"That hurts, Madam Pomfrey."
"Wouldn't hurt so much if you hadn't sat up and ripped the wound open even more."
"Ow ow ow ow ow..."
"Shhh. I know. It'll be over in a few seconds."
Remus gritted his teeth and tried not to make any odd noises as Madam Pomfrey applied more silver and Dittany to the gash on his side. "Ow ow ow ow," he muttered. "Ow."
"There. All done."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. Good night."
Remus turned over to attempt to take a nap despite the pain, but Madam Pomfrey pinched him. He opened his eyes and gave her a dirty look. "Madam Pomfrey! I'm tired!"
"Well, you'll have to catch up on sleep later, because the potion that I gave you just now doesn't work well when one is sleeping. Would you like me to get you a book?"
"No, thank you."
What Remus wanted was to alleviate the crushing burden on his shoulders—the burden of having a secret, the burden of having clever friends, and the burden of being afraid—which was nearly as bad as the physical pain. What Remus wanted was to talk to Professor Questus for a bit about recent events. What Remus wanted was... he was sort of craving an apple, actually, but Madam Pomfrey had just gotten him some toast and he didn't want to be ungrateful. "May we talk for a bit?" he asked, hoping it would at least partially fulfill the first two desires.
Madam Pomfrey nodded curtly. "Of course. I still need to brew a few potions, though, so I'm afraid I can't give you my full attention. And I want you to finish your soup and at least two glasses of water while we're talking."
Remus sort of wanted to be cheeky and point out the fact that he couldn't both eat and talk at the same time, but he didn't. "Sure," he said, picking up the toast and taking a bite.
"Now what did you want to discuss?"
"James is being nice."
"I'm sure he is. You have good friends... when they're not causing trouble, that is."
"They're causing trouble ninety-nine percent of the time, Madam Pomfrey."
"One percent is still better than zero. So what, may I ask, is the problem with James' relative kindness?"
"No, I mean... he's really nice. Really, really nice. So is Sirius, which is even more concerning. They've been nice all month, and it makes me think that something's wrong. That they're suspicious. Or something."
Madam Pomfrey stopped stirring the potion, put down the ladle, and turned around to look Remus in the eyes. She didn't look happy. "You've written to John Questus about this, haven't you?"
"...Yes?"
She sighed, and it was the sort of long-suffering sigh that usually accompanied a biting remark in Professor Questus' direction. "And what did he tell you?" she asked tiredly.
"He said that James isn't the type to let things go, and he's right. He suspects they're trying to get me to tell them the truth, which seems accurate. Then he told me to be cautious."
Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "That ridiculous man. I suppose he's also told you to get rid of them because it's 'too dangerous to have friends'?"
"No, he actually talked me out of it a few times."
"Doesn't change the fact that he doesn't approve of talking to people, of sharing secrets, of getting close to people. He doesn't get close to anybody, that man. Far too cautious, and he's encouraging you to do the same. Terrible influence."
"You aren't suggesting I tell my friends that I'm a werewolf?!" said Remus, horrified. "I can't!"
"You know where I stand. You've known your friends for over a year, and they like you a lot. I think you should: Dumbledore's persuasive, the school is safe, and secrets tear a person up from the inside-out."
"It's an important secret to keep, though! Professor Questus doesn't think they'll let me stay at Hogwarts. Why would they? That's ridiculous. They wouldn't want to room with a werewolf, now would they?"
"I all but room with a werewolf three days a month, and it doesn't bother me," huffed Madam Pomfrey.
"Professor Questus says that..."
Madam Pomfrey's eyes narrowed at the speed of light. "Professor Questus," she said rudely, "is a bitter, hypocritical excuse for a wizard, and I wouldn't take anything he says at face value if I were you."
It took a great deal of effort, but Remus finally worked up the courage to utter the long-awaited question. "Did you something happen between you?" he asked, watching Madam Pomfrey's face carefully the whole time. "You seem angrier with him."
"It's nothing," she snapped. "Not according to him, that is. Nothing at all. Nothing important."
"Then why are you...?"
"Nothing happened whatsoever," she repeated. "It's more about what didn't happen." She looked at Remus closely, seeming to choose her words very carefully. "He is pessimistic, careless, rude, and thoroughly annoying. Most importantly, he's extremely selfish. Let me ask you a question: if you could help someone at your own expense, would you?"
"Er..." said Remus.
"Don't answer that. You already do. Locking yourself up every month, offering uncomfortable information to nearly any staff member who asks, helping your friend Mr. Pettigrew do his schoolwork all hours of the day..." She huffed again, turning back to her potion. "Don't try too hard to protect others' emotions, he says. The Dark Arts wait for no one, he says. It's just a fact of life, he says. You need to talk about it, he says. But, beneath the surface, he's paranoid and cowardly, and I don't want you to absorb any of that whatsoever."
As much as Remus wanted to know more, he could tell that the conversation was going nowhere. "Er," he said again, "I think that maybe a student's here. In the main ward. He's been knocking for twenty seconds."
"Oh! Oh, yes. Thank you." Madam Pomfrey started to hurry out of the room, but then stopped and looked back. "If you'd... keep this conversation between us..."
"'Course," said Remus with a smile. "I didn't understand a single word you just said, anyway."
And he really didn't. But whatever it was, he figured he didn't have to worry about it—after all, he fully trusted Professor Questus' judgement.
The problem was, he trusted Madam Pomfrey, too
Whatever it was, he decided, he'd let them work it out. Secrets were sometimes meant to be kept, and poking his nose in others' business when he had so many of his own seemed hypocritical.
Remus was finally able to take a nap around noon, and he woke up to more water that Madam Pomfrey insisted he drink.
So much water. About seven glasses full, in fact. "Did you drain the Pacific Ocean or something?" he muttered. "I can't drink all this, Madam Pomfrey."
"Tough luck, because you most certainly will. Your parents wrote to you this morning, by the way."
"Thanks," said Remus, taking the letters and flipping through them quickly. "For the letter, I mean. Not for the infinite glasses of water."
"You're welcome. For the water, I mean—not the letter."
Remus rolled his eyes. "Heavens. Mum wrote me another novel. Is the owl dead?"
"The owl has survived," said Madam Pomfrey. "Barely. Now finish your water."
"May I have an apple?"
"An apple?"
"Yeah."
"I didn't know you liked apples."
"I dunno. I just want an apple."
"All right. I'll get you an apple, but you have to finish your water first."
Remus sighed and finished his water, and then he ate his apple.
It was a very good apple.
He woke up from his second nap, ate some applesauce (Madam Pomfrey kept bringing him apples now, and Remus didn't have the heart to tell her that it had been a one-time whim), and then leaned back to go to sleep. Madam Pomfrey put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, and Remus didn't panic, because Madam Pomfrey never touched the wrong shoulder. She was nice like that. "Your friends came right after you fell asleep," she said. "They wanted to see you."
"What did you say?" murmured a half-asleep Remus.
"I told them you weren't accepting visitors. I can't stem the bleeding completely, and it stands out like a sore thumb when you're so pale, so a visit would most certainly raise suspicion. But I figured I should let you know that they really care about you."
"Or they're curious."
"Well, perhaps. But it's supposed to rain sometime soon—James gave up his last few minutes of sunny Quidditch weather to come see you."
Remus was wide-awake now. "Woah," he said, and Madam Pomfrey smiled.
"They care about you and want to make sure you're all right. Is that so hard to believe?"
"Well, yeah. They're preteen boys. They've got other stuff to do, and boys their age aren't known to be caring."
"That's your reasoning, eh? So it's not some more self-deprecating humbug?"
Remus laughed. "No."
"I think that they'll care just as much about you if they ever figure out the truth, Remus."
"No," Remus repeated. "I've seen it firsthand. Remus the Person isn't the same as Remus the Werewolf. No one ever thinks I'm the same person once they find out. And no one ever treats me well once they know."
"I do," said Madam Pomfrey. "Dumbledore does. Your parents do. Hagrid does. Most of Hogwarts' staff does..."
"The teachers at Hogwarts and my parents are the only ones, Madam Pomfrey. There's literally no one else."
She paused. "Really? There must be someone else. A Healer at St. Mungo's? A Ministry worker?"
"Some are less hostile than others. But all of them are either afraid, spiteful, or violent. Why do you think we've had to move so much? We've had this conversation before, Madam Pomfrey—just last month, I'm pretty sure. Even if my friends do think that they want to be friends with a werewolf at first—before the implications have really sunk in—I still have to leave. I can't trust them: they're twelve, they're quite stupid sometimes, and they've no impulse control. And I'd never put that kind of burden on them..."
"Ah, so here's the self-deprecating humbug."
"Self-deprecating, maybe, but it's all true and you know it. I may be an enjoyable, humorous, incredibly clever, kind, amazing, talented, and good-looking burden, but I'm still a burden. Children shouldn't have to deal with this sort of thing."
"Adding adjectives doesn't stop it from being self-deprecating," said Madam Pomfrey, but she was smiling. "And you shoulder the burden just fine."
"I've been trained to do so since I was four. And it's not pleasant. Why would I wish it on anyone else?"
"The knowledge of your lycanthropy in and of itself is not a burden. What, exactly, would they have to do for you once they know you're a werewolf? Would it be anything more than what they already do now? I bet it wouldn't be."
"It doesn't matter. Because they'll hate me. And I hate to do this to them."
Madam Pomfrey sat on his bed and both of her hands on Remus' shoulders. He flinched—and to think that he had just mentally praised her for never touching the wrong one. She stared at him intensely, and he grew uncomfortable.
"Be selfish," she said.
"What?"
"Be selfish."
"But I'll feel bad about it."
"Fine. Feel bad about it. But you still need to be selfish."
"But—"
"Shush. Be. Selfish. They won't mind."
"But I will!"
She shook her head and let go of Remus' shoulders. "You are an odd one, Lupin. Please consider it, though. Dumbledore thinks they'll continue to tolerate your presence, and Dumbledore is hardly ever wrong."
"Everyone's wrong sometimes," said Remus shortly. "I've finished eating. I'm going to do some homework for Pensley."
Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Very well. Do you need anything? You're clear to take a nap now, if you'd like."
"No. I'm just going to read the textbook for a bit. Would you take it away from me if I fall asleep? I don't want to wrinkle the pages."
"Of course."
Remus found a vaguely comfortable position and read about offensive spells until he fell asleep.
Remus had a dream that night of murdering his friends again. He woke up covered in sweat and whimpering, and Madam Pomfrey was at his side in seconds. "Just a dream," she said soothingly, and Remus was reminded of James... which reminded him of the nightmare... which didn't help at all. Suddenly, he felt a vaguely familiar pain in his right leg.
"Back up," he commanded, his heart squeezing uncomfortably. "Lock the—Dumbledore—full moon. Please."
Madam Pomfrey pulled the sheets off of him, and Remus scrambled away. "Stop!"
"You're in the Hospital Wing. The full moon was last night. Everything's fine."
"No... my leg... the..."
"The what?"
"Prickling! Stabbing! But it doesn't hurt... as much... Don't touch me!"
Madam Pomfrey blinked. "The Skele-Gro?"
It all came flooding back. "Oh, the Skele-Gro. Okay. Not a full moon?"
"Not even close."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"Okay." He sat up with some difficulty and wiped his brow. "Sorry."
"Forgive me for asking," said Madam Pomfrey (after she allowed Remus a few moments of silence to regain his composure, of course), "but does the Skele-Gro... feel like... transforming? I suppose it makes sense, since your bones are essentially... growing...?"
"A little," said Remus, considering, "but it doesn't hurt nearly as much—the Pain-Relieving Potion might be helping a bit, and it's only one bone. It's just... oddly familiar, that's all. So I panicked. But I'm fine now. Going back to sleep." He shut his eyes and leaned back into bed, and it was seven minutes (he counted to four hundred and twenty) before Madam Pomfrey left his side, which he appreciated.
He also heard her drop a cap in the jar on account of his forbidden apology, which he did not appreciate. But alas, the years had proven over and over again that Remus Lupin could not have everything he wanted in life.
The images of Remus' friends, however, would not leave his head. About half an hour later, he sat up and started reading Practical Defense, Year Two. Madam Pomfrey wandered in again and went on the normal tirade about how he needed to sleep and his body needed to repair itself and the last thing he needed was more stress, etc. etc. etc.
"I'm not sleepy," said Remus.
"Is your leg hurting you?"
"No. I told you. It's not at all like a transformation. I barely feel it. I just... don't really want to sleep."
"Because of the nightmare."
Remus was silent.
"Tell me about it." She pulled over a chair and stared him down. "Put the book down and tell me about it, beginning to end."
Remus did not want to, but he knew that Madam Pomfrey would keep pushing, so he complied.
Also, he did want to. Kind of. Sort of. He didn't know anymore.
"Er... I was in the Shrieking Shack... on the full moon," he said. "And James and Sirius and Peter came in, and I told them to leave... and they wouldn't. They'd seen us walking to the Willow and had followed us. I don't know why neither of us noticed them coming, but it was a dream, so it wasn't quite logical. You know?"
Madam Pomfrey nodded.
"Yeah, so James and Sirius and Peter saw me waiting there, and they were confused, as anyone would be. I tried my best to... to explain everything, but they didn't believe me. So I locked myself in the bathroom on the bottom floor and... prayed that the door would hold." He paused. "It didn't."
"Do you want to keep going? Graphic images don't much disturb me."
"No," said Remus, shaking his head. "Absolutely not. You can imagine. They looked like me after a full moon, but worse. And also very dead." He tasted blood again. "I need water," he said desperately. "Please. Right now."
"Of course," she said, and she delivered right away (along with yet another apple. Remus was getting sort of tired of apples now). "Did you bite your lip?"
"Yes."
"Do you need silver and Dittany?"
"No. It's not good for mouth sores. It'll stop bleeding eventually, I think. Always does." He gulped down some more water, but he didn't eat the apple. "May I stay up for a... ow!" He jammed his hand over his mouth.
"Pain-Relieving Potion's wearing off, hm?" said Madam Pomfrey, sighing. "It's about that time."
Remus felt tears on his face, and he pressed his hand tighter into his lips and squeezed his eyes shut. Everything hurt. His leg was prickling more, but that wasn't the worst part—his head was going to split open, and pain was shooting up and down his spine... He was vaguely aware of Madam Pomfrey pulling the sheets to his chest and brushing his sweat-soaked hair away from his face, but he couldn't feel anything but pain...
It was going to be a long night.
Lupin—
This blasted curse of mine tends to affect my fine motor skills every once in a while, so my handwriting isn't nearly as legible as I would like it to be. Good luck reading it. I figured I'd write to you, though, because I imagine you're completely miserable (and I know how "miserable" feels—I, too, have been miserable for a long time. Some would say I've been a miserable excuse for a person my whole life long). The letter from you and Potter surprised me, I'll admit—I didn't think you'd let him see you in that state. It was, however, exceedingly entertaining.
Pomfrey told me that you usually arrive at the Hospital Wing around four-forty-five, so the fact that you were awake at three is concerning, is it not? Abnormal, at the very least. I hope last night went well—as well as it could have gone for a bloodthirsty and self-destructive wolf, that is.
Madam Pomfrey, who Remus didn't know had been reading over his shoulder, made a small noise.
"Hey, don't read my letter," said Remus, but he didn't really mind.
"He's being brash again," said Madam Pomfrey.
"He wants to know how I'm doing."
"He's being rude."
"Madam Pomfrey! I like Professor Questus, okay? He's only joking. And joking helps—makes me feel more like it's a... you know, a lighthearted thing, and not as terrible as it really is. I like it."
"That's not joking," she grumbled. "That's insulting."
"May I read my letter in peace?"
Madam Pomfrey huffed and turned away. "Just be careful with him, Lupin. He's not the good person you think him to be."
"Madam Pomfrey, you barely know him. He's helped a lot. Please trust my judgement."
"Fine."
Remus turned back to his letter.
Your mother probably already told you, but your uncle is coming here to visit your father—who has very sternly told me to stay away, of course. I don't think he trusts my ability to keep a polite demeanor, which is ridiculous. "Polite" is my middle name, right after "cautious," "kind," and "politically correct."
But, seeing as you (as his nephew) are also an authority, do I have permission to... perhaps drop an armchair on his head? Turn his hair green? Play music really loudly? Or I could play a speech... Alexander Adamson gave an interesting one a while ago. I might have you listen to it next time you come back. He's a leading werewolf advocate—I think I sent you one of his articles last Christmas. I think your uncle would just love him, hm?
I've heard stories from your parents, and I think I already detest your uncle more than you do. Let me know when he dies so that we can throw a party. No cake, though—that's horribly disrespectful. To me, that is, because I don't like cake very much.
Keep me posted on your friends. Sirius Black's father, Orion Black, said something rather disturbing the other day... but it's not new, of course. I'll attach the clipping. Your father was rather distraught, but I don't think he's going to alert you of it. For a creature who isn't believed to have feelings to begin with, people are always remarkably insistent on protecting your emotions. I, nevertheless, believe it is important information. I'm sure you'll agree.
Remus scanned the rest of the letter, which contained the usual updates and biting comments. He'd read it more closely later. There was indeed a clipping from some type of magazine, and Remus removed it and read every word.
Half-breeds and non-humans threaten the very fabric of our world, and we must accept the fact that people who are born differently also live differently. They are, by definition, inferior. The best thing we can do for them is stop humoring them: they do not deserve a life like ours, and they are not "just the same" as the rest of us. Purebloods are more intelligent, wizards are more worthy, and humans are more decent. Other, lesser creatures should be subservient at the very least.
Furthermore, we have pretended that dangerous creatures are "good" and "kind" for far too long. It is time to treat them like the animals that they are. Hags, werewolves, vampires, and other humanoid monsters should be treated just the same as tigers and lions: they must be killed if they pose a threat and restrained if they do not. Perhaps the way that Voldemort achieves his agenda is too extreme, but his ultimate ideals are—for the most part—accurate. If we can find a way to achieve said ideals with peace instead of violence, then the world will be a much better place.
Remus quickly folded it up, hoping that Madam Pomfrey hadn't been watching his face as he read. Killed if they pose a threat, restrained if they do not... What did "threat" mean? Was Remus "posing a threat" by going to school? And what did "restrained" mean? Prison? Remus knew that Azkaban could not hold a werewolf on the full moon. He started imagining dark cells with thick walls... being alone with no books or friends forever...
And peace instead of violence? Remus was pretty sure that a mass execution of non-human creatures counted as "violence"... but what did he know? He was an inferior creature, according to Orion Black. With a dark scowl, Remus found the other page of Questus' letter and continued reading the familiar but shaky handwriting.
Don't mean to scare you, but I think you should know where the Black family (now very publicly) stands. Orion Black's a politician, and he has made it clear that he approves of Voldemort's ideals. That's a dangerous thing to admit that when Voldemort is literally a terrorist, which just speaks even more to the fact that Black was confident enough to say it.
But I wouldn't worry about the actual content too much if I were you. Things like this are professed every day, and they have been so for centuries. I went to Italy years ago on an Auror assignment, and I remember visiting Roman runes that read "Death to Werewolves" (singular form of Latin used here was "versipellis"; you'll find that interesting). Mass werewolf execution has been discussed for centuries, but no one's ever done anything about it. I don't suspect they ever will, because it's impractical, expensive, and stupid. You'll be fine.
Still, your father was quite upset. Ranted for nearly an hour and a half. Downed four cups of tea. I'd recommend avoiding the topic of Sirius Black in your next letter to him; otherwise, he might fear for your life and advise you stop talking to the kid. He's paranoid and annoying—now I know where YOU get it.
—Q.
"Done reading?" said Madam Pomfrey, and Remus jumped.
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey."
"Good. I need to change your dressings. How much pain? Give me a number."
"Four."
"I need to stop asking you to do that; your numbers are always far too low. Did you finish your water?"
"No."
"How's the leg?"
"Regrown."
"And the spine?"
"Fine."
Madam Pomfrey dropped a cap in the jar. At least she didn't seem angry anymore.
While she twisted and tightened the dressings on his leg, Remus leaned back and tried very hard not to think about his Uncle Bryson, mass werewolf execution, or Voldemort. He'd been waiting for a letter from Professor Questus all day, but it hadn't made him feel nearly as good as he thought it would.
AN: Today, March 10, is Remus Lupin's birthday! I'm actually currently writing March 10 in Year Three (as I've mentioned before, my posting is far behind what I have drafted), so that's a cool coincidence. Happy March 10... going to finish drafting now!