The next morning was February sixteenth.

Remus glanced at the window, groaned, and promptly pulled the covers around his neck. He was feeling a little bit sick to his stomach.

February sixteenth was the anniversary of the night he'd been bitten, and he was always a bit morose and stressed when it rolled around. He'd expected to feel this way. He'd expected to have problems sleeping next to the window. He'd expected to wake up early (and, judging by the lack of daylight, it seemed he'd fulfilled that particular requirement).

But he did not expect to be completely nauseous, as if he was going to either vomit or die on the spot. Was it the grief? Madam Pomfrey said that grief did weird things to people… but this felt physical. Remus was pretty sure he was legitimately ill on top of everything else, which was just his luck.

"All right?" called James, who was an annoyingly light sleeper.

Remus sat up with some difficulty and pushed his curtains aside. "I might need a bit of a lie-in today," he mumbled. "Not really feeling up to doing much."

"You can't!" cried James. "Today is my Quidditch game! You can't miss Quidditch!"

"I feel awful. I think I may have come down with something."

Spots were beginning to materialize in front of Remus' vision, but he was able to see just enough to notice the pity in James' eyes. He hated pity.

"It's the sixteenth," said James. "That's it, isn't it? You're just not feeling yourself. You were all sad last year, too."

"It's the sixteenth, yeah. But… I think it's something else, too. I think I'm ill."

"Are you sure? It might just be all the angst. Coming to my Quidditch game might cheer you up."

Remus rolled his eyes, and sparks appeared in front of his vision. "Give it a rest, Prongs. I can't. I'm ill." Remus yawned and tried to stand up—and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground. "Ow," he said.

"Woah!" James rushed over to help him. "You're all pale and sweaty, Moony, and your skin is hot... hm, I reckon you really are ill."

"You think?" Remus let James haul him into a sitting position, and then he leaned against the bed. "Whew. Wow. This is bad."

"Can you walk? I think we need to get you to the Hospital Wing."

Peter and Sirius were awake now, too. The lights flipped on, and Remus blinked under the onslaught of light—when he finally managed to squint up at his friends, he saw that Peter was staring at him with a rather horrified expression. "Moony," he said slowly, "I think there's something wrong with your arm."

"My arm?" Remus' speech was beginning to slur slightly, which was mildly alarming. "What'do you mean by that?"

Peter swallowed. "Well, when Prongs was helping you sit up, I sort of saw… I mean, your…"

"You've all seen the scars before," said Remus scornfully. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop making such a big deal out of them."

"No, not the… I mean, I don't think. If I saw what I think I saw, it's not normal. You should probably just roll up your sleeve and look for yourself."

Remus shook his head to clear the bubbles behind his eyes, and then he rolled up his pajama sleeve.

"Would you look at that," he said shakily. "My arm is changing colors."

And indeed, a green-colored substance seemed to be traveling up Remus' veins, visible under the skin, spreading across his arm like a rapidly-growing spider. He watched passively as the green substance slowly crawled up his forearm, traveled over scars, inched its way across his pale flesh in tree-branch patterns, and eventually reached his palm. "That's kind of cool," he murmured.

His friends looked on, horrified. "That's probably the exact opposite of 'cool', Moony," Sirius finally said. "You should go to the Hospital Wing."

"No!" said Remus, alarmed. "I spend plenty of time in there already. I'll be fine. I won't die if my arm turns colors." He looked at his other arm. The same thing was happening, and now the green lines were stretching across the back of his hand and appearing under his nails. "Both arms, I mean," he amended. "My point is, I'm sick of the Hospital Wing."

"Both arms and your neck," said Peter, pointing.

Remus placed a hand on his neck. His skin was indeed impossibly hot. "I'll be fine," he said. "I've been through worse. But I shan't come to the Quidditch game, Prongs. Have fun, you lot."

"I don't understand how you're being so nonchalant about all this," said James.

"I don't understand why you think it's such a problem."

"Because your skin. Is. Turning. Colors! And you're so sweaty that you look something like a melted snowman. And your speech is terrible. And you're shaking."

"All normal," murmured Remus. "Well, relatively normal except for the multicolored skin. It's normal for me, anyhow. On the full moon. Which it's not, but I think I'll be okay nonetheless."

"Take him to the Hospital Wing," said James with a heavy sigh. "I've got to go eat breakfast before the game. Let me know if he dies."

Sirius nodded and grabbed Remus' wrist; Remus yelped, and so did Sirius. "Blimey!" Sirius cried. "Your skin is about the temperature of a dragon's sneeze, mate! I think you burnt me!"

"Ridiculous. You don't even need to help me. I can stand up on my own." Remus gripped the bedpost and managed, with much difficulty, to pull himself into a standing position. "I still don't want to go to Madam Pomfrey, but if you're so insistent about it…."

"We are," said James.

"Yeah, because you can't stop pitying me. You're all so annoying sometimes, did you know?"

Remus managed to make out James' flaring nostrils past the incessant spots in front of his eyes. "We're not the annoying ones in the situation, and we're not pitying you. In fact, we kind of hate you right now. If you don't want us to take care of you, Lupin, then maybe you should start taking care of yourself."

"Isn't that the truth," said Sirius with a ferocious nod. "You can't even be trusted to keep yourself alive, Moony. Come on. I'll help you walk."

"I don't need help. I can walk on my—" Remus nearly fell over, but Sirius caught his wrist. "Ouch."

"Yeah, I feel the same way," Sirius grunted. "Ouch. Your skin is so hot."

"Thanks."

"Not a compliment. Help me out, Wormtail. Get on his other side, and make sure he doesn't fall."

"I won't fall," said Remus.

And he didn't fall. He walked all the way to the Hospital Wing, and he didn't even fall once.

Granted, his friends were keeping him upright quite stubbornly. Sirius and Peter wouldn't have let him fall even if he'd wanted to.

But still. He didn't fall.

Madam Pomfrey opened the door as soon as she heard the knock. "Lupin," she said. "I was hoping you'd be along. Need a bit of a lie-in today? It's perfectly all right if you don't want to be around people; I know it's a stressful day, and there's absolutely no shame in—"

"It certainly is a stressful day," said Remus. "My skin is turning colors."

"It's also really hot," Peter complained. "You should take him so that I can let go and cast a Cooling Charm on my hands or something."

Sirius smirked. "I'll do it for you, Wormy. You'll probably take your hand off if you—"

"Oi, I'm not that bad at magic—"

"You're not bad at magic at all," offered Remus helpfully, and then all three present people shushed him.

Madam Pomfrey took hold of his shoulders, allowing Sirius and Peter to let go; as soon as she did so, she flinched massively. "Oh, dear. You weren't exaggerating, Pettigrew."

"My skin can't possibly be as hot as Peter said," said Remus as Madam Pomfrey ushered him to a bed.

"No, it's not. It's hotter." Madam Pomfrey rolled up Remus' sleeves, and then she sucked a deep breath through her teeth. "That can't be good," she mumbled.

Peter frowned. "Do you know what it is?"

"Not a clue. It's nothing I've ever seen before. Remus, what did you do?"

"Nothing. I just woke up this morning and it was…" Suddenly, a wave of fatigue washed over Remus. He drew his shoulders up in an effort to stay upright. "It wass'like thiss s'when I woke'p," he muttered. It seemed that his tongue was failing him.

"All right." Madam Pomfrey forced him into a lying position, and Remus didn't protest. "That's it. Just relax, but don't go to sleep. I'm going to do a diagnostic charm, all right?"

Fine, Remus tried to say, but he wasn't entirely sure anything had come out. The edges of his vision were going black, and Madam Pomfrey was fuzzing in and out of existence. He was vaguely aware of something being done to his hand.

An hour later—or a minute—or maybe only ten seconds—probably three—Madam Pomfrey said something along the lines of, "Sirius, will you fetch Professor Slughorn for me?"

"What's wrong with him?" came Peter's muted voice.

"Not sure," Remus thought he heard Madam Pomfrey say, and then he was asleep —

Half a second later, Madam Pomfrey was shaking him awake. "Not yet, Lupin. Stay awake."

"But m'tired."

She pulled him back up into a sitting position, and Remus groaned. "I need you to stay awake," she said firmly. "I can't help you as well if you're asleep. You may sleep later, I promise—Professor Slughorn will be here in less than five minutes."

So Remus kept his eyes open to the best of his ability. The world seemed to be swimming. Moments passed (but Remus didn't know how many. Time seemed to be crawling like a flea sloughing through maple syrup).

Then the pain came.

Remus' eyes suddenly flew all the way open, and he was no longer sleepy. "Fiddlesticks," he said through clenched teeth.

Madam Pomfrey and Peter were both by his side in an instant. "What's wrong?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

"The inside of my skin is prickling," said Remus. He wiggled his fingers, and the pins and needles under his fingers were absolutely torturous. There were pins and needles all over. He could not move, yet sitting still was agony as well. When he looked down at his arms, he saw that the black branches had nearly completely consumed them: before his very eyes, his veins pulsed and wriggled like worms.

"Gross," said Sirius.

Remus looked up. Sirius and Professor Slughorn were standing at the door. How long had they been standing there? Remus didn't know. His senses didn't really work when he couldn't breathe, hear, or even feel properly.

Sirius was gone an instant later (presumably because of the graphic image of Remus' color-changing arms. Sirius was a sensitive soul), and Professor Slughorn was standing over Remus and frowning deeply. "I thought perhaps you would know what it is," said Madam Pomfrey briskly. "It's not an illness, and the effects seem to be some sort of toxin."

"It's certainly a toxin," said Professor Slughorn. "I'm not sure what we're looking at, exactly, but it doesn't look good... erm, no... I don't know... I don't know the antidote. I'm sorry."

Madam Pomfrey rushed to the closet. Remus couldn't exactly see what was going on. The pain seemed to be clouding his vision, spreading through his limbs, invading his head; fatigue settled on his very soul, yet it was mixed with pain… his eyelids drooped, but he managed to keep them open. Through the small crack under his upper eyelids, he noticed Professor Slughorn staring at him with a very worried expression.

"Works faster boiled," he heard.

There were sounds of magic and water, and then a cup was being held to Remus' mouth. He didn't have the energy to drink it, but he also didn't have the energy to resist as Madam Pomfrey poured the concoction down his throat….

Suddenly, his vision cleared. The pins and needles disappeared. Remus blinked, and his mouth tasted like goat.

"Wow," he said. "Bezoar?"

Madam Pomfrey exhaled. "Yes. Feeling better?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm feeling much better."

"Good."

Peter looked shaken, and Professor Slughorn looked even more so. "I've never seen the effects of such a dangerous poison in person," he said.

Remus nodded. "Er, yeah… could you actually explain to me what happened, exactly? I'd like to know why I ended up in the Hospital Wing with green arms."

"And your neck," muttered Madam Pomfrey. "And your face."

"I don't know what it was," Professor Slughorn said as he wrung his hands, "but I do know that it was a very, very dangerous poison… and difficult, I'm sure, to brew. And when I say dangerous… well, I imagine it would have been lethal if we'd waited any longer. I've seen similar effects, but never to that severity and with those exact symptoms. That was unlike any poison I've ever seen."

"So… how did I get poisoned?" Remus asked.

Slughorn's eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead. "I was hoping you could tell me," he said.

There was silence.

"I didn't illegally brew a poison, if that's what you're asking," said Remus.

"No, no. Of course not. But did you drink or eat anything out of the ordinary?"

"Er, not that I know of…?"

As Remus was mulling this over, Sirius burst back into the room, accompanied by James. "Are you okay?" James asked, rushing to Remus' side and looking him over. "Still alive? Not dead? Everything's fine and dandy?"

"The dandiest," said Remus. "I was poisoned."

Silence.

"You were poisoned?" repeated James. "How?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. What did I eat or drink that was out of the ordinary?"

"You drank tea from Leek," said James.

"I don't think a teacher would have poisoned me."

"Craff might've done," mumbled James, but Remus was pretty sure that no one had heard the comment but him. He elected to ignore it.

"There's always the potion that we botched in Potions class yesterday," said Peter. "Perhaps we accidentally created a poison? Is that possible, Horace?"

Professor Slughorn frowned. "I didn't think so. Neglecting to crush your beetle eyes fully shouldn't have had dangerous effects. Perhaps you did something else while my back was turned—but even so, it's highly unlikely that you could have created such a sophisticated poison by accident!"

"I got it!" said Sirius, snapping his fingers. "Remember when we found Snape and Evans waiting by our table yesterday morning in the Great Hall? Perhaps they slipped something into our food. Remus was the only one who ate it after that, so…"

"That's a very serious accusation, and I don't think they would have done that," said Slughorn, his frown growing still deeper. "Besides, even if they'd wanted to, I doubt they could. I think you underestimate the difficulty of brewing a fast-acting, sophisticated potion like this. It would take immense talent… and yes, Mr. Snape and Miss Evans are very talented, but they're third-years, and this is beyond even my brewing capabilities."

"Perhaps the house-elfs slipped it in," said Sirius. "Both Prongs and Wormy—"

"Sorry," said Madam Pomfrey. "I keep hearing these names. Would one of you very kindly explain why a worm and a fork have entered my Hospital Wing?"

"Forks have tines, not prongs," said James indignantly. "They're nicknames based off of our Ani—I mean, our Patronus forms."

Animagus, thought Remus. That's what he was going to say. But Remus didn't dare say that out loud.

"Anyway," said Sirius loudly, "James and Peter snuck into the Kitchens to get Remus some tea while he was doing his schoolwork. Perhaps the house-elfs slipped something in."

"They wouldn't do that," said Madam Pomfrey.

"You also stole someone's toast to give to me," said Remus. "Who'd you get it from?"

"Some Hufflepuff firstie. That couldn't have been poisoned. No way."

"As much as I disapprove of your stealing from first-years," said Madam Pomfrey, "I have to agree. None of that could have been poisoned. Hasn't there been anything else, Remus?"

"Er, I've had tea with Professor Dumbledore a few times, but…"

"It couldn't have been him, though he is the only one on the list who might be able to brew such a concoction without detection," said Slughorn. "Anything else?"

"Er… oh! Mr. Ragfarn from the Ministry. It was about a month ago, but he took me to some wizarding pub on Werewolf Registry Day and brought me a Butterbeer. It seemed awfully suspicious, but I couldn't figure out why. He was a lot nicer after that, too, and I know for a fact he wants me dead. Perhaps it was him?"

Madam Pomfrey and Slughorn looked at each other.

"The likeliest option by far," said Slughorn. "But… it's dangerous to accuse a Ministry worker of such an act, isn't it? I'll have to confer with Dumbledore."

"All right," said Remus. "Thanks for saving my life."

Slughorn sighed, apparently still shaken. "Two more minutes and you might have been dead," he said. "Don't ever give me a scare like that again, my boy. I'm too old for this, and I don't like stressful situations. Saving lives wasn't in the job description, you know!"

Remus hadn't been talking to Professor Slughorn; he'd been talking to Madam Pomfrey, who was the one to think of the bezoar after confirming it was a toxin... but he didn't protest Slughorn's misplaced confidence. It was fine. Madam Pomfrey probably didn't mind.

"I've got to go, too," said James. "I'm probably a little late for the pep talk, and that's one of my favorite parts of the game. Will you be able to come, Moony?"

"Don't see why not. I feel great."

"No," said Madam Pomfrey. "Absolutely not, Lupin. You nearly died. You're staying right here for the rest of the day, as well as overnight for observation."

"What? But I'm healed!"

"We think you're healed, but we don't know the long-term effects of the poison. We don't even know what it was. You're staying right here."

"But… but what if…?"

"Lupin. End of discussion." Madam Pomfrey's voice was harsher than Remus had ever heard it, and he sort of wanted to cry in spite of himself. Then he toughened up, because he was nearly fourteen years old, and that was far too old to cry.

"I really do have to go," said James awkwardly. "Bye, Moony. Don't feel too badly about missing the match. We'll tell you all about it, of course." James started sprinting down the corridor; before he was out of earshot, however, Remus heard him yell, "I STILL THINK IT WAS LOUIS LEEK!"

Soon after, Peter and Sirius followed James, and Remus was alone with Madam Pomfrey.

"Hear me out," he said.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "No, Lupin."

"No! Hear me out! What if we both went to the Quidditch game, and you kept a very close eye on me? Then we would both have some fun! Go on, Madam Pomfrey… don't you want to get out of this stuffy room, if only for a moment? And you don't have any hurt students in here right now…"

"Yes, I do. I have a very annoying one by the name of Remus Lupin who refuses to rest, even though he was very nearly dead only a couple of minutes ago."

"Happens every month."

"Werewolves don't kill themselves on the full moon. You've said that a hundred times."

"Still. Feels worse."

"Remus, I need you to get some rest, and I need you to stay in here. If things go south, all my supplies is in this room. You are not leaving the Hospital Wing for at least twenty-four hours so that I can keep you on strict observation—and, furthermore, I'll add caps to the jar every time you ask to leave, and then you'll be forced to stay here for an extra ten minutes per cap."

Remus groaned. "This is why I didn't want to come to the Hospital Wing in the first place," he groused.

He flopped back on his pillows and stared at the ceiling so vehemently that he didn't notice that Madam Pomfrey had gone totally still… that was, until she said, "Remus?" in an unsure, haunted voice.

He sat up. "Yes?"

"You didn't want to come to the Hospital Wing?"

"No." Worried that he'd offended her, Remus decided to elaborate. "I mean, it's not you. You're brilliant. It was just… my friends had been babying me a little, I really wanted to go to the Quidditch game, it's February sixteenth and I was already stressed enough, and I didn't want to spend more time in here. That's all."

"So you… were like that… and you just wanted to stay in the dormitory?"

"Yeah. Didn't feel much different from the day before a full moon, so I thought I'd be fine."

"You could see the poison spreading through your veins beneath your flesh, and you wanted to stay in the dormitory?"

"Is that what it was? Well, I guess that makes sense. Wasn't really thinking straight."

"Remus."

"What?" asked Remus—and he wasn't being cheeky; it was an honest question. Madam Pomfrey didn't look happy at all, and Remus was a bit confused. "It was a lapse of judgement. I'm sorry."

"A lapse of judgement? Are you sure?"

"Yes…? What else would it be?"

Madam Pomfrey frowned, pulled over a chair, and sat beside Remus. "I was wondering why you were so nonchalant about being poisoned."

"Yeah, I was nonchalant because I didn't think it was a big deal…."

"Remus, you can talk to me about anything. There's absolutely no shame in—"

"I know I can talk to you, and I just did."

"I just need you to be honest, because I can't help if you don't—"

Remus sat up a bit straighter, utterly confused. "What are you on about?" he asked.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Well, that was… very suicidal behavior, that's all."

Remus didn't know how to respond to that. He worked his jaw for a few seconds, eyebrows furrowed deeply, trying to come up with a good response amid his absolute shock. "You think I poisoned myself," he clarified.

"I think it's certainly a possibility, isn't it? The leading cause of werewolf death is undeniably suicide, and—"

"I didn't poison myself."

"—I know you're tired of the constant pain; frankly, I'm surprised you've gotten this far without—"

"I didn't poison myself."

"—not exactly sure what I can do to help, but we'll figure out something, you just need to tell me that—"

"Madam Pomfrey! I didn't poison myself! I'm not suicidal! I swear!"

She fell silent. "Are you sure, Remus? Because point-blank refusing to go to the Hospital Wing with such a serious toxin in your system is extremely suspicious, especially since the toxin was so evident."

"I didn't think it was a big deal! I'm just sick of being in the Hospital Wing, that's all. I was so sick of being ill, of getting special treatment, and of missing events… I'm sick of it all, of everything, and I just wanted it to stop!"

Madam Pomfrey didn't respond, and Remus was suddenly aware of how his complaints had sounded. "Not like that," he said hastily. "I just wanted a break. A temporary break, I mean. I didn't want to off myself."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes!"

"Very well." Madam Pomfrey handed him a glass of water with a smile. "I believe you, and I'm sorry for making assumptions. Now get some sleep… and tell me if you ever are feeling something like that, all right?"

"Sure. I promise. But I'm never going to," said Remus. He downed the water in three gulps, and then he fell back onto his pillow. "This is the second time I've been minutes away from death on February sixteenth, you know," he said with a grin. "Why must everything happen to me?"

Madam Pomfrey laughed, but it was more of a sad laugh than anything else. "I've been asking myself the same question about you for years, Mr. Lupin."