The beast bubbled up inside, unable to think about Sirius. Sirius, whose stupid pain potions were still in that cabinet—Remus had the door open and the bottles smashed before he could stop himself. The anger, the hurt, that Remus had been carrying since the last time he had seen Sirius, six months ago, the feelings of betrayal Remus had shoved down and told himself he didn’t feel, surged up through him like a tidal wave. With a yell, Remus threw his shoulder into the cabinet and broke it. Then he attacked the stupid wolf bed Sirius had made, ripping the fraying fabrics apart with a snarl. He grabbed the book Sirius must’ve left after reading it before a moon and tore it apart, page by page, imagining that each page was one of Sirius’ fingers, then his limbs, his eyes, and then the Sirius in his mind’s eye became himself, and Remus kept tearing and tearing, until he and Sirius were both laying bloody and broken in pieces, and Remus found he was sobbing and screaming, his hands bleeding from a thousand paper cuts.