Someone kind, who Remus would not remember, helped him to his feet. The scouring spell, cast by still someone else, removed his husband's spilled life from his skin, but not entirely from his clothes and not at all from his memory. Even scoured, Remus saw his hands stained red each time he looked at them, making him feel a Shakespearean urge to scrub them repeatedly, though, he could not find the elan to even really wonder where the washroom might be. Remus smelled blood, saw it wherever he looked, felt coated in it; he could taste it in the bile he continually fought down because he was too paralyzed by grief to find a place to be ill properly. When asked if there was anyone he would like them to contact, Remus had distractedly said no. There was no one of consequence to the young man left to contact.

Harry had no one. It was one of the things that had drawn the two of them together. Remus had lived with it long enough to be accustomed to it, but they had both been utterly alone until they had had each other; and then Remus had dared walk out on him, as well, when Harry was at his most vulnerable. What had Remus been thinking? It had seemed reasonable at the time, for Harry's own good as much as Remus'. But the truth was he didn't think; not really. He had been tired and soul-weary; was still, but now a thousandfold. He felt a pang for the straight razor again. If Harry did not make it through this, he might use it after all. A man so callous did not deserve to live, he thought.

He'd killed Harry Potter. Remus hiccuped a desperate chuckle that concerned his attendants as they settled him in a small waiting room and onto a comfortable sofa Remus took no note of. Dark Lords and Death Eaters, curses and conspiracies had not succeeded. In the end, all it had taken was one man: one man Harry had trusted, who held his heart in his hand and had treated it with no more care than common rubbish, who had crushed it and walked away to have a pint. Remus was once again loudly distraught. They tried to comfort him by explaining what was being done for Harry but, until they told him the young man would be alright, none of it mattered and Remus did not absorb any of it. In the end they had left him at his request, soundproofing his door and closing it behind them, to let the man work through his grief alone.

It might have been a few moments, it might have been hours-it was all the same to Remus-before he was again disturbed. He did not hear the door and almost didn't notice the figure that approached him; and though it was familiar, it took Remus a moment to process the new presence.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprise making it sound ruder than it was meant. Severus, however, did not seemed fazed in the slightest.

"That is a rather longish story," he replied evenly, "that may not be appropriate at the moment. Suffice it to say, I have been tending to Mister...Potter-Lupin," he informed Remus, obviously finding Harry's new name unfamiliar, if not downright uncomfortable, though there was no judgement in the man's expression.

"Don't," Remus rasped, eyes falling closed as he shook his head. "My name does not deserve to be attached to his," he said, his voice sounding wretched and lost. "A man should not be referred to by his murderer's moniker."

Severus scowled as if trying to keep his patience and his tongue, failing ever so slightly with both. "It seems quite clear that this is no case of murder, Lupin," he admonished gently, "but of attempted suicide. I'm not sure what transpired between the two of you beforehand to make you feel this way, but hyperbole won't help any of us." He was matter-of-fact but not cruel. And though Remus bristled at the perceived insensitivity, it nonetheless sobered him, clearing his head.

"So, you've seen him?" Remus nodded hopefully. "How…? Will he…?"

Severus sighed and took a stiff seat on the couch beside him, understanding the question Remus couldn't voice. He looked grave, but then Severus often looked grave and Remus was unable to tell if it was anything to do with their present situation. "We sealed the wound and injected him with potions to replenish his blood supply. But his body has gone into shock, naturally," Severus explained, his bedside manner seriously lacking. Though, Remus found the news, however abruptly delivered, was easier to accept from someone he knew. "We are still actively treating him. We aren't certain yet what effect there might have been on his brain, if any. But his heart is beating of its own accord," he reassured Remus softly, "and his lungs are attempting self-sufficiency, as well."

Remus nodded gratefully, but his heart stuttered in his chest as his mind replayed the words 'Effects on the brain' and 'attempting self-sufficiency'. He felt himself slipping back into despair when Severus laid a warm blanket in his shaking hands.

"What's this?" he asked, nearly dropping it.

"You are in shock, also," Severus said, squinting at him. "Not to such a life-threatening degree, obviously, but that's no reason not to attend to it." Remus made no move to stop the man when he reached over to take his pulse; frowning, but releasing him after a moment as if satisfied. Remus toyed with the blanket, having no intention of using it, glancing over at his concerned but obviously uncomfortable temporary companion. Severus was not the confidant Remus would have chosen, but he was the only one there, and Remus felt his confession heavy on his tongue.

"If he...If he dies, Severus," Remus said in a quavering voice, "I'll never be able to live with myself."

Severus' scowl deepened and he looked at Remus without speaking long enough to make the man uncomfortable. "Much as I grudgingly respect him," Severus began finally, "he's always been an impulsive, over-reactive fool." Severus' bluntness chafed, but he didn't give Remus a chance to object. "If he dies-which I honestly do not believe he will-then he will have killed himself. And that, I do believe, is his prerogative. But I also have absolutely no doubt he would not want you to blame yourself."

Remus looked at Severus, too full of conflicting emotions to respond right away. The man was clearly trying to comfort him, and he wasn't being entirely unsuccessful, but his technique was so awful Remus couldn't imagine they allowed the man to have these kinds of talks with family members very often.

"He blames himself," Remus told Severus. "For all the others." Remus waited, but Severus sat quietly as if prepared to listen. "You know, one of the last things I said to him is that Voldemort was to blame, not him." Remus was newly sick remembering the conversation. "And I called his guilt... self-pity."

"As it is," Severus shrugged. "As is this."

"Yes, but Severus," Remus said desperately, grasping the man's sleeve. Severus looked down at it but did not comment. "Harry was not to blame for a madman's preoccupation with him. But I...my actions were directly responsible for Harry's decision."

"Remus," Severus sighed, his voice far more kindly than it had been yet. He lay a hand hesitantly but gently over the hand that gripped his cuff, patting it lightly. But if his tone was tender, his words, as ever, were less than. "It is entirely immaterial. I have every confidence he will live. And when he is able, then you should both seek some sort of help. That he was not already speaking to someone is…" Severus shook his head, at a loss at their apparent lack of foresight.

Remus' mood turned from desperate to bitter, and he released the poor man's sleeve to sit back. "He would not go. I tried. I swear," Remus vowed, shaking his head. Severus nodded his understanding.

"He may not have a choice now," he warned Remus. "After things of this nature, St. Mungo's will typically not release a patient without it. Though our Mr. Potter is often shown special deference," he added with a subtle roll of his eyes, "treatment is mandated by law. He can't just decide not to participate, or they could threaten to commit him. For his own safety."

It was Remus turn to nod. He didn't like to think how Harry would respond to the news, but it honestly was a relief. Remus had tried to convince Harry to speak to a therapist the last time he was struggling, but the young man would have none of it. He seemed convinced Remus was all he needed, which Remus recalled resenting. But he'd accepted the responsibility at the time anyway. "Silver linings, eh?" he asked Severus sardonically with a scowl of his own.

"Remus, I realize we have not-historically speaking-been friends," Severus said with a sigh. "But much connects us. I'm...I'm here for you," he said, looking practically ill with his distaste of sentiment, but soldiering through anyway. "Should you conceive of anything helpful I might provide." Remus only nodded. He could tell the man felt it was doubtful such a thing would happen, but he could also tell the offer was sincere; and it was appreciated enormously, and was especially touching considering who extended it.

"So," Remus said after a moment, once again finding his voice fickle. "When can I see him?" Remus was desperate to be reunited with Harry but was frightened at the same time. It would be torturous to see the young man laid so low. But Remus needed to see him again. He needed to see his color restored, his chest rising and falling. He wanted to listen to his heart and assure himself it was beating.

"We'll show you to his room once he's stabilized," Severus advised understandingly. "Which he may be at this point. I'll go check, shall I?"

Remus nodded his gratitude, could tell Severus was relieved to have a chance to excuse himself. He rose quickly and made for the door, but Remus stopped him before he could escape entirely. "Severus."

The man turned back, patient but apprehensive.

"Thank you," Remus told him softly, hoping the simple words were able to convey the sincerity he felt in speaking them. Severus seemed unexpectedly moved himself, opened his mouth to respond, but in the end simply nodded and continued on his errand.