Remus' friends did not visit the next evening, but Professor Leek did.

Around five pm, Madam Pomfrey had waved her wand at the bit of parchment (they'd had to replace it a couple times) and wrote, Are you up for a visitor, Remus?

Remus dropped his book. "Absolutely!" he'd said—he'd thought that it was one of his friends.

Alas, it was not. Ten seconds later, Professor Leek stepped into the room, clutching Remus' project notebook in his left hand. He started talking, but Remus had no idea what he was saying.

"I can't hear you," Remus interrupted.

Madam Pomfrey entered the room a moment later—she said something to Professor Leek, whose face immediately crumpled; he looked at Remus, pity clouding his eyes, and Remus shrugged, trying to nonverbally communicate that he was fine (without saying the forbidden word). Madam Pomfrey pointed to the parchment and said some more things, and then Leek nodded. Madam Pomfrey left.

Remus really didn't like not knowing what they were saying. He felt very left-out, even though he knew that nothing interesting had been said whatsoever. Professor Leek was quick to fill him in, though: he waved his wand at the parchment, and Remus took it in his hands and read what was written.

Sorry about that. When Madam Pomfrey said "hearing loss", I'd assumed it was partial, so I just started speaking more loudly.

Remus laughed a little. "No, sir. I can't hear a thing," he said.

I'm sorry about that. I just wanted to talk about… I mean, discuss… your project for a bit, because I finished reading through your notes.

"Oh. All right."

You were very thorough, and I must say I'm impressed. There are a few things you could improve upon, particularly your spell creation. Your spells all use similar structures, but it typically works much better if you make them wildly different spells. Separates them better in your mind.

"That makes sense, sir."

I would redo those if I were you. Your graphing is also a tad sloppy—I would recommend using a straight-edge.

"Yes, sir."

And make sure you write down the moon phases whenever something notable happens. I noticed you were rating the severity of full moons—are you still doing that?

"Yes, sir. I rated this one a four, and Madam Pomfrey said it was a five again."

Well, it does seem like a five to me. Brain trauma, she said. I'm amazed you're still alive, especially after reading some of these journal entries.

"What can I say? I'm resilient."

There was a long, awkward pause, and it was made even more awkward by the fact that it was totally silent.

I don't want to act as your therapist, wrote Leek, and I definitely don't want to pry. But your friends… you wrote that they were working on a project which you believe to be dangerous? That's what's been bothering you?

"Yes, sir."

Do you need adult intervention? I would be happy to speak with them….

"No, sir. But thank you."

Very well. Why don't you keep working on these calculations, graphs, and spells? You can meet with me the Saturday after you regain your hearing—teaching you will be sort of hard when you can't hear. No offense.

"None taken, Professor. Thank you very much."

Not an issue.

With that, Professor Leek left, and Remus was left to his own thoughts, which seemed to echo in the horrible silence.

Remus' friends did not visit that night, but Max did.

At around ten pm, Max padded into Madam Pomfrey's office and began rooting through Remus' things. Remus knew better than to question it at this point.

"Did you see my friends in the corridor?" Remus asked Max, half-asleep.

Max stopped going through Remus' things. He paused. Looked at Remus. Then, slowly… he shook his head.

"Oh. That's what I thought. You know, yesterday was my birthday, so I'm a bit miffed that they haven't visited. A little rude of them. Don't you think, Max?"

Max nodded.

"Good. I didn't want to be petty for thinking so, but if you agree… well, you're a very clever dog; everyone says so. So I must be right." Remus chuckled a bit. "It's nice talking to you, because you can't talk. It's been getting a little tiring communicating with Madam Pomfrey on that bit of parchment."

Max nodded passively and continued to go through Remus' bag.

"I'm sick of being a werewolf," said Remus suddenly and viciously. "I hate it. Sometimes I think maybe it would just be better if I'd never been born at all. Would've saved everyone loads of trouble."

Max stopped again and turned to face Remus. He cocked his head.

"I mean… I'm not suicidal. Madam Pomfrey thought I was, weirdly enough, but I'm not. I promise. I'm just tired of it all, because last month I had to stay home for a whole month, and then I was poisoned, and now I can't hear… I'm sick of it all. It's one thing after another. And you're following me around, too, which makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong or something… do you think I'm suspicious? Does Professor Dilley? Does everyone blame me? I hate it."

Remus stopped talking, entirely spent (and also slightly paranoid that he was speaking loudly enough for Madam Pomfrey to hear him in the next room, even though he felt like he was speaking very quietly. But she hadn't come into comfort him, so he supposed she hadn't heard). Max stared at Remus for a long time, and then he went back to Remus' bag.

Remus sighed and tried to go to sleep, even though it was difficult to do so amongst the incredibly loud silence.

Two things happened the next morning.

Thing Number One was surprising, but Remus wondered why he was surprised at this point. When he woke up, Max was gone (naturally), but there was a new piece of parchment on Remus' bedside table.

"Huh," mumbled Remus, even though he couldn't hear himself do so. Madam Pomfrey had probably written him another note.

He reached for the note, ignoring the pain in his arm, and read it quickly.

No one blames you. You'll be okay. —Max

Remus made what he was sure was a very strange noise. Max, the dog, could write?!

He stared at the note for a while. It didn't look like it had been written with paws; no, the handwriting was neat and straight. It was even in cursive.

But again, Remus wondered why he was surprised at this point. Max was a very clever dog, after all.

Remus tucked the note in his bag (which had been reorganized carefully). He could already tell that it was going to be a weird day.

The second thing that happened was that Remus' friends finally, finally, finally visited. It wasn't until the late evening (around seven o'clock), but they came. Remus had been taking a bath, slowly soaping up his injured limbs and ignoring the sharp stabs of pain, when he'd caught their scents from the main ward. In thirty seconds flat, Remus had already dried off and redressed. He rubbed a towel across his hair hastily and jumped back into bed, awaiting their arrival. He hadn't even drained the tub.

A few minutes passed. Remus couldn't hear them, but he figured Madam Pomfrey was probably briefing them about his injury.

And then… their scents were gone.

They'd left.

Why had they left?

Remus tried not to feel dejected, but it was impossible. His friends had abandoned him in the Hospital Wing when they knew he thrived off of company—on his birthday—and then they'd showed up for only a few moments, even though they knew Remus' sense of smell was astonishing. Had they just wanted to tease him?

Remus crossed his arms. His hair was still dripping, and his pillows and sheets were already quite damp (he hadn't done very well drying himself off). "Madam Pomfrey!" he called.

She was there in an instant. Yes? Is everything all right? Don't forget to drink your water, said Madam Pomfrey—no, said the parchment, because Remus was so useless that he wasn't even capable of simple human communication.

"Why did my friends leave?" he asked. "I thought… I thought they would visit. I don't mean to be demanding or… or selfish, but… I'm lonely, and…"

She said something that looked a little like "oh", and then her expression rearranged into one of sympathy.

"Are they uncomfortable with my hearing?" asked Remus in a small voice. "I get it if they are. I know it's a hassle. But they could have… they could have just said hello. I wouldn't've made them stay."

Apparently, it wasn't an "oh" that Madam Pomfrey was saying—it was a "no". Remus knew this now because she was shaking her head furiously. They're just going to get something, she wrote. They'll be right back, all right? I promise.

"What are they getting?"

They said something about a notebook.

Oh! The notebook. They weren't abandoning Remus after all—they were coming to visit—and they were bringing the notebooks so that they could communicate more easily! Remus was so happy he thought his heart might burst. "Thank you," he said emphatically, and Madam Pomfrey nodded, patted his head, smiled, and then left him to his own devices.

Remus pulled out the notebook and stared at the pages until Prongs' chicken-scrawl appeared. Coming to visit you! Hope you didn't have too much fun without us!

A smile spread across Remus' face, and it didn't disappear for a very long time.

Until it did.

It was nine o'clock, and his friends had still not arrived.

Madam Pomfrey poked her head in; judging by the scents, she'd been tending to Basil in the other room.

"Where are they?" asked Remus, heartbroken, and she shrugged.

I'm so sorry, Remus. I've no idea. I would tell you if I knew anything, I promise.

Her last words from nearly two hours ago were still on the parchment, inky black and bold, and Remus couldn't help but say, "You promised they would be here, didn't you? And look how that worked out!"

She sighed, sat next to him, and rubbed his back in slow circles. The action spoke louder than the parchment did, and Remus found himself holding back tears. "I know they're only teenagers," he said. "I know I can't expect much from them. They're under no obligation to visit an ill werewolf every month—they never made that commitment, and they certainly needn't. And I know they're busy. But… but I miss having company so much, and…"

He didn't know what Madam Pomfrey said to that, but he did feel a slight vibration as he leaned against her shoulder, so he knew she'd said something.

"The thing is," he said once the vibration stopped, praying he wasn't interrupting, "I know Professor Questus would have visited me. He was under no obligation, either. He didn't even like werewolves at first. But he visited me every single month without fail: he brought me notes, he gave me lessons, and he wrote me long letters just about every single day last year—and they were entertaining, too. I love my mum, but her letters get boring… she just doesn't have the same sarcastic streak, you know? I'm just bored, and I wish I knew what he'd say about all of this… and I know I'm getting terribly boring, talking about Professor Questus all the time, and he'd hate me for it, but… but it hurts sometimes, you know?"

Madam Pomfrey said something else, and she patted his hand.

"I miss having company, I miss his letters, and I miss my friends," said Remus dully. "I feel all left-out. I know it's inevitable, missing out on things because I'm a werewolf, but… can't I just have this one thing? Just a few people who like me? Is that too much to ask? Either they don't visit me, they're adults who are obliged one way or another to take care of me, or they're dead!"

She said something else, and Remus didn't realize until a second later that it was a light Drying Charm. "I'm sorry I'm wet," he said, and then she said something that Remus assumed to be "don't apologize".

"I've been keeping busy since the massacre last summer," Remus said; now that he'd started, it was impossible to stop. "I tried tutoring, even though that didn't work out. I'm working on a project. I'm in two clubs, I'm taking three electives, and I'm studying duelling even further in my spare time. Now that I can't hear, all of that is impaired for the next month! Except for the tutoring. That's been impaired since Professor Craff died, I'm afraid. Now I'm bored again, and being bored makes me start thinking about things that I don't want to think about, and I just want company…"

Writing appeared on the parchment, and Remus leaned away from her briefly to read them. I don't think Questus would want you to avoid uncomfortable topics just for the sake of avoiding them, do you?

Remus' words came short and sharp; he knew it, even though he couldn't hear them. "He's dead," snapped Remus, "so I really don't think he cares."

Madam Pomfrey didn't write anything else for a while; she just sat next to Remus as he determinedly stared at the wall.

"I know you're probably sick of hearing all this," he said. "I know you didn't like Professor Questus much, and I've been babbling about missing him off and on all year. It's harder on full moons, you know. I wish I didn't have to put you through that, but I can't stop thinking about it sometimes, because it was so sudden and it's not just one isolated event… it could happen again. Is anyone I love safe? No, they're not, because even a quiet and safe town in the middle of nowhere—which is why my parents chose to move us there in the first place—can be targeted by terrorists. Even children. I suppose the Dark Arts really don't wait for anyone, and it's stupid! But I'm sorry for complaining, I really am."

Don't apologize. You may talk about whatever you'd like, Madam Pomfrey wrote.

"I'm complaining."

There's benefit in complaining.

"I still don't like doing it." Remus scratched a nail against the bedcovers—he felt the rough texture on the tip of his finger, but he couldn't hear it. It was so strange.

He leaned back into his pillow, emotionally spent from all the complaining he'd just done. "I think I'd like to go to sleep," he murmured. "Wake me up if my friends end up coming after all."

Normally, I would be completely against that. But I'll allow it, because I know you've been waiting, and because you're such a good patient.

"I'm the best patient."

You're acceptable. Now sleep.

And so Remus closed his eyes, ignored the echo chamber of silence surrounding his every sense, and slept.

Remus felt a slight tapping on his hand and jerked awake. His eyes flew open, his hands flew to protect his face, and Madam Pomfrey was standing there—not a dangerous werewolf—so he relaxed. She was saying something that looked like "just me" or "trust me" or "chummy," or even "Jimmy", but Remus couldn't be sure… well, he could be pretty sure that it wasn't one of the last two, at least.

Remus inhaled, and… there they were! His friends were there! "What time is it?" he asked. He couldn't hear his voice, but there were sharp pains in his throat, so he assumed it was scratchy.

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes massively and waved her wand; upon checking the parchment (which was difficult in the dark), Remus learned that it was one-thirty in the morning.

"What?!"

She nodded. "It's late," she said… either that, or "a slight", "hit slate", or "it's light". Remus couldn't be sure.

"You're still letting them visit?"

I am, even though it's after curfew—or before curfew at this point—and they could get in big trouble. But I know how much you've been waiting, I've seen firsthand how it improves your health and your mood, and I want to relieve as much anxiety as possible—so yes, I am allowing them to visit. I am not above breaking slight rules for the sake of my patients' health.

"Brilliant!" Remus found himself grinning ear-to-ear. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

Yes, well. It's my job.

With that, she left her office. Remus waited with bated breath, and finally—finally!—James, Sirius, and Peter stepped through the doorway and gave him encouraging smiles. "Remus!" cried Peter (Remus was not good at lip-reading, but he did recognize his name).

Madam Pomfrey turned on the lights, making it much easier to read the parchment. They've been briefed on your injury, she wrote, and then she turned to Remus' friends and started saying something. Remus watched as they nodded all the way through.

Then she left. James held a finger in the air—a universal symbol of "hold on"—and pulled his notebook out of his bag with a sly grin. He said something.

"I don't know what you're saying at all, but I'm assuming you're asking me to get my own notebook?" Remus asked.

A nod.

Remus pulled it out eagerly and flipped it to the latest page. What have we missed? was written in James' handwriting, and Remus could have cried at the beautiful sight.

"Well, I'm temporarily completely deaf, so…"

James suddenly flew out of his chair, waving his arms frantically. He said something that looked like, "No!" (Or "mo", or "oh"), and then he gestured towards Remus' notebook violently.

"What?"

James said the word again, and then he mimed writing.

"You… don't want me to speak?"

It's more fair that way, wrote Sirius. You can't expect us not to communicate with you verbally and then talk yourself. You have to write like the rest of us.

Yeah, to make it fair, Peter emphasized. Though nonverbal gestures are okay too, as James is demonstrating for us right now.

Indeed, James was doing something complicated with his hands, and Remus wasn't exactly sure what he was meant to be miming. "What?" Remus mouthed, but he was very careful not to make any sound.

James rolled his eyes, sat down, and began writing at the speed of light.

We're sorry we didn't come to visit you sooner—we were going to, but then we found Snape in the corridors and we just couldn't resist hexing him just a little—oh, don't look at me like that. He was asking for it. And then we saw Peeves and we were working out the next step in our mapmaking plan and all that, and then Peter accidentally fell off the staircase, which was really idiotic of him if you ask me, and THEN we got detention because someone found out we were out after dark. But we still got more Mandrake leaves from the greenhouses, though, so that's that mission completed and all that. How have you been?

Remus wasn't sure how to answer that honestly without sounding accusing. Bored, he wrote. Lonely. Tired. And I really miss being able to hear.

Sirius' cursive handwriting appeared on the page. We were going to visit you on your birthday, of course, but we got sort of busy. We spent hours on something for you—a really big project—but I can't tell you what it is.

Yes, you can, wrote Remus.

No, he can't, wrote James. You'll find out at some point, Moony.

Remus knew exactly what this "project" entailed, and he didn't like it one bit… but he was indescribably touched that his friends had gone through all that for him, even though half of what they were "going through" was highly illegal and likely to get themselves killed.

Anyway, wrote James, we had an idea, and we spent the last couple of hours planning it. For your

There was a long pause.

Well, for your potion, we've sort of got to hold Mandrake leaves in our mouths for a whole month.

Remus nearly laughed on account of how blatantly awful the lie was. You plan on making me drink something that has Marauder saliva all over it?

Oi. I'm sure my saliva is delicious, thank you very much.

No… no, Prongs, don't say that; it sounds so wrong.

You mean it LOOKS so wrong, because you can't hear. Haha. Anyway, we're just trying it out, but we keep getting sabotaged. So I'm thinking the best way to keep the leaves in our mouths is to never open our mouths. Never. Not until the next full moon.

But you have to eat and drink.

There's a nutrition charm for that. Healers use it on patients who can't consume actual food. I would've thought you'd've had experience with that, Moony.

Remus hadn't, actually. Remus' father had tried once, but after only one attempt, Remus had gotten violently ill. His father had apologized for ages, and then he'd never tried again. Madam Pomfrey had never performed it—she said that, according to her research, it had poor effects on non-humans. "Which book was that in?" Remus had asked, awed (his father had always blamed himself for the charm's initial failure). Madam Pomfrey, red-faced, had said that she wasn't sure; Professor Questus had found it somewhere and only showed her a clipping.

Anyway. Remus hadn't ever been under the charm successfully, which was a shame because he really needed more nutrition on days he couldn't eat. No matter.

That's a very difficult charm, he wrote, and I'm not sure our Padfoot can possibly go without food for a whole month.

Remus looked up from the notebook for a split second: Sirius was scowling, Peter was grinning (after all, due to his chubbiness, he was usually the butt of such jokes), and James was writing furiously. But we've already learned it! James wrote. Did it after we heard about your injury. That's the other reason it took so long to get here. Anyway. We're going to put a powerful Sticking Charm on our lips so that nothing—not even Snape's stupid exploding potions—can get rid of those Mandrake leaves.

You're going to hurt your lips, wrote Remus.

So? All worth it.

You can count this as your birthday gift, Moony, wrote Sirius. And your Christmas gift. For the next ten years. Nope, we're not giving you another gift EVER until you're twenty-four, because this is going to take ages.

You really needn't...

Shut up, Moony. Yes, we do. Besides, we're having fun.

…debatable.

Shut up, Padfoot.

Remus and his friends wrote to each other back and forth for ages. By the end of the allotted time, Remus' fingers hurt and his wrist was cramping, but he didn't mind. He'd missed his friends.

He only wished they'd see sense. Remus had grown up hopping from potential cure to potential cure, and they all made him feel the same. The hope always came first: luring him in, teasing him with prospects of a normal life, bribing him with a relatively painless existence and possibly—maybe—someday doing the things he knew other boys his age did. Interacting with other people, going outdoors without fear, sleeping soundly on nights of the full moon, gaining weight at a steady pace and keeping it, running around, walking without pain… the list went on and on, and the hope grew exponentially as Remus remembered even more things to add to it.

And then, in processes that were always emotionally painful and sometimes physically so, Remus' hopes were always dashed in one fell swoop.

He'd watched his parents go through many of the same things as he did, and he didn't want to have to watch his friends go through the same things. More importantly, he didn't want to have to undergo that process again: the hope being built, then cultivated, then dashed. It was agony.

And the difference here was that all of the other sures had been done to Remus, and this one was being done to his friends. That was unacceptable. That was brand-new. That was not something Remus was used to, and he didn't like it—because before, at least he had some element of control; of knowledge—and now it was all up in the air, past Remus' line of sight and out of reach.

But Remus was thankful enough that his friends had visited that he didn't get into it. Two hours later, Madam Pomfrey shooed his friends away and made him sleep, but the smile remained on Remus' face all through the night, even despite the fear.

That was the interesting thing about both living through a war and growing up a werewolf. At this point, Remus was very, very good at living despite fear. He barely even noticed it.

(Except when he did.)