Seven Moons of Varying Severity

September 5, 1971

Not too far along into the first week of classes, the small, thin boy came timidly into the hospital wing and stood just by her open office door, and whispered in a careful voice, “Excuse me. Are you Madam Pomfrey?”

She’d just been catching up on her knowledge of werewolves. When she saw him, she quickly closed the book she’d been reading and tucked it out of his sight. Why she hadn’t wanted him to see it, Poppy wasn’t sure. Maybe she was worried he’d think she was incompetent and incapable of taking care of him.

Poppy soon learned that this thought and anything similar would never, ever cross the mind of Remus Lupin. 

The boy was polite and, by all counts, gentle. He patiently listened to her instructions and responded with more questions until he’d gathered every bit of information needed, down to the Whomping Willow’s genus and species, for god’s sake. He even expressed his worries to her in great earnest, though his voice didn’t waver once. “As long as I’m locked in, I should think it’s fine. But if anyone ever works it out, I’ll go home straight away.”

She thought this was extreme but decided not to argue. After all, she’d never treated a werewolf. She’d learned of their violence, of the awful pain caused by their bites and the horrible scratches they left behind—the magical type, which stubbornly refused to heal.

By the time Remus stood to leave, it was dark. Through the office window, they could see the near-full moon hanging in the sky above the school grounds. She caught sight of Remus wincing when he caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye, wincing when he stood, and wincing when he turned to walk away.

“Mr. Lupin?” she called after him, and he’d paused with a hand against the door frame. “Are you in much pain?”

When Remus faced her again, he’d already plastered on a smile. “It’s nothing.” He paused perhaps remembering who he was speaking to. “It’s normal. Just aches in the joints.”

Just aches. Just aches. When Pomfrey met him just outside the infirmary doors the following evening, he was nearly hobbling, clutching the railing of the staircase with both hands as he dragged himself up to her. Still, he smiled pleasantly. “Evening!”

“ Remus ,” she hissed, seizing his elbow to help him up the last few steps. “My word, boy, you can barely stand! What in god’s name—”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s certainly something , I can tell you that.” She dragged him hastily into the hospital wing which was, thankfully, emptied of patients this early on in the semester. Quidditch hadn’t started up yet. She forced him to sit on the end of the nearest cot and began to prod his arms, knees, and chest with her wand. “Tell me where it hurts.”

“Everywhere, if you’d like me to be honest,” he said conversationally, watching her fuss over him. “I’m sorry you’re the one who has to deal with it.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s what I live to do.” She sighed and tucked her wand away. “Not to mention, I get paid for it, don’t I?”

Remus smiled a little. 

“Did your parents give you anything? Potions or anything of the sort to help with the transformation?”

“No.”

“No spells?”

“No, there’s nothing that helps.”

Poppy wrung her hands together thoughtfully. “We ought to get you a cane.”

“Right. Then I’d really look the part.”

She sighed. Just as yesterday, he looked gaunt and sickly. The rings under his eyes were pronounced and his eyes—goodness, his eyes—just a little wider and wilder and brighter than they ought to be. His hands were clasped in his lap as he waited, watching her. For someone so young, he was quite fearless. 

“Well,” Poppy said breathlessly. “We might as well head down a little early. Let you get a feel for the place, hmm?”

Remus nodded. 

They made their way through the castle and onto the ground. The time of day was strategically selected. Most students would be gathered in the Great Hall for a meal and very few of them chose to walk this path, which was far out of the way from any common room or regular stomping ground. They passed a few students along the way regardless, and the nurse greeted each with a prompt, “Good evening,” and did not stop walking.

Remus didn’t struggle until they reached the uneven path leading down to the Whomping Willow, at which point Poppy seized him by the arm and held him up each time he stumbled. When they reached the tree, Poppy found a broken branch and pointed it at a knot in the mangled roots. 

“Careful not to get too close,” she said. “See here, that’s the knot I told you about, I’ll tap this and the tree will let you inside. Down here—” She guided him to the base of the tree where the dark tunnel burrowed into the earth. “—this tunnel will let out on the first floor of the house. It’s a tight fit, but you’re rather small—”

“Too tight for adults?” he asked, looking up at her.

“I—well, I’m sure Hagrid wouldn’t fit but I could probably manage to crawl through.”

Her answer seemed to catch him off-guard. He faced the tunnel. “Ah.”

“Are you alright to go in on your own?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately, not looking at her. “Yes, absolutely. I’ll meet you back here, then?”

“Remus,” she said softly. “If there’s anything you need, I want you to tell me.”

The boy was silent for several beats. One hand was pressed into the bark of the Willow hard enough to leave marks in his skin. “There isn’t, ma’am,” he whispered finally.

He disappeared down the tunnel.

For a long time, Poppy could not bring herself to return to the castle. Even as it started to get dark, she paced just outside the Willow’s whomping range and thought of the little boy in that old, empty house, just sitting there by himself while he waited for a horrible beast to take over his mind. She wondered how his parents handled it each month. Did they stay with him until the very end? Did they leave it to him to lock himself up and return in the morning? Did they use chains? A cage? There were too many questions she hadn’t thought to ask when Dumbledore first explained the situation to her. 

Poppy realized with a start that it was dark. A sliver of moonlight had risen above the treeline. She hurriedly hiked up her skirt and started the treck back up to the castle.

Then it happened. 

If she hadn’t been so close, she may not have heard it. A shriek. A child’s wail that she’d heard too many times to count—a wail of pain—muffled, but loud enough that Poppy noticed when it became a howl. Heart beating fast, she all but ran back to the castle. 

Poppy hardly ever had trouble sleeping, but that night was different. She tossed and turned. The moon cast a harsh blue light into the room that illuminated her furniture and belongings and cast strange shapes on the walls. Never before had she been so aware of the way it glowed, of the way it made a path across the sky, of the way clouds rolled over it. Just a few hours before her alarm clock was set to go off, she fell into a fitful sleep. 

When the clock rang she didn’t waste any time rolling out of bed. Ten minutes later she was hastily scurrying down hallways and bounding down stairs two at a time. Over her arm was a blanket. In her hand was a lantern. In her pockets she’d tucked various vials and draughts, having no idea what to expect despite all the research she’d dedicated herself to over the past few weeks.

She pressed the knot when she reached the Willow, then waited. The lantern sputtered tiredly on the ground beside her as she hugged the blanket and watched the tunnel entrance, which watched her back like a dark and empty eye. When she could stand to wait no longer, Poppy snatched up the lantern and crawled under the tree.

“Silly of me,” she murmured to herself as she went. “Silly of me to think he could crawl his way back out, if he was in that state before . You were scared, Poppy, just scared. Idiot.”

The dirt floor of the tunnel turned to wood boards quite suddenly. Hesitating in the hallway she’d emerged in, Poppy called, “Mr. Lupin? Darling, are you here?”

A gravelly voice replied from the staircase just ahead. “Here.”

The tension released in Poppy’s shoulders. She hurried forward. “Oh, thank goodness. I was just…oh.”

Remus was crouched on the stairs. Or rather, he was draped against them. He’d wrapped one arm around the banister while the other hung crookedly at his side. He was clothed (Poppy assumed he redressed himself), but dark stains peppered his clothes, lines of blood like pinstripes across his chest and arms and back—

Poppy did not hesitate. She set down her lantern and unlatched his arm from the banister. He was shaking. His skin felt hot, but she unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off, ignoring his gasp of pain, to get a look at the injuries there.

“What are these wounds?” she breathed, reaching into her pocket for a vial. “You do these to yourself?”

“The wolf,” Remus murmured, wincing. “The wolf did these to me…my arm…”

“Is it—”

“Popped out of…out of socket, I think. What—what is it you're putting on there?"

Poppy continued sprinkling the vial over his wounds as she spoke. "Dittany. It helps with the pain, but it won't heal anything. These are—"

"Magical wounds."

"That's right."

She finished up with the largest of the cuts and turned her attention to his arm, which she mended with a tug on his wrist and a flick of her wand. It was instantaneous but he screamed anyway. His eyes swam with pain and tears as she did up his shirt and wrapped him up in the blanket. “And I told you to meet me outside the Willow,” she fussed.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Remus pushed his palms against his eyes to wipe away the tears. “I tried to get down there…would’ve made it eventually, but…”

“ What? Are you mad? Remus, you should’ve told me!”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, and Poppy got the idea that he was apologizing for something entirely different. 

“Nonsense,” she said, forcing a smile. She patted his uninjured shoulder. “Nonsense. Let’s get you up to the castle, then. You can get some rest in the Hospital Wing.”

His eyes went wide. “What? No! The—James will wonder—and Sirius—they’ll wonder where I am!”

“Remus, you are ill and you are injured. Therefore, you belong under my care—”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes for you to be back in full health. I’ll send for your homework. And Remus, you knew you’d have to find ways of keeping your condition a secret from your friends. Tell them you’ve caught a bug.” She took his arms and pulled him to his feet, steadying him when he swayed. “Up you get. Let’s go, we’ll make it before breakfast.”

~ ~ ~

He was such a polite thing, Remus. Settled upright in the hospital bed with a cup of tea clutched between his shaking hands, the little first year kindly asked her how her evening went, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him it was miserable, and that he'd been the cause. She curtly replied, “Restful. Certainly more-so than yours, I suspect,” before fussing over the wounds on his arms.

The wounds from the wolves couldn’t be healed. She knew this, of course, but found that many of the cuts were from throwing himself against the walls and floors. There were splinters floating beneath his skin, even some in his feet, which he hadn’t complained about once on the walk up.

In the end, Poppy tested every healing spell on every wound, scouring his skin until she'd found every non-magical wound on his little body. She sprinkled these with dittany again and wrapped them with gauze. Satisfied, Poppy stood up and brushed her hands together. “There. Better?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Remus replied.

Of course, she couldn’t tell if he was lying. His poker-face was exceptional for an eleven year-old. She supposed it came with the territory. 

Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Oh, please. Don’t thank me for doing my job.”

His gaze traveled to the window. Boys on broomsticks were swerving back and forth through the sky, whacking one of those damned bludgers between them. “It’s not a very fun job, is it?”

Poppy felt a sudden rush of affection for him. She sat down on the edge of the bed and handed him a small vial of potion. “To put you to sleep. You need rest. And when you wake up you’ll tell me if anything’s hurting, won’t you?”

Remus nodded.

“ Won’t you? ”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She reached out and patted his cheek. “Drink up, dear.”

~ ~ ~

September 2, 1993 - Some Time Later

“Go. Go , you’re alright. Stop by the kitchens on your way and tell those house elfs to use a thermometer next time. Salmonella oughtn’t be a wizard problem.” 

Poppy waved the Hufflepuff away. Having regained most of her color back, the poor girl scurried down the length of the infirmary and ducked under the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway. When Poppy saw him, her face broke into a smile, which the man returned. “And here I thought I’d spent my last moon with you, Poppy."

“Remus!” 

She rushed forward and seized him around the shoulders, searching his weary face before hugging him tightly. Though he couldn’t have been older than 35, his hair was graying at the ends. Aside from that a few more silvery scars across his face, Remus Lupin looked nearly the same as the last time she’d seen him more than two decades ago. 

She pulled away. “The moon…”

“Was last night,” he finished for her, smiling again. “But the Wolfsbane worked wonders, thanks to Severus. I wondered if I could collect a little Pepper-Up from your stock.”

“Oh, dear, you’ll have tea. ”

“Sorry?”

“Tea. Come, sit down.”

She grabbed his arm—had he been this tall before?—and dragged him to the chairs at the back of the room. Once he was seated, she went to the storage closet and her hands began to move, muscle-memory guiding her fingers through every cabinet and across every shelf, just as they had twenty-two years ago.