Well. Thank you to the - one...two...three...FOUR! - people who reviewed...that's like, off the charts. There were just so many that I couldn't read them all.

*silence*

Yeah, ok. I was a bit disappointed with only four reviews, so THANK YOU to those that reviewed! Reviews always make me happy. So...those who didn't review? Shame on you!

Ok. Now that that's out of the way, this is more buildup stuff, I guess, but he's older and it's showing more about him...I like this chapter, though! I hope you guys do, too! PLEASE REVIEW! (And then I'll update faster...) :D

He stared at the ceiling above him, but saw nothing. A television was mounted to the ceiling, for just such cases as his, but he didn't know what was being played. He wasn't paying any attention to the film, or to the doctors and nurses around him. He wasn't even aware that he was clean for once – no blood, no dirt or grime – he didn't realize that he was wearing a hospital gown that had been opened in the front to fix various devices and medical equipment to his chest and arms. He didn't seem to even be aware that he was in a brightly-lit hospital, rather than a dark dungeon-like cellar.

"I fear he may have extensive brain damage," one of the nurses was saying. "He's never acknowledged that he knows what's happening around him, and he hasn't spoken a word, or made a sound. He's just…existing."

The doctor, a kind-looking woman with dark hair, leaned over the patient in question, looking at the eyes staring without any sort of lucidity at the distance above him. The amber-colored orbs were so…dead. But she could see something there. She couldn't read it or identify it, but she somehow knew intuitively that it was a good sign.

"No," she said softly. Then, regaining her composure, she straightened and said in a stronger voice, "No. He's just shut everything out around him, but he's still there. He doesn't want to come out, because he fears that once he does he'll be hurt again." Silently she added, And who really blames him?

She continued, "It's a common occurrence in children who have gone through what he has, or something similar to what he has. I can give him something that can help with sleeping, which should help a little bit, but what he needs right now is the support of family and friends – people who love him. He needs to know that he's safe, no longer alone."

The nurses nodded, and with a last glance at the barely nine-year-old boy, the kind doctor left to check on her other patients.

But all through the day, her thoughts remained on the child Remus Lupin.

The bruises healed and the cuts faded, only faint white scars remaining in criss-crosses on the frail boy's body. He was self-conscious of these scars, though he never said so. It was just something that was never brought up in conversation – it was just accepted. He never really regained the healthy weight he'd had as a child, but they didn't know if this was because of lack of food or his body's chemistry. Perhaps it was a bit of both, but the Lupins were just grateful to have their son back after five years of worrying with him absent.

But it wasn't the same as before. No longer was Remus the happy, bubbly child he'd been before…everything. He hadn't even smiled since he got back – not once. Mr. Lupin had tried to change that by tickling him to induce laughter, as he'd done when he was a boy and was upset, but Remus had reacted badly and gone into a full-scale, silent panic attack.

That was another issue. He hadn't made a sound since he'd got back. No words, no grunts, no cries or screams – nothing. Sometimes he nodded or shook his head, but most of the time he stared. But he never stared someone directly in the eyes. He was around whenever his parents wanted to speak with him, but he never communicated. He was just…there.

Mrs. Lupin had worried about damaged vocal chords or some such, but Mr. Lupin had assured her that it was Remus' own choice that he never made a sound. Once upon a time, you could hear Remus running down the stairs in excitement when his dad got home, but now both of them were frequently startled when he appeared suddenly behind them or they turned and he was in the doorway.

They made some progress, though. In Remus' first month back, Mrs. Lupin had frequently discovered him reading one of her books in some remote corner of the house. After the first few times of this, she had gone out and bought several newer books that she thought would appeal to her boy based on the books that he'd already been reading. Remus hadn't shown any visible reaction when she gave them to him, but later she saw him with one of the new books, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he envisioned the tales in his head. She couldn't help but smile at the sight, and continued to buy him any books she could get her hands on. After a year of this, all of the walls in his room were filled with bookshelves, which were in turn crammed and stacked with books. Various books could be seen scattered throughout the house – a stack on the coffee table, one on the kitchen island, a couple sitting on the back of the toilet in the bathroom.

Mr. Lupin also made a discovery concerning the silent boy. He'd once gone outside to pull up a couple of weeds around the rose bush and had seen Remus on the edge of the patio, tracing in the dirt. All Mr. Lupin saw when he walked over were circles and triangles missing a side, but it gave him an idea. A couple of days later, Remus was writing messages to his parents on a yellow legal pad in somewhat sloppy and childish handwriting. It started with simple words, with his handwriting clumsy and taking up most of the paper, but it was something. He never shared anything truly personal, like what had happened when he'd been gone, but it was okay, for now. He'd only been back a couple of months.

As the first couple of years progressed, Remus' progress was slow. He had yet to speak a word out loud, but his handwriting got neater and smaller after writing so much. After he had access to the paper and pen, writing took up much of his time as well. But, it wasn't journal-type things that he was writing; he was writing his own stories, penning down his own ideas. He was reluctant to share anything he'd written with his parents, but they didn't push him, instead buying him notebooks and legal pads as requested. After almost four years of being back, he had hundreds – possibly thousands – of handwritten pages detailing some of his creations. His mother especially was curious to know what he had written, but she never pushed him.

One day about two months before he turned thirteen, Mrs. Lupin was rolling out dough for cinnamon rolls when Remus appeared out of the corner of her eye. She looked over with a somewhat strained smile, which he made no attempt to return. He held out his ever-present legal pad for her to read the neat writing below a note he'd made earlier:

Can I go to school?

Mrs. Lupin blinked, her cinnamon rolls practically forgotten. "School?" she echoed his words. "Isn't the homeschooling alright for you?"

Remus took a moment to write out a response. Yes. But I want to be around more people my age.

"I'm not sure you're quite all caught up with your grade, Remy," Mrs. Lupin said hesitantly and as gently as she could. "The people in your age group are more advanced than you are at the moment."

Remus blinked, and an expression of unease crossed over his features before he scribbled hastily into the notepad.

I know I can catch up. I know a lot of stuff already. I've been reading a lot.

Mrs. Lupin couldn't help a small smile at the last part. "Been reading a lot" – that was an understatement. "Yes, I know you have been, sweetie," she said. "But I don't think you're quite ready for public school just yet. It's different to your preschool and day care when you were…"

She trailed off because Remus had begun furiously scribbling on the paper. After a moment, he handed it to her for her to read again.

Not public school – I know that would be too much. I meant more like a boarding school, where it's more structured and disciplined.

Mrs. Lupin practically choked. "Boarding school?!" she exclaimed. "Why ever would you want to live at school?"

Dad went to Hogwarts School for Intellectual Youth when he was my age. I was looking at it in his yearbook and I liked the structure and virtues it had.

Mrs. Lupin shook her head in astonishment when she read what he'd written. "That was different, Remy," she told him. "He was…it's not the same…"

I like the idea of living with three or four other boys in the same room. It might help.

Mrs. Lupin, unfortunately, immediately knew that he was talking about the night terrors he had practically every night. They were silent – like everything else he did – and the only reason she and her husband knew about them was because they could hear Remus tossing around in his bed through the wall. But even touching was out of the question, even if only trying to wake him from a nightmare. Remus was the only one who could initiate a touch – anything else made him jittery or panicky. And that was understandable, but it still broke the parents' hearts every time they went in for a hug and he got those huge, fearful eyes staring up at them.

…but she was getting off of her train of thought. She knew what Remus was thinking – that perhaps with other people in the room, he would feel safer when he went to sleep and therefore had fewer or no nightmares.

"And what of your not speaking?" she asked him. "Your teachers will want someone who vocalizes their responses without having to read off your pad every time, and your peers will be curious."

Let them be curious. I won't tell them – it's none of their business. And the teachers can be told that I have PTSD.

Mrs. Lupin gave him a look. "You do have PTSD, because you won't talk about or write about what happened to you, even after four years."

Remus pressed his lips in a thin line, but he didn't write anything down. They'd talked about this before – no pun intended – but she could never get him to open up – about anything. All that she knew was what the doctors had told her, which was more the physical injuries. They could glean nothing of his psychological state except to determine that he had Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Which he didn't agree with.

The teachers can be told something. I really want to go to Hogwarts.

Mrs. Lupin sighed. "I'll talk with your father about it when he gets home from work."

Remus didn't smile – not that it was expected – but gave her a nod, and then left the room.

After he'd left, Mrs. Lupin leaned tiredly against the counter. She already knew that John would say yes, he should go…but she didn't want him to. As much as she wanted him to have a social life and be a normal boy, she was afraid for what others might say or do to him. He had already been hurt badly enough in the physical, emotional, and psychological aspects, and she knew how cruel teenagers could be at his age. But she also knew that Remus would have fun, if he was so willing to try this. Which he was. And she couldn't fault him for wanting that. She wanted it for him too; she just wasn't sure that he was going to go about it the right way.

What have I gotten myself into? She wondered.

Yes, this deserves a review. Yes, this deserves a review from YOU. Yes, YOU should REVIEW. Just press that little button below and type up a quick one. ;p