The days passed quickly. Dilley's second club meeting was very uneventful (Dilley just had them stare at a particularly large rock outside, deeming it to be cursed—it wasn't). Tutoring with Miles was rather uneventful, too, though Remus was enjoying Miles' company more and more each day. They had a lot in common, besides the fact that they both experienced senseless prejudice due to an unwilling association with the Dark Arts.

Remus woke up at four-thirty on the morning of October twelfth in a cold sweat. His muscles felt as if they were going to jump out of his very skin, and he was so feverish that he wondered if his skin would catch fire. James was awake, too, and he shepherded Remus down to the common room, where Remus hung upside-down off a couch (it was the only thing that soothed his aching skull) and listened to James ramble about Quidditch.

Madam Pomfrey led Remus to the Whomping Willow right on time. They'd had as much conversation in the Hospital Wing as Remus could muster in his pained state, but he still hadn't told her about his prospective Arithmancy project—she'd only fret about his mental sanity after having to watch full moon memories by himself. Remus knew that he needed to tell her at some point, because he would certainly need her help... but he'd do that after the full moon. His throat hurt far too much at the moment.

"Do you want me to stay for a few moments?" asked Madam Pomfrey after they had reached the Shrieking Shack.

"No."

"Just a couple of minutes?"

"No." Remus was already quivering. The symptoms were starting early today.

Madam Pomfrey didn't move. Just as Remus was about to shoo her away, she whispered (so quietly that Remus could barely hear her, even with his ultra-enhanced senses), "Are you afraid?"

Remus gave her an incredulous look. "Of what? The full moon?"

"Yes."

"Of course I'm afraid. I'm terrified. Always am."

"I see." Madam Pomfrey looked as if she regretted saying anything at all.

"You had to have known that. It hurts like mad."

"I know," sighed Madam Pomfrey. "I've just never heard you say it."

"I thought it was common sense. The full moon is my Boggart."

"Yes, well... oh, you're right. I'm not really sure why I asked. It's too horrific for me to comprehend, really. I try, but I can't seem to wrap my head around the sheer injustice of it all."

Remus looked away. "Me, neither."

She stared at him for a moment, sighed again, and then glanced at the wall. "There's a clock in here," she said, sounding surprised. "That's new, isn't it?"

Remus smiled. There was indeed a large analog clock on the wall to Remus' left, positioned in just a spot that he would be able to see it from nearly everywhere in the room. "It was Dumbledore," said Remus. "I asked him to. I'll tell you about it later." Then he collapsed into the frequently-mended armchair and rubbed his eyes. "Madam Pomfrey, you're stalling. Get out."

She laughed. "Very well. I'll see you in the morning. Just like always."

"And I'll be here, just like always."

Madam Pomfrey left (finally), and Remus clock ticked. Remus could hear it. He'd have to ask Dumbledore to put a Silencing Charm on it later, because the ticking was already driving him insane.

The clock ticked, and Remus waited… and the clock ticked, and Remus waited… and then he wasn't waiting anymore and the clock was still ticking, but Remus couldn't hear it, and quite frankly he did not care.

He woke up in his bed in the Hospital Wing. He'd passed out directly after the transformation back.

Remus sipped at the Pain-Relieving Potion and could feel his every joint and muscle quivering with relief. "I'm so sick of pain," he mumbled.

"I know," said Madam Pomfrey. She was wrapping his arm in gauze manually, and Remus tried not to flinch. She could do it with magic, of course, but it required a more precise aim and wasn't as effective. Madam Pomfrey preferred to do it by hand, though Remus' father sometimes opted for the magical option when he was worn thin.

It was times like these when Remus missed his father. He was much more comfortable around Madam Pomfrey now, but he still felt as if he had to keep up appearances, if only a little. Remus' father had seen Remus at his worst, and Remus didn't really care about what he thought anymore. The same could not be said for Madam Pomfrey, which was both a good and bad thing.

"How is it?" murmured Remus, now half-asleep. "I remember being particularly violent last night. Am I okay?"

"You're okay," said Madam Pomfrey. "Everything's going to be fine. Now go to sleep."

But Remus had heard the hesitation in Madam Pomfrey's voice, and he was no longer sleepy in the slightest. "What's happened?" he asked.

"Remus, I'm going to need you to stop trying to sit up. Stop moving that arm. Nothing is wrong."

"Something is," Remus insisted. "It is. What's wrong?"

She sighed; Madam Pomfrey likely knew at this point that no number of comforting words would calm Remus. "You nearly took your leg off," she said. "Very, very nearly. It's a miracle, frankly, that you didn't lose it entirely."

"WHAT?" cried Remus, now sitting upright. "But I… I didn't, right? I won't?"

She huffed at his sudden movement. "No, you won't. It's messy, though."

Remus peered at his right leg; the bedsheets were indeed covered with blood. "I don't remember," he said faintly. "I don't remember doing that. I think I'd remember nearly taking off my leg." But then, all of a sudden, he did remember it… he remembered the anger and the fear and the desperation… and the itching of instinct… and the frustration at being trapped so close to humans… yet so far away…. And yeah, he remembered gnawing at his back right leg for an hour or two. He remembered that a little. No, never mind: he remembered that a lot. "I suppose I do remember, kind of," he admitted.

"You're going to have to stay in the Hospital Wing for at least a week," she said, effectively crushing Remus' spirits with only one sentence, "and that's a minimum. You'll be limping when you get out if you don't stay for two and a half."

"I don't mind," said Remus quickly. "I limp a lot. No one notices at this point."

Oh, he couldn't imagine a whole week of missing classes. He'd have to catch up on everything… even Defense Against the Dark Arts, since Questus was no longer there to give him handwritten notes and a mini lecture… Questus hadn't been there the year before, either, but Remus hadn't learned anything to catch up on with Pensley last year to begin with. "Are you sure?" he asked Madam Pomfrey a bit timidly. "I… I might heal particularly quickly. Don't let's make predictions yet..."

"At least a week," she said again. "I'm sorry, Remus, but that's the way it is."

Remus tried to imagine actually losing his leg. It had never occurred to him before that something like that could actually happen, but he realized now that it was not only possible, but relatively likely. Werewolves weren't suicidal on the full moon, no, but they could certainly lose a limb or two—and Remus injured himself often and badly enough that he honestly wouldn't be surprised if one of his injuries caused him to completely lose a leg or arm. Or a finger, perhaps. Or maybe an eye. Remus felt ill.

He was remembering Greyback now. Greyback had been missing a finger. He had come through Remus' window (this was the time he had done so in human form; Remus didn't have enough clear memories of his fingers the time he had done it in wolf form) and had stared at Remus with his bloodshot, hungry eyes. Five-year-old Remus had been terrified: he hadn't known who the intruder was or what was happening at all, and then Greyback had touched him on the top of his left arm (in a manner that was probably meant to be comforting), before Remus had scrambled away and hidden in the most shadowy corner of his bed. It didn't take a Ravenclaw to notice that there had very clearly been a finger missing in Greyback's rough grip.

Yes, Remus realized now that limb loss was a very, very real possibility. What would it be like to be a werewolf with only one leg? One arm? Would he morph into a three-legged wolf every full moon, or would he still transform into an animal with four legs, as the literature entailed, and simply be an amputee during all the other lunar cycles?

All of a sudden, he remembered that Adamson has said something about that. Remus had spent a rainy afternoon in Professor Questus' house summer before last, chatting, drinking tea, and listening to Alexander Adamson: leading werewolf advocate. Remus had only been passively listening (he'd been too busy laughing to himself at Questus' face; the man had been totally enraptured at the gruesome information), but Remus was sure that he'd heard something about werewolf amputees in one of his speeches.

"Do you have a record player?" Remus asked Madam Pomfrey.

"I do."

"Might ask my parents to owl me a record," mumbled Remus. His eyes were now closing, seemingly of their own accord. Madam Pomfrey put her arm behind his back and gently lowered him onto the pillow and into a comfortable reclined position—Remus should have been embarrassed or at least indignant, but he did not have the heart nor energy. "Something about amputation," he babbled. "Werewolves. Professor Questus."

Madam Pomfrey was used to his occasional post-moon nonsense, so she simply hummed a bit and pulled the bedsheets over Remus' chest. "I'll wake you up for lunch," she said.

The sharp tang of blood was still present in the air when Remus drifted off to sleep, and he was reminded of just how much he appreciated the fact that he had two legs.

He woke up.

He ate lunch.

He fed Francine.

He wrote to his parents about owling him the record. It was number twenty—Remus remembered that. Professor Questus had twenty-three records of Alexander Adamson, which was absolutely ridiculous. He'd told Remus that they were extremely cheap (and Remus believed it. They didn't have the best sound quality, and besides, who would want to listen to a speech advocating werewolf rights?). Still! Who had twenty-three records of Alexander Adamson? Remus had laughed when they'd reached number twenty. Nineteen was one thing, but twenty records was ridiculous... thus Remus remembered that this record in particular was number twenty.

Then Remus ate a second helping of lunch (Madam Pomfrey insisted) and went back to sleep.

He woke up.

He ate supper.

He fed Francine.

He told Madam Pomfrey all about his Arithmancy project, including the reasoning behind the clock on the wall of the Shack. He told her how excited he was to get something else to work on, even though he was already busy. He told her that Professor Questus had liked Arithmancy. Then he couldn't help rambling about all the prospective benefits of his project. There were so many!

Madam Pomfrey, however, didn't seem to like the idea. "I seriously doubt you're going to enjoy watching yourself transform," she said, "especially so many months in a row. This can't be good for your mental health."

"I already have to endure it for real," said Remus, rolling his eyes. He'd known that Madam Pomfrey would react like this. "It can't be all that bad to watch."

He rambled for a bit longer, probably about nothing important, and then he went back to sleep.

He woke up for a snack (Madam Pomfrey had insisted) just before going back to sleep for the night.

He woke up around midnight. The Pain-Relieving Potion had worn off, and Remus had hardly ever felt so terrible in his life.

The pain in his leg was awful, so much so that Remus could feel tendrils of sharp, burning pain twist around the bone and travel upwards into his very heart. He'd bitten into the bones somehow, he thought: he really had nearly taken it off; there was no other reason that it could hurt this horribly. He didn't want to move—he couldn't move—but, at the same time, he couldn't stop squirming. He gritted his teeth and tried to focus on Madam Pomfrey.

"Shh," she was saying—Remus was vaguely aware of a cold cloth on his forehead, but perhaps he was only imagining it because there was always one—and then he felt her hand on his. He tried to focus on that. He found he couldn't.

He knew, logically, that there must be tears in his eyes, but he could not feel them and he did not care. "Please," he begged, "there's… I mean, s'there something you… there must be something you can… y-you can d-do… something more…." He might have sounded very ungrateful (if she could comprehend his words at all, that was), but it really didn't matter.

"I can't give you more Pain-Relieving Potion," said Madam Pomfrey. Remus already knew that. As pleasant as it might have been, he could not take two doses within twenty-four hours. "I'll give you a drop of Dreamless Sleep Potion—but only a drop, you hear me? I have to go get it. Will you be okay here without me for a moment?"

Remus could not speak. Surely his leg would not survive this. It felt as if the muscle had been torn to ribbons. "Mm," he succeeded in affirming, and then the hand on top of his disappeared and so did the washcloth (so there had been one, after all).

It seemed like an eternity before Madam Pomfrey arrived with the potion. "Like I said before, I can't give you more than a drop," she warned. "The more potions in your system, the less work your body will do in healing itself."

"D-don't care, Madam P-pom-frey…."

The drop that she gave him didn't seem to help, not at first… but an eternity later (that was probably really only five minutes), Remus felt drowsy enough to fall into a fitful sleep.

He managed to eat a few bites of breakfast the next morning and fed Francine her own. He was much more coherent now, but the awful pain in his leg was still making him nauseous. "I can't stand it," he grumbled to Madam Pomfrey.

"Well, you're going to have to. There's nothing more I can do."

"It really, really hurts." Truthfully, it was all Remus could do to keep from crying out. There was still blood on the bedsheets. Madam Pomfrey had tried her best to stem the bleeding, the but the wound had simply been too awful to seal completely, even with silver and Dittany. Remus had taken so much Blood-Replenishing Potion and Skele-Gro that he was still not allowed to take any sort of Pain-Relieving Potion, and he couldn't stand it. "I feel like I'm dying," he said.

"You're not dying... oh, and I believe your friends are here."

"Really?" said Remus. The nausea, food, and especially blood must have been clouding his senses; he hadn't smelled nor heard them at the door. "Well, they can't come in."

Madam Pomfrey looked up, surprised. "Whyever not?"

"Sirius is afraid of blood." Remus gestured towards his bedsheets and made a face. "Even if you were to Vanish it again—for the sixth time this morning—it'd be back in five minutes. Besides—" Remus groaned and fell against the headboard with a thump— "I'm in so much pain. They probably don't want to see that."

"I shall ask them," said Madam Pomfrey; before Remus could protest, she was in the main ward, talking to Remus' friends.

She returned a moment later. "They say that they are perfectly willing to visit for a moment," she said, as if Remus had not been listening to the entire conversation. "They've even brought you breakfast."

"But I've already eaten."

"Barely."

Remus smiled slightly, even though he didn't really feel like it. "Well, tell them that they may come in—but only for a little bit. I feel terrible."

"Very well." Madam Pomfrey opened the door—no sooner than she had, James, Sirius, and Peter came dashing into Madam Pomfrey's office at the speed of a Peruvian Vipertooth.

"All right, Moony?" said James. Madam Pomfrey had Vanished the blood, but it was already returning, and Sirius eyed the spreading red blossom on the bedsheets warily.

"All right," said Remus slowly.

"We brought your breakfast!" Peter dropped a plate of eggs, beans, and toast onto Remus' lap. Remus winced, and Peter, unfortunately, noticed. "Oh, no, did I hurt you?"

"No—it's just my… er, my leg," said Remus. "Hurts something awful. I feel it all over."

"Why is it still bleeding?" asked Sirius, looking slightly nauseous. "I thought that the powdered silver and Dittany fixed that."

"It was bad this time," said Remus. "Too much bleeding, caught it later, and it's all torn up on the inside, too. But you can't see the bones anymore, at least, and that's good…"

"Ooh, that's what happened with my arm in first year when I fell off my broom!" said James eagerly. "Was it like that, then?"

Remus sighed. James didn't understand at all. "No, Prongs, it was… a little worse than that."

"But when I hurt my arm—"

James cut off by the sound of the door slamming, for Sirius had left. "I'll get him," James said, rolling his eyes.

"Wait, no," said Remus. "He doesn't have to come if he doesn't want to."

"Of course he wants to," said James. "He's only being a git. Besides," he said loudly, now yanking Sirius back into the room, "he's gonna have to get used to this, isn't he? Isn't that right, Sirius?"

"Er, why would he have to get used to this?" asked Remus.

"No reason," said James, which was very suspicious. Remus chose to ignore it.

Peter dropped a large parcel on Remus' bedside table while Sirius tried to look everywhere and anywhere but Remus' leg. "This came for you with the owls, Moony. It's from your parents, I think."

"Oh, thanks," said Remus, setting the parcel aside. It was the Adamson record, he reckoned.

He and his friends chatted for a bit longer (well, they mostly listened to James chat), and then Madam Pomfrey came back into her office to give Remus a Blood-Replenishing Potion.

"What's that?" asked James—much to Madam Pomfrey's dismay, he pushed Remus aside slightly to sit next to him, crowding Remus' personal space significantly and causing the mattress to painfully dip beneath his leg.

Remus didn't really care much, and he choked the potion down before responding. "A Blood-Replenishing Potion. For my leg," he explained, and Sirius pulled a face. "It's making me a bit drowsy, I'm afraid, so you probably shouldn't stay long. But, er… I'll probably be here all week."

"Probably?" snapped Madam Pomfrey. "You will definitely be here all week, Mr. Lupin, and probably half of next week."

Remus groaned.

"Why?" asked James, who had the inquisitive nature of a three-year-old.

"Hurt my leg," said Remus. "Really badly. Remember? Got to wait till it heals."

"Aw," said Sirius. "We'll miss you." Then he turned to James and gave his sleeve an impatient tug. "Let's go, Prongs."

"Oh, come now. Our friend is ill, and we're staying with him."

"You needn't," offered Remus, even though he very much wanted company.

"There, you heard him. We needn't," Sirius said. He was looking a little bit green, and Remus shifted uncomfortably, painfully aware of the blood that was still seeping onto the sheets.

"But…" said James again, but he was caving.

"There are other ways we can spend our time," said Sirius knowingly, casting a bit of a wink towards James.

James' eyes went wide. "Oh… oh, all right," he said. "Go fetch my library disguise, Wormtail. We'll meet you there."

Remus arched an eyebrow. "What are you doing in the library?"

"Oh… research," said James airily, and then he was gone and Remus was alone in the Hospital Wing once again.

He sighed. He didn't want his friends to feel obligated to visit him, and he definitely didn't want Sirius to have to stay in a small room with a bleeding werewolf. But, all the same... his friends were so marvelous at cheering him up after such a rough night, and he felt quite lonely without them.

He'd gotten spoilt, surely.

Remus leaned back on his pillows and went back to sleep, ignoring with difficulty the searing pain in his leg and the Blood-Replenishing Potion thrumming through his veins.

AN: It's so odd how uncomfortable it is to get used to new prescription eyewear.