The first thing that Remus was aware of was blood. Thick, metallic tasting, so blindingly red - it plastered his arms and torso, coated his face, his mouth-

Then he remembered. Remembered the door slowly opening, the scent, the expression on the boy's face just before the wolf pounced-

And he remembered what came after. Shaking violently, he vomited, choking as he began to sob. Severus was dead, dead - dead because he'd killed him - dead-

The word alone brought bile to his mouth, and he threw up again. With his tongue tasting the twin horrors of vomit and blood, he rested his head against the floor and shut his eyes, no longer trying to fight the half-swallowed tears. He was a murderer, because someone was dead because of him - someone human-

There was a knock on the door. Remus wanted to tell Madam Pomfrey not to come in, but to just leave him to rot forever and ever, but he wasn't able to speak.

There was a sharp intake of breath, and she was speaking, speaking words that Remus could not comprehend. She was speaking another language - she was speaking English, and he was only suited to the howls of wolves.

He snuck a glance to the other side of the room, and heaved, spilling his last meal as easily as he had spilt Severus' life upon the ground. Oh god, oh god - he'd killed someone-

Madam Pomfrey had seemed not to see him, somewhere with - with the mess of blood and bone and hair that had had once been black. Remus could have told her that Severus was dead, because he remembered tearing open the pale, smooth throat with the glistening claws. Remus looked down at his hands, through his tears; underneath the nails was thick with dried blood, some still dripping the red as if it was Remus who was hurt, not the one that deserved to die. Not the one that was a murderer.

When Madam Pomfrey finally did reach his side, he could not look at her. He did not know what he would see in her eyes - hatred or disgust or anger - but he couldn't meet her gaze, like a person, because he wasn't - he was a filthy, vicious monster, a murderer-

Clothing him in his robes against the icy chill of the morning, the healer was cleaning the blood from his face, in the same soft, careful strokes that she always used. She shouldn't be being so gentle - he didn't deserve it, he was a monster.

"Please don't do this," he whispered, cringing back against the wall of the shack. "I don't deserve-" A gagging sob cut him off, and he shrunk away from her kind hands. "Please."

For a moment, he wasn't sure if she'd heard, but then she had moved and was cleaning him off again, just as tenderly as before. Remus could hardly stand her doing this, and a small cry escaped him as he shuddered down, trying to escape the kindness that made him feel human, because he wasn't, not at all. "Hurt me." The words cut his lips like broken glass, and he still tasted Severus's blood.

"No," a quiet voice murmured, and a thin wand passed before his eyes as it healed. "This isn't your fault, Remus, not your fault at all. You couldn't control it."

Remus shook his head, almost pleased at how much the action hurt. "I should have been able to. I - I - I killed him, Madam Pomfrey-" Then the tears that he had been trying to fight down surfaced again, and he fell silent, shaking with the sobs that were almost as thick as blood. "I don't deserve to live."

The healer sighed heavily, the arc of her wand easing the soreness of his muscles. "Don't be ridiculous," she said softly, smoothing back strands of sandy hair. Remus cried harder, because she was so blindingly wrong, and he was almost glad that he would probably get the dementor's kiss for this, because he deserved worse-

"Remus, we have to get back to the castle. Dumbledore will handle it, it'll be alright." It was clear that she was trying to assure him, but her voice was sharp with worry. Remus knew that Dumbledore, saint as he was, would not be able to stop the Ministry from taking action, and his conscience was soothed somewhat at the thought of punishment. The monster that killed Severus needed to suffer.

Reaching up and scrubbing at his eyes with an already bloody sleeve, comforted by the sting, he slowly pushed himself up. Madam Pomfrey placed a hand around his waist, supporting him, and Remus was too weak to push her away. He tried not to look at the striking crimson smeared on her crisp white healer's robes as the pair limped up to the castle.