Remus woke up well into the afternoon that day, and he still couldn't hear. Before he could start panicking, though, Madam Pomfrey practically flew across the room and thrust a piece of parchment in his face. Remus took it and read it carefully.

Can you stay calm or do I need to knock you unconscious?

Remus blinked and said, "I can stay calm. I think. Can you hear me?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded.

His vocal cords were vibrating—he could feel them—but he could not hear them. "All right," he said, and then, as an afterthought, "Am I too loud? I feel like I'm speaking rather loudly."

She shook her head, then hesitated, then crooked a finger upwards.

"You want me to be louder?"

She nodded.

"Okay. Er. Is this okay?"

She nodded again, and then she took the paper back from Remus and handed him another one. This one was significantly longer, and Remus took his time reading it—the silence was distracting, and it was very difficult to focus.

Remus—in case you haven't guessed already, you've damaged your ears. It is probably not permanent.

"Probably?" said Remus aloud, horrified. He looked up at Madam Pomfrey, who rolled her eyes, waved her hand, and said something that looked a bit like keep reading.

It is probably not permanent. I've both consulted Professor Dumbledore and done some research, and both Professor Dumbledore and I are convinced that, while there is no way to fix the issue through human means, you should automatically repair yourself come next full moon as you transform from person to wolf. Upon transforming back, we are ninety percent sure that you should permanently be restored to full hearing abilities.

"Ninety percent," mumbled Remus. That wasn't a nearly high enough percentage for his taste.

Then the reality sunk in, and Remus accidentally dropped the parchment. He didn't hear it hit the floor, of course, but he assumed it had fallen there since it was no longer in his line of sight. "I'll be like this all month?" He exclaimed, perfectly horrified. "No! I can't go like this all month!"

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, said something (but Remus didn't know what), and handed the parchment back to him. With suspicious hesitancy, Remus kept reading. This whole situation was just getting worse and worse, and he was terrified that the next sentence he read would be even more terrible.

You may go back to class as soon as you're well enough, but of course you'll need an excuse as to why you can't hear. I suggest claiming that you were hit by an unidentified hex. You'll want to get your notes from your friends as well.

"What's the point of going back if I can't listen to the professors?" Remus grumbled.

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand, and words materialized on the back of the parchment. Spell practice, hands-on experience, independent work, getting help, etc.

"But…."

Did you WANT to spend the whole month in the Hospital Wing? I can make that happen.

Remus sighed. "No. This is fine. But… I just… this is frustrating."

I know.

"Professor Dumbledore really thinks I'll be okay after the full moon?"

He does. Apparently, transforming from human to wolf has some sort of healing agent, since werewolves on the full moon are (by definition) dangerous. That's why you would probably regrow an amputated limb come full moon. Large injuries don't carry over. I believe Alexander Adamson talked a bit about that—it's how werewolves survive in the wild.

"But…." said Remus, and then he felt his face go red and trailed off.

Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow. Go ahead.

"Er… Fenrir Greyback is missing a finger. Half of one, at least. Ring finger, right hand. Why would some things grow back and other things… not?"

That's a minor injury, not one that impairs the danger levels of a werewolf. The only injuries that will be healed during the transformation, according to Professor Dumbledore, are the ones that directly negatively affect a wolf's ability to hunt. The magic requires that you change into a deadly creature come full moon, so your body will go through any necessary changes to make that happen. As you know, the transformation back won't do anything like that, but the transformation to a wolf can be a powerfully healing thing.

"Ironic," Remus mumbled, "seeing as it's also the reason for all my injuries in the first place. So that's why my other permanent injuries aren't healed? Scars and things?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded.

"Yeah, I kind of figured. Well. Disfigured, I suppose, haha."

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes and seemed to say something along the lines of not funny. Remus ignored her. He knew it hadn't been funny.

"I've always known it healed things slightly—I had a broken arm once that Dad hadn't healed properly, and I was too embarrassed to tell him… but after the full moon, it was just fine. Hadn't bothered me all night."

Madam Pomfrey frowned. Remus, you shouldn't have done that.

"Well, I know that now. But I was seven, and it was mostly healed anyway. Give me a break. So… I really just have to be like this all month?"

Yes. I'm very sorry; I know how much being unable to hear scares you.

"It doesn't scare me. I'm nearly fourteen years old. I just don't like it that much."

Out of the corner of his eye, Remus saw Madam Pomfrey make a sudden movement; he nearly jumped out of his skin, and he might have made some sort of terrified noise (though he couldn't be sure, obviously). Clearly, she magically wrote on the parchment. If you ever need a break, Remus, you'll be excused from classes. As for right now, though: you're spending at least three days in the Hospital Wing, possibly four.

"So what were my other injuries?"

Right leg…

"Like always."

Missing some fingernails. Usual gashes and scratches. Broke your left ankle, too. It'll all take a few days to heal, I'm afraid.

Remus sighed and leaned back onto his pillow. It didn't make the normal noise of compressing cloth, and Remus missed that already.

It looked like tomorrow was about to be the worst birthday of his life.

That night was horrifically painful.

Remus woke up at about midnight when the Pain-Relieving Potion wore off, and everything burned—especially his ears. His ears, he was certain, were being consumed by some relentless fire. He could not breathe.

As he was drifting back to sleep, Remus realized that, despite his constant complaints about his enhanced senses, he didn't really like being totally deaf. It just wasn't his thing.

The next day was boring.

Remus ate a lot.

He drank a lot of water.

His friends did not visit.

He did some schoolwork, but it was hard to focus with the total silence bombarding his head at all times.

Remus had never experienced total silence before, and he wasn't a fan.

"Happy birthday," said Madam Pomfrey the next morning. Remus didn't hear her say it, of course, but she was holding a piece of cake, so he figured it out through context clues.

"You're giving me cake for breakfast?" he said, smiling.

She nodded, pulling out a piece of parchment. With a wave of her wand, words appeared: I know it's not a great birthday…

"Not exactly."

…but I'm hoping we can make it as fun as possible. Cake for breakfast. I have another letter from your parents, and I also have a gift for you this afternoon.

"But! Madam Pomfrey! You didn't have to!"

Oh, shush, you ungrateful child. I wanted to.

"But… when's your birthday, then? I want to get you something, too."

I'd rather die than tell you that, Mr. Lupin. Now, why don't you try the cake? My sister gave me the recipe. Lemon-flavored.

Remus loved lemon-flavored cake. He smiled and took a bite. "It's delicious."

Isn't it?

Now that Remus could no longer hear, he found himself relying on his sense of sight much more. Before the last full moon, he'd had an extraordinary sense of smell and hearing; in most cases, his sense of sight had been an added luxury instead of a necessity. But now he was discovering that being able to smell things from far away wasn't nearly enough. He could no longer gauge emotions from heart rates and breathing patterns, so he used his eyes.

He'd never actually looked at Madam Pomfrey's face so much as she spoke before, and he saw a lot in her eyes that he'd never identified before—not like this. Pity, mostly, but there was also a little bit of fear.

"Are you quite certain I'll be okay after the full moon?" Remus asked through bites of cake. "I don't want to be a deaf werewolf. That would be terrible."

You're not going to be a deaf werewolf, she wrote.

It was sort of exhausting, looking between the parchment and Madam Pomfrey's face whenever Remus wanted to communicate with her, so he stopped asking questions and started eating the cake as slowly as possible, savoring every morsel.

At least he still had a good sense of taste.

Time passed, and then Madam Pomfrey got Remus some water and wrote (even her handwriting looked oddly stern) that she expected him to finish it all.

"But it's my birthday," he argued.

Finish. I'll give you what your parents sent when you're done.

He groaned (he thought; he wasn't sure) and finished the water. It was quiet and awkward.

"I don't like this at all," he said. "I'm so used to hearing my heartbeat and my breathing and my jaw popping in my ears whenever I close my mouth. I feel…" He waved his hands in an attempt to convey his discomfort. "I feel claustrophobic," he finally said. "Like all the silence is trapping me in. I can't hear myself breathing, so it almost feels like I'm not, even though I know I am, and I can feel myself drinking and eating but I can't hear it, and it just feels like there's an uncomfortable, tight blanket around my head or something. I hate it."

Madam Pomfrey sat down next to him and patted his hand. I know it's uncomfortable. It's only a month, though, and then it'll likely all be fixed.

"Worst fourteenth birthday I've ever had," Remus declared, and then he finished off the water (even though noiselessly swallowing made him feel weird).

Madam Pomfrey handed him a small packet of paper. This is from your mother.

"Oh, dear," Remus muttered. "Is the owl okay?"

Yes. I've even offered him some cake to make up for his hard journey.

Remus looked up at Madam Pomfrey—she was smiling. It was much harder, Remus found, when he wasn't able to hear smiles in people's voices. He liked smiles. His life didn't warrant nearly enough of them.

With that, he picked up the letter and began to read.

Dear Remus,

I wanted to write to you yesterday, but I thought I would save everything for today instead—I did spend up for the whole full moon writing this letter, however. I wanted to write you a nice long one, since I knew you'd be perfectly miserable today.

But before I start to talk of miserable things: happy birthday! It's hard to believe that it's been a whole fourteen years since you were born, dear. At the same time, though… ONLY fourteen? However did I get by a mere fourteen years ago?! It's so hard to imagine living without thinking about you every second of every minute of every hour of every day. I have to restrain myself from writing letters all the time, because we're running out of paper and I despise using your father's parchment. I don't understand why wizards must still live in the Dark Ages.

On a more miserable note: Madam Pomfrey did tell me what happened, and I'm very sorry. I can't imagine how you're feeling right now, especially since I know how much you rely on your sense of hearing. If you need to come home, I'm sure that can be arranged. Just say the word.

That said, I did take off work enough during that month you were home for a different reason, so we might have to find someone to come stay with you (I'm afraid I'm still not comfortable with you staying home alone all day)… and it can't be Madam Pomfrey… I think it's probably best if you stay at school, actually. But let me know if you want me to work something out. I will, love, I promise.

You're only three years from being of age, and that's a terrifying thought. You'll be able to drive soon (and Apparate, your father says). You'll be able to drink, I suppose, although I really don't like the idea of that very much. You can vote in a Muggle election! (?) You're so old, Remus. This is mind-boggling.

Your father and I have gotten you a couple of gifts, of course—but not yet, because we'd like to give them to you in person.

The other day, your father and I went to the Muggle supermarket, and there was a squirrel in the vegetable aisle! Your father tried to catch it with his bare hands (didn't want to risk doing magic in front of Muggles, and he accidentally knocked over all the apples—the squirrel started eating them, and he was trying to pick up apples and catch the squirrel at the same time….

Remus read on—it was as very long letter, filled with anecdotes both exciting and dull. When he'd finally finished reading it, he read it again. When he'd done that, he read it again. When he'd finished with that, he flipped the pages back to read it again… but then Madam Pomfrey tapped on his right shoulder, and Remus panicked, made what he was sure was a very embarrassing yelping noise, and dropped the letter entirely.

"I'm sorry," her lips said. She waved her wand, and Remus checked the parchment they'd been using to communicate. Are you finished yet?

"Yes. Sorry. Were you waiting for me?"

Yes. I have another surprise for you, you know.

"Don't surprise me too much. My heart's still hammering from when you scared the living daylights out of me."

How else was I supposed to get your attention?

"Fair point."

Remus looked up at Madam Pomfrey, who held up a single finger. He watched her dip her hand into a small jar of Floo powder, say something (though he didn't know what), and disappear into the fireplace.

Remus was alone, and he didn't like it. He felt a little like this on full moon nights, when he waited alone for the moon to rise—alone, vulnerable, and expectant. The difference here, though, was that Remus could not hear the pounding of his own heart. He could not hear his ragged breathing, or the blood hammering in his ears, or the wind whistling outside. It was silent, and it was suffocating, and Remus was alone.

He tapped his finger on the bedspread, and he couldn't hear it. He made a fist, and he couldn't hear his fingers pressing together. He looked at the ceiling, and he couldn't hear his hair rustling against the headboard as he did so. It bore repeating: being a deaf werewolf was weird.

Moments later, Madam Pomfrey came back. She waved her wand, and Remus scrambled for the parchment.

Would you like more water?

Remus gave her a dirty look, and he was pleased to see that she was smiling. "What did you do?" he asked. "Why did you leave me? What was that for? Just because I can't hear at the moment doesn't mean that I don't want you to communicate with me, Madam Pomfrey."

It's a surprise, but it should be coming along within twenty minutes, she wrote. May I comb your hair?

Remus sighed. "I suppose," he said, "but please be careful."

So she did, and she was very careful, although Remus still sort of panicked every so often—he couldn't hear the comb drawing nearer to his head, and it shocked him nearly every time. He'd never flinched so much in his life. He wasn't sure if Madam Pomfrey was laughing at him or not, which made him feel even more insecure.

When she finished, Remus could see that she had indeed been laughing at his jumpiness. Oddly enough, that made him feel much less insecure. He liked it much more when Madam Pomfrey laughed at him than when she pitied him—and besides, he was laughing now, too.

A little while later, as Remus was trying to focus on reading amidst the suffocating silence, he caught a very familiar scent in the air.

He sat bolt upright in bed, staring at Madam Pomfrey. She smiled. "That's my parents," he said in absolute awe. "My parents are here. In the castle. Here. Now."

She waved her wand at the parchment. Yes, they are. I Flooed over to let them know that you were available, and they Apparated to Hogsmeade and walked over here, since your mother can't Floo.

Remus stared at the parchment in wonder, and then he stared at the door—moments later, his parents stepped in, holding a couple of parcels and grinning ear-to-ear.

"Hi," said Remus, and then his mother was upon him, hugging him as if he would disappear if she stopped. She was wearing a fuzzy cardigan, and it scratched Remus' cheek. He noticed things like that a lot more now that he couldn't hear.

He felt her chest vibrating as if she was saying something, but Remus couldn't hear. "I can't hear you," he said, perfectly aware that he was interrupting. She stopped, detached herself from Remus, and said something to Remus' father. He said something back. She said something in return. Remus watched the exchange with interest.

Finally, Remus' father waved his wand, and Remus looked at the parchment eagerly. Your mother can't do the Writing Charm, obviously, it said. It appears as if I'll be your owl for today. It would take ages for her to write everything out by hand, especially since her skills with quills and ink are abysmal.

"Thank you," said Remus breathlessly, even as good-natured indignance spread across his mum's face. "Why are you here?"

To come see you for your birthday, of course. It's a Sunday, so Mum doesn't have to work. We thought we might as well give you your gifts in person—and keep you company, of course, because I'm sure it's been a terrible birthday.

Remus nodded; to his horror, he couldn't stop the tears from welling up in his eyes. There was just something about being around his family—there was this instinctual urge to let go of his inhibitions, and Remus had no choice but to follow. "I feel awful," he managed. "I don't like not being able to hear, Dad. It's terrible."

I'm so sorry, Remus. Let me know if there's anything we can do.

Remus' mother was sitting next to Remus now, and Remus mopped his eyes on her cardigan. "No sudden movements," he requested.

Can do. Have your friends been to visit yet?

Remus started crying a little again. He was totally miserable, and he knew he looked the part. "No. I don't think they're coming."

Why, that's ridiculous. Why wouldn't they come?

"I think they're busy, that's all."

Well.

Remus looked up at his father, who was frowning deeply. He said a few things back and forth with Madam Pomfrey, who was also frowning, but Remus didn't catch anything in particular. We'll have some fun without them, Remus' father finally wrote, and Remus managed to give a bit of a watery nod.

And they did, actually, which was a huge surprise to Remus. He wasn't aware that he could possibly have fun without his hearing.

They played cards. Madam Pomfrey brought them the rest of the cake, and the four of them finished the whole thing. They told jokes via parchment. They even played a lip-reading game—Remus tried to figure out what his mum was saying, and his father told him whether he was right or not via parchment, but Remus was never right.

"Hmm… oh, wait! I got it! Is it 'I love you'? Aw, thanks, Mum, I love you too…."

Remus' father shook his head. Not even close, Remus. It was "Garrison is stupid", which is a sentiment I highly disagree with, by the way. Are you really that bad at lip-reading?

"Well, I don't really look at people's lips when they talk," huffed Remus. "Never needed to. Without the hearing damage, I could tell what people were saying even if they were only mouthing it, just by the way their tongue brushed against their lips and teeth. Why would I look at people's mouths?"

Remus' mother said something, and Remus' father laughed. Because it's the polite thing to do, he wrote.

"Werewolves aren't known for being particularly polite, so anything I do exceeds expectations."

They played the game for a bit longer, laughing at Remus' incompetency, and then Remus' mother brought out some gifts. They were all nice, of course. Books, new school supplies, clothes—Remus insisted that they didn't have to buy him so much, but then his father reminded him that they were now financially secure, thanks to Professor Questus' will.

The final gift was another three Alexander Adamson records, and Remus laughed. "This is in bad taste at the moment," he said, giggling, "but thank you. I'll be sure to listen to them next full moon, when I've regained my sense of hearing."

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, rolled her eyes, and said something that Remus was pretty sure was a scathing remark towards Alexander Adamson.

"I don't know what you just said, and I don't care," said Remus loftily.

His mother touched his hand—Remus jumped, and she said something that looked like an apology—and then she guided him to another item underneath the records.

"Oh," said Remus. "It's a book. Alexander Adamson wrote a book?"

It was only published a month ago, Remus' father wrote.

Remus stared at it in wonder. Werewolves: A Study, it was called—the cover was a plain shade of red, and the book was about as long as Remus' Care of Magical Creatures textbook.

"Thank you," Remus whispered.

When Questus had died, he'd left Remus all their former correspondence—notes, letters, et cetera—in a box. Remus had sorted everything in chronological order into a photo album so that he could look back at them whenever he wanted, and he'd been doing so often (before bed, usually, if he was having trouble sleeping). During Christmas in Remus' first year, Questus had sent him a magazine article written by Adamson, accompanied by the note: Happy Christmas. Thought you'd enjoy this. Found it in a magazine. It's an unknown magazine; hardly anyone reads it. But it's interesting. I hear Adamson's writing a book.

And now Adamson had written a book, and Questus had never gotten to read it. John Questus, werewolf researcher extraordinaire, lover of all things academic, the man who had read every single werewolf book in the Hogwarts library one summer, the man who had marked up an inaccurate book about werewolves once, just because he wanted something accurate for his own pleasure… he would never get to read this book on Remus' lap, which was probably one of the only completely accurate werewolf books that existed.

That hurt more than Remus thought it would.

I've already read it, Remus' father wrote. It seems accurate to me. He uses a lot from his speeches, and there are some interesting anecdotes. Just as in his speeches, ninety percent of the information comes directly from werewolves. He's a very good writer.

Remus flipped through the book, and he noticed that the illustrations were few and far between—Remus was thankful for that. It meant that Adamson wanted to grant people anonymity, and also that he didn't feel the need to stress how dangerous werewolves appeared on the full moon… most books on werewolves had tens of pictures of terrifying-looking specimen, both drawn and occasionally photographed, and Remus hadn't ever seen the point in including so many photos of the worst side of werewolves. That was like having a book on humans and then only including pictures of war.

"Thank you," he said again. "I think this will keep me sufficiently entertained."

His parents stayed with him for a few more hours, but they had to leave just as it started to get dark. Remus hugged them tightly, and they waved goodbye with large smiles on their faces—and then they were gone, Remus ate supper, and his friends still did not visit.

Remus knew why, of course—they were using the time to become Animagi, and they were doing it for Remus. It was kind of them. They still liked him. They were spending time without him, yes, but they were doing it for him…

But it still hurt.