It was ten pm, and a Healer came into the basement, did some sort of spell on Remus that made him feel all tingly, and then walked out.
It was eleven-thirty, and Bergstrom walked to Remus' bed, took some more blood, ignored Madam Pomfrey's angry comments about her unprofessionalism, and then left.
Madam Pomfrey immediately took her place by Remus' bed, murmuring soothing words (and, in equal quantities, angry insults about Bergstrom). She healed Remus' arm, which was still dripping blood, and cleaned the sheets.
"Doesn't someone need to cover your post at Hogwarts?" Remus mumbled, half-asleep. Vaguely, he remembered the time that Madam Pomfrey had been at St. Mungo's with another student, and Professor Questus had cared for Remus after the full moon, which had been incredibly awkward.
"I made sure it would be covered before I left. The professors are taking turns, depending on who has a free period."
Remus tried to imagine Professor Slughorn wearing Madam Pomfrey's frock, and he immediately started giggling. Madam Pomfrey shushed him. He needed rest.
It was midnight, and footsteps sounded by the basement door. Remus woke up for half an instant, and then he fell back asleep.
It was a quarter to two, and Park visited Remus. "My shift is over," he said. "I figured I might as well come here and say hello. My next shift is in two hours, so there's not much use in going home."
"Don't you have a break?" Remus asked blearily. He was rubbing his eyes, trying to stay awake, and Madam Pomfrey didn't look happy that he was attempting to do so.
"Yeah," said Park. "I work afternoons and nights. I sleep evenings and mornings."
"That sounds horrible."
"Significantly better than what's happening to you. Oh—have you eaten?"
"I popped over to Hogwarts to get him a meal," said Madam Pomfrey. "He's only eaten one all day, though. I ask for something else every time the Healers come in, but they haven't gotten him anything yet."
"I have a few snacks in my pocket." Park pulled out some Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's, and pumpkin pasties. "Not very filling, I'm afraid. I'll see if I can get you anything from the kitchen."
Fifteen minutes later, Remus and Madam Pomfrey were dining on a late-night meal of sweets, bland soup, and cold bread. It was better than nothing.
"Is there a toilet around here?" rasped Remus.
"Of course!" Park grabbed Remus' wrist, helped him out of bed, and took him to the loo across the hall. Remus was terrified of leaving the safe confines of the basement—what if a Healer saw him and got angry?—but Park was very quick about herding him in and out without anyone seeing.
Remus huddled back into bed, feeling so much better than he had an hour earlier. "Why didn't the Prophet publish news of the attack at St. Mungo's last full moon?" Madam Pomfrey asked Park.
"Afraid of seeming like they don't have the problem under control," mumbled Remus. "It's all about their image. They want to seem totally capable so that the public supports them… when things go wrong, then they don't seem totally capable. They try to cover things up when they can, and when they can't, then they make a big, public show about executing the perpetrator. Lucky for this one that they did it quietly."
"That seems about right," said Park thoughtfully. Then he smirked. "You seem to know a lot about werewolves."
"I'm sort of an expert," mumbled Remus, and Park laughed.
It was three, and Remus had been in St. Mungo's for about twenty-four hours. He longed to write to Peter in the notebook, but he'd left it at school. He wondered if Peter and Miles were worried about him. He wondered if James and Sirius would beat him back to school come morning. He wondered if Park was okay, because he was currently lying on one of the other beds, dead asleep.
He fell back asleep.
When he woke up at three-thirty, Park was gone, and Darla was back. Remus saw her glance at Madam Pomfrey, who was fast asleep. Then her eyes shifted to Remus, who was looking straight at her, and she squeaked and ran away.
Remus never did find out what she was in there for, but her hair was pulled back this time, and he noticed a couple of long, deep, only partially-healed scars running from her temple to her chin.
He didn't blame her for being afraid of him.
Bergstrom came back at four-forty-five for another blood sample. This time, Madam Pomfrey snatched the needle away from her, muttering something about incompetency, and did it for her. Bergstrom didn't complain, and Remus certainly didn't, either. Madam Pomfrey was so gentle that Remus barely even felt it.
It couldn't have been allowed for Madam Pomfrey to take charge, but Remus got the feeling that Bergstrom wasn't going to tell—not when she'd never wanted to be taking care of Remus in the first place.
At six-thirty, Park came back and fell asleep. "The beds are quite comfortable," he told Madam Pomfrey. "You've worked wonders with them."
Remus was glad for the company.
At seven, Darla brought Remus and Madam Pomfrey some breakfast. She left it outside the basement door, and Madam Pomfrey nearly stepped on it when she, confident that Remus would be all right under Park's supervision, left to go to the loo.
At eight, Remus had a horrible nightmare. He woke up and babbled to Madam Pomfrey and Park about the horrible scene of a werewolf emerging through the door, going on a murderous rampage throughout the hospital, and ending with biting Remus, spewing broken glass and fire all over his bed (even though there were no windows or matches in the basement).
"I'm sorry," he said, choking slightly and clinging to the quilt. "It hasn't been this bad in a while. I'm really sorry."
As Madam Pomfrey patted his head and refilled his water, Park thoughtfully said, "It must be weird, being treated like the very thing that you fear most."
Remus, too spent to be humiliated, wholeheartedly agreed.
At nine o'clock in the morning, Remus was officially discharged from St. Mungo's. The Healers hadn't found the last ingredient in the potion, but they'd found a few others and were sending them to a poison research facility in Dublin. They'd also been able to confirm that Remus had been poisoned sometime the day before symptoms started to show.
It didn't really help much, though. "I ate with Professor Leek and his friend Berwin in Hogsmeade," he told Madam Pomfrey, but she shook her head.
"It wasn't them. I know Louis, and he wouldn't have done that. It could have been anybody, Remus. You could have merely touched the poisoned item, and that would have been enough…."
"He ingested it this time," said Bergstrom. "It would still harm him if he merely touched it, but he definitely ingested it."
"You bite your thumbnail when you're nervous, and that would have been plenty. Or perhaps someone snuck it into your food."
"I would have been able to tell, though," said Remus meekly.
Madam Pomfrey sighed. "This is very difficult, then. It could have been anything, and at the same time, it couldn't have been anything at all. We don't know who did it, not with this one isolated incident. Although we could certainly narrow it down now that we know you ingested the poison the day before symptoms showed…."
"That's not a viable conclusion, either," said Bergstrom. "The Slow-Acting Spell can be set with any timeframe. It's possible that, the other times he was poisoned, he ingested or touched the item up to a month prior to symptoms."
Now Madam Pomfrey released a loud, exasperated groan. "I'm so sorry, Remus," she said. "I thought it would be more helpful."
"At least now we know there was nothing else we could have done," he said.
"No. This is my fault. I should have thought it through before taking you here, and I'm sorry. You tried to warn me how horrible it would be, and I didn't listen."
"It's not your fault."
"Yes, it is, and now we're leaving."
"Wait," said Bergstrom before Madam Pomfrey could shepherd Remus out of the basement and back to Hogwarts. "There is one more thing."
"Yes?"
"The person who poisoned Remus… likely wasn't a wizard. This potion can be done entirely without a wand."
"What about the Slow-Acting Spell?"
"Whoever did it took the long route. It was done in a separate potion, which would have taken much longer… but this particular potion, unlike most, wouldn't have required magic. Only magical items that only wizards have access to."
"Just because a wizard can use magic doesn't mean he always does," said Remus, thinking of Professor Questus.
"There were no traces of magic anywhere in the potion. When a wizard brews a potion, it always retains some of the magical identity of its maker… but this potion hasn't. It was likely brewed by a Muggle."
"But… how?" said Madam Pomfrey.
"We're not sure." Bergstrom frowned. "It's a strange potion in general. All of the plant traces match up with the ones in our catalogues, but not completely. The composition of each ingredient is just a little bit off, almost as if someone Vanished parts of their DNA. Sometimes, people do that to make it harder to trace. But… I'm not sure. It's a strange potion."
"Well, we'll keep a lookout for a possible Muggle who might have something against Remus," said Madam Pomfrey.
Bergstrom nodded. "Always nice to see you, Poppy," she said in clipped, forced tones.
"Can't say the same," snapped Madam Pomfrey, and then—finally—she and Remus were walking out of the horrid basement and towards what was now Remus' favorite place in the world.
"I just don't get it," said Madam Pomfrey for the thousandth time, giving Remus one final check-up in the Hospital Wing while they waited for Professor Dumbledore to stop by. "I don't get it. A Muggle? You've been at Hogwarts for months, and Muggles can't even see Hogwarts! How could they make a potion?"
"I don't get it, either," said Remus. He was munching on a sandwich (Madam Pomfrey had insisted that he eat and drink plenty to make up for all he'd lost). "But there's no use worrying over it. We'll just keep a close eye out. At least we know what we're looking for now."
Madam Pomfrey shook her head in astonishment. "How you remain so nonchalant about such a serious event, I'll never know."
"Practice. Serious events happen every month, at least." Remus finished his sandwich and brushed the crumbs from his hands onto his plate. "That wasn't poisoned, right?" he asked, and Madam Pomfrey swatted his arm.
Suddenly, there was a deafening crack, and Remus' hands flew up to his ears. Dumbledore had Apparated directly into the Hospital Wing, which he didn't do very often at all. "What happened?" he asked, a sort of rare urgency lacing his voice. "You were there for an extraordinarily long time. Everything all right?"
"Yes, sir," said Remus.
"No!" said Madam Pomfrey. "They were horrible to him! They put us in the basement, and it was not up to health code standards! They hardly brought us any meals, even though we were there for over twenty-four hours! Elphie Bergstrom was there, and her blood-drawing technique was so incredibly wrong and barbaric that I couldn't believe it—she didn't even heal him afterwards—I had to do it myself! No one would touch him. No one would speak to him properly. They were terrified of him. I simply can't believe the unprofessionalism…"
"I heard there was an attack recently."
"Yes, but that's no excuse!"
"No, but…" Dumbledore turned to Remus. His blue eyes seemed to see directly through Remus' head and into his very brain. "It is not an excuse, no. But it is a reason, and I daresay Remus expected this nonetheless."
Madam Pomfrey slammed her hand down onto Remus' bedside table, and Remus flinched. Madam Pomfrey didn't seem to notice. "He shouldn't have to expect it, nor should he have to accept it!"
"Remus is showing outstanding maturity. He can't do anything to change it. I do not ask that accept it, no, and I certainly don't ask that he assumes he deserves it. He doesn't." Dumbledore turned to Remus, blue eyes surveying him once again. "You don't, Remus. Do you understand?"
Remus nodded.
"You understand that this is an outrage?"
He nodded again.
"You understand that, if I were in charge, they would lose their jobs?"
He nodded again, and Dumbledore turned back to face Madam Pomfrey.
"He doesn't deserve it, Poppy. But getting angry about it isn't the way to change things. He is being calm, being sympathetic, and being patient. He is doing exactly what he is supposed to do, and…" Dumbledore turned to Remus once again. "I commend you, Remus. I really do. It is difficult to stay so calm under such maddening circumstances, and by doing so you have kept yourself out of a possible Azkaban sentence—or worse. You have done well."
"Thanks," Remus mumbled.
"Unfortunately, I do not think that things will change anytime soon. Times are hard, and people control what they can in order to forget, for a moment, what is out of their control. So they control others. They control their attitudes toward others. They see you as another Dark enemy—just like the ones that invade their homes, their newspapers, and their memories—and they treat you as such, because war is not typically a time of tolerance. You must get used to it."
"I understand."
"I know you do." Dumbledore smiled. "I must say, you are handling this much better than I ever could. Now. What did the tests say, Poppy?"
Madam Pomfrey explained everything to Dumbledore, still fuming slightly. "I don't understand," she said to finish out the report. "I just don't get it. It doesn't make sense."
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Hm," he said. "You're right. It is… remarkable how little sense that makes."
"Nothing in my life makes sense," Remus muttered. "So what do you think we should do, Professor?"
Dumbledore just stood there for a moment, stroking his beard. And then… "Nothing," he said.
Madam Pomfrey's mouth dropped open. "No! You have to do something! This isn't safe!"
"I am aware, Poppy. What else would you have me do?"
"There must be something you can do… you defeated Grindelwald, for heavens' sake!"
Dumbledore sighed. "Yes. But I am not all-knowing. I admit I have… no idea who is poisoning Remus. Trust me, I am just as befuddled and frustrated about it as you are, but there is nothing I can do at present."
"So you're just giving up?" cried Madam Pomfrey.
"No. No, Poppy, I am not. I am putting it on hold. I am going to go to my office and think about it… for a long, long time, most likely. I promise I shall not stop thinking about it until I have the answer. If I come up with something, I promise that I will let you and Remus know."
Now Dumbledore looked at Remus, and his blue eyes seemed to be an X-ray once again. "Please let me know if you would like to talk," he said, as he so often did, and then he left.
Remus lay back, wanting nothing more than to forget about poison, forget about St. Mungo's, and forget about werewolves altogether.
Unfortunately, that was not an option.
Remus went to lunch that evening and found his friends sitting at their normal spot, practically climbing over the table to get to him. "Are you okay?" asked James. "What on earth happened to you?"
Remus' hand moved to his hair automatically. "Why? Do I look bad?"
"Not right now, but Peter said you looked awful night before last, and then you disappeared to the Wing and didn't come back for more than a day, and then Madam Pomfrey wasn't in the Hospital Wing!"
"Oh," said Remus. "Yeah. I was poisoned again, that's all, so Madam Pomfrey took me to St. Mungo's to get it checked out."
"Didn't you have to tell them that you were a werewolf?" asked Sirius.
"Er… yes. Let's talk about it later."
"No," said James, "let's talk about it now." And with that, he pulled Remus to the dormitory and shut the door firmly behind them.
"Now what happened?" asked Sirius, eyes boring into Remus' skull a little like Dumbledore's had.
So Remus explained.
He explained the two-faced Robinson, the terrified Darla, and the mean-spirited Bergstrom. He explained the breath of fresh air that was Park. He described the "ward for dangerous patients" (the basement), and he told them all about Madam Pomfrey's renovations. He talked about his sporadic sleep schedule, the meal that Park had snuck them from the kitchen, and how long the Healers had taken to tend to him. He even told them about the attack at St. Mungo's and the long scratches on Darla's face.
He told them everything, and he even accidentally repeated a few stories. His friends listened with rapt attention, asking appropriate questions (well, mostly appropriate). When he finally finished, weary and morose, James stood up forcefully.
"I'm writing a letter to the Minister for Magic," he said.
Remus blinked. "What?"
"I said I'm writing a letter to the Minister herself! They can't treat you like that! It's ridiculous!"
"Please don't, Prongs."
"No."
"They're scared, Prongs."
"That's their problem."
"James Potter, don't you dare write that letter…."
"Too late! I'm already writing it!" Indeed, James was already holding a bit of parchment and a quill. "Dear Minister Eugenia Jenkins," he said slowly, writing as he spoke, "YOU'RE BEING AN IDIOT. Sincerely, James Potter and Remus Lupin."
"No!" said Remus, and he practically dove across the room to grab the piece of parchment. "You're so stupid! How could you? I'll be thrown in Azkaban! Executed! She'll hate me!" Remus tried to take the parchment from James, but James was holding it out of the way with his incredible Quidditch reflexes. "James Salazar Potter, you give me that parchment right now…."
Suddenly, Remus noticed that James was laughing… and then he noticed that the parchment was blank. "You're the worst," he muttered.
James grinned. "Yeah, maybe," he said, "but you know I have your back. One wrong step, and anyone who bothers you will get the wrath of James Potter."
"You're so dumb," said Remus, rolling his eyes, but—much to his dismay—he was smiling.