Hello again! Thanks for all your wonderful reviews! Dee, I don't think you reviewed before, but you did now, and thanks for doing so. Strangely enough I've been plagued by colds while I wrote this fic as well, so…who knows : ) Pie, you're close, but in a few chapters you'll know why and how exactly. Mike, I'll try to fill James out a bit, and he will get some big scenes, so that shouldn't be much of a problem. Wolfspaw, I'm afraid most of the Remus torture ends here…I can hardly make the poor boy suffer more. But oooh, I'm looking forward so much to one of the final chapters! (bounce bounce) Werewolf…anyway, you'll see.

Now, there is one thing which peeved me a little. Someone told me that British children only say 'mum'. Now I'm not English, but I find that a little hard to believe. I mean, everybody in my story says 'Mum' when they're talking about their mother, except Remus. I consciously made him say Mom, because I find it incredible to think that ALL ENGLISH CHILDREN call their mothers Mum. We don't all say 'mama' here in Holland either. Some say Ma, or Mam, or Mammie, or moeder, or moes. So all British readers, please correct me if I'm wrong, but even if I am, please don't leave a review only saying that I should use a Britpicker, whatever that is. Be constructive, even if you don't like my story. Or at least tell me what a Britpicker is and where I can find one : ) (And please don't feel attacked by this anyway, Val I know it's only a minor correction. But I do think Mum's not the word : )

Good, now on with the story. It's a small chapter, but I couldn't help wanting to insert a house elf. Don't worry, he won't be very important. I just had this scene in my head for a long time now and didn't want to let it go to waste.

25. Fattening Remus

The following 24 hours, all Remus did was sleep. Madam Pomfrey woke him up every four hours to give him a bit of broth or potion, but he hardly opened his eyes, swallowing without wondering what fluid she let trickle into his mouth.

It was very early the next day when he finally woke up with a clear head, and noticed several things at once. One was that he was terribly uncomfortable because a. his clothes, his skin and his sheets were moist with sweat, and b. his bladder was about to explode. But aside that discomfort he noticed something else, and that was that he felt rather good, and that the headache he'd almost gotten used to had finally gone. So had the pain in his stomach. His chest and throat were still a little sore, but it was nothing compared to what it had been. He even felt good enough to be hungry.

No. Starving.  And thirsty, too.

But if I drink one drop before I've pissed I'm going to burst.

He pushed himself up on arms that were quivering, shivered as moist skin came into contact with a draft, and placed his feet on the floor. Standing up was a little more difficult; the first time he tried he had to make a weird pirouette to land back on the bed when his knees gave out.

What the hell?

He could remember, if with some difficulty, that he had been able to walk just fine only a day ago. Why then, did he have to cling to every available part of furniture to keep from falling to the floor? His knees felt like boiled pasta, no, like the sauce that usually covered it, and when he finally reached the bathroom he sank down on the toilet seat, shaking with weakness, unable to do what he had to do standing up—'like' Sirius always used to growl, 'real men do it!'—even unable to stand up again when he had finished.

Well, he thought, half-amused, half-desperate, isn't this the height of fun? Being confined to the toilet seat. How refreshing.

After a few minute rest and a whole lot of effort he finally made it back to his feet, although he had to cling to the shower curtain to keep upright. He felt increasingly stupid and tired, but refused to give up. The pyjama's he was wearing were unpleasantly damp, and he felt sweaty and dirty after he didn't know how many days and nights of fever. So, holding on to the curtain with one hand, he shoved his pyjama bottoms down with the other, shrugged out of his shirt and managed to kick the whole lot into a corner. Then he stepped into the shower cubicle and turned on the tap.

Cold, at first, but that was okay because he was very thirsty. When the water turned hot, he huddled beneath the beam and let the water wash away the remnants of his fever dreams. Reaching for the shampoo, standing in one corner on the ground, resulted losing his balance and subsequently in sitting beneath the spray instead of standing, but he didn't really mind.  The cubicle was built like a shallow basin; it was almost like taking a bath. He washed every spot on his body and his hair until it squeaked when he ran his fingers through it and turned off the water.

At least, he tried to.

But getting up proved to be all but impossible.

First he tried to roll to his knees and use the wall for support, but the wall, just like the ground, was wet and slippery and all he did was hurt his knees, so he rolled back, laughing. He couldn't help it. It was all so ludicrous, so silly, being bound to the floor, sopping wet—though very very clean.

A knock on the door woke him from a short doze, and he curled up to cover at least most of his nakedness.

Not much, though he chuckled to himself. Me being bare naked and all.

"Yes?" he called.

"Remus?" Madam Pomfrey's voice spoke up, muffled by the door and the sound of falling water. "Is that you?"

"Er, yes."

"Are you alright?" Another fit of giggles shut Remus up for a few seconds, then he replied,
 "Well, yeah, but…" Madam Pomfrey's voice sounded worried.

"What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No. No, nothing's wrong. Well…I can't seem to get up." A short pause at the other side of the door.

"You can't get up?"

"Er, no." He gazed up at the shower head. "And I'm running out of hot water. Damn!"

"Did you slip?" A few drops of absolutely icy water mixed with the warm water, and he pulled back against the wall.

"No, I didn't slip. I just can't stand up. And it's getting really cold now."

"Shall I come in?"

If you were Cynthia I'd tell you to sod off. But she wasn't Cynthia. And she had seen him naked before, and he hadn't cared about that. On top of that, there was hardly a trace of warmth in the water anymore.

"Sure! Please!"

The curtain billowed as she opened the door, stuck cold and wet to one thigh. He shivered.

"You weren't supposed to be out of bed for at least another day or two," Madam Pomfrey muttered. She opened the curtain, looked down on Remus and couldn't help smiling as she saw him sit there, grinning sheepishly.

"Why can't you just behave like every other ordinary sick pupil?" Remus breathed a sigh of relief as she turned off the water.

"I'm not ordinary," he protested. "And besides, I had to pee. And I felt sweaty. I haven't had a decent wash for I don't know how many days."

"Three." she said, and grabbed a towel. "During which I sponged you down."

"Exactly what I wanted to hear." Remus murmured theatrically. He allowed her to pull him up and against her chest, into the towel, which she hastily wrapped around him. "Lecherous female eyes on my poor body." Madam Pomfrey snorted.

"There's nothing about your body I haven't seen before, mister Lupin—the way you're now, there is very little to see at all. Before you go to sleep, I want you to eat a decent meal, you hear! You're nothing but skin and bones." She looked around. Sighed.

"And if you're so anxious about me studying your body, why didn't you bring a clean set of p.j.s with you?"

"Um. I seem to have forgotten."

"Ah. Well. Do you think you can dry yourself off if I park you on the toilet seat while I go and get you some clean clothes?" Remus nodded. Even though she supported most of his weight, his legs were quivering with exhaustion.

Or hunger. I'm famished. I haven't had a thing to eat for weeks!

"Good. There you go. And no trying to get up while I'm away, understood? You're far too weak to attempt to walk yet."

"No sir."

"Good." She swept out of the room, leaving him sitting there sitting on the toilet seat, rubbing himself dry and giggling. Why exactly he felt so cheerful he couldn't really tell; after all, he was almost completely helpless and it might take days before he could even try to walk by the way it felt now, but still…No pain. No fever. And the promise of a good meal in the near future. The very thought of something that wasn't broth made his head spin and saliva gather in his mouth.

Although she probably won't let me eat anything I really want. It'll just be more soup. But as long as it isn't chicken broth…

"Are you quite dry?" Madam Pomfrey asked, walking in, and he nodded.

"All but my feet. Can't reach them."

"Your feet can wait." She proceeded to peel him out of the towel, sliding a shirt over his head as soon as she had uncovered his upper body. All this she did with a no-nonsense efficiency, never stopping to gaze at his numerous scars or cluck over him. It took most of his embarrassment away, even though he still looked away as she uncovered him entirely and swiped his feet dry.

"Bottoms." Madam Pomfrey commanded, making him giggle again. He pushed his feet into each trouser leg, pulled the fabric up to his hips and then all the way up. "Good. Now, back to bed with you." She pulled him up, and the next moment his pyjama bottoms were around his knees again.

"Bloody hell!" Remus cursed, beet-red, and pulled them up to his armpits. "How much weight did I lose?" Then, before she could answer, something even more dreadful occurred to him.

"I didn't wear these when I went out, did I? When I met Snape? I didn't, did I?"

He clutched her arm, a terrible picture forming in his head…but she just smiled and shook her head.

"Keep your shirt on. You were wearing trousers with a lace, the day before yesterday. Although you did face him with your chest exposed, but that's your own fault. You shouldn't have ripped off the buttons."

"But…"

"Watch out for that chair."

"But I really did meet Snape, then?" She ushered him back into bed (a clean bed, he noticed immediately. Apparently she'd made it or had it made while he was in the shower.) before nodding.

"Oh yes, you did. You very foolishly clambered out of bed with a raging fever, walked all the way through the drafty hall and bumped straight into mister Snape. Fortunately, he managed to bring you back here and brought me the cure for your virus." She grinned widely. "And didn't it half help! One moment I thought I was going to lose you, and now you're already trying to take baths!"

"How extremely funny." Remus muttered. He clapped a hand against his stomach as it gave a wild growl.

"Hungry?" Madam Pomfrey asked rhetorically. "So, what would you like to eat?"

"Anything as long as it isn't soup?" Remus dared, hoping that she wouldn't shake her head and tell him that that was impossible. But she did not shake her head.

"Such as?"

"Steak?"

"If you will. Anything else?"

"French fries?" Remus wondered.

"Of course. Any more?" A look of rapture appeared in the huge eyes of the boy sitting opposite of her.

"Corn and peas?" he hoped.

"No problem, although you won't be getting corn cobs. And for desert? Apple pie?"

"With vanilla ice cream?" Remus salivated. She grinned.

" If they have it, sure." She stood up. "I'll go and place your order. Be sure not to fall asleep before you've eaten."

"You can count on that!" Remus whooped.

Nevertheless he woke up some time later by two things: Madam Pomfrey calling his name and a delicious smell of FOOD.

"I hope this will be enough," the witch grinned, shoving a heaped plate on his lap and a knife and a fork into his hands. "Although it should be. I don't want you throwing up again, or being sick after over eating."

Remus beamed down on the huge slab of steak, the French fries and the mass of yellow-green vegetables on his plate.

"I don't think that will be an issue." he said, and dug in.

The following day and night, Madam Pomfrey woke him every three hours for a meal.

"As a werewolf," she told him when he wondered about this strange course of action, "your body is different than that of other people. Ordinary people recuperating from a severe illness I would give soup and milk, but not you. You need to get stronger. As soon as you've gained a few more pounds, enough for your body to do something else than simply use it all for nutrition, you'll see how quickly you'll recover. So have another piece of pie, Remus. And another Chocolate Frog. Your friend Peter left about half a dozen for you."

By the second day, he could make it to the bathroom with only a few pauses, and make water like real men did it: standing up without falling on his face. And although he still slept most of the time, he could stay awake long enough to wish he could see his friends.

"Not just yet, dear." Madam Pomfrey told him friendly but adamantly. "Maybe in a day or two." And since he fell asleep while he tried to think up reasons why he should not see them, he rested his case—for this time.

            That afternoon he woke up to the smell of roast beef, baked potatoes and something veggy, and couldn't hold back a sound of surprise as he saw a small, vaguely humanoid creature dressed in what looked like two sewed-together dish towels place the tray with his plate on it on a chair. As it turned around to look at him, he was too slow in closing his eyes, so he kept them open and smiled at the house elf. It jumped back at first, then tentatively smiled back. A thin, wrinkled face with a nose like an eggplant proclaimed the elf a male—although Remus could not be entirely sure. He'd never seen a house elf up this close. He sat up.

"Hello."

"Hello." The elf replied, and quivered with his huge ears. "Libby hopes you is hungry." Remus grinned.

"I sure am. You mind if I start?" More quivering.

"No! No! Of course not! The more Remus Lupin eats, the better! Poppy Pomfrey told Libby: you take care of him!" He nodded ferociously. "Libby stands in kitchen cooking all day, cooking all day for Remus Lupin!" He smiled broadly, although Remus couldn't imagine why. Cooking all day didn't seem like the height of fun to him—but then, he wasn't a house elf. He took a great spoon full.

"Well," he said, chewing, "if you made this, it's wonderful!" The smile changed into a slightly deranged grin.

"Yes? Yes?"

"Yes!" Remus nodded, hiding a smile. "It's very very good."

"You likes it better than the broth? Remus Lupin kept throwing up Libby's broth. Even when Libby worked so hard to make it tasty…"

This, Remus thought, must be the first house elf who makes a wizard feel guilty.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was very ill. And if you'd lived on chicken broth for two weeks, you wouldn't like it much either. Although it was very good," he added hastily. Libby almost blushed, gnarly little fingers playing with the hem of his towel.

"Do you always cook for me?" Libby shook his head.

"Not always, no. Only when Remus Lupin was ill."

"Well, I wouldn't mind if you were to cook for me all year," Remus said, partly because he really wouldn't mind and wanted to pay the poor thing a compliment, and partly because he suddenly remembered Julie's story as well. And partly because…

"Is you serious?" the house elf blubbered, overcome with emotion.

"Of course I'm serious! Have you tasted this stuff? It's wonderful!" He offered Libby a piece of beef, which the elf took and delicately nibbled. "Not bad, is it?" Libby only grinned. Widely. Remus felt like a benefactor.

Julie was right. He's so happy when you show you appreciate what they do…

"Would you like some more?"

            Soon the small elf was sitting on the edge of his bed and they were brotherly sharing Remus's food.

"Don't you ever taste what you make?" Remus wondered. Libby shrugged.

"Of course we do. We need to taste in order to make sure the masters eat good, tasteful food. But ordinarily, Libby only eats cereal and biscuits."

"Cereal and biscuits? ONLY cereal and biscuits?"

"And fruit."

"But…why? Don't they give you anything else?" The house elf smiled.

"Remus Lupin offered me something else!"

Touched to the depth of his soul, Remus gave him a chocolate frog as he left with the empty plate.

Later that night, Libby was back with his midnight meal. He had added a sweet-smelling drink to the bread and cheese sandwiches—"Made especially for Remus Lupin!" It tasted of bananas and pine apple, with a hint of strawberry and vanilla; delicious. Remus said so, and had the pleasure of almost seeing Libby flap away on his ears.

"Tomorrow, Libby will make you a special desert!" the house elf promised. He shook his head when Remus wanted to give him another frog.

"Libby still has the other one." He said, pulling it from a self-made pocket. The frog looked a little sticky, but was still recognisable. "He can't take care of two." Remus laughed.

"You shouldn't take care of a chocolate frog," he said. "You should eat it." Libby cradled his frog protectively against his chest.

"NO!" he cried. "Libby would never eat his first real gift! He shall take care of the frog, and keep it from melting forever!"

"Okay." Remus soothed. "Okay. That's fine. You do that.

"Do you want a piece of my frog, then?"

Libby was not averse to that. The taste of chocolate made his bat-like ears quiver like a strung string.

"Remus Lupin is a true friend," he blubbered tearfully, licking his fingers. "Is there anything you would want Libby to do for you?"

"Well," Remus said, trying not to look to conspicuous, "There is one little thing…"

"Yes? Yes?"

"A piece of paper, and a pen?"

Pouff, went Libby, and returned with writing utensils a few seconds later.

"Thank you! Now, if you'd please wait a moment, then I'll write my letter. Maybe you can even deliver it to James Potter or Sirius Black, if you please?" He scribbled away, using his tray for underground. Libby, however, hesitated.

"Libby isn't allowed to be seen in the castle." Remus stopped writing.

"You're not? But that's nonsense! I've seen plenty of house elves around the castle." Again, Libby clenched the hem of his towel.

"That's the reason why Libby may not be seen now," he said sadly. "There have been complaints from many students about the liberty of the house elves. They said we should be confined to the kitchen and the night. So we are, now." Remus growled.

"Must be Slytherins. I wouldn't mind seeing you around, and neither would my friends." Libby's big bulging eyes filled with tears again.

"Remus Lupin is a true friend…"

"Quite," Remus sighed. "But how do I get my message to the Marauders if you can't take it? I'm bored to death in here. I really need to tell them that I'm okay and that I want to see them."

"Libby will find a way." The house elf decided, holding out his hand. "Libby will make sure the message is delivered—even if he can't walk the castle where it is light. Libby will take care of it."

"That would be great." Remus beamed. "Thank you very much!" He placed the folded piece of paper in the elf's small hand.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" Libby nodded.

"Special desert!" he reminded the boy, bowed and winked away.

Next chapter: the joyous reunion. If I can think of a prank, they'll pull one. Any ideas (sweats—I'm horribly bad at pranks that aren't childish)???