Chapter 36: In Which Madam Pomfrey Swears
"You're not fine," said Madam Pomfrey. Unfortunately, she knew Remus far too well to be fooled by such meaningless phrases. "Stop saying that. Is it something in the paper?"
"Yes," Remus muttered, his eyes still closed, but he did not say anything else.
"Right. Is your head okay?"
"It's fine."
"Not again, Lupin. 'Fine' is not a very descriptive word, and I am frankly getting very sick of it."
"No, really it is. I just..." Remus' voice trailed off and he rubbed at his face. "The Daily Prophet," he whispered, half-hoping that Madam Pomfrey wouldn't hear.
She did. Madam Pomfrey took the paper out of his hand, and Remus heard pages fluttering as she looked for what he had seen. He felt his face growing red. People heard him. They heard. They heard it all: his screaming and his shouting and his howling and the yelps of pain when he caught himself on his claws. They hadn't mentioned the piano, but maybe they heard that, too.
Remus covered his face tightly with both hands as he heard Madam Pomfrey's breath catch and felt her eyes on him. They seemed to be staring directly through him. Remus was mortified.
"I'm sorry, Remus. I didn't know... that it was close enough for them to hear you."
Something snapped. "Well, of course it is! What, you think that werewolves just sort of sit around and wait out the moon? Play chess or something? Meditate? Of course I'm loud! I trusted Professor Dumbledore to have the proper security measures... I thought there was already a Soundproofing Charm or something! Isn't that just common sense?" Remus didn't even care as much about the sounds that he made as a wolf—at least everyone knew that he couldn't control himself. No, what was much worse was the affirmation in the paper that he was in pain—the paper had said that his screams sounded almost human. The almost felt like a knife to Remus' chest. He was still in human form when they started.
"It's not like I magically turn into a wolf and then magically turn back and everything is fine! It's... it's not..." He felt himself losing control and took two breaths to calm himself. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. Absolutely not—he was not going to act like a werewolf during the day if he could help it. "Well, I suppose it is like that," he said mildly. "I'm just... so embarrassed."
"Nothing to be embarrassed about," said Madam Pomfrey briskly. "Please calm down, Remus."
"I'm trying," he said (as calmly as possible). Phrases from the article bounced around his brain. Horrible, horrible noises... Like someone's being tortured in there, but more animalistic... I thought it was just some animal... frightening... sounds to be getting its leg hacked off... the Shrieking Shack... Remus felt awful. "It says it sounds almost human," he whispered, "but I am human when they start. Completely."
Madam Pomfrey's eyes were filled with pity, and Remus hated it. He didn't want to have to explain how badly the transformation hurt. He didn't want to have to explain what it felt like. He certainly didn't want to have to explain that he never really knew that he was screaming... well, he didn't remember... but his throat was always raw in the morning and his own pained yells echoed in his ears. He didn't mean to, truly he didn't, but it was like the tears—there was a difference between crying and tearing from the pressure, and there was a difference between really screaming and doing so subconsciously because there was nothing that he could do to save himself from the pain...
"I'm sure they're very distant, Remus. They can't hear you properly, I'd wager."
That didn't matter to Remus. His life was over if they could hear him at all—even the tiniest little bit.
And now the teachers were going to read the Prophet. Everyone was going to know that it hurt, and Remus couldn't bear that. The pity would increase tenfold. Perhaps they would ask questions, and that would be terrible. Remus didn't want anyone to know that the full moons were torturous as well as dehumanizing. He didn't want them to know that they affected him so much past the point of what was biological. He did not want every single staff member at Hogwarts to know exactly what was going on in that abandoned building. It was private!
"I want to go home," he said.
Madam Pomfrey was trying to act business-like, but the horrible pity in her eyes betrayed her. That was stupid. Madam Pomfrey didn't have the right to be upset. This was Remus' problem. "No, you don't. Don't be ridiculous," she said, which made Remus even more upset.
"I do. I do want to go home, Madam Pomfrey... having to transform around people is one thing... knowing that they can hear me is another. It's private! I can't do this every month. Not when I know that people can hear me."
"You'll get used to it," said Madam Pomfrey. "I really am sorry, Remus. I can ask Professor Dumbledore to cast a few enchantments, but I suspect that, if he has not done so already, then there is nothing to be done. No one thinks any less of you."
"I don't care," said Remus, "I think less of me. And they do; they're just too polite to say so."
"Take a nap, Lupin. Everything will look clearer when you wake up."
"No!" cried Remus. "I want to go home! Right now!"
"And lose your friends? And your education? Just because you're embarrassed? Do you really want to do that?"
Remus went silent. No, he didn't want to do that.
"Here's a tip for both the present and the future: don't make life-changing decisions in an emotional state. Take a nap."
Remus did, although it was very, very difficult to do so.
He woke up a little bit later, but unfortunately, he did not feel any clearer than he had before. He sat quietly in his bed for a few minutes, listening to Madam Pomfrey bustle about in the main ward. Ten minutes later, when the ward was empty, another scent appeared. It was Professor Questus.
"Why are you here?" asked Madam Pomfrey (a bit harshly, Remus thought, though he couldn't think why).
"Giving Lupin his lesson. He's missed it. Not sure if you knew."
"Well, he's sleeping. You're going to have to leave and let him get his rest."
"Why don't we just wake him up? I really don't want to have to walk all the way here again."
"You...!" Madam Pomfrey spluttered. "We can't... we're not just going to... wake him up... Do you realize what he's been through?!"
Remus could almost hear the eyeroll in Questus' voice. "Yes, Pomfrey, I know. I was joking. I'll leave if he's sleeping and come back tomorrow. He'll be able to pay far more attention anyway..."
Oh, no—Remus wouldn't lose his only means of distraction from the horrid article. He knocked harshly against the wall and called, "I'm awake."
There was a brief moment of silence.
"I think he's awake," said Questus, evidently amused.
"You think?" mumbled Madam Pomfrey. She opened the door to her office and poked her head inside. "Do you really want visitors, Remus?"
"Yes, please. I need a distraction."
"You need rest."
Remus shook his head. He did not need rest; he had only just woken up from a nap. "I know what I need."
"Very well," said Madam Pomfrey, sighing (even though she didn't seem to agree), and then she allowed Questus to take her place. Questus shut the door behind him. The awkward silence that so often accompanied him positively rang in the air.
"I'm fine," said Remus in an attempt to break the silence.
"I didn't ask."
"Oh." Remus wasn't sure what to say to that.
"I figured you would tell me that you were fine even if you were literally dying. So I've decided to stop asking." Remus opened his mouth to protest, but then he realized that Questus was probably right.
"Okay," he said instead.
Questus pulled a chair over to Remus' bed, once again apparently oblivious to the awful screeching noise that the legs of the chair were making. Remus winced. "Yesterday's lesson was on ghosts. Here are the notes."
Remus' heart dropped to the pit of his stomach harshly. Ghosts? Coincidence could be cruel.
"Ghosts, as you know, are imprints of once-living witches, wizards, and sometimes animals (though that's rare) left upon this earth. They aren't solid, but they can affect air, water, or fire when passing through... You're pale, Lupin."
"Am I, sir?" Remus touched his face. "I'm fine. I'm always pale."
"Hm. Anyway. Along with that, ghosts can turn flames blue—which is useless information since most magical flames are blue anyway—and drop temperatures when they enter a room. They can be warded off with bright light, but there's not much need to ward them off, seeing as they pose no danger to humans, or werewolves, for that matter... now you're shaking."
"No, I'm not."
"Either that, or my eyeballs are quivering in their sockets—which actually has happened before during my Auror career; I'd been under the effects of a particularly bad curse. Not as bad as yours, though, I'm guessing." Questus laughed a little, which felt entirely inappropriate. "I can't teach you like this, Lupin, so you might as well tell me what's wrong."
Remus did not want to tell him. He had a pretty clear idea of what Questus was going to tell him about the matter.
But at the same time, he did want to tell him very much. He'd never talked about such things with his parents, and the feeling of talking freely about his lycanthropy and the baggage that came with it was... almost addicting. Like pranks. Like his friends. And he knew that Professor Questus was probably the one person on earth who would not pity him, no matter what he said.
"Do you receive the Daily Prophet?" Remus asked slowly.
"Yes, even though it's downright biased and unreliable. Is this about the article on the building that you use on full moons?"
Remus wondered why he hadn't guessed earlier if he had already read the article. "Yes, sir."
"You don't like the fact that everyone can hear you?"
"No, sir."
"You don't like the new name they've given the building?"
"Not one bit."
"You're embarrassed that the whole staff now knows that the transformation is more than a simple puff of blue smoke and tinkly music?"
"Er... yes, exactly."
"And you're daft and naïve enough to believe that the staff at Hogwarts haven't extensively researched werewolves upon hearing the news of your arrival and already know what the transformation process entails?"
Remus froze. "Er."
"The Hogwarts library boasts quite the selection on Dark creatures, complete with full-color photographs, graphic descriptions, anatomical charts... the works. You think we wouldn't have already combed every possible resource? The fact that the transformation is torture was already very widely known, even before your teachers met you."
Remus wanted to burrow into the ground and never resurface. "That's... uncomfortable."
"Is it? And why does the staff knowing about it make it any worse? They've known since school started. Not all of them, obviously. Professor Sprout was a little too weak-stomached to handle intensive werewolf research, as was Sidus. McGonagall and Hooch did some. Flitwick did more. Pomfrey did still more, since it was her responsibility to care for you. I probably did more than I should have. Terribly interesting, werewolves. I reckon I know more about werewolves than Craff knows about anything... which isn't saying much. Between you and me, she's very dim." Questus chuckled, and Remus was horrified. What did he know? How accurate were the books? Why was he telling Remus this? And who on earth was Craff? Remus had never heard of her before.
"And Dumbledore didn't do any while we were around," Questus continued. "I expect he already knew his bit about werewolves. Knows his bit about everything. Anyway. We all know that it's right painful and dehumanizing, Lupin. Don't kid yourself. And all of us were aware of how werewolves act on the full moon before even starting our research. Common sense that you wouldn't be entirely quiet in there."
Remus could not breathe. "What... else... do you know, then?"
"What don't we know is the better question."
"A... a very small minority of books about werewolves are actually accurate, sir."
"Fair point. Well. For starters, we know that the transformation is the exact opposite of that of an Animagus—painful and torturously slow. My sources say about thirty seconds to a minute, is that accurate?"
Remus nodded very, very slowly.
"Interesting," said Questus, who looked extremely excited for some reason. "We also know that werewolves on the full moon have over a hundred more bones than the human body. Again, we've seen full-color photographs of the event. An observer—fun fact—can actually see the bones moving underneath the skin to accommodate the new shape, which is fascinating. I've been doing some thinking, myself. Just speculation, things that the books didn't say. Since I know that you can grow to up to nearly twice your size, I'm sure that your heart trying to pump blood to make up for all the extra body mass should be uncomfortable. And the common wolf has about ten more teeth than we do. Not to mention canine claws are connected to the bone—not at all like human nails. That probably hurts. And then there's the issue of bone shape itself; broken bones are quite common, even in humans, but they are not meant to curve and bend like gelatin. And then..."
"I think I've got the gist, thank you, sir," said Remus faintly. He'd thought that giving Dumbledore the memory was a huge deal—something that no one else had ever seen or known about. He'd thought that Dumbledore was the only one who knew what the transformation itself was truly like. He'd thought that the rest of the staff just had an abstract idea of what it was like—he'd thought that they might have had the head knowledge that it was painful, that they knew he was dangerous, but that they didn't really know.
Yet here was Questus, telling him that most of the staff had witnessed a full-color photograph of a werewolf transformation and probably had an extremely good idea of what happened to Remus once a month. Everyone knew. Remus would have never voluntarily given that information to McGonagall, or Sidus, or Flitwick, or even Madam Pomfrey.
But of course they were curious. Remus himself had read nearly every werewolf book that existed (secretly, while his mum was napping), hoping to find a way to make things more bearable. Nothing had really helped; it had only made him sick to his stomach. He did not know that there were books out there with photographs. Wizarding photographs, no less—the kind that moved. Those were uncommon. Who would be so stupid as to photograph a werewolf?
Remus suddenly felt very silly for assuming that the teachers would just agree to meeting a creature about which they knew nothing without so much as attempting research. He had known that there were books, but he just never made the connection that people read them. He felt like an idiot.
"I suppose that makes sense," he said finally.
"I thought you'd be more worked up about it," said Questus. "Well done. Didn't expect you to listen for that long without stopping me, frankly."
"It's one of those things that is... pardon the cliché... easier said than done. It's a lot easier to hear about it than it is to experience it, sir."
"I'm sure."
"And I am worked up about it. I had no idea that everyone... knew. It's private. It's awful, it's horrid, and I hate that all of my secrets are at everybody's disposal."
"Stupid of you. Knowledge can't hurt you. They know, and that's that. It won't change your circumstances at all."
It was a very Questus-y thing to say, but Remus still didn't like it. "It's very uncomfortable nevertheless," he said, "but there's nothing I can do about it now, is there?"
"Depends. Do you know the Memory Charm?"
"Professor!"
"Joking. We don't know everything, you know. The writers of the books never really bothered to talk to a werewolf. They only studied them from afar; werewolves were simply test subjects to be observed. I, for instance, knew that you had some memory of what happens on the full moon, but I didn't know that you remembered your thought process as well; I had imagined hazy memories. I knew that your senses were enhanced, but I didn't know that you were so good at distinguishing them or to what degree they were heightened. Some information is still yours to disclose as you wish. I know nothing about your personal life, the manner in which you were bitten—though I'm very curious, but I won't push that matter—or your personal feelings on certain subjects. And you never cease to impress me in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Remus' heart swelled with pride, and then immediately deflated like a popped balloon. "I feel awful for disturbing the people in Hogsmeade, though."
Questus made a face. "Oh no! They hear noises coming from afar that they can easily sleep through and that pose no real danger to them! Whatever shall they do?"
"What if they're light sleepers?" asked Remus, thinking of James.
"Then they'll buy earplugs. Or use magic, seeing as they're all witches and wizards. Stop worrying about it, Lupin. No one thinks less of you. Dumbledore covered it up. There's literally no problem. No sense worrying over nothing."
"Couldn't Dumbledore have put a Soundproofing Charm on it in the first place? I can't believe he didn't think of that. He's brilliant."
"No one, and I mean no one, is going to dare go near the Shrieking Shack now. I don't know if he did it on purpose—though I suspect he did—but everyone is a lot safer from you now than they once were. Stop whinging."
"He could have told me," said Remus in a small voice. "And... please don't call it the... Shrieking Shack."
"First off, you are eleven and Dumbledore does not owe you information. Second, I rather like it. Good alliteration. I'll call it whatever I please. Now, back to ghosts..."
Remus felt better. And simultaneously felt much worse. But at least his stomach had settled enough to focus on the lesson. And now that he knew that the other teachers had some idea of his transformations, he didn't have to worry as much about accidentally disclosing information that would shock them. He remembered how he had accidentally let slip how painful the transformation was in Transfiguration class. The memory was a lot less painful when he considered that McGonagall had already known.
He suddenly had a newfound respect, even more than he'd already had, for his professors. Not all of them could look him in the eye. Not all of them could act normally around him. But they knew more than he had expected, and they still treated him like a student. Not any other student, perhaps, but a student nonetheless.
Remus Lupin was very unlucky, it could not be denied. But he also felt like the luckiest werewolf on the planet.
Funny how that worked out.
It was nearly nighttime, and Remus was very tired. "Madam Pomfrey," he asked sleepily as she was fluffing his sheets and checking his wounds, "How much research have you done on werewolves?"
She froze. "Who told you that I'd done any?"
"Professor Questus. But it makes sense that people were curious. I've just never put two and two together."
"He shouldn't have said that." Madam Pomfrey was angrier than Remus had ever seen her. "He knows that you like your privacy. What possessed that man to think that you would want to know..."
"It's fine, Madam. My knowing doesn't change the fact that it happened. I actually feel a lot better about the... the Shrieking Shack now that I know that you all already knew."
Madam Pomfrey raised her eyebrows a bit when Remus used the house's new moniker, but Remus was determined to use it until he was finally comfortable doing so. "Still. He shouldn't have told you," she insisted.
"I don't mind. It was the responsible thing to do, to research first." Remus felt a little odd comforting Madam Pomfrey about the matter. He almost felt as if it should be the other way round.
Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Yes, I did a bit of research," she finally confessed, though Remus had already known that. "I only wanted to know what I'd be dealing with... sorry, who I'd be dealing with..."
Remus rolled his eyes at that; he simply couldn't help it. "What is fine. It's not as if those books said anything about who I am." He ignored Madam Pomfrey's subsequent apology. He hated when people tried to make him feel more human. He wasn't, and using who, even when it didn't make any logical sense whatsoever, did not help. "And that's fine," he continued. "You're allowed to do research. I'm thankful you did. You can heal me more effectively now—and you won't have to ask as many questions."
Madam Pomfrey looked a bit defensive. "And at least I didn't have the same morbid fascination as Questus," she said. "That man did more research than all of us combined. You'd think he'd have a little more respect for your privacy, but noooo, it was all 'What do you think about this?' and 'I realized something the other day,' and 'Did you know that werewolves this and that?' Honestly. The other professors did not need the grisly details. That horrible, awful..." Madam Pomfrey muttered a very impolite word, but trailed off as she saw Remus' face, which was slightly stricken and mostly amused. He had never heard a staff member speak poorly of another teacher—save Questus, but he was a special case—and it was quite an interesting experience. And he had certainly never heard an adult swear. He was wide awake now.
Madam Pomfrey went white. "Goodness. I forgot you were eleven! Oh, goodness. I'm so sorry."
Remus giggled. "You... forgot... I was... eleven? How could you...forget...?"
"I'm sorry!" Madam Pomfrey's face was red, but now she was giggling, too. "You look older than you are, you know... and the things that you said just now seemed very mature... to the point of being older, you know?"
Remus covered his mouth. He was laughing almost hysterically now. "Thanks," he said. "You forgot I was... eleven!"
"Well, you look eleven now." Madam Pomfrey was trying and failing to regain her composure. "I tell you, that Professor Questus works me up like no other."
"Yeah, I... could tell," said Remus between giggles.
Madam Pomfrey swatted him playfully on the arm. "If you... ever... speak of this..." She suddenly dissolved into laughter, and the two of them continued to laugh for a few moments. It rather reminded Remus of Sirius after a prank.
Their laughter died down soon enough, and Remus started to cough. "This is terrible for your throat, you know," said Madam Pomfrey, sobering. "I mean it, Remus. Not a word to anyone. That's including Professor Dumbledore, your friends, and... oh, especially Professor Questus."
"Why don't you like him?" asked Remus, sipping a glass of water to get rid of the cough.
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. "There are just some things that he doesn't understand, Remus," she said carefully. "We have very different opinions on many things."
"Like what?" Remus could sense that Madam Pomfrey was uncomfortable talking about it, but by golly, she had made him uncomfortable with all her pity and she deserved a taste of her own medicine.
Madam Pomfrey didn't answer; she merely continued to fluff Remus' pillows.
Remus suddenly felt very guilty for thinking that she deserved any sort of discomfort. "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer."
"No, it's all right. Just... things concerning children. Professor Questus likes to tell people what he believes to be the truth, regardless of how it might make them feel. I have other talents. Like tact, for one."
Remus snickered. "I don't think that word is in his vocabulary."
"No, I don't believe it is. I also don't agree with how often he talks about the war. Yes, there is an upcoming battle—but it's very pessimistic to call it a war before it's even gotten to be as bad as the other wizarding war. I expect it'll die out, but Professor Questus thinks it'll be the apocalypse. Professor Questus has a very bleak outlook on life. He doesn't understand things like hope and optimism, that's all."
Remus nodded. Hope and optimism had always seemed like silly concepts to him (they'd never helped anything, after all), but he didn't need to tell Madam Pomfrey that.
"Even so," Madam Pomfrey concluded, "I shouldn't have said all that and you should take it with a grain of salt. He is, after all, your teacher. And I don't hate him; I just don't always agree with him. I really should have handled it like an adult, but I've been stressed recently and my guard has been down. Please understand that I don't make a habit of using such language. And nor should you."
"Of course," said Remus, feeling even more guilty. He was the reason that Madam Pomfrey was so stressed. He felt a little ill. "You don't have to worry about me. I grew up around my parents all hours of the day. I've been told I have the morals, restraints, and tastes of someone's elderly grandmother. Hence why... you forgot I was eleven." The thought was still hilarious to Remus.
Madam Pomfrey smiled a bit and then took Remus' pulse. "What do you think of him?"
"I rather like him," said Remus softly. "He doesn't pity."
"I try not to, you know."
"I know, and you're doing very well," Remus lied. She wasn't. She never did. But it could be worse, he supposed. "But Professor Questus also doesn't keep things from me. Not that you do, necessarily, but... I like to hear the truth. My parents always tried to sugar-coat things for me... but I always know what Professor Questus is thinking, because he doesn't have a filter... so I don't have to speculate. He's not the type to keep secrets. It's refreshing."
"I see," said Madam Pomfrey. "I suppose that makes sense. You're very mature for your age, you know, and I wouldn't like to be kept in the dark either. You must understand, though, that Questus calls himself a realist—but he's actually the most pessimistic person I've ever met. Please don't take anything he says at face value. And you don't have to answer his questions. I meant what I said before—he's very interested in your condition. Always had an innate fascination with the Dark Arts, that man. 'Know thy enemy' is his favorite phrase, I think. Anyway. You're all finished up; you should go to sleep."
Remus lied down and closed his eyes. "Madam Pomfrey?" he whispered a few seconds later, his eyes still shut.
"Yes?"
"How long had Bufo been on your shoulder?"
Madam Pomfrey jumped. "I don't know," she said lightly. "That horrid animal. Do you want him to sleep with you? I don't want a germ-ridden amphibian running rampant in my Hospital Wing. Really, I'm not fond of that toad at all." Liar, thought Remus smugly.
"No, thank you. I'd squish him."
"Very well," said Madam Pomfrey. She exited to the main ward, Bufo still on her shoulder.
AN: As I am editing this, it is two in the morning, I washed my sheets today, and I have forgotten to make my bed. I'm very tired. I'll probably just sleep on an empty mattress tonight. That'll be a nice change, don't you think?