Author's Note: I've been chewing on this headcanon for a while now; so enjoy!

Disclaimer: The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. Please do not sue me, I can barely pay tuition.

Hogwarts: Assignment #11, First Aid Task #4: Elevation: Write about someone who needs a pick-me-up.

Warnings: Medical theme in the story includes blood, injuries, and stitches.

Stacked with: MC4A; Terms of Services; Shower of Words

Individual Challenge(s): Not Just England; Cracked Facade; Gryffindor MC; Seeds; True Colours; Bow Before the Blacks; Marauders Tales; Minerva's Migraine; Brush; Seeds; Interesting Times; Tissue Warning; Old Shoes

Representation(s): Pomona Pomfrey; graduation; birthday

Bonus challenge(s): Nightingale; Spinning Plates; Mouth of Babes; Delicious Lie; Bust a Cap; Second Verse (Machismo); Chorus (Not a Lamp); Demo (White Dress; Wabi Sabi; Nightingale; Spinning Plates; Mouth of Babes; Rock of Ages; Creature Feature; Surprise!; Getting On; Esbat; Stitchin' Time; Sailor Take Warning)

Tertiary bonus challenge: NA

Word Count: 1440

Favourite Patient

Poppy twisted her hands together nervously, her eyes flitted around the infirmary once more. Everything was nice and proper and clean and would make a good first impression. That was important, she knew.

That was when Minerva arrived, ferrying the little boy with her. He was wearing his Hogwarts robes and looking around curiously; a bit short for his age, but that meant so little when they were still waiting on their growth spurts. His nutmeg brown hair was neatly combed and he stood as if it had been very important to someone to teach him how to look prim and proper in public. The only thing about him that stood out to her, really, was the scar near his eye. That was brutal. And she knew, thanks to all her years spent watching and monitoring magical injuries, that this was one such injury.

"Madam Pomfrey," Minerva said. "This is Mr. Remus Lupin. M. Lupin, this is our matron."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," the little boy said, holding out his hand.

Poppy bit back a smile; she didn't want the boy to think she was laughing at him. He was just so serious for a child. Then again, how couldn't he?

"The pleasure is all mine, M. Lupin," she said. "We'll be seeing a lot of each other over the next several years. Why don't you go pick a bed that can be your regular spot?"

She scrubbed at the blood on the little boy's back. He yawned sleepily.

"Try not to move, dear," she said.

"Sorry."

"No need to be sorry, only still."

He was like a stone statue after that.

"There," she said, throwing her dirty rags in a bin destined for the laundry. "All done."

"I'm sorry," Remus said.

"You don't need to apologize," Poppy said again.

"I know it's not very pleasant," he said.

"You're not the worst I've seen," she said.

"Am I the first werewolf?" he asked shyly.

Poppy frowned. Children should not have these apologetic streaks in them.

"There's no wrong way to have a body, dear. I did not become a Healer to keep my hands clean M. Lupin. I am here to take care of you," she said. "You remember that."

Remus was sitting extra still as she stitched up the gash on his arm, but Poppy still heard the hitches in his breath. She paused. It was painful, painstaking work, but it was the best way to start tackling a magical injury and enhance the chances that magical remedies would then help.

"Can I tell you something you aren't allowed to tell any of my other patients?" Poppy asked.

Remus nodded.

She reached into the pocket of her apron for a chocolate frog, and she slipped it towards him.

"I'm only the second best Healer at this school, this here will cure anything," she said.

Remus smiled, and he broke off a piece of his frog. He let it melt on his tongue as she finished her work.

Poppy had been under the impression that, four years into his (very successful) academic career, she and her recurring patient had gotten quite good at managing the residual symptoms and shock of the full moon. She was getting better at striking balances—between letting him sleep and waking him up to drink water to aid his recovery and knowing how much broth or plain toast he would be able to stomach… He himself was growing to accept and tolerate help, even asking for it sometimes. He was discovering just how wonderful pain-numbing pomades and sleeping draughts could be, but today was different.

They never spoke of the incident again. Poppy was sure that the young boy would blush and trip over himself apologetically, unable to explain what had come over him, and she wasn't interested in that rhetoric.

But she was resetting his shoulder and mending the bones one by one, and when she was wrapping it up in a bandage, he burst into tears.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked immediately. But it was not that kind of tears.

"I'm just tired," he said.

"I have a sleeping drought ready for you dear, we're nearly done," Poppy promised.

"No, I'm tired," he repeated. "I don't want this anymore."

It took her most matronly composure to keep it together, then.

"Dear, that's not up for discussion. You'll go to bed soon, sleep will clear your head…"

"No," Remus said. "I don't want this, I don't like this, I don't want to do this anymore, and I want out!"

She pinned the bandage in place and eased Remus back against his pillows and let him cry. Her fingers brushed his hair and she was suddenly so conscious of how young, how thin, he was.

"What do I always tell you?" Poppy said quietly. "There's no wrong way to have a body."

"I don't care about right or wrong, I can't do this for the rest of my life," Remus sobbed. "I'm just—I'm tired. I'm sorry, I'm so tired, and I'm going to be tired forever and that's just... "

"Okay," Poppy said, brushing his hair back again. "Okay. Cry it out, dear. Take a deep breath, and go to sleep. You won't be tired forever. We're just waiting for your next moment of strength. That's not that different from the rest of the world, dear. You just feel it more acutely."

He took a deep, shaky breath and rubbed at his eyes with his uninjured arm.

"Can I have the sleeping potion now?"

Poppy nodded, and she helped him drink it.

She watched him fall asleep and tucked him in when she was satisfied.

When she turned the corner, she saw three little boys, lanky and awkward and trying to be subtle, crowding the door of her infirmary wing. For some reason, they had come bearing flowers.

"Sorry ma'am," said James Potter—in whom she had instilled a healthy fear of her following his second stupid and unnecessary Quidditch accident. "We were just looking for Remus."

The official story was that Remus was not at school at the moment.

"Remus is home in Wales," she said.

"He told us the truth," Sirius said. "Like, a year ago."

"To give credit where credit is due, we also guessed because he's a very bad liar."

"We just want to know if he's okay because he looked extra tired this week."

Poppy blinked.

"Well… yes," she said. "Yes, he's going to be okay."

"Happy sixteenth birthday, by the way," she told Remus as he pulled the blankets over himself.

"Thank you. I feel it," he said sarcastically. But he smiled at her. She smiled back.

"I have cake for you when you're ready," Poppy said.

"Really?"

"Of course. I didn't want to risk you missing out on cake for your birthday," Poppy said. "Don't worry, it's chocolate."

"Do you do this for every patient?"

"Well, I'm not supposed to have favourites," Poppy said. "But admittedly no, I do not."

Pomona was packing up the infirmary for the summer when Remus came in.

"Hello, M. Lupin," she said. "Is everything..?"

"Yes," he said. He was wearing the red and gold sash of a Gryffindor graduate over his robes. "I didn't come here for a potion, I'm here to see you."

He handed her a package wrapped in silver paper and purple ribbons.

"What's this, then?" she asked, though a ball was forming in her throat.

"A thank you gift," he said.

When she unwrapped the package, she smiled. It was a name plate for her desk; he must have engraved the words himself with some sort of spell.

Poppy Pomfrey, Matron

Best Healer in the World, after Chocolate

Gratitude and tenderness swelled in her heart.

"Remus, it was a pleasure to know you," she said. "I say so sincerely."

"Thank you," Remus said. "I would have been much sicker and much more hurt and a lot more unhappy if it hadn't been for you."

She took a deep breath and smiled, then reached out and hugged him.

"The world outside of Hogwarts is big and mysterious and unkind," she said. "I know you know already, better than I ever will. But remember…"

"There's no wrong way to have a body," he said.

She blinked back tears and nodded again. And in that moment she knew, which was horrifying since she also knew that it may not be enough, that she had done everything that she could for the boy.

She smiled when she saw him in the Dining Hall.

"Madam Pomfrey," Remus said, nodding his head. He was older now, and perhaps she should have been more alarmed by how thin and wrung out and tired he looked, but she couldn't stop her smile from growing broader.

"You can call me Poppy," she said. "We're colleagues, now."

"With all due respect Madam, I think I will be pathologically unable to do such a thing," he smiled. "Professor or not."

Poppy laughed.