And here, ladies and gentlemen, is the second and final chapter of the day! (If you feel like you're missing something, it's probably because I published two chapters today. You might be on the wrong one. You're welcome!)

"Your arm's infected," Madam Pomfrey informed Remus, who was currently trying not to cry from the pain. He was eleven years old—practically a man, and men didn't cry. "It's very bad, and that's coming from a matron who's seen quite the assortment of horrible injuries."

"It usually takes longer for infections to develop," Remus reminded her.

"Who's the matron, me or you?" said Madam Pomfrey. "Trust me, it's infected. And werewolves are venomous—you know that. Magic doesn't always make sense."

Remus nodded and looked at his arm again. It really did look awful. "So... what do I do now?"

"Do? Nothing. Since this is cursed, I can't heal it very quickly. Unfortunately, we're going to need to let it run its course. So you're going to stay in the infirmary until at least Wednesday."

Wednesday? "But... Madam Pomfrey, that's four days away!"

"And?"

"The full moon was on Thursday! I'll have been here for nearly a week!"

"And?"

"And I want to go to class!"

"I'm sorry, but you're not going until Wednesday," said Madam Pomfrey. "And I'll thank you not to complain, seeing as I'm doing my best."

Even though he was eleven years old and practically a man, Remus clamped his mouth shut and felt tears rise to his eyes. He was being ungrateful, he was being stubborn and disrespectful, and to top it all off, he was going to miss so much school. Life was terrible.

"Don't cry," said Madam Pomfrey, her voice a little softer. "It won't be all that bad. I'm good company, right?"

Remus granted her a watery nod. "I don't want to get behind," he managed.

"I know. And you won't. You can read as much as you want now that your head injury is all cleared up. You'll be okay, Remus. It's only a couple of days."

Her kind tone made Remus want to cry even more. He was much more accustomed to the Matron Voice. "I'm sorry," he said, wiping his eyes. He felt like an idiot, blubbing about something so inconsequential. "I'm just tired. And frustrated. I hate this."

"I hate it, too," said Madam Pomfrey soothingly. Somehow, her saying it made Remus want to defend himself.

"It's not so bad," he said. "I'm okay. I'll deal with it. I don't mean to worry you."

Madam Pomfrey smiled and reached into her pocket, pulling out two caps and dropping them into the jar. "The first one is for your earlier apology," she said, much to Remus' dismay. "And the second one is for 'I'm okay'. Also, I'm adding 'it's not so bad', 'I'll deal with it', and 'I don't mean to worry you', to the list."

Remus groaned. "But Madam Pomfrey, I'm distraught! And ill! And I had a concussion a couple hours ago! Can't we let it slide... just this once...?"

"I thought you said that it wasn't so bad," said Madam Pomfrey, a glint in her eyes. "So really, you have no excuse."

Remus silently pouted, but couldn't keep the smile off of his face. He wasn't sure why he found this so funny. He was probably just ill and delirious. "Have you seen Bufo?" he asked, and Madam Pomfrey looked a little guilty.

"Er, yes."

"Where is he? What's wrong with him?" Remus inhaled sharply and smelled him. He froze. There it was: Bufo's light breathing, heartbeat, and froggy scent. "Is he... in your pocket?"

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and pulled him out. "Well, when Black and Potter brought you here on Thursday, Pettigrew fetched your bag... he said that you often brought to 'visit your mother'. Your toad must have hopped into my apron while you were..."

"Tearing up the furniture and clawing myself to bits," said Remus, and Madam Pomfrey looked a little surprised.

"Sounds as if Professor Questus had a bit of an effect on you," she said. "Right, well... I was in a hurry the next morning and didn't realize that your toad was in there. And I was... stressed, and..."

"And you liked having him around!" crowed Remus. "Ha, I knew it!"

"I know I should have told you, or brought him back via the Floo," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Perfectly all right," said Remus. He was feeling considerably cheered up. "I knew that you secretly liked toads."

Madam Pomfrey still looked a bit distressed—she didn't even catch Remus' slip-up with "all right". "No, it's not all right. You were already worried and I should have told you. I'm very sorry, Remus... I'm afraid I haven't been very responsible lately."

"What do you mean?"

"I shouldn't have left you. I was the only one who had any sort of experience healing you. It was completely unacceptable."

Needlessly apologizing like that was kind of annoying. Remus made a note of that for the future. "I would have been fine," said Remus. "No one dies solely from being a werewolf."

Madam Pomfrey gave him a look. "That's not true."

"No, it's..." Remus really didn't want to talk about this, but he felt that Madam Pomfrey had the right to know. "I guess people die from the transformations themselves, but I'm out of the woods at this point—it's only the first few that are sometimes dangerous. I'm adjusted now. And people die from werewolf-related things, like the WCU and prejudice and the Ministry and homelessness and things. But werewolves aren't suicidal on the full moon or anything. They... I... know, on the full moon, what will kill me, and I'm very careful not to do it. Because I know, even during the moon, that if I die then I... won't get what I want."

"That's ridiculous..."

"No, it's not. I would have been fine, even if you'd left me there all day. I'd need a Blood-Replenishing Potion, obviously, but not for a bit—and I would have been able to replenish it on my own, given a few weeks. Werewolf blood is different. It's not as if I was in completely critical condition, and I would have healed up on my own, even without the right potions. I didn't really need you there." Remus suddenly realized that that had sounded very rude. "I heal a lot faster with you, though," he added timidly. "And it's less painful."

He could feel his face getting hot as he described the thought processes of a werewolf. It was very uncomfortable, admitting that it was him who had hurt himself, that he did have a taste for blood during the full moon, that he was a monster every so often... Remus sometimes felt that people who knew him—his parents included—tended to separate Remus-the-Person from Remus-the-Wolf. The fact was, though: they were one and the same. Full-Moon-Remus was still Remus, not a random wolf. Remus hated admitting that, even to himself.

Madam Pomfrey didn't look disturbed or judgemental, however; she only seemed curious. "How do you know what will kill you and what won't, exactly?" she asked.

Remus shrugged. "Instinct," he muttered. Why, oh why, was it so much harder discussing such things with Madam Pomfrey than Questus?

"That's helpful, thank you," said Madam Pomfrey. "That makes me feel a lot better. Although..." She dropped two caps in the jar. "You said the forbidden word. Twice."

Remus' mouth fell open. "But that's twenty-five extra minutes now!"

"You'll need them," said Madam Pomfrey. "Now, I know that you're going to be extremely bored from here on out. Let me know if there's anything you need from the library... and you may have Bufo back, of course."

"Are you sure you don't want him?" asked Remus, a sly smile forming on his face. "I think he likes you."

Madam Pomfrey gave an exaggerated shudder. "Positive. I've spent enough time with the wretched thing."

Remus smiled. She was lying. She really did like Bufo—he was certain of it.

Just then, Madam Pomfrey heard a student enter the main ward, and Remus was left to his own devices. Bufo hopped around on his lap, clearly happy to see him. "I missed you, Bufo," Remus said. "And you missed a very interesting day. I had a great time."

Bufo looked at him skeptically.

"Well, it was actually rather awful. But Questus is nice."

Bufo looked at him incredulously.

"Nice isn't the right word. But I was mostly comfortable."

Bufo didn't look convinced.

"As comfortable as I could have been. Look, it was eventful."

Bufo seemed to be satisfied with that, and he snuggled into Remus' chest as Remus pulled out a book of poetry to unwind.

Remus fell asleep that afternoon. He slept rather well, actually: there were no windows looming over him, no snoring dormmates, and no visions of wolves haunting his dreams. After a very rejuvenating nap, he woke up to Madam Pomfrey, who was standing next to his bed and frowning. "What's wrong?" he asked her, and she stumbled back a little in surprise.

"How long have you been awake?"

"I only just woke up."

"Your arm isn't healing as it should, that's all."

Remus looked over. Madam Pomfrey had unwrapped it while he was sleeping, and the sight was even more gruesome than it had been before. "But I can still leave on Wednesday, right?"

Madam Pomfrey smiled a bit. "If you're well by then. I know you've been counting down the hours."

"More like counting down the seconds." Remus leaned back; immediately, he felt pain stab his arm and travel up his shoulder. He yelped a little.

"Did that hurt?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

"A... little. It only surprised me, that's all." He shifted a little, as if to prove that he could move his arm without being in pain. It backfired, and he made another small noise. "Nope, that hurts," he confessed.

"I'm sorry," said Madam Pomfrey. "I can't give you more Pain-Relieving Potion. You had plenty yesterday."

"That's..." Remus almost said okay, but then he remembered the jar and changed his mind. "I mean, I understand. I don't need it. I just have to be really still." Oh, fiddlesticks, everything hurt now. His neck was hurting. His legs were hurting. And his arm felt as if it had been completely hacked off with a dull blade.

He thought of transforming: of the twisting and snapping of bones, the horrific, unthinkable pain. This was nothing, right? This was nothing. He felt his breathing slow, and he looked up at Madam Pomfrey. "Could you hand me my Potions textbook?" he asked. "It should be in my bag."

"Are you sure you're in a state to be flipping pages?"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey. Of course." He had to prove that he was all right. He had to overcome this. It was only physical pain, after all; it wasn't that terrible. It was like a challenge.

Madam Pomfrey gently placed the textbook onto his lap. "Now, don't..."

"Overexert myself. Yes, I know. I'm only reading." Remus suddenly felt bad for talking back to Madam Pomfrey. "Thank you ever so much," he said.

"Of course, Lupin. I'm just doing my job."

Remus flipped open his textbook with his right arm and tried to ignore the horrible pain that shot through his nerves.

That evening he had a horrible fever. Madam Pomfrey tried to subdue it with some potions, but nothing was helping. "It's cursed," Remus explained. "I'll be fine once it runs its course." And, as he reminded himself over and over, he really shouldn't complain since it was nowhere near the pain of transforming. But it was still rather uncomfortable, and he ended up sweating through his pajamas and had to change again. Without the odd, partial numbness of the Pain-Relieving Potion, he could do up the buttons very well. However, Madam Pomfrey did add another cap to the jar for saying the forbidden word, and that was unfortunate.

At seven-thirty, he was extremely cold. Madam Pomfrey got him another blanket, and he put on his father's Gryffindor scarf. The smell of his father had long faded, but he still felt quite at home wearing it. Madam Pomfrey told him that he looked very festive.

At seven-forty-five, Professor Questus delivered a letter from Remus' mum that had been left in the Great Hall that morning. Remus thanked him, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed in his Gryffindor scarf. Questus, however, simply snickered and left again, saying that Remus did not yet look well enough to go over that day's Defense notes.

Madam Pomfrey had apparently told his Remus' mother that it had been a particularly rough transformation. Remus knew his mother well enough to know, just from the handwriting, that she was panicking. Remus immediately wrote a letter back: reassuring her, telling her that he was fine (writing the word down did not, as it turned out, get him a cap in the jar), and detailing the funny things that Questus had told him. He did not, however, give her the details. He said he'd do that later, but he had no intention of doing so to the extent that his mother expected. She didn't like to talk about werewolves much, anyhow.

Remus now had a very sizeable stack of letters from his mum and dad, and he kept them all in a small photo album in his bag. He had hexed the photo album severely and was very certain that none of his friends would be able to access it.

At eight-fifteen, Remus was very hot. He drank four glasses of water, even though his stomach felt odd, and Madam Pomfrey got him a cool facecloth. Despite her protests, however, Remus did not take off his Gryffindor scarf.

At nine, Professor Dumbledore entered the main ward to speak to Madam Pomfrey. "How's Remus?" he asked pleasantly. "I heard that it wasn't easy this month. John Questus tends to chatter."

"Awake," said Madam Pomfrey in a very brisk tone. "Infected wound. He'll be in here until at least Wednesday."

Remus heard footsteps and wiped the sweat off of his face just before Dumbledore came in. "Evening, Remus," said Dumbledore. He did not even flinch at Remus' probably-horrific appearance. "I like your scarf very much."

"Thank you, Professor," Remus mumbled. "Where'd you hear that I wasn't well?" He'd heard Dumbledore's assertion that John Questus tended to chatter, of course, but he wanted to know the extent to which Questus had detailed Remus' injuries. Besides, it was always a bit degrading to admit that his senses were good enough to hear a quiet conversation from a room over with a thick door.

"Oh, I hear a great many things," said Dumbledore airily. "For instance, I heard just the other day that your friends James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew have detention every day for the next three weeks. Apparently, they cannot seem to restrain themselves from becoming... chummy... with their professors."

Remus giggled a little. "Yes, I know."

"And I heard the day before that that you and Professor McGonagall are having a competition of sorts."

"I'm winning," Remus boasted.

Dumbledore smiled. "That's funny, she told me the exact opposite. And do you know what I heard very recently?"

"No, sir."

"Two boys were seen gallivanting around Hogsmeade the night before the full moon."

Remus' heart dropped. "Were they?"

"Yes. One had spectacles and very messy hair. The other had a Gryffindor tie and very neat hair. Would you happen to know anything about that?"

"Not at all, sir." Remus felt a note of panic. He was a werewolf; he didn't have the freedom to break the rules like his friends did. The staff was already going through so much trouble for him. He really should have behaved himself. This, he was certain, would be the last straw, and then they would throw him out. He met Dumbledore's blue eyes and suddenly felt a very familiar feeling.

"No, stop!" he said sharply, his voice more panicked than he had intended. Dumbledore immediately stopped. "You're... you're a Legilimens? You can't just do that without permission!"

Dumbledore looked a little remorseful. "And you did not have permission to go to Hogsmeade," he reminded Remus.

"I'm... I'm sorry, but... but I like to have control of my mind, thank you very much!"

Dumbledore looked very guilty now, and Remus felt awful for making him feel so. But it was unfair, he reminded himself. Dumbledore had no right. He had already seen enough of Remus' memories, already knew too much about his past... Remus belonged to Remus, not Dumbledore, not Questus, not Madam Pomfrey... His memories were his and his alone to share at his discretion.

"I am very sorry, Remus," said Dumbledore, and he sounded sincere. "Usually students your age don't notice."

Remus was... not angry, but extremely annoyed, and the fever wasn't helping matters. "That doesn't make it better. That makes it worse. At least people should know."

"You're right, of course. Your morals, it seems, are a lot more clean-cut than mine are." Dumbledore smiled a little sadly. "You can trust me not to do it again—well, not on purpose. It's a bit of a habit of mine. Forgive my boast, but I've been able to do it quite easily from a very early age. Sometimes I don't even realize; it's just a natural means of communication for me at this point. I believe you've done the same thing."

Remus felt a little bad now; he hadn't realized that it was an accidental event. Still, the voice in the back of his mind said, it wasn't fair. "I'm not a Legilimens, sir," Remus said.

"Maybe not. But am I correct in assuming that you use your enhanced senses to eavesdrop on occasion? Without the knowledge of others?"

Remus twiddled his fingers against the bedsheets. "Er, I try not to." That wasn't true. "Not very often." That wasn't true, either. "I can't help it." That was only sometimes true. "Yes, you're right," he finally admitted, "but it's not the same thing."

"Is it?" Dumbledore pulled on his beard thoughtfully. "My point still stands, I think. But you're right as well, of course. Funny, isn't it, how two people can be right at the same time. Many people don't seem to understand that." Dumbledore wordlessly summoned a chair and then sat down. "Returning back to the issue of Hogsmeade: I'm not sure how you got there without being seen, but the fact remains that you did. Why?"

"I... well..." Remus decided to tell him the truth. He had a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore would know if he was lying—even if he wasn't looking through Remus' mind. "My friends thought that maybe it was a werewolf in the... in the Shrieking Shack, so I told them that November first was the full moon... and I made sure to go with them so that they wouldn't suspect me."

Dumbledore looked impressed. "Very, very clever. I must say, that's a plan worthy of myself. However, had you waited... my security measures are brilliant, remember. I believe that an upcoming Daily Prophet—sometime over the next few weeks—will eliminate all lycanthropy-related suspicions. And you could have come to me. My door is, nine times out of ten, figuratively open."

"Yes, sir."

"And I'm going to ask you to... keep your friends under control, when possible. I trust you are responsible enough to do so. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Clearly, being out in the cold all night wasn't good for you. If you don't start being more careful, then you'll end up spending more time in the Hospital Wing than out."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"Not at all. And please remember that Hogsmeade can be a dangerous place. I'm going to ask you not to go back—not until you have a signed permission form in your third year. My brother lives there, you know, so I shall know if you do. He's prone to insomnia and finds that looking at the snow calms him down. Just between you and me, I think he stays up specifically to look for wayward Hogwarts students. I do believe he's trying to get me sacked."

"That's not very nice," said Remus, horrified.

"Seeing as I once practiced the Bat-Bogey Hex on him when we were young, I'd say that it's adequate revenge." Dumbledore pulled out a small item from his pocket. "Would you like a Chocolate Frog?"

"No, thank you, Professor. So... so I'm not expelled?"

"Expelled for what?" Dumbledore unwrapped the Chocolate Frog and popped it into his mouth. "I tend to experience random bouts of amnesia. As far as I am concerned, you have never done anything wrong in your life." Before Remus could respond, Dumbledore winked and exited the room.

Remus was confused, but pleasantly so.

AN: I tend to experience random bouts of amnesia, too: particularly on arithmetic formulas.