Chapter 27: A Power Nap in the Middle of Class

"REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEmus!"

Remus groaned. "Good morning, James."

"What are you doing down here?" asked Peter, bounding into the common room.

"Homework," said Remus. "Couldn't sleep."

"You look exhausted, though," said Peter, and Remus couldn't argue with that. He always looked dreadful on the day of the full moon, and he really was as exhausted as he looked—perhaps more so. That didn't change the fact that he couldn't sleep, though: not with his bones feeling sore and his skin feeling twitchy and his stomach twisting inside of him. Even his eyeballs hurt to move.

"Well, come back up to the dormitory and get dressed," said James, and Remus was glad that he didn't push the matter. "Breakfast awaits!"

"I'm not going to breakfast today," said Remus uncomfortably. "I'm not hungry. And I haven't finished my History of Magic essay."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Oh no. The History of Magic essay. The one due in two weeks."

"My essay is shaping up to be quite the novel," quipped Remus. "Perhaps I'll get it published. It's going to be a very good essay." He hoped that his friends wouldn't ask to see it—he hadn't even started thinking about the essay. But, seeing as there was no way that James or Sirius or even Peter would voluntarily read anything about History of Magic, Remus figured he was safe.

"You're going to work yourself to death, mate," said James. "Take a break. It's only a half-hour."

"No, thank you. I'm really not hungry." That's the truth, thought Remus. His stomach was still twisting inside of him, and the mere presence of his friends felt like too much for his senses to handle.

"You look ill," said Peter. "You've looked ill all week. Did you catch something?"

Remus, for the first time in his short life, wished that his friends would just shut up already. He wasn't usually angry with his friends, but he was so tired—he only wanted to be alone for a couple more minutes—why did they care if he ate breakfast? He took a deep, calming breath before responding. "I'm not ill. Just not hungry. I'll see you after breakfast in Defense."

James shifted his weight to his other foot in a bit of an uncomfortable gesture. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

"No, why would there be?" Go away, go away, go away...

"Sirius, Pete... Go on without us, I'll be down in a minute."

Remus felt a decided shiver of horror run down his spine. James hadn't figured it out already, had he? Had he? Remus couldn't possibly travel home in this state... what was he supposed to do?

"You've woken up with a nightmare about half of the nights you've been here," said James, and Remus relaxed a bit. This, while still infinitely awful to talk about, was better than the alternative. "That can't be normal, mate. I think you need to do something about it... see Pomfrey, maybe... see Dumbledore. That's not normal at all, especially nightmares that make you cry..."

"I don't cry."

"Yeah, you do. Not loudly, but you're usually crying. And shaking. And sweating. It's not healthy, and it's gotta be really unhealthy for me of all people to care about stuff like that. And you toss and turn a lot, even when you're not awake. Seriously, I expected you to get ill after nights of not sleeping well. You look like death warmed up."

"Well, I didn't know that you were such a light sleeper when I decided to come to Hogwarts. What do you want me to do, go out in the corridors?"

"What? No, I want you to get help. That's what I just said. Were you listening?"

Remus hadn't been. He'd actually been staring at a loose thread by James' collar and desperately trying not to lose his cool.

"Okay," he said, shifting his gaze from the thread in James' collar to meet his friend's eyes. "I will. Thanks for the suggestion. I guess I never really thought about it being abnormal or anything; it's just a thing that I live with..." Remus was lying. He'd hardly had any nightmares until he started sleeping next to that horrid window, and he most certainly was not going to get help. Madam Pomfrey already pitied him enough; she didn't need to hear that he was still haunted by an attack that happened years ago.

"Come down to breakfast? Please? Dunno what's bothering you, but you need to eat."

"No, thank you. But I'll eat a good lunch. See you in a half-hour, James."

James studied Remus' face carefully. "You can talk about it, whatever it is. I know I'm annoying sometimes, but I'm an excellent listener. Sirius says so all the time."

"Talking about it doesn't help, but thank you for the offer."

"All right, then... see you in a half-hour." James sauntered out of the room, and Remus felt a sort of relief and disappointment all bundled into one as he watched him go. He wasn't sure why he was disappointed; he'd been waiting for him to leave for what seemed like hours.

"James fusses nearly as much as Mum," Remus whispered to Bufo, and Bufo granted him an affirmative croak. It was a struggle walking back up the steps and into the dormitory, but it was—unfortunately—probably going to be the easiest part of Remus' day.

Remus changed out of his pajamas in the lavatory, even though he was the only one in the dormitory. He could never be too careful, after all.

He pulled off his shirt reluctantly and stared at his bare chest—it was littered with scars, some old and faded, some fresh... they covered his sides and his back and especially his arms, they snaked around his body and it was very clear what they were from. Tooth marks, claw marks... Remus traced the four distinct claw marks on his side, wondering how his small eleven-year-old hand ever got to be so big and dangerous.

He wondered what it would be like to have claws like that all the time—tying his shoes would be very difficult, he thought, not to mention scratching mosquito bites. And holding a quill would be near impossible. Remus clipped his nails once a week, actually, so that he wouldn't accidentally scratch himself. Marks from a werewolf—even in human form—needed silver and Dittany, and silver was expensive by definition.

His eyes drew up to the bite mark on his left shoulder, on which nearly every tooth was still as clear as day. It was awful, to have such a horrid reminder so close to him for the rest of his life. He quickly reached down for his robes and threw them on, ignoring the headrush and the spots before his eyes.

He glanced at his hands, which were scarred as well... Now that he thought about it, he could see the indentations where his fingernails had lengthened into claws whilst he was clenching his fists during the transformations. His palm was always so torn and scratched afterwards that he had not noticed. He internally thanked Dumbledore for letting him know about the issue.

Perhaps, if he managed not to re-open them, then the scars on his palms would fade with time. They sometimes did that, though not completely. The scars on Remus' knuckles were mostly from when he would chew on them when he was younger in fits of worry and stress before the full. He had since stopped, but even bites from a werewolf in human form scarred. Fortunately, no one really looked at Remus' hands.

At least he didn't think so.

Besides. Remus' robes, blessedly, were long enough to cover his hands to some degree, and hardly anyone questioned the scars even if they did see them—after all, scars on one's hands were easy to explain. He burned himself on a hot stove... he picked up a snake on accident... he wasn't careful enough around a Murtlap. How, though, did one explain claw marks on one's arm and torso? Clothes, Remus thought, were a wonderful invention.

This was so stupid. All of it—the scars, the pain, the injuries, the illness. He didn't even remember a time without them, not really.

He walked to the mirror and stared at his face (like a literary cliché that authors use when they are too lazy to describe their characters another way). He had hazel eyes like his father's and thin eyebrows like his mother's. His hair was a dark-ish shade of mousy brown—it was longer than Peter's, but shorter than James'. There were no scars on his face. Remus wasn't sure why, but he tended to stay away from his face on full moons. It was nothing less than a miracle that he'd lasted so many without injuring his face beyond recognition—but he supposed that he'd have to be quite the acrobat to bite his own face. The thought was almost funny.

He fumbled with his tie, his hands not deft enough today to do anything correctly. He pulled it tightly enough to cover every inch of the scar on his shoulder, buttoned his collar (with much difficulty), and then brushed his teeth with fervor.

Today was going to be difficult. But now that he thought about it... these scars were awful, but they proved that he was a werewolf—a Dark creature that was pretty much indestructible one night a month. He felt as if he could collapse at any minute, but these were only classes. Nothing to be afraid of. Remus knew from personal experience that there were many other things in life that were more deserving of his fear.

He was a werewolf. He could sit through a couple of classes. He'd be fine!

He ran wet fingers through his hair and combed it quickly, and then did one more check to ensure that nothing was showing. He sat down on the toilet and put his head between his knees—one last moment of peace before braving students and teachers and classes as an almost-transformed werewolf.

He briefly considered giving up, but he was far too stubborn for that. He'd made up his mind.

Then he stood up to deliver the note to Madam Pomfrey, resting in the not-at-all-comforting knowledge that nothing he experienced today could even compare to the horrors that he would endure tonight.

He didn't have to give the note to Madam Pomfrey; she was waiting in front of the Hospital Wing for him.

"There you are, Mr. Lupin," she said sharply. "Come in, let's get you ready for tonight... You're dressed a lot more carefully than you were last month. I believe your tie was barely hanging onto your robes when you came to see me last..."

"That's because I'm feeling fine," Remus said with as much energy as he could muster. "Absolutely fine. May I go to classes, Madam Pomfrey?"

Madam Pomfrey stared. "I saw you last month, Lupin. You are not going to classes. You need your rest, seeing as you won't get any tonight."

"Not so loud—!"

"Calm down, no one's around. Now get out of the corridor and into my office this instant."

"Please, Madam Pomfrey. I know what I can handle—after all, it's been six years! I'm not feeling ill at all. Last month was just especially bad."

"You can't fool me, Lupin. You look extremely ill, and I know what ill looks like. In case you've forgotten, I'm the matron. You'll have a tough time convincing me that you're not poorly."

"It looks worse than it is," said Remus, trying to convince himself that it was true. "Pallor's just a side effect. How about I go to my first two classes and then skip double Herbology to come here? I promise I'll come down even earlier than that if I can't handle it."

"You needn't handle it at all. I'm warning you, Lupin..."

"I do need to handle it!" Remus' worries about the future came tumbling out all at once, very much against his will. "What do you think will happen when I leave Hogwarts? I need to get used to this, don't I? It's not going away anytime soon. I might as well learn to conduct myself when feeling ill while I have good medical care."

Madam Pomfrey softened, and Remus felt awful for making her guilty. He didn't like to play the pity card. "Let me give you a Pepper-Up Potion, at least," she said. "Just to clear the fatigue..."

"No, thank you. I intend to come back here directly and then sleep until five this evening."

"Very well. Be on your way, then. And come here immediately if you find yourself feeling too ill to function properly, you hear?"

"Of course, Madam, thank you."

Step One, Remus thought, had been a success. He was starting to feel a bit like James, what with all this plotting and scheming.

Remus took his seat in Defense, next to Evans. His head felt rather like a damp squid. His arms felt like gelatin or something of the sort. He could feel the moon's pull in every fiber of his body.

Perhaps going to class hadn't been such a good idea.

He was sure that his face was an unpleasant shade of grey, and he kept going a bit cross-eyed for some reason. He put down his quill and stopped taking notes to massage his hand for a minute (and to remind himself that he was fine). Questus droned on. Remus had never thought that Questus gave boring lectures before, but every word seemed to be a heavy stick hitting Remus over the head. He felt an odd sort of anger somewhere in the back of his mind: he just wished that Questus would stop talking, just for a minute... why was everyone talking so loudly, why was Evans breathing so loudly, why couldn't everything be still for just one second!

The anger was flooding his every movement—the smells and the sounds were reaching into the very back of his brain—the moon was weighing on every molecule of his body—he was often testy on the day of the full, but this was so much worse. There were more people to be annoyed with, more things to get on his last nerve and wear it down. But he wouldn't let himself feel this: he was a person, not an animal... he wasn't a wolf yet and he had no desire to act as such.

Evans dipped her quill into her inkpot with a slight ching, and that was the last straw. Remus took hold of the sleeve of his robe and twisted it, hoping to satisfy the desire to ask everybody to shut up already. That wouldn't be very polite at all.

Questus looked at him, and Remus ducked his head, ashamed. He was a person, and by Merlin, he was going to act like one. He picked up his quill and dutifully wrote down every important point that Questus made, although he wasn't comprehending any of it. His head hurt. He was tired beyond belief. He felt Evans' eyes on him and tried to act normally, but it was inordinately difficult.

He flicked his eyes upward to read what he had written, but the words twisted and curled in on themselves before his eyes. He watched as they reformed into new words... He clasps the crag with crooked hands; close to the sun in lonely lands, ringed with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; he watches from the mountain walls, and like a thunderbolt, he falls... Remus didn't remember writing that. He was pretty sure that it was a Tennyson poem that he'd memorized at some point during a lonely day alone in his room, but he'd never write it down instead of taking notes. He didn't have the presence of mind for that. He blinked, and the words reformed into Happy Birthday, Peter. Why had he written that? It wasn't Peter's birthday anymore.

Remus felt something press against his left shoulder.

Werewolf?

He jerked his head up and instinctively made a movement to shield his face, only to realize that he had been sleeping, and that Questus was the one shaking him awake. Remus tried to laugh it off, but his hands were still shaking. He stuffed them into his pockets and ignored the odd tingly feeling that accompanied such a sudden movement.

"You're not well, Lupin," said Questus gruffly. "Should've thought that was obvious. I've no idea why you came to class and quite possibly infected us all. And take a detention for falling asleep in class. Unfortunately, as I'm not... free tonight, it will have to wait."

"I... yes, sir... thank you, sir... I'm sorry..."

Remus rubbed the last bit of sleep out of his eyelids and began taking notes once more, careful not to drift off again. He considered asking Questus to leave class, but he didn't want to call any more attention to himself than he already had. Fortunately, a boy in Transfiguration had vomited in the middle of class the day before—Remus was ever hopeful that the other students would gossip about the unknown boy and not about Remus.

Remus felt awful.

As Remus stumbled out of the room with his classmates, intent on going to the Hospital Wing, he felt another intentional touch on his left shoulder. He jumped and grabbed it forcefully.

"All right, Lupin?" It was Questus again, and he almost sounded amused at Remus' jumpiness—which was horribly unfair, in Remus' opinion. You try getting yourself bitten by a werewolf and see how it feels, he thought. Then you won't think it's half so funny...

"Yes, sir."

"If you wouldn't mind talking to me for a bit once everyone has left the room..."

Oh no, absolutely not. "I was actually planning on going to the Hospital Wing, seeing as I've caught something."

"Of course. Go there directly after."

"We'll take him down to make sure that he doesn't faint or anything," said James, whom Remus had not realized was directly next to him. "Peter, Sirius, and I."

"That would be helpful, thank you. He doesn't look like he'd last three seconds on his feet." Remus crossed his arms indignantly at that, but he knew that Questus was probably right. "Go wait for him outside."

"Why?" That was Sirius' voice. "Anything you can say to him, you can say to us too."

"If you had asked politely, I would have let you stay and listen," lied Questus. Well, Remus assumed that he was lying. "But since you didn't, you're going to have to do as I said."

Sirius, James, and Peter left, the first two with a scowl and the latter with a meek expression.

Remus waited until they had shut the door before turning to Professor Questus and trying to figure out how he was possibly going to explain himself without sounding all self-pitying. "I'm so sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to..."

"Am I correct in assuming that your sudden lack of energy is caused by the impending full moon?" asked Questus, interrupting Remus.

"Yes, sir."

"Is it always like this?"

"No, sir... it was worse last time, but sometimes it's better. This is the norm, though..."

"Why, pray tell, would you attend class today if you knew that you were going to be feeling the effects of the full moon?"

Remus was quiet. "I... thought... I could do it."

"Well, I'm sorry to inform you that you were wrong." Questus snorted a bit in amusement. "Very wrong. Right idiotic. If I catch you attending class on another full moon, then you shall be in a lot of trouble. And I'll know, Lupin, when the next full moon is. Most of the teachers are keeping track of them rather religiously."

Remus winced. He hadn't wanted to know that.

"With the exception of Horace Slughorn, who'd forget his head if it weren't attached to his shoulders. Run along, now, and don't overexert yourself."

"You sound like Madam Pomfrey."

"Perish the thought," said Questus, rolling his eyes. "That woman is good at her job, but she's quite annoying outside of the Hospital Wing."

Remus' mouth fell open slightly. "She's lovely."

"To each his own, I suppose. Best leave now, Lupin, rather than make your friends late for class. That'd be a pretty poor way to repay them for taking time out of their day to help you."

Remus let go of the chair (he hadn't realized that he'd been clinging to it like the ground was flooding and it was his only lifeline), and walked somewhat drunkenly out of the room.

"Thank you, Professor," he called.

"You're not thankful one bit; it's very obvious. Don't thank me when you don't mean it."

Remus nearly laughed, but he knew that it would hurt his ribs dreadfully to do so. His friends looked a bit confused and concerned all rolled into one—Remus dearly hoped that they would stay oblivious to his condition for as long as was humanly possible.

"Madam Pomfrey," Sirius announced as they walked in, "Remus had come down with something awful and needs your assistance."

Madam Pomfrey did not look surprised. Remus studied his shoes, afraid that he would fall over if he lifted his head... and also quite embarrassed.

James fell to his knees. "Please, oh lovely Madam Pomfrey, help our friend lest he should die..."

"He's not going to die," said Madam Pomfrey briskly, "although it looks to me like he should have come much earlier. Get to class, you three."

"Feel better soon, Remus!" called Peter as they left the room.

The door slammed shut.

Madam Pomfrey stared at Remus, and the silence was deafening.

"Er, sorry. I suppose that I wasn't... as good at... managing my condition... as I thought." Remus looked up slowly and met her eyes. "Apparently six and a half years have taught me nothing. But...! But no one figured it out, and I managed to stay in class the whole time, so I kind of was successful... a little bit..." Remus went silent at the look on Madam Pomfrey's face. "No, you're right. I was being stupid."

Madam Pomfrey led Remus to the bed in her office, helped him sit down on the bed, and—to his surprise—patted his right shoulder a bit. Remus supposed that she had seen enough of his body to know what was on his left, and he was grateful that she had avoided it. "I understand," she said. "Seems to me that you just wanted to try to be normal. Did it help at all?"

"No."

"Didn't think it would. So will you report to the Hospital Wing next month as soon as you wake up?"

"I wake up at four to four-thirty on the day of."

"I shall expect you early morning, then."

Remus felt tears poke the backs of his eyes, and he willed them not to fall. Madam Pomfrey looked at him; Remus looked away very quickly and pretended to reposition Bufo on his shoulder so that she did not see. Crying never helped anything. Pity was very unpleasant, and he very much wanted to forget about the whole thing and fall asleep. Sleeping always passed the time beautifully, and Remus—more than anything—wanted the night to be over.

Unfortunately, Remus never had been in very good control of his emotions, and he suddenly found himself mopping his damp face with his sweater sleeve. How embarrassing.

"Are you in pain?" asked Madam Pomfrey, and Remus dried his tears as quickly as possible. "No," he said. "I'm tired, though. And subject to mood swings. My mum jokes about my being a hormonal teenage girl all the time."

Madam Pomfrey made a strangled laughing sound and gave Remus an unknown potion, which he took gratefully. "Did you eat?"

"No. And you can't make me."

"I know that, you stubborn child. Would you like to sleep now?"

Remus shook his head. He did want to sleep, but he didn't feel like he could. Besides, he'd probably just have nightmares if he went to sleep now.

"...Is there something you want to talk about?"

Remus actually did want to talk, but not to Madam Pomfrey. She was far too emotional, far too sympathetic, and far too inclined to lie to him to save his emotions. He briefly considered asking for Questus, but knew that he was teaching and did not want to bother him. Besides, Questus didn't seem to like Remus very much at all—even though Remus suspected that was just Questus' normal disposition. After all, who could possibly dislike Madam Pomfrey? "Have you ever met a werewolf before?" Remus asked Madam Pomfrey, wanting to make lighter conversation.

"I haven't."

"Oh."

"Or perhaps I have. You never really know, do you?"

Remus smiled. "I think I would."

"You probably would," Madam Pomfrey agreed. "Now, Mr. Lupin, I believe you agreed to answer any questions that I might have last month. Is now a good time?"

Remus considered faking sleep, but Madam Pomfrey would know. "I suppose," he said, and wished with all his heart that he had been strong enough to stay in class after all.

He was so tired.

AN: Today is a special day. It's the seventeenth of July where I live. It's not my birthday, it's not Christmas, and it's not even a full moon. Nothing in particular is happening today in my life, actually, but we'll never have another 17-7-2021 again—thus it is special. Enjoy your day!