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Chapter Fifty-Six: Down to the Willow

'You're not eating anything,' Sirius said shrewdly, eyeing the untouched sausage and only faintly nibbled bit of bacon on his friend's plate.

Remus let his hands slide into his lap. 'I'm not hungry,' he mumbled.

'I told you,' Peter said, looking from Sirius to James with an expression of vindicated satisfaction on his face. 'I told you he always loses his appetite before he disap—' The dangerous slip was cut off in a sharp yelp as Sirius shot out with his foot beneath the table and kicked him squarely in the shin.

'Not outside the dormitory, remember?' he said with a hint of menace in his voice.

'Right,' Peter muttered, staring down at his plate as his face turned a livid shade of puce. 'Right. Not outside the dormitory.'

'Are you all right?' James asked softly, eyeing Remus with candid concern. 'I mean, last time you were sick all over the hedges by the greenhouse.'

'That was because I ate things I oughtn't have,' Remus whispered, his cheeks burning with the memory. He realized uncomfortably that the flush would intensify the contrast of the pink fever spots against his wan cheeks, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. 'I thought…'

He left the sentence unfinished and hung his head. Though neither Sirius nor James said anything Remus thought he could feel them exchanging a salient look. He could not help but wonder if they knew or suspected that he had overheard their council last month. Worse, he was uncertain whether he ought to be glad or ashamed if they knew.

'I thought maybe we could go down to the lake and skip stones,' James said, filling the awkward silence with his usual carefree chatter. 'I've got a theory that if you charm them just so they'll skip indefinitely.'

'It's much too cold to be hanging about the lake,' Sirius said. He jerked his thumb towards the enchanted ceiling, which was roiling with dark clouds. 'And it looks like rain. I think we ought to stay indoors.'

'We could go exploring,' Peter suggested. 'There's that corridor on the third floor we haven't been down yet.'

'No exploring today,' Sirius said firmly, scraping up the last forkful of eggs and sighing contentedly as he pushed away his plate. 'We've got more important things to do.'

'What more important thi— oh.' Hazel eyes grew wide as James realized what his friend meant. His cheeks grew pink and he looked at Remus with an expression of mingled pity and dismay. 'I… I didn't think,' he stammered. 'I mean, of course we shan't go exploring without you…'

'Please hush,' Remus begged, looking anxiously from side to side and praying that no one was listening. Thankfully the surrounding students were all engrossed in their own conversations and appeared to have no interest at all in what was being said. 'We… could we go somewhere else if we need to talk about it?'

'Sounds perfectly reasonable to me,' Sirius said. He nodded at James's plate. 'Finish up Potter, and sharpish. Unless you'd like to be the one left behind.'

'No fear of that,' said James, bolting down his porridge and slipping an orange into his pocket. 'C'mon Peter, let's go.'

Peter was nowhere near the end of his meal; most of his second helping was still piled on his plate. Nevertheless he got to his feet without protest and followed James meekly. Sirius offered Remus a hand as he hoisted his aching body off the bench, and Remus took it gratefully.

Once out of the Great Hall they made for one of the little-used auxiliary corridors on the first floor. There was a jettied casement set into it, with a high window overlooking the grounds flanked by two ornate stone benches. Sirius and Remus settled on one, and James and Peter on the other. Remus took one corner, propping himself between the wall and the window and letting his cheekbone rest against the cool glass. James sat directly across from him, which was fortunate because Peter looked uneasy enough about his perch on the edge of the bench without being crowded into the small space with the werewolf.

'What's the plan?' asked James. His firm gaze faltered when it shifted from Sirius to Remus, and he shifted a little uncomfortably. 'I mean, I suppose you won't need to sneak off, but what else do you usually do?'

'He goes to wait in the hospital wing, of course,' Sirius said with very impressive authority. 'When it's time the matron takes him down to the tree. We'll go with him, of course.'

'Will we?' James asked, eyebrows arching towards his hairline. Next to him, Peter made a muffled noise of terror and clapped his hands over his mouth.

'Not to the tree, you sodding great pillock,' Sirius snorted. 'To the hospital wing. Remus has all afternoon to wait, and I think we ought to keep him company. Don't you?'

'I…' James frowned, looking genuinely bewildered. 'I don't know. Remus? Is that what you want?'

The assertion that it was indeed very much what he wanted died on Remus's lips. Only a month ago he would have done anything just to earn his friends' tolerance. It seemed selfish now to force them to give up their whole day sitting with him. Sirius plainly wanted to: the entire thing had been his idea. But Remus was not so certain about James, and it was obvious from Peter's expression that he would rather be fed piecemeal to a dragon than attend upon a werewolf scant hours before moonrise.

'You ought to do what you like,' he said quietly. 'After all, it's your Sunday and you should enjoy it. I'll be quite all right: I always go alone.'

Sirius twisted on the seat to fix him with scrutinizing eyes. 'You always went alone,' he corrected; 'because you didn't tell us where you were going and why. Now we know it's our solemn responsibility to do whatever we can to make it more pleasant for you. I'm coming, and you won't talk me out of it, you hear me?'

Remus bobbed his head obediently. He was used to Sirius's fierce assertions that sometimes had the flavour of a threat. He knew now that Sirius would never do anything to harm him, and that these emphatic assurances were meant to be comforting. 'I wouldn't dream of it,' he said quietly. 'I'm very grateful you're coming with me. It's only that James and Peter needn't, not if they don't want to.'

James snorted. 'And how are we supposed to say no to you now?' he asked, chuckling. He reached across the breadth of the window and squeezed the fingers of a pale left hand. 'Of course we'll come, if you don't mind the invasion.'

'Madam Pomfrey might mind,' Peter said, sounding really rather hopeful at the prospect. 'I'm sure she won't want the lot of us crowding into the hospital wing for no good reason.'

'Remus said she wouldn't mind it,' Sirius argued. 'And it's not for no reason. We'll be keeping our friend company and distracting him while he waits. Wouldn't you rather have your friends with you than just sit there brooding?'

'I don't brood,' Peter said, his tone conveying a deep hurt.

'Maybe not,' said James; 'but we all know that Remus does.' He smiled affably at the boy in question. 'Can we bring games or something?'

'Chess,' said Sirius. Clearly he had put a great deal of thought into this. 'Last month we played a good deal of chess afterwards, didn't we? And Exploding Snap. Gobstones are strictly discouraged by Pomfrey, of course, but even if we just sit around and talk it's bound to be more interesting than lolling about staring at walls.'

'All right, then,' said James. 'Do we go now, or…'

'I was going to wait until the school was at lunch,' Remus murmured, unable to keep from staring in wonder at the expression James wore. He had the satisfied look that he sported when he had made up his mind to a clever prank or some other enjoyable activity. It was as if he saw this no differently from any other afternoon of games and socialization they had had before. 'If you'd rather wait and eat first, or if you'd prefer not to—'

'While the school's at lunch it is,' said Sirius resolutely. 'Until then why don't we go back upstairs and see you're properly packed?'

~discidium~

Of course, packing took almost no time at all: there were only his undergarments and his nightshirt to bring, and a clean set of school robes and his wand. Remus choose two of his textbooks – Potions and Astronomy this time – and he realized abruptly that if he changed his mind about what he needed to study during his days of recuperation he had only to ask Sirius to bring another book. That epiphany left him speechless for many minutes while Sirius and James gathered up chessmen and playing cards and back issues of World Quidditch and stowed them into Sirius's satchel.

'Hold up,' Sirius said when the two bags were sitting side-by-side next to Remus's trunk. 'Have we got time for a quick run to the library? There's a book I've been meaning to have a look at.'

'You?' James said incredulously. 'A book?'

'Mock me if you want, Potter,' said Sirius airily. 'Some of us enjoy expanding our minds.'

'Right, then,' James said with a low chortle. 'It's only quarter to eleven: there's time, isn't there, Remus?'

Remus nodded. 'I'd rather stay here, though, if you don't mind,' he said mildly. He waited anxiously for them to ask why, wondering how he could admit to the ache in his back and the dull pain in his limbs without seeming too much of an invalid.

Instead Sirius only shrugged and grinned. 'No worries,' he said. 'I'm sure I can stretch a point and find one book without your help.'

'Don't fret,' James added, winking. 'I'll go along and be sure he doesn't get lost.'

'Do try to stay out of trouble,' Remus warned, managing to slide a teasing note into the words. 'It would spoil the afternoon to have you both in detention.'

'Right you are,' Sirius said. 'Noses clean, I promise!' Then, with the sort of ebullient energy that Remus could only dream of, the two dark-haired boys bolted from the dormitory, slamming the door behind them and thundering down the stairs.

Remus leaned back against his headboard, drawing up his knees a little in an attempt to ease his discomfort. The thought that this was the perfect moment in which to slip away unnoticed occurred to him, but only fleetingly. He did not need to sneak off any longer. The others knew, and more than that they were willing to go with him to the hospital wing. For a moment all the worries of the past year seemed so utterly ridiculous.

Then he realized that two small, hard eyes were fixed upon him. Peter was standing by the foot of James's bed, arms crossed and a furrowed frown on his face.

'We agreed,' he said coldly. 'We agreed I wouldn't have to have anything to do with you if I didn't want to.'

Remus stiffened as though he had been slapped. 'You don't,' he murmured. 'You needn't come; I'd never expect you to come.'

'James and Sirius expect it,' Peter argued. 'They think we ought to go and sit with you and play games and pretend that you're not going to turn into a… a…'

'A monster,' Remus whispered, closing his eyes so that he did not need to see the hatred that surely blazed across the other boy's face.

He was surprised and alarmed when Peter made a tiny whimpering noise. He lifted his leaden lids to see the plump little boy sinking down on the edge of James's bed as he buried his head in his hands.

'Y-you were my friend,' Peter moaned. 'You were such a good friend. You never made fun, even if I do spell things badly and make mistakes in lessons and say stupid things sometimes. If I'd spilled pumpkin juice in your lap you would've just smiled and said something nice like "Never mind, Peter. No harm done." I always wanted a friend like that.' He looked up, tears streaming down his round, ruddy cheeks. 'Why, Remus? Why did you have to turn out to be a werewolf?'

Remus wished that he could protest that he could not help it; that he had not asked to be a Dark creature any more than Peter had asked to befriend one; that he had never done anything to deserve this either. But that was not true, and he had told so many lies already – enough for a lifetime. Once again, he let himself be truthful.

'I made a mistake,' he confessed softly. 'I did something foolish, something I should never have done, and now…' He held out his palms in a gesture of helplessness. 'I'm sorry, Peter,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry. I wish I could be the friend you want me to be. I'm so sorry.'

Peter's lower lip quivered perilously, but he bit down upon it with his narrow front teeth. He blinked resolutely against his tears and he tried very hard to scowl sternly. 'That doesn't make the problem go away, though, does it?' he said.

Remus felt his throat constrict almost to the point of closing off access to his lungs. 'No,' he breathed hoarsely. 'No, I suppose it doesn't.'

'You think it's my fault, don't you?' Peter said, accusation in his eyes. 'You think it's my fault I can't just forget all about it like James and Sirius. You think I ought to just give up and be friends with a werewolf, don't you? Don't you?'

Remus shook his head. 'I know that's not fair,' he said, his voice now so low and so weak that he was surprised it carried the few feet between them. 'I never dreamed James or Sirius would put up with me. I thought everybody would abandon me when the truth came out. You've been very kind to keep the secret and to be civil to me when other people can see. I'm grateful, Peter. Truly I am.'

For a moment something like anger blazed in the blue eyes. Then Peter's face crumpled miserably. 'You always call me Peter,' he whispered. 'Even James says Pettigrew sometimes…'

Remus did not know how to respond to this. He had always tried to be a good friend, to be patient and loyal and understanding. But all of that counted for nothing when weighed against the fact that he was a werewolf. He wished that there was some way he could help Peter understand that he was still what he always had been, and that the truth did not have to matter.

But perhaps it should, he realized unhappily. Perhaps the others ought to care that he was soon to be changed into a bloodthirsty beast. Ten hours from now he would sooner devour them than look at them, and he was not certain that Sirius understood that. Even James, who had some inkling of the danger the wolf posed, was looking blindly past it and supressing his instincts for self-preservation in order to be a good friend. Perhaps they were the ones who were mistaken, and Peter was the one doing the right thing.

'I'll explain,' Remus promised softly. 'I'll tell Sirius and James that you need to work on your Transfiguration questions and that you're going to stay here. I'll tell them you're right, and schoolwork has to come before games and visiting. You shan't have to come to the hospital wing.'

Peter's look of abject gratitude sent his stomach churning. Then it faded a little. 'You're still stealing them away from me, though, aren't you?' he protested wretchedly. 'They'd still rather be with a… with a…' He gestured at Remus with one twitching hand. '… than with me.'

Remus hung his head. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I can't help that. Sirius… you know how he is when he's made up his mind.'

He hated himself for those words, because he knew, deep down, that even if he could have changed the situation he never would have been brave enough to do so. He needed James and Sirius so desperately. He could never find the fortitude or the integrity to drive them off, not even for the benefit of a human child. Peter had more right to their friendship than he ever would, but in his selfishness he knew he would never be able to give up their companionship.

'All the same,' Peter said impotently. He did not finish the sentence. Indeed, perhaps he had nothing more to say. He seemed unable to meet Remus's eyes any longer, and Remus found himself pathetically grateful for that small mercy.

'I'll explain,' he said again. 'You needn't come along.'

Then the miserable silence swamped the dormitory and Remus subsisted into small bouts of convulsive shivering. Whether he owed them to the fever or to his befuddled emotions he could not say.

~discidium~

James accepted the Transfiguration excuse without a second thought. Sirius, though he frowned and fixed Peter with a long and scrutinizing stare, did not press the issue either. Both of them were more concerned with the business of getting Remus down to the hospital wing unobserved.

It was easy enough, even if there were three of them this month instead of one, and even if a member of their group was the most famous Gryffindor in the school this weekend. The corridors were deserted, apart from the occasional ghost. They took the short route to the hospital wing, James on Remus's left carrying the satchel full of clothes, and Sirius on his right with the games and the library book. As they stepped into the brightly lit ward, Remus at last caught sight of the title and his stomach wrenched painfully.

'Why did you bring that?' he whispered, unable to keep the fear and loathing from his voice.

'This?' Sirius asked, holding out the book. 'I want to learn more about it, of course. It's listed in the bibliography of the third year Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook.'

James laughed. 'Where'd you get your hands on a third year Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook?' he asked. Immediately he threw up his hands. 'Never mind: don't tell me. I'd rather not be an accessory after the fact.'

Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, checking the time on the little gold watch pinned to her apron. 'Remus!' she said happily, a welcoming smile spreading across her face. 'And you've brought your friends.'

'Yes, Madam,' Remus said, his discomfiture over the book Sirius had chosen fading away. He looked left and then right at the two boys flanking him, and an earnest smile overtook him. 'They'd like to sit with me awhile, if you don't mind it.'

The matron's expression was unreadable, but her eyes were shining. 'So long as they don't go digging about in my cupboards or raising too much of a ruckus, they may stay,' she said. Then she smiled again, reaching out as if to touch Remus's jaw but thinking better of it when she remembered that young boys did not always appreciate such gestures where their mates could see. 'Go on and settle in, then. And try not to make too much noise!'

Sirius and James were surprisingly obedient. In the little room Remus climbed onto the bed, propping himself up against the pillows. Sirius sat on the foot of the mattress, legs crossed. James took the chair, drawing the bedside table down a little so that Remus's chessboard could be set up upon it. They played several matches in turn, and despite his fatigue and his mounting fever Remus put in his usual excellent showing. They only played one round of Snap before Sirius suggested they put the cards away. Remus wondered whether this decision was driven by boredom, or if his friend had realized how weary he was growing and reasoned that the game was rather too strenuous.

At half past four, Remus realized it was time to change out of his school robes. Ordinarily he would have done so in the dormitory, but he was rather ashamed of his ragged old play garments that were now far too small and badly in need of mending. With the others to sit with him, he had thought he would be more comfortable in his uniform. So now he excused himself, dragging his aching body and his satchel across the room to the tiny water closet. He closed the door and leaned against the sink for a minute before he could muster the strength to start undressing.

He had just hauled the warm woollen robes over his head when he heard James's voice on the other side of the door.

'I can't do this anymore,' he said, quiet strain underlying his words. 'I'm going down to supper.'

'What do you mean, going down to supper?' Sirius demanded. 'We said we'd wait with him.'

'I know,' James said miserably. 'But… I didn't think it would be this hard, Sirius. He looks… he looks so sick.'

Remus let his robes fall to the floor and stood hugging his bare arms to his scarred ribs. Hot humiliation rose from under the chilling layer of sweat that coated his flesh. He had tried so hard to keep from showing any weakness, but his body had betrayed him anyhow.

'I imagine you'd look sick too if you had to change into a wolf in a couple of hours,' Sirius said curtly. 'He can't help it, Potter.'

'I know,' whispered James. 'B-but it's so hard to watch him like this. I don't see how he can go through it, the way he looks now. Mightn't it kill him or something?'

The sorrowful concern in his friend's voice eased Remus's mortification somewhat. At least James was not disgusted by his feeble countenance, nor scornful of it. Sympathy, even pity, was preferable to that. He hurriedly removed his socks and his underpants and rummaged for his tatty transformation robes.

'It hasn't killed him yet,' murmured Sirius in a way that told Remus he was wearing a very closed expression. 'The matron will take care of him.'

'I just… isn't there something we can do?' asked James. 'There has to be something we can do.'

'We had him smiling there for a bit,' said Sirius. 'That's something, isn't it?'

Remus struggled into the faded garment. It was too short, showing a good portion of his calves and his forearms. He folded his school robes over his hands, hiding the most visible of the scars. Then he pushed the door open and padded barefoot into the room.

'Are you going down to supper?' he asked in what he hoped was a pleasant voice. 'Madam Pomfrey will be taking me down to the Willow soon.'

'Yeah.' James got to his feet, pushing the table back to its place by the head of the hospital bed. 'Good luck, mate.' He clapped Remus on the shoulder and managed to smile sincerely. 'We'll all be thinking about you.'

'Thank you,' whispered Remus. He did not dare to say more. This, too, was something he had often longed for but never hoped to have: the firm and earnest support of a friend, wishing him well despite the terrors to come.

'Sure,' said James. 'I'll see you on the other side?'

'On the other side…' Remus echoed. He had never thought of it quite like that before, but the expression struck a chord. The transformation was, after all, something to be passed through – like a tunnel, or some sort of mythological trial. He had to endure it, but it would pass. And when it was over, his friends would still be there, waiting to see him again. His eyes swam with tears of wonder and gratitude, but he did not let them fall.

'Right then,' James said, a little awkwardly. He shuffled to the door and opened it. 'Best of British luck, Remus. Truly.'

Then he was gone.

'Aren't you going with him?' Remus asked softly, turning to look at Sirius where he still sat on the bed.

'Nope,' Sirius answered. 'I'm not budging until Pomfrey chases me out with a switch. C'mon and sit down; you look about ready to topple over.'

Instead of shame Remus felt a burst of amusement. Only Sirius, he thought, would speak the truth in that frank, teasing way as if there were something humorous about the situation. He exerted the necessary effort to lift himself up onto the mattress, and hurriedly tugged the fraying hem of his old robes over his marred feet.

In doing so, however, he exposed his forearms. Before Remus realized it had happened, Sirius reached out to trace a crescent-shaped bite two finger-widths above his wrist bones. Remus shied away from the unexpected touch, trying to hide his arms in the inadequate folds of the robe. Sirius looked up at him, sadness in his eyes.

'It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know,' he said softly. 'It's not as if you did anything to deserve it.'

Remus cast his gaze away, and his eyes fell on the book lying on the floor beside Sirius's satchel. The Werewolf Elucidated, by Timotheus Gray. His mother had a copy, which she kept hidden in the blanket chest in the master bedroom. Remus knew that it was a clinical text: impartial and filled with anatomical engravings and statistics and firm facts. Nevertheless he shuddered to think what Sirius might learn from it, and how the information contained therein might colour his view of the werewolf in the next bed.

'Why do you want to read that thing?' he asked.

'I don't know,' Sirius admitted. 'I'm curious. You know me: I hate it when there are things I don't know. Besides, maybe there's something in there that might be useful. Maybe there's something we can do to help you.'

Remus could not help but feel grateful for the concern underlying that sentiment, but neither could he let his friend harbour any false hope. 'There's nothing,' he said. 'My parents tried. We even went to the Continent, trying. There's nothing that helps.'

'Well, I wouldn't put too much store by what adults say,' Sirius remarked with a disdainful sniff. 'You'd be amazed at the things they'd never dream up. Did you know that Drooble's Best Blowing Gum was invented by Drooble himself—'

'Never would have guessed,' Remus quipped in spite of himself.

Sirius smirked, continuing with his instructive anecdote as if he had not been interrupted. '—when he was only fifteen? I'd like to think that the kind of brain power we have in our dormitory is more than up to the challenge of finding some way to help.'

'You've helped already,' confessed Remus. 'You were right: I'd only sit here brooding if I were alone. I had a very nice afternoon.' He hesitated briefly before adding; 'Would you tell that to James? I didn't think to say it, but he ought to know…'

'Absolutely,' Sirius said with a determined nod. Then his expression shifted. 'Merlin. You heard us, didn't you?'

Ashamed to be caught out as an eavesdropper, Remus cast his eyes downward. 'Yes,' he muttered shamefacedly.

'Did you understand he's just worried about you?' Sirius asked. 'He isn't hurt or angry or disgusted; he cares about you and he doesn't like to watch you suffering.'

'I'm not suffering,' Remus protested quietly. He did not add not yet.

There was a knowing look in Sirius's eyes as he murmured. 'Of course not. I suppose a body can get used to just about anything, can't it?' Then the smirking mask was up again. 'Except, of course, trying to listen to Professor Binns banging on.'

'Have you started that essay yet?' Remus asked, his tired lips curling into a cheeky smile. 'You might find that a little bit more fruitful than learning the names of all the wolf's ribs.'

Sirius's grin was impossibly wide and absolutely sincere. 'You told a joke,' he said wonderingly. 'You told a joke about the wolf. I am making progress!'

Remus's jaw went slack and he made a stammering sound, but he was spared the necessity of dreaming up a reply when there was a soft knock at the door and Madam Pomfrey came in.

'Time to be going, dear,' she said, picking up his cloak and offering him her hand.

'I'll come along,' Sirius announced, hopping to the floor and standing like a sentinel by the door. 'Only as far as the tree, I promise.'

Remus knew that he did not have the strength of character to protest, although he earnestly wished to. Madam Pomfrey, fortunately, did not have any such compunction.

'I think not,' she said. 'We can't start turning this into some kind of a ritual procession. The rest of the school's at supper now, but next month we'll be sneaking out in the middle of the afternoon. You shall just have to say your goodbyes here, and you may come and visit tomorrow night if Remus is well enough to receive you.' She draped the cloak around Remus's shoulders and fastened it deftly. 'Two minutes, Remus dear,' she said firmly. Then she slipped from the room.

The two boys stood there for at least forty seconds, awkward silence between them.

'I don't know what to say…' Sirius admitted at last.

'You needn't say anything,' Remus told him. 'You came: that's enough.'

'Well… good luck, anyhow,' said Sirius. He tried to smile. 'I'll be back in here the minute Matron lets me.'

'Don't you skive off lessons,' Remus chided gently. 'I'll not be responsible for you losing Gryffindor any more points.'

Sirius smirked. 'You sound like Prefect Meadowes,' he said fondly. Then he looked furtively at the door before pulling Remus into a quick and only slightly awkward hug. 'Don't you go tearing into any major arteries, now,' he said, his voice breaking a little.

'I… I have to go…' Remus whispered uncomfortably. He waited until Sirius nodded, and then rammed his bare feet into his shoes and hurried after the matron.

~discidium~

Madam Pomfrey was unusually silent as they walked down to the Whomping Willow. Only when they were safely in the tunnel and starting down on their way to the house did she at last give voice to the sentiment that must have been on her mind all afternoon.

'It seems I misjudged those two, Remus,' she said. 'I took them for shallow little fools, but they're actually very dear boys, aren't they?'

'Very, Madam,' Remus said. Despite the grim surroundings and the horror that loomed just ahead in the darkness he could not help but smile. He imagined the expression on Sirius Black's face as he heard someone calling him a "very dear boy". 'They're still my friends, although they know everything.'

'Yes,' the matron said pensively; 'and that means I was wrong about their good sense, too. They have got some after all.'

'What do you mean, Madam?' Remus asked. He could not imagine how remaining friends with a dangerous Dark creature was sensible. Brave, yes. Kind, certainly. Miraculous, without a doubt. But sensible?

'I should think that's perfectly obvious, Remus,' said Madam Pomfrey, raising her arm to lift the trap door and climbing up into the house. Her face, illuminated by the glow of her wand, smiled down upon him as she offered her hand. 'Only a perfect fool would throw away the chance to have such a good and loyal friend just because of a silly little complication.'

'It's hardly silly or little,' Remus mumbled, crawling along the floor until he felt able to get his aching legs under him. He stood, swaying a little and clutching at the sideboard. 'You ought to know that: you're the one who has to patch me up every month.'

'Patching you up, as you put it, is one of the most important parts of my job,' Madam Pomfrey said solemnly. 'If I can help you enjoy your time at Hogwarts, and if my efforts help to keep you here so that you can get your education, that's more than worth the effort, Remus. Sometimes I think you run yourself down entirely too much.'

She was looking at him with shrewd, knowing eyes, and Remus found himself obliged to turn away. He fumbled with the fastenings of his cloak. 'You really ought to be going,' he said softly. 'I haven't much time.'

'We've another twenty minutes on my watch,' said the matron. She moved to help him with the clasp and folded the garment carefully before setting it down on top of the cupboard. 'I know the last quarter of an hour before the change isn't the time to have this discussion, Remus, but all the same I'd like you to think about it. Those boys don't care a whit about your situation: they're just proud to be your friends. And I see you as a pleasure to care for, not a burden in any way. Professor McGonagall looks at you and she sees your academic potential and your good manners. The Headmaster knows you have a bright future ahead of you. Don't you see that the only one who has any doubts about you is you?'

A hundred arguments sprung to the tip of Remus's tongue, each vying to be the first to shoot down this line of reasoning. But the Matron was right: this was not the time for that discussion. If once he started to rattle off the ways he had been hurt or belittled or shamed over the years Remus knew he would not be able to stop. If he kept silent now, he could sit and wait for moonrise with the matron's kind words still fresh in his mind. That, and the memory of Sirius's embrace and James's wish for luck, might carry him through the whole ordeal.

'Please,' he whispered. 'Please go. I need to get ready, and I'd rather not…' He looked down at the old robes that concealed his imperfect nakedness, and shuffled out of his shoes.

'Of course, love,' Madam Pomfrey said. She smoothed his damp hair from his brow, her fingers deliciously cool and comforting upon his feverish brow. Then she drew him into a consoling embrace. 'I'll be back first thing after sunrise,' she promised – unnecessarily, for she had never yet failed him. 'Good luck.'

When he was alone Remus finished disrobing. He folded his clothes and put them, with his shoes and his cloak, in one of the drawers of the sideboard, taking care that it was tightly closed. The wolf might rage against the residual scent of the human upon them, but it could not penetrate the heavy oak, nor manipulate the knob without the benefit of thumbs. Naked now, and shivering, Remus curled up in his customary chair.

His jaw ached, and there were twitching spasms running up and down his spine, but he forced himself to ignore these discomforts. He closed his eyes, trying to savour the feeling of Sirius's gentle hand upon his arm, or the sound of Madam Pomfrey's voice reassuring him that he was not completely worthless. Or James, burying his worries to wish the werewolf luck. Each memory surged back, bright and vivid and beautiful, and Remus felt a warmth in the core of his chest that had nothing to do with the fever. Even when the silvery light began to spill through the boarded windows and his limbs began to shake and he toppled onto the floor with a feral snarl of pain, he clung to them. He was not alone. He was loved, and his friends were waiting. Whether he deserved them or not, he had them – and that was a joy he had never expected to know.

~discidium~

When the tentacles of torment released him, casting him up upon the stony beach of suffering, Remus drew in the harsh, shuddering breath of one lately recalled from drowning. His ribs heaved, tugging at the pallid skin stretched across them, and his nostrils flared as he exhaled. He resisted the instinct that begged him to roll onto his side and to curl into a ball. From experience he knew that it was best to move as little as possible until someone had a chance to see how badly he had wounded himself. So he lay there, subsisting in quivering agony, and tried to take inventory of his physical condition.

The dusty rafters of the safe house came into focus above him, and Remus realized that the very fact that he was able to remember words like inventory was a promising sign. He blinked thrice, feeling flakes of crusted blood rain down upon his cheeks and his ears. There was something hot and sticky oozing from beneath his right arm, and he could feel the sting of deep scratches on his ribs, but the blur of exsanguination was decidedly absent. He could not feel the prickling of broken bones, though when he tried to move his toes he felt a dull pain shooting up into his abdomen.

The ache in his frontal lobe told him that the wolf had likely tried ramming its head against something. He rolled his left shoulder cautiously, and when no burst of anguish erupted from his scapula or his clavicle or his sternum he let out a soft moan of relief. He was reluctant to shift his right arm, for he could still feel the creeping flow of blood, but nevertheless he dared to hope that this time, perhaps, it was not so bad.

The creak of the trap door was followed by the sound of the matron's steady footfalls. 'Remus,' she breathed, her voice very soft. A moment later she was gripping his left hand and bending low over his body. It took him a moment to realize that the reason he could see her teeth was because she was smiling gently at him.

'Don't try to speak, dear, though you look like you very nearly could,' she said fondly. 'Let me just see to your arm now, and we'll mend the rest when we've got you out of the cold. We've had a frost overnight; I wonder if we couldn't get you into your robes before heading down to the castle.'

Fatigue was clawing at him, beckoning him back into the muzzy embrace of slumber. Remus had dim memories of the warmth of healing magic on his limbs, and of leaning forward over his lap as Madam got the robes over his head. After that there was only a sort of a vague dream of floating, and then clean sheets beneath him and a hot water bottle against his feet. He slept.