Sunday 11th November 1973
Remus fell awake, spluttering and shivering. The room was gloomy, and his breath blew out in white plumes above his head. Everything hurt. He raised his hands in front of his face and found his fingertips blue and bloody. There were splinters under his nails, and more blood somewhere else – he could smell it, but he couldn’t see very well in the dark and he didn’t have the energy to lift his head. His bones felt like they were made of chalk. He was so, so tired.
Still, if there was as much blood as he thought, it probably wasn’t a good idea to sleep. He ought to stay awake at least until Madam Pomfrey could arrive – which shouldn’t be long. Remus lay still and focussed on his breathing. There was a Gryffindor game on today as well, another thing he’d be missing. Not only that, but his friends would be too busy to visit.
He turned his head and heaved. He hoped he wouldn’t be sick, it was so embarrassing being sick. He didn’t have his wand with him, so he couldn’t clean it up.
“Good morning, Remus,” Madam Pomfrey finally entered the room. “Oh dear, bit of a mess, eh?”
He raised his head, and promptly threw up.
* * *
“I’m not sure I like all this reading you do.” Madam Pomfrey tutted as she brought him a healing draught. “I know your studies are important to you, but you need rest.”
“I slept all morning.” He replied, “And I get so bored, otherwise. Do you know how the quidditch match went?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” the medi-witch smiled. “I’m sure Mr Potter will be up here to tell you as soon as he can, though.”
That wasn’t very likely, if they’d won – there would be a victory party, and Remus had made James promise not to miss it on his account. He accepted the potion he was given, and swallowed it all without complaint. It was bitter, but he’d grown used to it now.
He had to read, because if he didn’t, he would have nothing to do at all, except think about his fresh scars. This month the wolf had torn at his torso, which was better than his arms or face – at least he could hide the marks easier.
Remus rarely undressed in front of anyone; even once the marauders had found out about his furry little problem. No one but Madam Pomfrey had seen the true extent of the damage (well, Sirius had, once, early in second year, but neither of them had since acknowledged that strange encounter). Still, Remus wasn’t naïve, and he knew that one day, however far away it might be, someone would expect him to take his top off – at the very least. It didn’t bear thinking about. Perhaps he’d just have to avoid girls forever.
“Mr Lupin!” A cheerful voice boomed across the hospital floor, making Remus jump. It was Professor Ferox, holding two large jars of clear liquid in his arms.
“Oh, hello,” Remus gave a small wave.
“Murtlap essence, as promised, Poppy,” the professor set down the jars. Don’t come over, don’t come over, Remus thought frantically as Professor Ferox strode across the room towards his bed. “Been in the wars, our kid?” He asked, kindly.
“Um…” Remus wanted to shrink and hide under the bedsheets. He hated the thought of strong, energetic Ferox seeing him in his weakened state. “I’m ok.”
Ferox sat down beside Remus’s bed. Remus resigned himself to his fate.
“Second time in here this year, eh?” The professor said, looking concerned. Remus nodded, even though it was his third moon this term. If Ferox hadn’t noticed one absence, then perhaps he wouldn’t connect the dots. “You know, if you need some more time for your homework, you only need to ask.”
