Remus Lupin and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Chapter 11: Helpless to Healing

The next day at breakfast, he was accosted.

"For pity's sake, boy, you look wretched. Are you avoiding me out of spite or have you just forgotten that you have someone to hold you accountable for your health, now, and knows how to keep track of a lunar calendar?"

Remus blinked up at Madame Pomfrey by his elbow in dismay and confusion. "Er...the latter? I suppose?" He hadn't thought he looked so bad when he left his room this morning; peaky, maybe, a bit gaunt. Had he been wrong? He never looked good he day before the Change.

Madame Pomfrey--Poppy, he reminded himself as she had insisted she call him at the staff meeting--propped her fists on her hips and fixed him with a stare that would make the Minister of Magic quail. "Well, now you've been reminded. So, when shall I see you? Now, or straight after breakfast?"

"Madame--Poppy, you really don--"

"When. Shall I see you. Remus."

"Er--" he gazed beseechingly at his eggs, his fellow teachers, the owl that had just landed on the staff table; anyone to come to his aid against his self appointed self-care tyrant. "Ah--" he looked to Flitwick, who hid a traitorous snort into his orange juice. Hagrid just sort of carefully arranged his sausages about his massive plate, pointedly not making eye contact. McGonagall did, however, and the slant of her reproving eyebrows rebounded his plea back on him in a distinctly eloquent fashion; she's right, you know it, and you should know better. Ouch. His insides gave a peculiar shudder as if to punctuate the point. Double ouch. He wasn't sure he could stomach any more food. "Soon?" he offered, meekly.

Her laser focus didn't waver, posture exactly the same. "Straightaway?"

"Straightaway," he agreed weakly.

"Good." She bustled out, sternly, which he hadn't known was possible, exactly.

He heard a chuckle from a few seats down and looked to see Dumbledore gazing at the sky-ceiling, hands folded and thumbs twiddling, the picture of Headmasterly innocence. "Traitors, the lot of you." He muttered, not even fighting the smile that spread across his face nor the warmth through his chest.

"Best do as she says, boy," Flitwick teased and Remus shot him a look as he rose, gathering his robes about him in mock affront. He might have kicked the other Professor's chair a little as he departed, but he grinned while doing it. Not even the cold sourness in Severus' gaze as he watched him leave the Great Hall did anything to put a dint in the light joy that was spreading through him.

Climbing the stairs, however, he could see their point. By the time he had made his way up 5 flights, there was a sharp pain in his belly and he could feel the cold sweat stand out on his face. Damn these changes before the Change. He only had 1 flight of stairs at his old flat. Whenever it got this bad, he just avoided food and it was easier to power through it. But now he had people watching, monitoring, feeding him. He held back another smile.

When he finally made it to the Hospital Wing, there was only one other person, a young girl in Ravenclaw robes. She had the most extraordinary fall of white-blonde hair and was wearing the most enormous pinecones he had ever seen as earrings. She seemed to have some sort of bright orange poultice spread over her face, besides her mouth and eyes, giving her the impression of being some sort of dreamy pumpkin. As he swallowed back his mounting nausea and caught his breath, he offered her a smile and a nod, to which she returned a nod and a look of vague interest. "Madame Pomfrey told me to tell you that she'll be back in a few minutes. A boy's bum got stuck to a toilet seat." She seemed to think a moment. "Again. She said you'd be along in a bit and I should tell you to sit down and she means it. I don't know exactly what that means, but, well, now I've told you."