Author's note: Enjoy!

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the canon, world, and characters portrayed below and you can tell I'm not J.K. Rowling because #transrights

Hogwarts: Assignment #1, Criminology Task #8: Write about someone being injected with a substance

Content Warnings: Hospital setting; illness

Anything Worth Trying

Remus woke up and knew immediately that he'd made a terrible mistake, falling asleep upright in the uncomfortable chairs in the St. Mungo's day clinic. The muscles and bones around his spine from his mid back to his neck were particularly upset about it and he felt even more tired than when he'd woken up that morning—but now with bonus grogginess.

He rubbed his eyes and looked around the room. He was the only one there, even if the room had six chairs in it. He looked down at his arm where the IV went in, and followed it up to the bag of cornflower blue Wolfsbane hanging above his head. He felt like he'd been there for hours, but the bag was still more than half full.

He rubbed at his eyes and tried not to feel annoyed, even if the full moon right around the corner was making patience run in short supply. It was a question of perspective, really. Yes, he was a guinea pig—but maybe one day he wouldn't be, and they'd find something that worked. Yes, there was no evidence that Wolfsbane did function better when injected intravenously than when taken orally… but he needed to be taking the help where and when he could get it. He was lucky that he was being treated, he was lucky that a Healer at St. Mungo's other than Teddy was taking interest in treating lycanthropy, and he was lucky that someone was willing to try something to ease the transformations in older werewolves that were becoming more and more common as… well, as werewolves were getting older and talking to each other and to Healers.

He couldn't help but think of Fenrir Greyback, who had been older than Remus was now when he'd been at the height of his power; at his most violent. It wasn't a good thought, and no good could come from wondering what had made Greyback so strong and so different. The last thing werewolves needed for the rumour mill to start insisting that they needed to kill and bite to stay healthy, and frankly scared and marginalized werewolves didn't need to start going down that path either. So Remus tried to distract himself. He looked down at the bag at his feet but the thought of picking up his book quickly became overwhelming and exhausting so he sat back in his chair. He only looked up and refocused his eyes when someone touched his shoulder gently.

"Hey," Dora said, offering him a smile. Not for the first time, Remus felt guilty for the worry on her face. He tried not to pay it much attention. You're fucking regressing, keep it together, she'd told him the last time he'd admitted his guilt to her. I chose you, remember?

"Hey," he said with a smile. "How are the girls?"

"So good, so cute," Dora said. He moved his hand and she sat on the arm of his chair. He put his hand back on her knee. "Margo wasn't in a talking mood today, but she reorganized all her chocolate frog cards so showed me that."

For her birthday, they'd gotten her those binders full of plastic sheets that Muggles used to keep track of trading cards and she had been absolutely delighted. She'd been reorganizing her chocolate frog card collection ever since—which was fine by Remus. It meant he had a very good excuse to buy Chocolate Frogs.

"What system is she using now?" Remus asked.

"By birthday," Dora said. "But she's going by date, not year. It took me a while to figure it out."

"Smart," Remus said—not sure if he was praising his wife or granddaughter.

"Did you know that Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin had the same birthday?" Dora asked.

"I did not."

"Fun fact," Dora said.

"Very fun. And how's Iris doing?" he asked.

"Nearly made us late for school because she wanted to practise her jazz class's new dance routine, but they both got there in one piece," she said.

Remus nodded. He knew that that recital would fall on a full moon, unfortunately—he'd have to ask Iris to show him her best moves before and apologize for missing it. He tried not to think about it too much; when he was this tired and uncomfortable, guilt spiralled out of control so much more easily.

"Here," Dora said, reaching into her bag. She pulled out one of his well-worn jumpers and draped it over him, since putting it on would have been quite a trick with the bag in the way. "You look cold."

"Thank you," he said. He would be hot in about thirty seconds, but that was alright. His current theory was that because Wolfsbane's ingredients were designed to stop an incredibly powerful transformation, it threw the nervous system into disarray when it was injected so directly and concentratedly—but Remus was no Potion Master.

"What did Healer Beaumont say this morning?" Dora asked.

"Not much," Remus said. "We're trying a more concentrated dose today, that's all. We're still flying largely blind."

"Okay," she said, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear absentmindedly. "And what's that supposed to do?"

"Not much," he admitted. "Beaumont's theory is that a more concentrated dose will speed up the transformation itself, which ideally will mean that fewer things can go wrong."

"Hmm," Dora said. She didn't sound convinced and truth be told, neither was Remus. But it was easier to remember why he was trying all of these things anyways when she was around, talking about their grandchildren and sitting on the arm of his chair the same way that Teddy leaned and perched on things so absentmindedly and precariously. He had people to stick around for, after all.

"I'm going to fall asleep if you keep playing with my hair," he warned her.

"That's alright," she said. "I'll be here."

"Shouldn't you be doing more fun things now that you're retired?"

"No," she said. "This is what I signed up for."

And Remus smiled as he fell asleep, because he believed her.

WC: 1012