Disclaimers-Don't own, Don't sue, Can't get blood from a turnip.

Many thanks to all that are reading and I do apologize for the delay. My School year has just started so I am fairly busy nowadays. Thanks for you patience. Cheers.

Chapter 4-The State That I'm In

Ron sat on the far end of the mattress, a book held loosely in his hand as he watched the sunrise through the bedroom window. He hadn't slept the whole night. That was fine. He'd rather work himself into exhaustion so that he would be able to fall asleep and not dream about anything. He found it easier to maintain his sanity that way. It hurt too much to dream of her and wake up without her anywhere near him.

He knew his older brother probably felt the same way. But he found his oblivion with hash and fire whiskey and the occasional pub fight.

No one liked that he was trying his hardest to drive himself into his grave, but they didn't know how to tell him to stop hurting himself, to find the will to move away from that and to begin to live again. No one had themselves together enough to demand it of him. Ron would have done it, but he knew that he was the last to even begin speaking about that kind of loss. Hermione's death weighed on him so heavily that it was almost a physical presence upon him. He missed her horribly. From the time he woke up, to the time he closed his eyes, he missed her. He would have to catch himself time and time again as he set the table for two instead of one. Or when he expected her to come up behind him and run her hands through the hair that was now reaching his elbows. Logically, he knew that it wouldn't happen again. But he still kept on hoping it would and he would end up hating himself the more for it.

Sighing, he let the book drop to the mattress. He was sick of losing people he cared about. He had lost Hermione, Ginny, Dean, Lavender and even his poncy git of a brother. There were more names on the list, but he didn't have the strength both of the physical and mental kind to tally them up one by one as he had done previous nights. Bill had exhausted him beyond what he thought his limits were.

At first, when they had inexplicably been drawn together after the many skirmishes and finally the big battle, Ron had honestly believed that they would have been able to handle anything that happened together. After all, it had been years since they had shared that kind of closeness and he was convinced that it was yet another reason to keep on fighting. To take the extra mile in precautions and not risk being fool-hardy in battle. Now, thinking back, he had to laugh bitterly at how naïve he had been. He had realized that it was impossible when Hermione died. She had been one of the last to go and when the news of her death came, he had nearly broken right then and there. But Harry needed him. Bill needed him, since they had just found Fleur and even then, the situation hadn't looked good, even though the healers and medi-witches were careful to be neutral.

Bill had been his rock during the mass wake and cremation. There were simply too many dead to give her a proper and private funeral. The bodies needed to be burned quickly lest they spread disease or worse; end up being used in blood or dark magic. He had watched the fires spread through the shrouded bodies through tear-filled eyes and his brother had stood right beside him, his hand on his shoulder a comforting weight that made the loss just a fraction easier to take.
He had promised to himself that if Bill needed him, he would gladly return the favour ten-fold.

But the chance never came.

Somewhere along the way, Bill had made the choice for him, deciding that he was better off dealing with the pain by himself. A choice that Ron, despite his misgivings, had respected. But as the weeks and then months passed, all he saw coming from that choice was his brother inching closer to death by booze and neglect and no one was able to scale the fortress of loneliness he had built up to halt it or at least stop its progresss.

At least no one in the Weasley household, Ron thought bitterly.

He wasn't angry that somehow, Harry and Remus Lupin had gotten closer to Bill than anyone in the family had. He understood that despite the facade that they put on, they all were fragmented. Not until they began their own healing could they reach out. He was tactless and occasionally dense, but he could see that far at least. He loved his brother, but he wasn't strong enough to help him. He had to find a way though, before he ended up losing his brother, something that he was sure as hell not going to do without a fight.

Sighing deeply at the decision he had reached, he went over to the desk after his legs had stopped tingling from being in one position for too long and wrote out a simple note. Calling Hermes, he attached the note and sent him off on his way. Maybe they would be able to help him more. Merlin knew no one else had been able to do it.

(Line Break)

He was lying on an old fashioned hospital bed, under pristine, pale blue sheets. The colour made his skin look even paler than it already was and his hair darker than the last time he had seen him. He looked younger, the deep lines around his mouth and eyes gone or at least softened so that they weren't as noticeable as they had been a few years prior.

There was almost nothing to show what he had gone through, only the bandages around the wrists and hands gave indication of it. He was sleeping peacefully and there were no monitoring spells around him. If he didn't know any better, he would have said that Sirius had just laid down for a nap and would wake soon and things would be the same as they had been years ago when they were students.

He really didn't look any different from what I recall of him, Remus mused as he paused in his study of the man that had been the world to him before sitting down on a chair next to the bed. He studied the man a little while longer as he tried to decide whether that was a good thing or not. After all, he knew that despite the physical form being the same, there was no knowing how much of the man he had known and loved remained unaltered. And if he was changed or worse, broken, whether he would be able to come to terms with the new Sirius while trying to not compare him to the one he used to know. He rubbed his face tiredly and sat back in the chair, willing himself to not think about that at that time. There was no point in speculating when he didn't have all of the pieces to look over. And despite what he wanted to believe, it didn't look like he was going to get those answers soon enough. Although Sirius had come a long way in the two and a half months that had lapsed since the last battle and him being brought to St. Mungo's, He hadn't fully regained consciousness once in that time. When he had woken up, he was always confused and more often than not, caught up in a dream state that was nightmarish at the worst and confounding at the least. He had witnessed these occurrences a few times when he and Harry had visited and despite the assurances of the healers that he was actually much more awake than those times suggested and once the potions wore off, he would be completely lucid again. Remus still held misgivings about that actually being the case; But he never voiced them aloud. Not when Harry was adamant that Sirius was improving somewhat.

The bitter diatribe that had got them past the barriers of their reluctance and silence had been firmly pushed aside. Although he still believed that Sirius was going to heal, he was being more realistic about the matter. He had accepted that his godfather's voice was gone permanently and had instead focused on making sure that the rest of his injuries received the best care that he could procure for him. He knew that spinal injuries were often than not permanently dehabilitating and he wasn't going to have his godfather end up crippled and dependent on others if he could help it. He was also determined that once Sirius had fully regained his faculties that care would also extend to his mental well-being also.

That he held no illusions about. Sirius's mental state had suffered, whether they wanted to admit it or not, when he had been almost a prisoner in Grimmauld Place. Torture for an unspecified amount of time, not to mention whatever it was that he had experienced during his time in the veil would no doubt have some effects on his mental state also. The question was whether it would be possible to heal his mind enough for him to be functional enough for him to deal with everyday life.

For his sake, Remus fervently hoped so. Sirius had had suffered too much already. He deserved to have some kind of peace, if happiness was too much to hope for him to get.

So deep was he in his thoughts that when he felt the feeble touch on his hand he started so badly that he nearly fell out of his chair. Catching himself quickly, he was surprised to see Harry looking down at his with an expression that was trying for amused, but was simply tired and drawn.

Frowning, Remus opened his mouth to ask what the matter was, but Harry shook his head and jerked his head in the direction of the hallway. Nodding, Remus left the room as quietly as he could, only pausing to look back to check on Sirius, who was thankfully still asleep.

Once he had closed the door behind him, he faced Harry, who was looking at him with a neutral expression on his angular face.

"I just finished speaking with the healers in charge of Sirius's case." he stated in a flat voice that made Remus swallow convulsively.

"What did they say about his condition?" he asked, torn between wanting to hear the answer and not wanting to hear them lest the hopes he held were crumbled into dust.

"The healers have finished treatment on Sirius's spine. But there was damage to the spinal cord that they simply couldn't fix. No matter what they tried, it just couldn't be done."

Harry said, his voice almost a monotone as he revealed what had just been explained to him after almost half an hour of vociferous arguing on his part.

"How bad is the damage?" Remus asked, his voice as emotionless as if he was asking for Harry to pass the tea or asking how the weather was outside.

"He's paralysed from the chest down They aren't holding out any hope for him to regain any feeling or movement." Harry continued in the same monotone. Remus nodded and rubbed his forehead tiredly.

"Would it sound horrible if I said I was expecting worse?" he asked Harry, who started at the question and then shook his head.

"I want to say yes, but part of me is simply thanking Merlin that he's at least got the use of his hands left. He's not obviously going to be independent as he was in the past...but it would be a hundred times worse for him if he's both without a voice and utterly dependent on someone for his every need."

Harry sighed, took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, making Remus come closer and brush his hair out of his face gently.

"I want to take comfort in that, but I can't shake the feeling that I failed him somehow, yet I have no idea how I could have prevented this." He snorted and drew closer to Remus until he was able to put his head down on Remus's shoulder.

"So much for being the saviour of the world. I couldn't save my best friend. Couldn't save Ginny, couldn't save Sirius. And now that I get the chance...I can't do anything to help...how useful is being so powerful that I can't even do that for him?" He fell silent and let Remus wrap his arms around him as he silently let out the tears of both anger and frustration that had been building up since the meeting with the healers that he had stubbornly refused to let out until then.

Remus closed his eyes and stroked Harry's hair, letting him cry his disappointment out. He hadn't any words to say, since he too was fighting with the weight of crushed hopes. He only hoped that when the time came, that he wouldn't hold any strong or high hopes over Sirius's mental health. He didn't think that neither he or Harry were strong enough to withstand more shattered hopes.