It was late, dark, when Remus left, five-fifteen in the morning. He left a note for Uriel, The dining hall was long closed, but the coloured glow from the bar showed people still up, a voice still talking.

He heard well, heard a vaguely familiar voice - Mr. Anthony Crowley, presumably, from the front desk records. Or, more notably, the one he had accidentally caught with Mr. Fell not so very long ago.

"...that like anyway?"

Stunned, the wizard stopped in the entrance of the bar, and watched Sirius Black think about that answer. No, it was not think, he felt that answer, and Remus felt the hair on his arms raise as Sirius spoke.

He couldn't move if he'd wanted to, the sight was horrifying - how does one recover from death? This was a place Remus couldn't follow him to, couldn't save him from. But perhaps... he could help now.

Remus could try.

"Sirius," he choked, walking forward. "Sirius, Sirius, don't think about that." He wrapped thin hands into open, lax, unresponsive hands, looked into eyes that were unseeing. "Look at me. You're alive."

He glanced at the dark-haired fellow across from him, still clutching the shaking Sirius. "I'm terribly sorry, he's been a bit fragile since the ordeal. I should take him to bed."