Betrayal and Recovery
The aftermath was terrible. The doctors told him he’d flatlined twice on the operating table. His blood loss was substantial, important muscles and ligaments had to be sewn back together, and they weren’t sure if there would be any vision damage in his left eye. The important thing, however, was that no organs had been damaged.
Had Greyback decided to stab instead of slash, Remus would have died in the forest.
Lyall didn’t leave his bedside. He argued with enough nurses to earn a pillow and access to the showers, and stayed with him around the clock. He talked to him more than he ever had in his entire life, and dutifully learned how to change Remus’ bandages and monitor his pain medications. In less than twenty four hours, Lyall Lupin turned into the most devote father on the planet.
Remus didn’t mind. He could barely care about anything. The morphine that kept him from unending agony made him hazy and loopy. He watched blankly when Lyall or a nurse change his bandages—numbly stared at the yellow splotches, purplish bruises, and dark red lines that had once been his flesh split open.
Everything was numb from the pain medication and the surgeries. The doctors told him he would regain sensation over time, but the feeling of detachment from his own body only worsened Remus’ mental state.
He had nightmares that had him screaming himself awake. Once, he hadn’t been able to recognize where he was and had to be sedated when he tried attacking a doctor. After that, it took Remus a week to convince everyone he wasn’t going to do it again. A lamp remained on in his room during the night so he could recognize his surroundings in the dark.
If someone moved too quickly around him, or touched a part of him in the wrong spot, he would flinch and try to recoil away from them. He always ended up pulling a stitch somewhere.
People moved and things changed around him, but Remus remained the same—bound to bed, covered in bandages.
The last dredges of winter turned into spring, and the tree outside his window started to sprout leaves.
Remus couldn’t care.
One day, a few weeks into his recovery, he had enough presence of mind to ask,
“Where are my friends?”
His father, who had been reading quietly beside his bed, looked at him with a grimace.
“I don’t want you worrying about them right now.” He said firmly. Remus frowned, quickly becoming agitated as he did with his father.
“Dad,” he repeated. “where are my friends?”
Lyall sat there for a moment, staring out the window and apparently thinking very deeply.
“They didn’t want to see you.” He said after a long moment. Remus’ heart stuttered in his chest.
“What?” He whispered.
“They didn’t want to visit.” His dad said again. “I reached out a few days ago, inviting them to cheer you up, but they said they didn’t want to see you. I tried to convince them, but they refused. I’m sorry, son.”
Remus hadn’t cried once, not from pain or the horror, or the state of his body. But he cried then.
——
Poppy Pomfrey was a kind woman who was hell bent on making Remus do all of the things he didn’t want to do. She was his physical and and mental therapist, assigned to him after four weeks of healing and rest.
Remus didn’t need bandages over his wounds anymore, except the one on his eye. He was able to see, but everything was blurry and the doctors wanted him to keep it covered for the best chance to heal. He was pushed around in a wheelchair and was generally getting bullied into functioning again.
Pomfrey began her tyranny over him by addressing his mental health. She knew he had to process the trauma before he had the willpower to work on healing his body.
He refused to speak to her for the first three weeks.
She talked instead, told him about her cat who lost his leg in a car accident. She told him about grumpy he was, how he screamed at her for food even with an automatic dispenser. Pumpkin the cat was apparently the world’s biggest drama queen and still begged to be held like a kitten.
Remus knew what she was doing. The ‘oh don’t you see, Pumpkin's just like you! He had a traumatic event but it didn’t define him, he’s got so many wonderful qualities, he's still just a cat, blah, blah, blah’ metaphor.
He fully intended on not breathing a word to her until one random Tuesday.
He was lying in bed, ignoring Pomfrey, who sat in Lyall’s usual chair. His father wasn’t allowed to be in the room during their sessions, even though nothing ever happened.
Pomfrey was chatting away about poor little Pumpkin and Remus was ignoring her until—
“Then one day, Pumpkin chewed his other leg off and bled out on my sofa.”
That startled Remus so badly that he snapped his head around to stare at her. Pomfrey calmly continued knitting.
“What?”
“Oh yes. The vets said prolonged stress after the accident. He never quite got over losing his leg.”
“Your cat was so depressed he chewed his own leg off?”
“Mh hm.”
Remus glared at her. “And I suppose I’ll bite off my arm if I mope around too?”
“You might.” Pomfrey said, shrugging. “It would make for an interesting psychological response. We ought to study your brainwaves while you do it.”
That startled a laugh out of him.
After that, he started talking more. Her dry responses never failed to amuse him, and he grew to like her. She urged him to face what happened instead of numbing it out, threatening his potential self cannibalism when he resisted.
Progress was slow, but over time Remus started feeling like himself again. A few weeks in, he told Pomfrey about Sirius, James, and Peter, finally opening up about how hurt he was that they didn’t want to see him.
“To be hurt does not make you weak, Remus.” She told him for probably the hundredth time since meeting. “I’m sorry to hear about your friends. Perhaps you can see them when you’re discharged?”
Remus shook his head, wiping his tears on his sleeve.
“I can’t.” He said thickly. “I can’t do that to myself.”
Pomfrey gave him a sympathetic smile. “That’s okay.” She said. “You’re under no obligation.”
“I just don’t understand,” he cried helplessly. “I thought they were my friends. I thought they cared about me. W-we were inseparable. Now they think I’m a monster.”
“You are not a monster, Remus.” She said gently.
“I look like one.” He gestured in disgust at his body. “Look at me! I’m a Frankenstein! I’ve been butchered up by a lunatic and sewn back together by another! Why did they try to save me? I should’ve died in that forest! I wish I had died!”
His voice had risen to a yell, shouting at the unless flesh he called a body. Pomfrey was quiet, letting him pour it all out, the sickly dark tar that had been stewing inside him since he woke up, made of everything wrong and deformed.
“The doctors stitched you up and gave you new blood, it’s true.” She said softly. “Without their efforts, you would have died. But remembered when they told you that you flatlined twice? That you came back both times? That wasn’t because of them, Remus. That was all you. A part of you wanted to come back. Don’t you think that means something?”
“I had friends to come back to.” Remus wept. “Or I thought I did.”
She just held his hand as he cried.
——
Physical therapy began not long after. Pomfrey had him using kid-level grip strengtheners whenever he was lying in bed, and started encouraging him to wiggle his feet and flex his legs. He had to reconnect with his body, most of which still felt numb from surgery. She made him get out of bed once a day, helped him stand and sit in his wheelchair. His legs shook from the lack of use, weakened and frail.
They were weening him off the morphine as his strength improved. Remus was wracked with random pain for a while as his body adjusted, and he was miserable. With the meds lessened, the haziness in his head cleared. He was more aware and grounded, able to respond quicker when spoken to whereas before the nurses had to repeat his name multiple times before he registered them.
The first day he was able to use the bathroom alone was the first day he saw his reflection. He hadn’t meant to—he truly wasn’t thinking about it. After flushing, he washed his hands and reflexively checked himself in the mirror—and couldn’t recognize who stared back.
The last gash Remus remembered getting ran diagonally across his face, the stitches pinching his cheeks and nose oddly. A few smaller wounds scratched up his temple, jaw, and the right side of his lips. Everything was squishy-looking and swollen—like some Lovecraftian monster.
Pomfrey found him sobbing on the bathroom floor, and every reflective surface had been covered from that point on.
Weeks passed. Lyall visited him everyday, and Remus worked hard with Pomfrey. The sudden drive to recover came out of nowhere, and a large part of it was because of her. She was peeling back layers he didn’t even know he had and refused to give up on him when he failed PT or regressed in a session.
He had come around to accepting that his survival wasn’t due to anyone’s efforts but his own. Not to say the large team of doctors and nurses hadn’t done anything, but surviving two flatlines and losing a majority of his blood was something he did on his own. Remus could have chosen not to fight, he could’ve let Greyback slice his throat and bleed him dry. He could’ve refused therapy and let himself waste away. At every opportunity to give up, he hadn’t.
Now, Remus knew it was for a reason. He thought the reason was his friends, but Pomfrey pointed out that even after his friends abandoned him, he still made the choice to get better. He made that choice for himself, not anyone else. And that was an encouraging thought.
He still had nightmares and panic attacks that left him feeling just as weak and vulnerable at that night, but Pomfrey was always there to calm him down and build him back up.
The police had been by to get his statement once he improved. Lyall’s security cameras caught Fenrir Greyback climbing through the unlocked window and dragging Remus’ unconscious body out minutes later. He had been caught squatting in a house two weeks after his attack, and was currently in prison. The police had to get Remus’ statement. They had apparently been by in the first few hours after he got out of surgery, and Lyall had allowed them to swab for DNA under his fingernails and take a sample of blood from the doctors. Both of which matched Greyback’s.
Remus told them what he remembered and even though it didn’t seem like much, both of the officers looked pleased. They told him they’d be in touch, that Greyback’s life sentence was as good as guaranteed. He would never have to worry about him again.
——
As he recovered, he was able to wheel himself around and was regaining sensation around some of his wounds. The stitches had dissolved and varied from pink to red in color. New skin stretched tightly over the gashes as Remus diligently followed the strict scar care regime prescribed by his doctors.
The eyepatch was removed as well. His doctors were very pleased to see he had healed as best as could be expected—he wouldn’t be able to drive without glasses, but he had saved over 90% of his vision. There was no visible damage to the eye at all.
His facial wounds were healing fast. The puffiness had gone down substantially and his skin didn’t feel as tight anymore. Remus showered for the first time in almost twelve weeks and nearly cried in relief. He felt reborn, like he was finally washing away all the terrible things he had endured.
When he only needed occasional over the counter pain killers, the hospital finally discharged him. Remus would still see Pomfrey daily for physical and mental therapy, but he was allowed to return home. He made sure to thank his doctors and nurses profusely—he had been a rude patient in the first few weeks, but he knew just how much work they’d put in for his sake. They were all proud of him and his efforts. A few even called him a miracle. Remus wasn’t sure about that, but grateful all the same.
Lyall fussed over everything once they got home. He had installed a ramp to the house for his wheelchair and bars on the windows so Remus felt safe. Personally, he thought his father was going a bit overboard with the bars, but it was the most care he’d seen from him in years so he didn’t say anything.
He got set up in his bedroom, reclining on a mountain of pillows as Lyall grabbed some of his favorite books and arranged his new painkillers and scar care on his nightstand. Remus breathed in the familiar scent of his room, warm and kinder than the sharp sterility of the hospital. Home had never felt so wonderful.
——
It was apparent to say Remus didn’t return the rest of his senior year. He’d already decided to do homeschooling through the summer—one of his college prospects knew of his situation and were willing to enroll him even while he finished his GED.
Everyone in the state knew about his attack. Lyall had been dealing with reporters for months, and some mornings Remus woke to the sound of him chasing journalists from their front yard.
Hogwarts sent a bouquet of origami flowers crafted from each of the professors and a very thoughtful get well card. They offered to let Remus walk during the graduation ceremony with the rest of his cohort, but he declined. The last thing he wanted was to parade himself in front of the entire town or see his friends.
The last part was only partially true. Remus didn’t want to see them, but he stayed awake at night missing them. He wished they were here—he wished James would throw pebbles at his window and convince him to go cause chaos somewhere. He wished he could have some of Mrs. Potter’s cooking, or hear one of Peter’s terrible jokes, or had Sirius fall asleep on his shoulder again.
But he did not want to see them.
The people he missed weren’t real. They were only the parts they wanted him to see. In light of The Incident, not one visit, or phone call, or text. They had shown their true colors. They didn’t really care about him. Not in the way he cared about them. He didn’t want to see them and their real selves.
——
Summer came with more recovery and changes. The journalistic buzz over his attacks faded, and life resumed as usual. Greyback’s trial was publicly broadcasted—his lawyer was trying to plead insanity. The excessive stalking and deliberate nature of his attacks destroyed that argument quickly with very little effort. He was slapped with five life sentences and death row.
It was relieving to hear the conviction, but Remus only felt chills as he watched Greyback leer at the camera as he was escorted out. That wicked, manic smile would haunt him for years.
Life moved on after the trial. Remus’ scars were flattened and lightened, although he had to slather himself in sunscreen if he stepped outside the house. He graduated from the wheelchair to a cane halfway through July and Pomfrey with thrilled with his progress. He started working on the potter’s wheel again in the garage, and retrained his muscle memory.
Soon, Remus was walking on his own and regaining his former strength. He finished his GED and got accepted into a college in Boston, and was actually looking forward to it.
He could leave this town behind, the memories, the people. He could start over and pick up where he left off. He was ready to leave everything in the past.
——
His last physical therapy session with Pomfrey was actually rather bittersweet. They spent the whole time just talking over tea—she had cleared him as a perfectly healthy young man, and already put him in touch with some mental therapists in Boston.
“I’m very proud of you, Remus.” She said to him as they sat in the otherwise empty PT lab. “The growth you’ve made in these past months is an astounding achievement.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.” He smiled. “I can’t thank you enough for everything. For not giving up on me.”
“All I did was guide you,” she reminded him. “I could see you weren’t ready to give up on yourself, you just had to be reminded.”
“I’m going to miss you. Are you sure you don’t want to run away to Boston with me?”
Pomfrey laughed. “My dear, I’ll be right here waiting. Come by and visit me when you’re taking a break from your adventures.”
“You can show me all your photos of Pumpkin.”
The old woman he’d grown to greet as a friend and mentor shot him a sly smile. “Pumpkin was never real, my dear. I made him up.”
Remus sputtered on his tea, gaping at her in utter betrayal.
“You lied to me?”
“Darling, I tell that story to every patient I work with.” Pomfrey cackled, smacking his arm as she hooted with laughter. "And every single one of them start talking after the chewing bit."
“You’re a mean old lady.” He muttered reproachfully. Pomfrey’s eyes just sparkled and she patted his cheek affectionately.
“No one will ever believe you.”
Remus smiled. He was going to miss her.