I awoke in a cold sweat, my entire body aching and in a state of panic. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and tried to slow my heart, which was pounding loud in my ears. When I finally opened my eyes it was to see a calm room, though the sheets I was lying on were stained a deep shade of red. I lay there for what seemed like hours but could not have been that long, trying to make sense of what had happened the previous night – my memories were stronger than they usually were, and I was sure that my friends were involved in them, but this thought made my blood run cold. I prayed the memories were just a dream. Just when I thought I would go made with these uncertainties, Madame Pomphrey shuffled in from her quarters – I realised it was still early, the morning light just reaching my bed from the window. Time had been going slowly during my anguish.
'How are you feeling, Remus?' She asked, more gently than normal. Alarm bells started ringing. 'Do you remember what happened last night?' She rolled me over and started to change the crimson sheets to crisp-white ones. 'James Potter is here. He wants to see you.' She saw the blank expression on my face – the truth was, even if I did remember, I was too exhausted to feel anything. I lay unanimated and weak as she bound my bleeding arms and torso, unable to think straight, to fully comprehend the gravity of what she was saying.
'Don't you worry about anything. It's not your fault, none of it. Professor Dumbledore has spoken to them all and no one else will find out. They won't tell anyone.' And with that, she was gone, disappeared behind the fold of white cloth that surrounded his bed, deceiving in their promises of purity and innocence, I thought. What ever I'd done was surely terrible; and now obviously I had been found out, uncovered. I would not be here for long. As I lay on my newly cleaned sheets, nursing my bandaged arms, I heard the curtain lift, and there before me stood James, staring down at me with the broken look of a boy suddenly far too old for his years – a look I thought I'd reserved for myself only long ago.