Chapter 7: Of Sleeping and Scars
Forewarning; I wasn't able to thoroughly edit, so there may be a few mistakes. If you spot any, I'd really appreciate you letting me know, and I'll fix them as soon as I can :)
Anyway, thanks again to everyone who's reviewed, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Moonlight (Misery)
Screaming (Howling)
Scratching (Clawing)
Body (Prison)
Changing (Dying)
Death (Mercy)
Pain (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood) (Blood).
Remus woke.
He wasn't sure if that was a good thing.
With a flutter of eyelids and a soft gasp, Remus Lupin returned to the body he had vacated for the night.
Waking after the full moon always felt… unnatural.
It wasn't like flipping a switch; one second the wolf was in control; the next Remus was – no.
After all, was that the nature of the moon?
There was not only full and new moon – there were stages, changes, the gradual transformation from blissful dark to penetrating light.
The tide did not hang back at sea, lurking in wait, only to rush in like a tsunami when high tide's time had come – it crept up the shore, inch by inch, second by second, breath by breath, until the water was high enough to drown you, without you even knowing.
And while Remus liked to say he was absent during the change…well, that wasn't really true, was it? Just as the moon might constantly change its face, but was still always the moon, Remus' bones could break, his skin could shred, his mind could melt away – but the wolf was still him, and he was still the wolf. Always. No matter what body he wore – the soul was the same.
So while he only erupted into the beast when the moon reached its fullest point, that didn't mean the beast wasn't always there.
And it didn't mean that when the full moon finally died away, Remus was just himself again, simple as that.
He could feel it.
As he lay there, on a scratched and battered wood floor, his mind faintly registering the blood (the blood, the blood; Gryffindor red, how brave he was) that coated his hands, his arms, the floor, the walls – he could feel it, still in him – still just slightly in control.
He had to wait, in the quiet, his panting breaths the only noises convincing him he was still alive, as he regained control, inch by inch, second by second, breath by breath, trying to fight back the terror that always came – that he would never be himself again.
And even the repossession of himself was misery, because as he rediscovered use of his eyes, his toes, his fingers, his hands, he rediscovered the pain that consumed every part of him.
He shuddered and gasped, still lying prostrate on the floor, as he acquainted himself with the new cuts and gouges and tears and rips and soon-to-be scars that had been birthed in the night.
He acquainted himself with the memories, too.
All the howls, the lashing out, the violence and mutilation he hadn't properly registered with his beast mind came back to him, in a slow-motion flood.
He squeezed bloodshot eyes shut and ground bloodstained teeth together as he tried to block out the recollections of what he was.
He could never tell how long it took, how long he spent in his personal purgatory before the wolf was gone – or, as gone as it ever was.
When it was, he paused, his mind still hazy with pain, before he told himself to get up. Madam Pomfrey always told him not to, to just wait for her to come and help him, but Remus hated the idea of it – of her coming through the passageway and finding him, limp and helpless on the floor.
He was reliant enough on others already – needy, dependent, forced to pray for their mercy and kindness and pity while always fearing it would not come.
He could stand alone, on his own strength, if he could not live in the same manner.
Gritting his teeth, he propped his weight onto his arm and made to get up – only to be met with pain sharper than a knife shooting through the limb. It pulled a gasp from him that devolved quickly into hacking coughs that set his chest and lungs and ribs on fire, and his palm slipped on the blood-slicked floorboards and he thudded down, collapsing once again on the ground, and oh Merlin, oh God, this was bad.
The pain that his dazed, half-cogent brain had failed to fully register came now, rushing into him, paralyzing him, destroying him, and it wasn't usually this bad and what happened and why, why was it like this and he was screaming and it was everywhere – everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
He couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't breath – not when his mind was dissolving to make way for the pain, and his eyes were blurring with tears of blood, blood that was escaping him through every crevice, and his cries were tearing though already shredded lungs and a throat that could not form any words that were more vital than the breathless screams, and all he knew was the burning, white-hot agony that tore through him, and it had never been this bad before, never, andif Death took him then he would have thanked it with everything in him.
Everything in him.
Which he supposed was nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Except pain.
So.
Much.
Pain.
Remus blacked out.
And he didn't die -
No matter how much he wanted to.
After all – when did the world give him what he wanted?
Remus did not wake again for fifty-nine hours.
During those fifty-nine hours, he slept, and his dreams were violent, nonexistent, and torturous in turn – for Madam Pomfrey was far too occupied at stemming the blood pouring out of him to concern herself with giving Remus any potions for Dreamless Sleep.
No matter the nature of his dreams, however, they all served to keep him quite firmly in the realm of the unconscious; and while a parade of figures bustled about the hospital wing, desperately trying to save the life of one Remus Lupin; and while his friends tore up the Library, desperately trying to discover the hidden truths of one Remus Lupin; and while stories flew in Hogsmeade village pertaining directly to said hidden truths of one Remus Lupin – that very Remus Lupin slept, and slept, and slept – and knew none of it.
It was a breeze that finally woke him.
It drifted through the window Madam Pomfrey had left open and made its way the short distance across the private room Remus always used in the Hospital Wing, to flutter across Remus' bruised arm where it lay above the covers, then to brush lightly at his brow. It was cool on his sweat-sheened skin, and the slight change was enough to startle him awake. He shot up, only to be incapacitated once more by the dull aftershocks of pain that rippled through him; coughing, he sank back down on the mattress, his head landing on the stacked pillows with a groan and a dull thud.
Madam Pomfrey, who had emerged from her office at the first signs of Remus' return to consciousness, was at his side in a second, fluffing his pillows and kindly (but still sternly) ordering him to, "Stay still Remus, that's it. You've endured some rather severe injuries this time; don't want to strain yourself; just lie back, good."
Remus, who was still quite disconcerted, only half-registered her bustling about his bed, until she was shoving a bubbling purple potion at him that he didn't recognize. "Drink – try and down it in one, if you can; it won't taste better if you wait."
Remus reached up to take the proffered drink and winced, both at the frankly unpleasant smell the liquid was emitting, and at the aching in his disturbed muscles. Pushing around the pain, and the offence to his nostrils, he downed the potion. Immediately, he began to cough violently – the potion had been uncomfortably hot and unquestionably foul – but the coughs didn't tear apart his chest like they had back in the shack (Remus winced again at the memory), so he didn't complain. In fact, some of the more acute pains had dulled significantly upon ingestion of the liquid, and Remus let out a vague sigh of relief at the abating misery.
Madam Pomfrey noticed. "Better?"
"Much; thank you." But the statement was weakened by how scratchy and faint his voice was. Remus' brow furrowed – it sounded like he hadn't spoken for months – and he began to question exactly how bad the night had been. He knew it had been worse than normal, of course; he had been able to tell that the second he woke in the Shrieking Shack – but how much worse was worse… and, come to think of it, Remus couldn't remember what had happened after he woke in the Shrieking Shack… he couldn't even remember returning to the castle. Had…had he passed out? He must have. But then… how long had he been unconscious?
"Madam Pomfrey?" he tried to ask, but the words seemed to grate on his throat like knives and he couldn't continue. He tried coughing to clear his throat, but the coughs seemed to gain a mind of their own, and soon he was curled up on his side against shudders that left him practically immobile and he was hit by a wave of nausea that made him groan, and whatever that potion had done to dull the pain didn't seem to be working anymore.
"It's alright, you're perfectly fine, Remus; try not to move too much, remember? Focus on your breathing; in – out; Remus?" Even though his whole body seemed to be throbbing, he could still sense the faint notes of panic creeping into her voice. He tried to listen anyway, and forced his breaths to align themselves with the rhythm Madam Pomfrey sounded out.
It worked – slightly. He was still shaking a bit, and every part of him felt too weak to even consider moving, but the nausea subsided enough for him to uncurl from the fetus position he had collapsed into.
He straightened out on the hospital bed and could see barely suppressed relief in Madam Pomfrey's eyes. He must be bad, then. He had never seen the witch anything but unperturbed and no-nonsense, even when dealing with severe injuries – so for her to be so visibly affected…
The moment passed, and she was back to her bustling about. "Really, Remus, do try not to exert yourself." (That was another thing; she normally called him by his last name. Some sick sort of worry was twisting itself around Remus' gut.) "And speak only when necessary; your voice might take a while to heal." This sparked more alarm in the boy, and he tried to configure his features into a questioning expression she would understand as a request for clarification. Upon taking in said expression, Madam Pomfrey seemed to register Remus' growing panic and confusion, and her mouth twisted into a tight wince. "But, of course – you must be quite confused; oh dear."
She took a visibly deep breath and seemed to reorient herself. Her voice died away, and she finished preparing the potion she had been busy with. There was silence as she poured some into a bottle, which she thrust again at her patient in a wordless command to drink. He did, his hands clammy on the glass. This potion, he noted, was navy blue, and the relief that flooded through him upon drinking it was so profound he gasped. Muscles he hadn't even realized were tense relaxed, as did Madam Pomfrey's expression upon seeing his reaction. Thank Merlin for magic, Remus thought hazily, even though he knew the effect wouldn't be permanent. They never were.
"Better?"
Remus merely nodded in response this time.
Madam Pomfrey seemed satisfied and sat down in a chair Remus hadn't even noticed beside his bed.
"Well that's good, at least." There was another brief pause. Remus felt too fatigued to turn his head and study her expression, but he sensed she was searching for words.
"I suppose I don't have to tell you this was a bad one." Her voice was soft, and it made an irrational part of Remus angry. Because he hated this – hated having to lie here on a hospital bed, broken, and depend on her to fix him. He knew it was ridiculous – what, did he want her to leave? Did he want to remain broken? Of course not. And his anger wasn't for her anyway. He was grateful… he just wished he didn't have a reason to be. Growing irritated with his own nonsense, he tampered down the feeling and listened.
"You've sustained… extensive injuries. Nothing permanent, though, and nothing too long-term, so at least there's that – though I'm sure that doesn't help much." Remus didn't respond, and Pomfrey didn't seem to expect him to. "Some of it isn't particularly out of the ordinary; cuts and bruises and the like." Here she hesitated again. "You – you will have some new scars, I'm afraid. Quite – quite a few." This wasn't anything unusual; Remus could always be sure of at least one new scar each month – but… something in her tone made him clench with anxiety. "And – well – some of the scars…" Her voice was faint, and Remus wanted to scream. She cleared her throat and seemed to steel herself against something particularly unpleasant. "They're – visible. Quite visible – I minimized them as much as I could, but… there was only so much I could do."
Visible.
Well, Remus knew what that meant.
If he was lucky, they would be on his hands, but he wasn't a fool. Pomfrey wouldn't be so pitying if his hands were the body part in question; and besides, he had used both hands to clutch the potions. They hadn't been any more injured than normal.
So. His face then, or close enough to it.
And when he did focus his attention on it, he knew he was right. The pain there, dulled as it was by whatever potions flowed through his system, was more intense than it was elsewhere. And if he knew anything about Madam Pomfrey's nature, he knew she wouldn't be like this over some minor scratches.
It was bad – it had to be.
His eyes fluttered shut in resignation.
Damn.
Remus wasn't overly vain – he left that trait to Sirius – who was part of the real problem.
He knew he wasn't much to look at, and he wasn't a baby about his scars. He'd had them as long as he could remember; they were just a part of life. Werewolves couldn't exactly expect to go through their days without them, after all. So his jaw wasn't clenching and his gut wasn't churning out of some misplaced vanity – but out of dread.
It was easier when they were somewhere he could easily conceal – arms, legs, chest. But with visible scars, came questions.
Questions, from everyone – but mostly from Sirius, and James, and Peter.
Questions like: "Merlin, what the Hell happened to you?" and, "God, Rem, that looks pretty bad," and "What happened?!"
Questions, and lies – that none of them would believe.
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn.
This was not going to help dissuade their questions. That had been the plan, right? Come back all healthy, and act perfectly normal, and get them to stop asking.
Right. Remus was sure that was going to go just perfectly now; especially since – as he was just now realizing – he didn't even know how long he had been gone. But he was guessing it had been more than a day.
Bloody brilliant.
Madam Pomfrey had been quiet, likely waiting to judge Remus' response. Resigned, he turned to her, trying to keep his face impassive. Not wanting to deal with a lost voice on top of a clawed up face, he mimed writing, judging the last potion had helped enough so that writing out his questions wouldn't be too agonizing.
Pomfrey seemed to have been expecting this, and handed him some parchment, a quill and ink, and a book to use as a solid writing surface.
Can I see?
Might as well know what he was dealing with, after all.
He looked up in time to see Madam Pomfrey swallow and reach for a hand mirror. She extended it to Remus, and he ignored the way she was looking at him.
While part of him was already regretting having asked to look, he steeled himself and grabbed the mirror.
Try as he might to keep his face impassive, he couldn't quite keep from wincing.
There were five stark lines where his skin had been gouged out by what anyone could have told were claws, and which he knew were the result of one of the wolf's particularly violent attacks on its own face. Not unusual, but not normally this bad.
As far as he could tell, he had dragged one of his claws down his face. One stroke, and these were the repercussions. The damage was mostly contained to the left side of his face, and the cuts went from the top of his forehead down to his jaw. One claw had clipped his bottom lip, and it was a miracle (and what a thing to consider miraculous) that he hadn't lost his eye. Luckily for him, while his left eye had been in the paths of two claws, they hadn't cut further than the surface of his eyelid. The gouges had sliced deeper further down, though, and, he realized with renewed dread, they hadn't stopped at his jaw as he'd first thought. The path of destruction continued, curving and dragging its way straight across his throat and down past his right collarbone.
So that explained his voice, he supposed. His hand slowly lifted to trace along the path he had carved, and halted shakily above his Adam's apple. The damage had been worst at his throat, and he dully registered what would have happened had the wolf's path been shifted just an inch – putting his jugular directly in the way.
Seeing his pause, Madam Pomfrey spoke up. "Your vocal cords were cut through. I healed them, but… your voice might tire easily for a while, so you'll want to minimize speech, and drink plenty of water and tea with honey to avoid strain." When he didn't move to acknowledge her, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and continued. "I… I might be able to fade them some more, with time, but – I'm afraid they'll never go away completely."
But Remus had known that already, and didn't bother responding to the unnecessary confirmation. Instead, he gave a final squeeze with his jaw and handed the mirror back to her. Turning to his parchment, he wrote: Any other major injuries?
She accepted the topic change, to his muted relief. "A broken arm and leg, but I fixed those up already. They'll be sore, but not for longer than you're used to. There are some more scars elsewhere – the worst of them came dangerously close to your heart, but shouldn't cause more trouble than that… Let's see, what else… oh, yes; You broke a few ribs, and one did some damage to your right lung, but I've taken care of all that already. Mostly you'll just have to deal with aches and pains for a while, as well as taking care of your throat. Might hurt a bit more than you're used to, but I'll keep you here until I'm sure there won't be anything dire, and you can stop by every day for painkilling potions after you're out."
Pomfrey had reverted to a detached voice and expression as she listed his injuries like she was reading from a list, and that, more than anything, made Remus' fully register how close he had come to dying. A nearly sliced jugular vein. A nearly clawed up heart. A nearly punctured lung. And how close must he have come to bleeding out?
Trying to stem the shaking in his hand, he turned back to his parchment and quill.
How long since the full moon?
"About two-and-a-half days."
He couldn't contain the shock that tore through him at that, and he shot up to stare at the witch, who immediately began scolding him for the sudden movement. It was only when he had been settled back once more on the bed that she continued.
"Fifty-nine hours, if you want an exact count. You were unconscious when I found you in the Shack, and haven't woken up since."
Fifty-nine hours. Drawing some rapid connections, he concluded that it must be around late afternoon, early evening, on Friday. Friday. And he'd have to remain in the Hospital Wing until Pomfrey saw fit to release him. Merlin, his friends were going to kill him.
Do you know why it was worse this time?
He could sense Madam Pomfrey tense at the question. He turned to face her, and saw worry written plain as day across her face.
An involuntary shudder ripped through him. What now?
"Well… it could have just been a fluke – perhaps some unknown fluctuation in the moon cycle, or something similar, or just plain bad luck, but… it is possible that – the wolf is influenced by your emotions, thoughts, feelings… so, if something was affecting you… it might pick up on it and be more… aggressive."
Something affecting him? Like what? But…
And of course. He almost wanted to laugh. Because wasn't it true, after all? That he had been more anxious than was normal over his friends discovering him? More stressed, preoccupied, affected?
So his friends' concern for him leads him to be frustrated, which leads to the wolf being more aggressive, which leads to him being more injured, which gives his friends more to be concerned over, and more for him to be worried over, in turn.
What beautiful irony.
Perhaps, he thought, which a twist of dark humor, the cycle would continue, and get worse, and in a couple of months the problem would take care of itself. One way or another.
He might have laughed, or maybe cried, he wasn't sure, but Madam Pomfrey was still studying him carefully, so he just wrote out a hasty: No idea what it could be. Nothing like that's up; probably just bad luck.
"I see," she responded, in a tone that made it very clear she knew he was lying. But she didn't push it, and he was grateful.
She issued a few more instructions, along with a final one to, "Rest," before turning and leaving him alone in his private room.
Or, as alone as he every could be, with the wolf rattling about just under the surface.
He ignored it, as he always did, and settled back to sleep some more.
And his dreams were filled with images of scars and blood and claws.
I hope you enjoyed this update!
Hopefully there weren't any excessively atrocious mistakes.
Also, this chapter was more intense than I expected!
I feel kind of bad for how mean I'm being to Remus... but that's probably not going to change anytime soon...yahhhhh.
Oh well!
Don't worry though, this story will get its happy ending.
Secondary disclaimer; I know absolutely nothing about anatomy or how injuries work, so if any of you do, please don't judge me too harshly if I'm horribly wrong XD.
If you liked this, please leave feedback; I love hearing from you all, and thanks for reading!
