Four To The End (prev Shifting Lines) - Book One (Marauder Era)

Chapter Eight - What Kind Of Healer Kicks A Broken Leg?

Remus rarely remembered anything during his time as a wolf which was for the better since what he did remember was more than his human emotions could cope with. He remembered anger and rage and desire to lash out... the desire to kill (which he took out on himself) and these vicious, evil flashes from the full moon were unbearable for him to deal with without the actual physical memories of what he did.

When the curse ebbed out in the morning (which always hurt too, though in a different, shrinking way) he found himself in a pool of his own blood and the shredded remains of the blanket. He stared at the ceiling, not sure where he was... before the memory of the evening before flooded back. Groaning in pain, he sat up. He always still had wounds on his body, the severity depending.

Remus gave a whimpering cry as he saw deep gouges down his legs, a large chunk removed from one calf that had to be from a self-inflicted bite. There were claw marks down his sides, his flesh shredded and flappy. He could feel scratches on his face. The pain was too much and he lay back down, sobbing. His body would heal. Everything he did to himself would (usually) disappear before night fell again. He figured it was because the wounds were from a werewolf that they took longer to heal than normal wounds but they did heal (for instance, when he broke his arm once as a boy it healed up within ten minutes, but once when he chewed his own finger off in wolf form it took well over a day). Everything that happened to his body was healed and smoothed away by werewolf regeneration, another side effect from his curse. All wounds, that is, except for the one that turned him into a werewolf; he would forever have that scar. He also thought silver might not heal but it was one of those things he wasn't sure was true or a myth.

As he lay there crying, the shallow slashes on his face began healing. Even though all of this healed up, it didn't change or lessen the pain. They were very real wounds, causing very real--and immense--pain. He could feel the other wounds slowly working their way towards fixing themselves but it would take ages, especially for the huge chunk in his leg. I'll just lay here a while, he thought and was on the verge of just passing out when he heard movement in the passage.

No! He grabbed the remains of the blanket to wrap around his body and somehow pulled himself to the bathroom in a flash of white hot pain, leaving a trail of bloody and smudged footprints. His legs were weak and he barely made it before he heard the trapdoor open and Madame Pomfrey gasp loudly at the sight before her. He wondered what it was like, surveying the damage a werewolf did for the first time. He wondered what she thought, knowing a tiny little eleven year old had done all that damage, caused all that blood.

"I'm--I'm--bathroom!" he called out when he heard her speak his name. "Hold on...!" He turned on the shower though didn't really want to get in with his violent wounds. It would cause more blood loss, but what choice did he have with Pomfrey out there? She's seeing the blood, he thought miserably, tears squeezing out of his eyes. She's seeing what I did!

"Are you all right?" she asked, right outside the door.

As soon as he stepped into the shower the hot water against the gouge on his calf was too much and he cried out before falling, crashing out of the shower and onto the floor. Lights burst in his eyes and he began sobbing. The door swung open and Pomfrey came in.

"N--no--p--please...!" he whimpered, feebly grabbing for a towel to cover his nakedness. "Please," he said again as she crouched next to him. She was seeing him, seeing him, seeing him the blood and the wounds and he was naked except the towel and she was seeing what he had done to himself. She had seen the violence in the living room and now saw the violence on his body. "It--heals--" he managed to choke out, tears pouring out. Please stop looking at me.