How the Bloody Hell did he manage this. He had always held himself to an extensive standard. He wasn’t sure if it was because he had to prove himself — for no one in particular — after he’d been scooped away from St. Edmund’s all those years ago, or if it was because he would never wish lycanthropy on his very worst enemy, perhaps both, but now as he lay in the medical wing, Madam Pomfrey at his side per usual, her gentle hands stroking through his gently curls, his jaw remained tight. His eyes threatened to water and spill with tears, and he fought to keep a soft sob in.

Days after full moon’s were.. rough even with wolfsbane. Without it.. as he had mistakenly gone without by not taking an extra vial along with him, it was so much worse. His mind and body were not his own. No one could truly soothe him, not even Padfoot at times. That alone could bring him to tears thinking about it. He was so thankful for Padfoot, James and Peter.. he was thankful for you too of course.

To Madam Pomfrey, Remus was the son she never had, to her, he was her baby despite his older age now. She had cared for him nearly every full moon without a gripe or huff. And for that, Remus could assure one he would forever be grateful. However, when Madam Pomfrey had told him he’d attacked.. well you, he had hardly believed it. She had been able to save you, thankfully, mostly because the wounds weren’t so bad or severe. But he would now have to live with the idea of lycanthropy passing to you because of his own overconfident self.

Just a few beds down from his, you lay there, bloodied bandages wrapped around your torso needing to be changed again. Maybe if you hadn’t been so close..