now.)

He can feel the adrenaline racing through the wolf's body, giving it the energy to keep on struggling at the door. Killkillkill. Fightfightfight. Hurthurthurt. Bleedbleedbleed. In the wolf's mind, the heavy wood is an enemy: claws rake down it, scoring deep gashes in its surface, and the wolf's frustration builds as it refuses to yield.

Hurthurthurt. The wolf's hind leg is beginning to throb, blood still trickling down the mangled flesh. Remus cannot feel it, but the wolf can. It howls again, the pain spurring it on in its attack on the door.

(He's terrified that he's going to hurt someone, but there's absolutely nothing he can do to stop it and he just wishes this would end.)

Nonono – killkillkill – bloodbloodblood!

The scent of human blood is growing fainter; the wolf's howls go louder as it struggles to get at its prey. Remus is losing his tiny grip on the wolf's mind – feral rage is pressing at the corners of his consciousness, trying its best to overcome him.

Packpackpack, the wolf whines suddenly, giving up on the door. Wantwantwant.

Remus wants to laugh, or maybe sob. Him and the wolf both, then. (Not that there's much of a difference.)

Packpackpack. Comecomecome.

When no answer is forthcoming, the wolf bites its shoulder hard. Remus watches detachedly (this is not his body – not yet) as blood spurts out of the wound and begins to stain the fur on the wolf's foreleg dark red. This is still not enough; next, sharp claws tear down the length of the foreleg so that there is a long, bleeding scratch stretching all the way from shoulder to paw.

As the wolf grows angrier, Remus can feel his consciousness flickering. His vision goes completely black as the wolf gnaws ferociously on the joint in its bleeding leg.

The last thing he knows before the tiny part of his human mind ceases to exist is that the wild energy racing through the wolf's veins is lessening minutely. Then the wolf's mind is once again completely its own – it raises its head from where it is lying in a pool of its own blood and howls, just a little quieter than before.

The wolf doesn't know it, but –

They are half-way through.

A/N: Once again, guys, I'm really sorry about the wait. If you want news on updates, you can go to my profile, where I try to post my status on each multi-chapter story I'm writing as well as telling you about upcoming stories. Oh, and don't you love the story's new cover picture?

Last but not least, please review and tell me how you found this chapter!

~Butterfly