"It's in Pete's trunk, mine's full. Where're you going with the cloak anyway? What
time is it?" He blinked away his sleep and looked at the window. "Shit, is it even dawn yet?"
"I'm going to the hospital wing," James said. There was a loud creak that Sirius
knew was the sound of Peter's hand-me-down trunk opening. Peter gasped awake at the
noise.
"You think something's up?" Sirius asked, sitting up.
"My sister's reading restricted potion books, making lists with poisonous
ingredients, and she and Remus just happen to both get sick every month with the same
Muggle illness?" James scoffed. "You don't find that at all suspicious?"
"Maybe they're off snogging," Sirius suggested, equal parts amused and annoyed at
his own suggestion as it put an odd image in his head that he was not sure he liked very
much.
"What the hell!?" James snapped, his eyes wide.
"What? It makes sense. They're always together."
"You need to stop talking. It's bad enough that you both are constantly snuggling
up with her. Are you two coming or not?" James asked with a shout, kicking Peter's bed.
"It's not even six in the morning!" Peter whinged.
"Exactly," James pointed out. "I want to catch them doing... whatever they're
doing before they have a chance to come back to the tower. If they're really sick in the
infirmary, then they'll both just be asleep."
"Fine, but if I'm waking up this early, you owe me breakfast. And I don't mean wait
until the table is full, I mean, you go down to the bloody kitchens and then bring it to me.
In bed. On a silver tray." Sirius continued to grumble out requests—and addendums to
said requests—as they slipped the cloak over themselves and left Gryffindor Tower.
"What happened?" Mia gasped as Madam Pomfrey set a bloodied Remus down on
the bed. He had never looked this bad before, not even after the first moon she had seen
him through in this time. He was pale and sallow, looking worse than usual. In addition to
the long wound that opened across his back, he had four long deep slashes that covered
his chest.