At long last, the third chapter. This one isn't any less depressing.

Remus woke up to find himself flat on his stomach in the middle of an unfamiliar forest. The unmistakable smell of blood – hopefully his own – could be made out immediately, and he closed his eyes to begin testing his limbs for critical damage. He sensed various bites, cuts, and scrapes that would need attention, but nothing serious until he lifted his left leg, as a blinding pain shot up his spinal cord. You've managed to break your sodding leg, I hope you're happy, His cutting inner voice chided him. Just got to get to Rolf…

Rolf was a back-alley healer who cared for werewolves specifically, since laws prevented them from being treated at St. Mungo's. His motives were both kind and selfish – he healed werewolves because they had no alternative, and would therefore pay any price.

Remus pushed himself up and looked back at his broken leg, horrified to see a large gash that revealed a white shock of visible – and quite splintered – bone. It was completely numb unless he moved it, which he forced himself to do in order to get on his feet. He began to stagger through the forest, following the bright sunlight that led the way to a small town.

"The door is open!" a sharp voice called in the general direction of the entranceway, in response to a muffled thudding sound. This voice belonged to the notorious Rolf, who had a mixture of potions and poorly cleaned muggle implements spread messily on every counter in sight. "…are you coming in or not?"

Getting no reply, Rolf nervously went to the door and opened it to find what looked like a scarecrow made of bloody rags and light brown hair in front of him. "What the bloody… Lupin? Is that you, mate?" He reached out and pushed Remus's hair out of his face, revealing an expression that wavered in and out of consciousness. "What in Merlin's… shit! I can't deal with this, mate. You're going to Mungo's."

That was the last thing Remus heard until he woke up in the lobby of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

"What do you bloody well mean, you can't help him?"

A nasal and slightly harassed female voice answered, "Mister Remus Lupin is registered as a known werewolf, sir. This hospital simply cannot accept him into our care!"

"So you're going to let this innocent man die! He's hanging by a thread, his leg is disgusting…" Rolf paused for an ominous effect, "and he's got several downright ruthless friends who are willing to pay you a visit, should he pass away in your lovely lobby."

"I-I'm sorry, sir! It's the law! And a very important safety law, I might add."

"It certainly isn't safe for you."

"I'll see what I can do…" The voice shouted in another direction, "There is an unidentified man who is unconscious in the lobby! Someone summon a stretcher and get him to the first floor!"

"That's more like it, ma'am. May I use your fireplace? I'd like to notify Sirius Black of this 'unnamed man's' whereabouts."

"Moony?" Sirius stared at the pale, fragile-looking figure that lay before him. "Moony… God, please wake up…"

"Huh? Oh…" Remus managed a weak smile of recognition. "Hello, Padfoot."

Sirius just bit his lip and stared at Remus nervously. "How're you doing? You'd better be feeling healthier than you look."

"It seems I've gained a few new scars for my collection." Always the same dependable Remus, trying to put a happy face on everything…with that damned good grammar of his, too. "Besides, I've had worse."

"I can't possibly remember a time when you've been more injured than you are now, Moony." Perhaps he was getting off-track, but Sirius was rather testy and nervous on that particular day. He was about to make the biggest mistake of his life, after all.

Remus glanced at Sirius for a second and then turned away, refusing to meet his eyes as he said, "You haven't known me for my entire life, Padfoot."

This was quite true. Sirius had only been inside Remus's childhood home once and never wished to return. There was an air of shame and entrapment that surrounded the place, and Sirius could hardly imagine what Remus had gone through there. He had often wondered in the past few days if Remus's upbringing had anything to do with his gravitation to darkness – the planned sellout of his dearest friends.

"Remus?" Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Remus looked back up at Sirius, and it was obvious that he'd picked up on the use of his first name.

Sirius flinched slightly. "I… I'm not sure it's such a good idea that we see one another anymore."

It took a moment for that to register on the injured werewolf's face. "What's wrong?"

"I just… I know something, Remus. We can't be together right now."

"I don't understand—"

"Don't even try! Just trust me; I'm trying to do what's best for you. Please… Remus, I love you. In spite of everything, I love you. And I've got to go away. And so have you."

Picking up on Sirius's uneasiness and restlessness, Remus knew it would be pointless to try to argue or even reply. After a moment of tense silence between them, he said in a hopeless voice, "I hope someday we can be together again… I love you, too."

"I'll… I'll be on my way, then."

I'll write another fic that extrapolates on the bit about Remus's childhood and home and such. It's something I've been thinking about for some time now, how Remus grew up. So, please comment if you like it, and maybe I'll manage the final chapter (at least, I think the next chapter is the final one) over Christmas break. Also, before you go pointing out the werewolf at St. Mungo's in book 5, assume (as I have) that the laws have changed quite a bit since the whole revolution with Wolf's Bane and whatnot, and although werewolves are still treated with indignity and quite unfairly, nobody is letting them bleed to death in hospital lobbies anymore.