When Remus awoke, there were soft blankets surrounding him, the temperature was cool instead of hot, and the air was clear instead of dry and musty. He opened his eyes, wondering where on earth he was—surely not the awful basement of St. Mungo's, waiting for a Healer to work up the courage to check on him.

When he squinted into the light, the first things he noticed were the splashes of color everywhere. There were sage greens, pale blues, muted yellows, and cherry reds—and they were all over the place. The floor tiles alternated between the four colors, each wall was colored with one, and each bed had a color scheme, as well. This couldn't possibly be the basement.

Remus' own bed was red, and there were gold decorations on his quilt, which was thick and fluffy instead of thin and papery. He had a bedside table now (also red); on it rested a golden lamp and a glass full of clean water.

And in the middle of it all, on a yellow armchair that certainly hadn't been there before, sat Madam Pomfrey, watching him and smiling. "Surprise," she said.

"What…?" asked Remus, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "This is still the basement, right? The layout looks the same."

"Still the basement," she said, "but with a few minor adjustments."

Remus gaped. "How…?"

"Color-changing spells, primarily—I couldn't decide on a color scheme, so I added a color for every Hogwarts House. Now it clashes, but clashing colors is far better than what it was before. I should change the colors to some soothing blues and greens later, don't you think?"

Remus couldn't work up a response to that, but he liked the clashing colors. It was cheerful.

"I added some lighting—Flooed back to Hogwarts for a couple of minutes while you were sleeping and picked up that lamp, made the room a little brighter with a spell, and I Conjured the armchair and the glass of water. The quilt is just the blanket from before, except with a Cushioning Charm and some coloring charms." She grinned. "I'm close friends with Professor McGonagall, so I've picked up a few things by now."

"You needn't have," said Remus, stunned.

"You're right, but I wanted to. It was so dreary in here, and I wasn't sure how long we'd have to stay." She hesitated for a moment before saying, "We may be here for a long time, I'm afraid. I talked to the Healers, and none of them are planning on coming to help anytime soon."

"Did you shout at them? I hope you didn't shout at them."

"Well, I didn't shout much. Nothing more than a small voice-raising, really."

"Please don't shout at them. That won't help matters."

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "They're being stupid, Remus, you understand? You don't deserve any of this."

"That may be so, but it's what I'm getting. It's humiliating, sure, but there's no use complaining. That'll only humiliate me more."

"Well… maybe." She sighed again. "Remus, you're exhausted, and it's five-thirty in the morning. Go back to sleep. Feel free to drink as much water as you'd like; I can Conjure more when you're out."

"Thank you so much, Madam Pomfrey," Remus mumbled, already slipping back into sleep. "You're the best. Thank you."

"Just doing my job," he heard her say, just as she had so many times before… but Remus was certain that "fixing up a room at St. Mungo's" hadn't been in her job description. She'd done it anyway, though—and for that, Remus was infinitely thankful.

Remus slept on and off until about eight-thirty, when a Healer entered the room, ever so slowly, and woke Remus up with her soft footsteps. He heard a gasp.

"This isn't how I remember this room," she said.

Remus opened his eyes just in time to see Madam Pomfrey scoff. "The way you remember this room, Darla, was a serious breach of common decency. I fixed it up a bit, that's all."

"Oh… I see." The Healer (Darla?) looked a bit flustered now. She stepped over to Remus—slowly, softly—and then seemed to change her mind, milling toward Madam Pomfrey instead. "What's the problem with him?" she asked.

"He was poisoned three times this year, all with similar effects, by an unknown poison. We expect someone is trying to harm him. We'd like to know what poison it was and anything about it that may help us find the perpetrator."

"You think someone's doing it on purpose?"

"I do. Who would poison a fourteen-year-old, I've no idea, but…"

Remus caught Darla giving Madam Pomfrey a small shrug, and Madam Pomfrey's eyes narrowed sharply. "I'm not sure what you're insinuating," said Madam Pomfrey loudly, "but I should remind you that Remus is a person and therefore worthy of life, and if you say anything differently, then we'll leave right now!"

"Oh, please, may we?" Remus muttered, and Madam Pomfrey gave him a nasty look.

"Look," she said, "just do your job and do it well, Darla. Please. Remus and I have had a long night."

Darla nodded, evidently terrified. "Right. When was he poisoned last?"

"I don't have a precise timeline, but he started showing symptoms last night at around one in the morning. I gave him a cup of boiled bezoar."

"I see." Darla coughed. "Well… that was seven hours ago, so I'm not exactly sure how well we're going to be able to pick up traces of the poison, but…"

"Yes, it would have been much easier if you'd seen him promptly, like you were supposed to," said Madam Pomfrey acidly.

"We'll try our best," continued Darla. She stared at Madam Pomfrey for a moment, as if gathering up the courage to do something… and then she dashed out of the room.

"Who knows when she'll be back," Madam Pomfrey grumbled. "I'm so sorry, Remus. I know this isn't pleasant."

Remus sighed and burrowed further beneath his sheets. "Feels like the Werewolf Registry," he said, voice muffled, because maybe it would feel better if he didn't have to look at Madam Pomfrey. "Being treated like this—you know, like something dangerous, like a criminal, like something unreliable that could kill you at any moment, like something not quite a person—it wears me down. I've dealt with it again and again, and I'll have to keep doing it for the rest of my life… but it's still hard."

"I know," she said soothingly, "and I wouldn't have taken you if I'd known the extent of the awful treatment."

"It's not usually like this. It's just because it's a war. I'm sure they had some dangerous werewolf in a while ago and decided to set up this isolated ward. But it might get worse later. That Healer—Darla?"

"Yes, Healer Farkas."

"Oh, okay. I didn't catch her name."

"She didn't tell you her name, which isn't common procedure."

"Oh. Well, she was all right. She was terrified, of course, but I can understand that. I would be, too, if I didn't know any better. The worse ones are the ones who are openly hostile."

"Hopefully, it'll just be Darla. This shouldn't be a long procedure. I expected us to be here for thirty minutes, not… not seven hours. And I imagine we're not close to being finished yet. You know, Remus, I'm not sure this is worth it. I may get you discharged right now, and then we'll leave…."

"Might as well wait for Healer Farkas to come back, at least."

"Yes, we might as well. Do you need more water?"

"Yes, please."

Madam Pomfrey moved closer to Remus' bed and patted his arm. "I'm so sorry," she said. "This will help, though. We've got to know who's been doing this to you."

"Right," said Remus, and he was asleep before Madam Pomfrey had even finished filling his cup.

"I'm back," announced Darla, albeit quietly, and she started slowly making her way toward Remus.

Remus waited patiently. He tried not to move.

"Erm," Darla said, holding a cup slightly toward Remus (but she was still standing mostly on the other side of the room, so Remus couldn't reach it). "This is… the potion. I need you to sip and sort of… swish it in your mouth a little… and then spit it. If that doesn't work, then we'll have to… I mean, we'll have to take some blood."

"All right," said Remus as non-threateningly as possible.

Darla was still standing there, eyes wide.

"Er," said Remus helpfully, "I'm going to need the potion."

"Oh, yes! Of course! Yes, just let me…." Darla began stepping closer toward Remus, slowly, quietly, until she was finally close enough that Remus could take the cup. He tried very hard not to brush against Darla's hand when he took it, but Darla still jumped whenever Remus so much as twitched a finger.

Merlin's beard. This was ridiculous.

Remus sipped the potion, swished it around his mouth for thirty seconds or so, and then spit it back into the cup. He held it toward Darla, who had scurried two meters away again. She looked less than enthused to be presented with a fresh cup of werewolf saliva.

She stepped forward—slowly, quietly—and, after a few seconds, Madam Pomfrey practically jumped out of the armchair and took the cup from Remus, freely letting her hand touch his as she did so. "Oh, for heavens' sake," she snapped. "It is not that difficult, Darla."

She thrust the cup at Darla, who had slipped on a pair of thick gloves by now and was looking distastefully at the saliva-inundated potion. "Thank you," said Darla.

"Now go get that tested. And come back a little bit braver, please."

"I… yeah. I guess I will. I'll try, at least."

She left the room again, and Remus stared determinedly at the wall and ignored Madam Pomfrey. She didn't seem to mind.

Darla didn't come back. Instead, it was a man—he was bulky and sturdy-looking, and he was wearing a different uniform.

"You're not a Healer," said Madam Pomfrey suspiciously.

"Nope," said the man. "My name is George Park, and I work with security."

"We haven't done anything wrong!" said Madam Pomfrey, taken aback.

"No, you haven't. But I was told to drop by and check on you to make sure you weren't causing any trouble." Park glanced around the basement and gave a low whistle. "Looks mighty different in here."

"Well," said Madam Pomfrey shortly, "it needed to be redecorated."

"Yeah, they've only just implemented this ward after the last full moon. Didn't have much time to fix it up. There was some werewolf couple of weeks ago, you know, who ate a bloke and was caught by the Ministry. Body was gone. The werewolf claimed the blood all over him was his own, but it wasn't. Attacked the Healers while they were inspecting him—two walked away with broken fingers, one walked away with a slashed face, and the Ministry hauled him out of here real quick. Executed. Anyway, you can understand why people here are afraid."

Remus felt bad, somehow, for bothering them. He'd be frightened if it were him, too. That was terrifying.

"Anyway. Assuming that kid's a werewolf, too?"

"Yes," said Madam Pomfrey, "but you mustn't tell anyone, of course."

"'Course I won't. We're all sworn to secrecy, anyhow—patient confidentiality and all that. There are some powerful charms protecting you." Park turned to Remus and smiled. "How're you doing, kid? All right?"

"All right," said Remus, mystified by the unexpected kindness. "Thank you."

"No problem. You don't look too dangerous. Can't imagine they've treated you well, though."

"They're frightened. I can understand that."

"Good of you. I'm not afraid of you one bit, personally—hope you don't mind."

Remus laughed. "No, I don't mind at all."

"You're pretty scrawny. I could take you."

"Yeah, you could."

"Good at magic?"

"Don't have my wand on me."

"Well, I'm a pretty experienced duellist. Have to be, to be in magical security. So you couldn't take me even if you had your wand."

"I'm sure I couldn't."

Park smiled. "What's your name, by the way? I got a nephew in Hogwarts. Maybe he knows you. He chatters about his friends all the time."

"Ah… I'm Remus Lupin."

"Hm. No, can't say I've heard that name."

"I mostly keep to myself."

"Makes sense. Must be hard, being the only werewolf in Hogwarts… you have to hide, don't you? Sneak around? Can't tell anyone what's wrong with you? Blimey, can't imagine. We've gotten in werewolves after the full moon, and…" Park whistled again. "They look rough, let me tell you. Isn't pleasant, is it?"

"No, sir."

"Right horrific."

"Yes, sir."

"Hm. That why you're here today, so far away from the full moon? Something healed wrong?"

"No, sir. Madam Pomfrey's brilliant. She wouldn't let that happen."

Madam Pomfrey puffed up a little and smiled. "Yes, I have been doing a rather excellent job as of late," she said. "No, Remus is in here because of a mysterious poisoning incident. We need to identify the poison to gauge possible long-term effects and prevent it in the future. I didn't think the process would take this long, but I'm afraid I don't know much about poisons. I usually take students to St. Mungo's in incidents like these."

"Oh. Yeah, no. Poison tests don't take this long. The Healers are just… really reluctant to get back to you, that's all. Really sorry." George glanced at the doorway and sighed. "You know, I've got to get back to my post, but I'll check in on them. Nice meeting you, Remus. And you too… was it Pomfrey?"

"Call me Poppy."

Park grinned. "Thanks. I was homeschooled, myself, so I don't usually get to meet Hogwarts staff. Wonderful meeting you both. And best of luck, Remus Lupin."

He left, and Remus sucked in a refreshing, contented breath. "That was nice," he said. "I love being treated like a human. It was a nice break."

"That it was," said Madam Pomfrey. "It's a shame that you needed it so."

Darla came back in. "I'm sorry for the wait," she said. "The potion test didn't work, I'm afraid. Not enough residual poison in his mouth."

"Well, of course there wasn't," said Madam Pomfrey, outraged. "I could have told you that. You tested him seven hours after he started showing symptoms, and he could have ingested the poison days before symptoms showed. Perhaps he didn't even ingest it! Perhaps it was through physical contact of other sorts!"

"Had to test, it's procedure," mumbled Darla. "I'm sorry. I'm not equipped for poison testing, and they haven't given me any instruction…"

"That's no excuse! You're a Healer! Lives are in your hands!"

Darla looked thoroughly flustered at that. "Erm… anyway. Nothing showed, so we're going to have to take some blood. Traces of the magic should still be in his bloodstream, but…" She trailed off. "I didn't want to have to."

"Why not?"

"Because… well, werewolf blood is cursed, isn't it?"

Madam Pomfrey sucked in a deep breath, and then she promptly lost her cool altogether. "Hurt you? Hurt you? Have you done any research at all? I've come into direct contact with his blood more times than I can count, and nothing's ever hurt me! Just do your job, Darla!"

Darla stepped back, trembling. "Sorry," she said. "Erm… I don't have the right tools."

Then she ran out of the room, and Remus and Madam Pomfrey were stuck waiting once again.

The next woman who entered was a skinny witch who appeared to be in her mid-fifties. Her lips were pinched as if she'd just smelled something horrible, and her hair was pulled into a bun that was even tighter and more painful-looking than McGonagall's.

"Poppy," she greeted shortly. "Is this the werewolf?"

"This is the patient you need to treat, yes."

"Good." The woman—she was wearing a nametag that said Elphie Bergstrom—pushed on some dragonhide gloves and pulled a long needle out of her pocket. "There was a werewolf incident a little while ago," she told Madam Pomfrey as she made her way over to Remus. "Everyone's terrified."

"Yes, we've heard."

"I tell those Healers that they've got to keep a firm hand, but do they listen? No! They come in here, shaking and trembling, and then the werewolf thinks it has free reign to do whatever it wants, right? Well, that's not the case." Bergstrom yanked up Remus' sleeve, and Remus winced at her gaze, which was nearly as sharp as the needle. "You've just got to show them who's in charge, that's all. Then there are no incidents."

Madam Pomfrey looked positively furious. "Remus is not an it, and he's perfectly well-mannered! You can't go treating patients like that!"

"My job isn't to make them like me. My job is to heal them, and it's counterproductive if I get hurt in the process. I'm not going to be nice." Without warning, Bergstrom plunged the needle into Remus' arm. "He's a werewolf, so I'd rather be safe than sorry. It gets me the best results."

"There's a difference between being mean and being safe!"

"I'll be mean if it works, Pomfrey. This is part of the reason you're stuck at that school. You don't have what it takes."

"Excuse me?!" Madam Pomfrey's cheeks were beginning to get red. That didn't mean that she was embarrassed, though—from personal experience, Remus knew that red cheeks meant that Madam Pomfrey was angry, and he was almost excited to see what would happen, despite the burning pain in his arm. "I requested the job at the school, and it was damn hard getting it!" she said. "Everyone was going out for the job at Hogwarts—even you, if I remember correctly! I get paid more than any of the mainstream Healers at St. Mungo's! I have to be a specialist in practically everything! I've been working bloody ridiculous hours, and this is what I get for it? Shut up, Bergstrom, and heal my patient!"

"He's my patient right now," said Bergstrom passively. She yanked the needle out of Remus' arm (perhaps a little bit harder than necessary, but Remus didn't flinch), and then left the ward.

As soon as the door closed, Madam Pomfrey called Bergstrom an extremely rude word under her breath. And then another. And then another. She didn't hold back.

"Madam Pomfrey!" said Remus, scandalized. "Did you forget I was a child again?"

Back in Remus' first year, Madam Pomfrey had slipped up and called Professor Questus a very rude word (thinking of Questus was painful, but Remus ignored it). "I forgot you were eleven!" she'd cried, and then she and Remus had laughed hysterically for a very long time, which had nearly torn open Remus' healing wounds, but had successfully broken all remaining tension between Healer and patient. But this time felt different.

"Oh, I didn't forget," said Madam Pomfrey, cheeks still red with anger. "In fact, you're welcome to add to it. I give you full permission. You're fourteen; that's plenty old enough to swear." She gave Remus a sideways glance. "I'm actually quite surprised you haven't yet. I've never heard you swear, but I've had people with injuries less than yours who can't keep it down. If anyone has reason to let loose, it's you. I won't get angry; after all, I do the same thing, as you very well know."

"I don't swear. It's unbecoming on a werewolf. Makes me seem threatening."

"Well, no one's around. Go for it."

"You're a terrible influence," laughed Remus. "I don't want to. Don't want it to become a habit—can't risk it."

"Suit yourself." Madam Pomfrey sighed. "I dislike Bergstrom very much, you know. We were rivals at one point—she was angry because I was younger than her and miles better, and I was angry because she was the equivalent of week-old hippopotamus dung."

"That's a Professor Questus insult if I've ever heard one," said Remus with a smile. "If he were here, he'd want to borrow that one for Orion Black."

"If he were here," said Madam Pomfrey, "I'd use it on him."

Remus laughed, thankful for the memory, and then lied back down and let Madam Pomfrey heal his aching and dripping arm. She cleared away the blood, mumbling about "improper, barbaric procedure", and Remus fell asleep once again.

Bergstrom, predictably, took her time. When she came back, though, she had some information.

It wasn't good information, granted, but at least she had it.

"This is the most complex potion that we've seen at St. Mungo's in a long time—possibly ever," she said. "I'm not sure how that werewolf got ahold of it, but it's not a recipe anywhere in our archives. It's a dangerous combination—Tentacula venom, water hemlock, castor bean, and foxglove—plus another ingredient that we've never seen before. The only reason he didn't die on the spot was because of the Slow-Acting Spell that was placed on the potion—it released the danger in small amounts, making it take effect very slowly. Because of that, it will be very difficult to trace."

"Will it have any long-lasting effects?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

"Probably not, but we want to keep him overnight and run a few tests. This is highly irregular."

"No. Not happening."

Bergstrom sighed. "Do you want him to die, Pomfrey? Because we can do that, too. It's a very simple procedure, and painless, too. It would certainly be a lot easier."

"I don't want him to die!"

"Then let us keep him overnight."

Madam Pomfrey looked at Remus, who shrugged. "Fine with me," he whispered.

"All right," snapped Madam Pomfrey, apoplectic, "but I expect better care, you hear?"

"No promises," said Bergstrom.

She left, and the sound of the door slamming seemed to echo in Remus' mind for the next twelve hours or so.