Chapter 35: Third Time's Routine

Remus woke up on the day of the full moon and went straight to Madam Pomfrey's. Sure enough, she was waiting for him, even though it was four-thirty am.

"Come on in, Lupin. Drink some water; you look awful. How are you feeling?"

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but he found that he couldn't quite get any words out. "I think I've lost my voice," he whispered.

"Does that happen often?"

"No," said Remus, slightly panicked. "It's never happened."

"I suspect it was from all the yelling that you and your friends did the other day out on the broomsticks," huffed Madam Pomfrey. "You'd think you'd be more careful. I suspect your bones are so weak that falling off could snap you like a twig. I have half a mind to ask Madam Hooch to exempt you from flying classes permanently."

"Please don't," whispered Remus, even though he knew that she was just being her overprotective self and probably wouldn't actually do it.

He had lost his voice before, of course—nights filled with howling and growling tended to do that to a person. It was only ever after the full moon, though, and he almost hoped that he'd get it back before the moon rose. He didn't want to get angry from the lack of a voice and take it out on himself: it seemed like something that full-moon-Remus would do. Full-moon-Remus was stupid and vindictive.

"Can you fix it?" Remus asked urgently, but Madam Pomfrey did not hear him; she was too busy leading him to his bed and preparing potions. "Madam Pomfrey," he whispered louder.

"Yes?"

"Can you fix it?"

"No," she said. "There's a potion for it, of course, but one of the ingredients..."

"Contains wolfsbane," Remus whispered. Fiddlesticks.

"Yes. Only a trace amount, of course, but I don't want to risk it. Besides, you didn't want potions last time, and you're stubborn enough that I doubt your sentiments have changed. Now lie down." Remus did so reluctantly. He didn't feel all that bad this month, and he so had hoped that he'd be allowed to sit up for a bit. "Professor Dumbledore still has the decorations in his office, by the way," continued Madam Pomfrey, this time with a smile. "He's very impressed. Says it's very impressive magic."

Remus had no voice, but he couldn't stop himself from excitedly babbling to Madam Pomfrey about the costumes. "I know! And did you see our costumes? I was James, and James was Peter, and Sirius was me, and Peter was Sirius. They were really good. James even had a potion to help fix our hair... and we acted like each other all day, and..."

"Yes, yes," Madam Pomfrey interrupted, still smiling. "I saw. Everyone saw. Now stop talking; you're going to hurt your throat even more than it already is. Lie down—that's it—and I'm going to take your temperature."

Remus waited patiently. "I don't think I can fall asleep on my own this month," he admitted in his raspy whisper-voice. "I'm rather jittery. But it's not in a bad way—I think I'm still happy about Halloween. Honestly, besides the fact that my voice is gone and I kind of hurt all over, I feel okay. I think I could go to classes today..."

Madam Pomfrey narrowed her eyebrows. "You're joking."

Remus grinned. "Well, I am joking about going to classes. I don't really want to fall asleep in Defense Against the Dark Arts again. But I feel fine. I think I'll stay awake for a bit." It felt odd to talk so much when he couldn't speak above a whisper. His throat really was starting to hurt a bit, and he sounded like a snake.

"Stop talking," said Madam Pomfrey, rolling her eyes. "Can you stomach any food this morning?"

"Maybe a bit of tea."

Remus waited patiently again while Madam Pomfrey fetched some tea for him. He petted Bufo. He reorganized his books. He felt okay, he really did! Maybe having friends was some sort of—well, not a cure... but some sort of relief for the symptoms of lycanthropy. He felt great.

Two hours passed.

It was now six-thirty in the morning, and Remus did not feel great anymore.

His joints hurt. His head hurt. He was so fatigued and nauseous that he could barely breathe. He ended up vomiting twice. It hurt to move his eyes, even.

Madam Pomfrey patted at his face with a damp washcloth and offered to give him potions to help with the pain, but Remus declined.

Hours passed.

"Where did you tell your friends you went?" asked Madam Pomfrey, forcing Remus to drink some water.

"They're probably assuming that I went to visit my ill mother," said Remus. His voice was slowly returning, though it was still croaky. It sort of reminded him of Bufo. Madam Pomfrey told him to stop talking again after he tried to launch into another story about Peter and James and Sirius, and then Remus, once again, had nothing to do.

He napped.

Hours passed.

Physically, Remus felt awful... but letting Madam Pomfrey heal him was beginning to feel normal. It had been strange and awkward the first time. It had been a little less so the second time. But the third time really was the charm: once was strange, twice was better, and thrice was a routine. This was Remus' new routine, and Remus' life had always revolved around routine. The Hospital Wing still wasn't as familiar as his mother's soothing words and his father's whispered charms and the thrumming of Muggle electricity in the walls, but it was normal. Three times was normal, and this was the third.

He napped for a bit longer, though it proved very hard to do because of the constant twitching of his muscles. When he woke up, there was someone in the main ward.

"What happened?" Remus heard Madam Pomfrey ask whoever it was (it was a boy, Remus knew, but he didn't recognize the scent—the mystery boy was probably in another year).

"I fainted," grumbled the boy.

"Again? Well, let's get you fixed up. Did you hit your head?"

"Yes."

"You might have a concussion."

"I don't. I know what a concussion feels like."

"I won't ask," said Madam Pomfrey, evidently amused. "Here, take this potion and then you can go back to class..."

Remus didn't even bother wishing that something as simple as a potion would make him well enough to go back to class. He was past that point.

He tried to read.

He tried to nap.

Hours passed.

Madam Pomfrey tried to eat lunch in the main ward, but Remus politely asked her to go outside and eat it (his nose was far too sensitive and he didn't want to vomit again). She did.

Eventually, it was time to go. Remus struggled into his transformation robes, slipped on his transformation shoes, and patted Bufo once more for good luck. Then Madam Pomfrey Disillusioned them both and led Remus to the Whomping Willow.

It was cold outside. The wind blew—even though Remus couldn't see it, he heard it ruffling through Madam Pomfrey's skirt. He clutched her arm tightly—not because he was afraid (which he admittedly was), but because he thought he might fall otherwise. He was very dizzy. Logically, he knew that this wasn't any worse than other full moon days, but it always felt like the most horrible thing in the world when Remus was actually in the moment.

"Do you want me to stay for a bit?" asked Madam Pomfrey, just as she always did.

"No," said Remus, just as he always did.

Such was the routine.

Madam Pomfrey smiled warmly, and Remus smiled back—and then she left, just as she always did.

Remus plunked out a tune on the piano, just as he always did. He lied on the floor and breathed slowly, just as he always did. He was quivering uncontrollably, just as he always was. He cried a little, but it didn't seem to help anything (it never did), so he stopped.

The wind blew against the walls, but the building was sturdy enough that Remus didn't feel the wind nor fear the walls collapsing.

He waited, just like always. He wished that the moon would go back down, just as he always did. But it didn't. It never did.

Routines were a bad thing, sometimes.

Remus wiggled his fingers first. They seemed perfectly human to him. He could breathe—that was a plus. He cleared his throat loudly, and he was pleased to note that his voice, even after a night of screaming and howling, had returned almost completely.

He sat up and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily and wiping tears from his eyes (he was not crying. It was just from the pressure). It wasn't long before Madam Pomfrey entered the building and hurried to Remus' side.

"You should really stop sitting up," she grouched, just as she did every time.

Remus watched blood drip onto the floor of the building and breathed as steadily as possible. "I want to walk back," he croaked as soon as Madam Pomfrey had finished healing the worst of it.

"No," said Madam Pomfrey. That was typical, too.

"Yes," said Remus, and Madam Pomfrey eventually allowed him to do so with only four exasperated sighs.

He arrived back at his bed in Madam Pomfrey's office, panting and gritting his jaw ferociously. Then he took a Pain-Relieving Potion: relief spread across his body, starting in his chest and blossoming out to his toes... and then everything was bearable.

Yes, this was a routine. Remus knew what would come next. He would wait until Madam Pomfrey had finished healing him to the best of her ability, and then he would let himself go to sleep (it was often easy to do so after such a strenuous event). Then he would wake up and eat a couple very large meals. Madam Pomfrey would heal him continuously throughout the day. He would slowly start to feel better. Soon, he'd be ready to go back to class. And, in a month, he would do all of this again.

Madam Pomfrey gave him permission to drift off, and Remus did so easily.

Remus woke up later that day and felt worlds better. He told Madam Pomfrey so, and she smiled. She was sitting on a small chair next to Remus' bed, reading a letter which Remus assumed to be from his mother.

Moments passed in complete silence.

"I'm bored," Remus declared, because routines were boring as well as comforting.

"Oh, good for you."

"Mind if we talk for a bit?" asked Remus. He was a bit reluctant about asking Madam Pomfrey to go out of her way for him again (she was already doing so much for him), but he was terribly, awfully bored. He was also sort of miserable, though he couldn't think why.

Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey was an infinitely benevolent woman. "About what?"

"I'm bored enough that I'll talk about anything."

Madam Pomfrey chuckled and put down her letter. "Hmm, let's see... Professor Questus tells me that you defeated a Boggart a couple of weeks ago."

That was the perfect conversation topic, and Remus didn't need much encouragement to start talking. Remus told Madam Pomfrey all about his father, who had hunted Boggarts for a living, and Garrison, who was the Lupin family pet Boggart, and how Remus' father had taught Remus the Boggart-Banishing Charm before he could so much as recite the alphabet. He told her about his conversation with Peter (not much of it, but she got the gist), and then he (finally) told her about the Boggart. "I turned it into a plate," he said, now wrapping up his story. "Like the ones that we had to mend in Transfiguration. And then I mended it. Professor Questus was standing behind me, and he told me to Levitate it into an empty classroom."

"Very interesting."

"I wonder what he did with it."

"He used it to teach the charm to his third-years, I believe."

"Really?" said Remus. "That's so cool! I wish I could have been there for that! Though I s'pose I'd have to sit out or something... my Boggart's a dead giveaway."

"What is it?" asked Madam Pomfrey. "If it's not too personal, that is."

Remus wasn't sure why Madam Pomfrey even had to ask; he'd thought that it was rather obvious. "Full moon," he said, hoping that a nonchalant tone would communicate to Madam Pomfrey that he did not want to be pitied...

No such luck. Madam Pomfrey was very clearly pitying him again. "I see," she said.

"What's yours, then?" asked Remus, trying to shift the conversation away from himself. "I assume you've seen one around at some point."

"Oh, yes. It's a rock, actually."

"Like mine," said Remus.

She coughed. "Yes... yes, I suppose, except quite a bit smaller. It's a bit of a long story, I'm afraid, but I imagine you want a long story to distract you from your boredom, hm?"

Remus nodded. He liked long stories.

"It was my second year as the matron at Hogwarts. I was young, relatively inexperienced, and terrified that I was going to let someone down. One evening, a girl was brought to the Hospital Wing... she'd been transfigured into a rock. I can usually undo awry transfigurations like that—" Madam Pomfrey snapped her fingers— "but not this time."

"But what about Professor McGonagall? Surely she could untransfigure the student?"

"Surprisingly, no. The girl had to be transferred to St. Mungo's. Transfiguration is a very dangerous subject when one doesn't pay attention."

Remus, who knew all about the possible horrors of transfiguration, sympathized. "So... is she still a rock? Did they turn her back?" He suddenly had a horrible thought. "Is she dead?"

"Goodness, no. The Healers at St. Mungo's managed to turn her back without any lasting effects whatsoever... but it took a year and a half. Because of my shortcomings, a girl had to spend a year and a half as a rock. She doesn't remember it, of course; rocks haven't any brains. But that was the first and only time that I have ever failed. The most terrible part was that the potion that she required was a potion that I had on hand. I could have healed her immediately—logically, no one expected me to, since it was a very obscure potion that would have been dangerous had I tried it without a proper diagnosis—but still. I had a chance to help and I could not."

"So..."

"I'm not afraid of rocks. I am afraid of failing."

"Oh." Remus was silent for a few moments. "But... but that doesn't sound so bad. What happened to the girl, I mean."

Madam Pomfrey gave him an odd look. "Spending a full year and a half as a rock? Remus, that's awful. She came back and had to start over at Hogwarts two years late. She lost her friends, who graduated without her. She lost a year and a half of her life—she didn't stop aging, you know."

"Oh," said Remus.

He was a terrible person.

The problem with being a werewolf from a very young age was that Remus often found it quite difficult to sympathize with other people's problems. He had been through so much pain, discrimination, and isolation that it often made him a bit angry to hear other people complain. They weren't werewolves: how dare they talk about their own problems as if they were actually problems? Remus would give anything to trade his lycanthropy for... for being a rock for a year and a half, or fainting, like the boy in the main ward. Remus would trade his lycanthropy for Peter's insecurity in a heartbeat, or even Sirius' parents... why were other people even allowed to complain?

But Remus was being unfair. Just because his problems were often the worst in the room did not mean that the problems of others did not exist.

Still! He didn't want Madam Pomfrey's pity, but... paradoxically... he wanted her to understand that what he had was far, far worse than being a rock. And Remus had been a werewolf for six and a half years. That was too much. The girl may have shaved a year and a half off of her lifespan, but Remus' lycanthropy probably took about a hundred years off (assuming that the average wizard lived to about... oh, a hundred and fifty). That was a bleak thought, and it was far bleaker than a rock...

But no. Remus would not undermine the problems of others simply because he felt that he had it worse. That was horribly self-pitying. Remus didn't want Madam Pomfrey to pity him, so it made no sense that he was so keen on pitying himself.

"As... as long as she's all right now," said Remus in a very small voice, trying to bring himself back to the present.

"She is. Graduated Hogwarts next-to-top of her class. Works at the Ministry now, I believe. But I still feel guilty."

Remus nodded. The conversation, he sensed, was over.

"Are you still bored?" asked Madam Pomfrey, and Remus nodded again. "I have the owl post for you from the last two days—picked it up from the Great Hall while you were napping. You've received the Daily Prophet today, but I didn't think that you received it last month...?"

"James gave his subscription to me. He only reads the Quidditch pages, anyhow."

"That was very kind of him. It's on your bedside table, along with a letter from your father. Apparently Garrison escaped yesterday; your mother thought that the whole thing was rather funny."

Remus, who was still very bored, started reading the letter straightaway. Sometimes he savored his parents' letters, leaving them off until he could not possibly wait anymore, but he was eager enough today that he had no scrap of willpower left.

Dear Remus,

I hope you're doing well. Your mum said that she told you about the scarf I was making. It's finished, and so is the hat. I've started to knit you a Gryffindor blanket, too. Your mum keeps telling me that I can't knit, but we both know the truth—I've tapped into a hidden talent, and she's jealous. I'll be sending them over around Christmas. Try not to get too chilly until then.

I hear that the full moons are going rather well. We hope to see you at home this Christmas—don't worry, your old place is still secured and safe. I miss you. Caught your mum reading one of your poetry anthologies. Don't tell her I told you that; she was extremely embarrassed.

I took Garrison out the other day. You know that he was always drawn to you, and I wanted to see where he would go now that you're away. He galumphed around your room for a bit, and I left him there to get a coffee. When I returned, he was no longer there.

Naturally, I panicked. Your mum was hiding in the bathroom while I upturned the place—you know that she's not fond of him. I saw a mouse-hole in the wall and figured that he had escaped, so I spent the afternoon wandering the streets, calling his name (which was stupid, seeing as he doesn't respond to it), and asking the locals. They must have thought I was mad. "Hello, sir, what's your worst fear? Have you seen it recently?"

Eventually, I returned home to warm up and mourn the loss of Garrison. Your mum called from the bathroom that she rather hoped that he was gone for good. That didn't help matters.

You'll never believe where he was. He hadn't escaped. He was back in his cupboard! Apparently he had slipped back in there while I was getting my coffee.

I secured the door and told Mum that it was safe to come out. She would have hexed me, I think, if she had been able to do magic. Instead, she just hit me with a dish-towel. I think she saw the funny side of the whole thing once I explained, but you can never be sure with her.

The coffee was delicious, by the way. All in all, I'd say it was absolutely worth it...

...Even though I'm never going to hear the end of this from your mum.

Wish me luck,

Dad.

Remus laughed a little, even though it hurt his side a bit. He picked up the Daily Prophet next. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, but he always found some of the articles rather entertaining (unless they were about Galleon and Muggle money exchange rates; economics bored him half to death).

"Anything good in that paper of yours?" Madam Pomfrey asked after a few minutes.

"No, not really. Just a bunch of stuff and nonsense about a singer and a hippogriff..." Remus' voice trailed off as he noticed the article on page three.

Haunted House Near Hogsmeade.

There was a full-color picture of a house that looked very familiar. Remus studied the layout. Even though he had never seen it from the outside, this was undeniably the house in which he had transformed for the past few months. Remus' heart seemed to fall out of his chest and into his stomach.

Residents of Hogsmeade have been hearing odd noises coming from a long-abandoned house on the outskirts of the village. "It sounds like screaming," says Terence Douglass. "Horrible, horrible noises. Like someone's being tortured in there, but more animalistic." Douglass isn't the only one hearing these noises—and although they're distant, some Hogsmeade villagers have found themselves lying awake wondering what it could be.

"The first time it was odd," says Florean Fortescue, beloved ice-cream shop owner. "I thought it was just some animal, or a person playing a prank. The second time it was frightening. The third time, it had become a pattern—almost like routine."

The noises, Fortescue says, happen all night at varying decibel levels. "It's more human near the beginning and end," he describes. "Almost dog-like in the middle. But not a normal dog. Whatever it is, it sounds to be getting its leg hacked off."

Albus Dumbledore, upon being asked to investigate, has solved the mystery for the residents of Hogsmeade. "I should have told you earlier," comments Dumbledore. "I've relocated some of the more violent ghosts from Hogwarts in the building. I didn't think that they would be so noisy, but I don't suppose they like it in there. Oh, well," he says with a laugh, "they're impossible to move now that they've settled in." Here Dumbledore offered the interviewers at the Daily Prophet the most delicious scones that we have ever tasted, so no further confirmation of Dumbledore's claims is necessary.

Residents of Hogsmeade don't seem to be angry over this recent development. "Are you kidding?" says Douglass. "It's great for tourism! We've roped it off to keep the more adventurous people from entering and getting hurt, but this house is going to be very famous, mark my words."

The house has been dubbed "The Shrieking Shack" by some of the more creative villagers. Stay tuned for further updates!

"Are you all right, Remus?" asked Madam Pomfrey, feeling his forehead. "You look feverish."

Remus moaned and fell backwards onto his pillow, not even flinching when his head smacked against the headboard. "I'm fine," he said.

He wasn't.

AN: Terribly sorry for the late update—I know I usually update this fic in the mornings, but today I was on a road trip. Next chapter will come out (hopefully) on time, but you never can tell with me.