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Remus stares at the matchbox. After twenty minutes, it's still infuriatingly inanimate. "Draconifors," he mutters, slashing his wand without much enthusiasm.
At the desk beside him, Sirius is prodding a tiny Welsh Green with one finger. It snaps at him and he jerks back, although its teeth are too small to do any damage. "I think it likes me," he tells Remus.
"It just tried to bite you," Remus points out. "Does that seem friendly?"
"Cheer up, Remus." Sirius scoops up the dragon and deposits it on Remus's desk. "It's not too hard. You'll figure it out."
"Easy for you to say. You got it right off." He steers the dragon away from his own matchbox.
Sirius shrugs. "I guess. James did it first."
Remus doesn't miss the longing look he throws across the classroom. McGonagall separated Sirius and James two weeks into this year, and she hasn't let them sit together again yet. Remus knows he should feel sorry for them, but he can't deny that he's felt like hugging the professor on occasion. It's not that he dislikes James—quite the opposite, actually—but… well, he's not entirely sure why he's so elated.
At this moment, James's dragon is flying in circles around his wand. Peter is watching from two desks over, looking as forlorn as Remus feels.
There's a small flash of heat on his hand. Remus ignores it. Then he smells smoke and looks down to see a tendril of flame flickering on his sleeve.
"Got it," Sirius says, and reaches out, but Remus pushes his wand away. "What did I do?" he demands.
"It's your bloody dragon," Remus huffs, smothering the flame and examining the blackened cloth. He notes with satisfaction that Sirius has taken the Welsh Green back to his own desk, and seems decidedly less chipper than he did a minute ago.
"Is it badly burnt?"
"No," Remus admits, "just singed."
"Try your box again, then."
Remus purses his lips and adjusts his grip on his wand. "Draconifors!" The box remains unchanged.
"I think it might have some scales there," Sirius says.
"That's the part you strike matchsticks on," Remus sighs. "I can't do it."
Sirius sighs, too. There are a few moments of silence between them until he says, "Guess what?"
Remus rolls his eyes. He waits.
"Come on."
"Fine. What?"
Sirius shifts in his desk so he's sitting sideways, facing Remus full-on. "James and I were thinking."
Remus's heart sinks. "Uh-oh."
"It's about, well, your—you know, your shaving problem."
"Excuse me?"
"Your moon o'clock shadow?"
"Merlin's beard, keep your voice down," Remus hisses. The classroom is loud enough that he doesn't need to worry, but he still glances around anxiously. "What about it?"
"We know how to make it better." Sirius seems to be having trouble sitting still. "We could become Animagi!"
Remus snorts. "What?"
"Animagi!" Sirius smiles widely, impatiently flipping his hair out of his eyes.
"I don't understand," Remus says. "What does this have to do with… my problem?"
"Well, you only hurt people, right?" At least he has the sense to whisper. "If we were animals, that wouldn't be a problem, would it? You could do all sorts of stuff, and we'd make sure you didn't get loose."
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah, actually, I am Sirius." He snickers. "Come on, Remus, it'd be fun!"
"It's not something you can just have a laugh at." Remus rubs the burnt part of his sleeve, and his fingers come away dirty. "It's dangerous. I could kill someone."
"But you couldn't," Sirius insists. "If we were there, we'd keep you under control."
"How?" Remus challenges, playing along for a moment. "You can't have listened properly in Transfiguration last week. An Animagus's animal form is based on their personality. For all you know, you could end up as a—a chipmunk or something. Not very good at holding back a crazy wolf."
"Oh, please. I'm gonna be a Graphorn. James is an Occamy."
"What about Peter?"
"He said he's a Hippogriff."
Remus shakes his head. "You're all mad."
"Maybe, but we're right, aren't we?" Sirius leans forward. "Let us help, mate. We're your friends."
For a moment, Remus can only stare at him, struck dumb. There's danger—but Sirius, James, and Peter know that and somehow, impossibly, don't care. He's never had friends who would risk so much for him. At last he finds the breath to say, "You'd really do it?"
Sirius grins. He knows how much it means. "Of course."
Remus swallows. But—"All right. I suppose I can't stop you, anyways."
"Definitely not."
"But if—watch out!" He lunges across the aisle and seizes the Welsh Green, which is nibbling on Sirius's wand. It sinks its tiny teeth into his thumb before he sets it down on his desk. "You've got the nastiest dragon in the class. Why am I not surprised?"
Running his fingers over the shallow marks in the wood, Sirius rolls his eyes. "You don't get to laugh at it until you can do it right." He casts a significant glance at Professor McGonagall, who's heading their way.
Hastily, Remus returns the dragon to Sirius's desk and raises his own wand. "Draconifors!" As usual, the box remains a box. "I'm hopeless."
"Hey, don't beat yourself up," Sirius tells him. "When I can transform into a dragon, I'll let you ride on my back."