"Hands," HP, Remus/Severus, PG-13
Title: Hands
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Remus/Severus, more or less. Remus/Sirius implied.
Author: Penknife
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own them. JKR does.
Summary: It’s the morning after a long night. Post-OotP.
A/N: For the contrelamontre "healing" challenge. Written in about an hour and fifteen minutes.

Hands

There's a knock on the door of the bedroom at Grimmauld Place where Remus has been sleeping. It’s easier to think of it that way than as his bedroom or their bedroom or Sirius’s bedroom but Sirius is dead.

"Go away," Remus calls. His voice is hoarse, harsh.

The door opens anyway. Severus looks at him with contempt. Remus doesn’t drag himself to sitting. Severus isn’t worth it.

"Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?" he rasps out.

Severus sneers. "Haven’t you ever heard of locks?"

"Go away, Severus," Remus says. "I’m not well."

"It’s nearly tea-time," Severus says. "Were you planning on getting up at all today?"

"No. Go away."

Remus closes his eyes. There’s a long pause. It does not, to his irritation, contain the sound of the door closing.

"Lupin--" Severus begins.

Remus opens his eyes. "I expected you three days ago with the potion. You didn’t come. I’m sure you were busy." He closes his eyes again.

"I was unfortunately detained," Severus says. It’s neither apology nor taunt, which is odd enough to make Remus open his eyes again and try to keep them open. He notices for the first time that Severus is pale, his lips gray, that he’s leaning against the doorframe heavily for support.

"You look terrible," Remus says.

Severus scowls and lets go of the doorframe. "You’re bleeding."

"It’s stopped," Remus says. He looks down at the backs of his hands. His nightshirt is dark and sticks to his wrists. "I can’t clean up yet."

"It’s hardly sanitary," Severus says.

"If you’re volunteering to help ..." Remus says, letting the words trail off to show their absurdity.

"Oh, for God’s sake," Severus says, his own voice sounding thin. He stalks over to the bed and offers a hand.

Remus takes it, after a moment’s hesitation, and braces himself on Severus’s arm to climb grimly out of bed. He can’t put all his weight on either foot yet; his ankles are as bad as his wrists, bitten clear to the bone. Severus is strong enough to take his weight on arm and shoulder, though he’s so awkward about it that Remus is sure no one’s leaned on him this way before. He can smell the man.

Severus pushes him up against a wall and lets go; Remus swears at him under his breath while Severus runs a bath.

"Take that filthy thing off," Severus says, kneeling by the tub.

"Then get out," Remus says.

"You’ll fall asleep."

"Fine," Remus says, and strips off his shirt. Severus won’t look at him. He’s looking at the rim of the tub, down at the steaming water. He’s a dark blur in the candlelight.

"Must I help?" Severus asks, voice still dark with contempt.

"No," Remus says, and gets into the tub, not gracefully. The water stings. He takes a deep breath. Heated steam. The water is quickly turning crimson.

He can’t help looking up. Severus has his eyes closed. Remus reaches up and catches at his hands, and still he keeps them closed. Keeps them closed even when Remus cups a handful of hot water and pours it over Severus’s hands, and does it again, and again, as if he could wash them clean.