Tattered and Torn

The Healer pushed aside the door. "You can go in, but keep in mind that he probably won't respond. He's very sick, dear."

Harry nodded, indicating he understood. He thanked the Healer again for letting him come up, not to mention fixing his arm for him, and slipped into the room. There were three beds in the room. The bed closest to the door was empty; in the middle bed was an uncomfortable-looking man with a heavy bandage where his elbow would be, if he had a forearm. The bed by the window had curtains drawn around it.

Swallowing the painful lump in his throat, Harry started towards the last bed, but a rusty, coarse voice stopped him.

"Hey."

Harry turned. It was the man on the middle bed who was missing half his arm. "Yes?"

The man jerked his head towards the last bed. "You know him?"

"Yes. He's been like a father to me."

The man seemed to have difficulty getting his words out. "He going to be all right?"

Harry felt a cold fear grip his heart as he admitted, "I don't know."

The man met Harry's eyes. "You know me."

"No." But suddenly Harry did know he'd seen the man before--he had shared a room with Mr. Weasley the previous Christmas. "Yes."

"My name is Andrew. I'm a werewolf, too. That's how I would up with..." He gestured helplessly to his stump of an arm. "My father attacked me about a week ago. He didn't cut my arm off, but it was so badly injured they had to amputate it."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. He was a little anxious to get on.

Andrew seemed to sense this and nodded at the bed next to his. "He's the one who told me my life wouldn't end just because of my condition...unless I let it. It's because of him I'm not lying dead in some gutter by now. I hope he gets better, kid. He deserves life if nobody else on this rotten planet does."

Harry swallowed. "I hope so, too."

"Now go see him. He needs you right now."

Harry just nodded and moved forward. He gripped the curtains, hesitated for only a second, then parted them and slipped through. The privacy curtains closed behind him, shutting him off from the rest of the world. It didn't matter. Right now his world revolved around the pale figure lying beneath the sheets.

Taking a deep breath, Harry pulled up a chair and sat down next to the man's head. "Hey, Remus," he said quietly.

Remus didn't respond. Harry reached out and took the man's hand. It felt heavy and cold in Harry's trembling hands. "Come on, Remus, you've got to get better," he begged, his voice quavering and tears stinging at his eyes. "I still need you. You've been like a father to me for so long. I can't lose you...not you and Sirius both...I don't care how selfish it is." He pressed Remus's hand to his face, tears beginning to pour down his face now. "Please," he whispered. "Don't leave me now."

~~~

Hermione had been sitting on the front porch of Number Four for about two hours--she hadn't gone out until she was sure James wasn't there. She didn't know why, but she just didn't like the man. Maybe it was the fact that he'd believed Harry dead and abandoned him when he was at his most vulnerable. Or maybe it was just that he was supposed to have been dead himself.

A fog had descended and it was getting chilly. Hermione shivered and rubbed her arms, wishing she'd thought to dig out a sweater, but not wanting to go inside until Harry got home.

In the fading daylight down the street, she noticed two figures approaching and straightened a little. One walked with a distinctive limp and was wrapped in a dark cloak. The other seemed small and lost in the dusk. At the end of the walk, the two paused; the larger figure said something to the smaller, which nodded. The larger figure patted the smaller on the shoulder, then turned and vanished into the fog. The smaller approached the porch, then stopped a few sidewalk squares from Hermione. "Hermione? If you're cold, why aren't you wearing a sweater?"

Hermione stood. "Harry!"

Harry moved forward to meet her quickly and hugged her. She hugged him back tightly, then drew back a little and looked up at him. "Your cast is gone."

"One of the Healers insisted on mending it. Said it wouldn't take but a couple of seconds--and it didn't."

Hermione reached up and brushed his cheek, streaked with trails of tears. "You've been crying."

"I..." Harry hesitated, then bowed his head. "I'm scared."

"Oh, Harry." Hermione hugged him a little tighter again. "How's Remus?"

"Not good," Harry answered in almost a whisper. "They...they...Hermione, they don't think he'll survive the night."

Hermione gasped. "I had no idea it was that bad. Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry."

Harry gripped her tightly and bit his lip to stifle the sobs. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks. Hermione leaned her head against his chest, wishing she could comfort him...and wishing she didn't feel so inadequate. But there was nothing else she could do. This would have to be enough.