Thicker than Water (Marauders Era)

4 March, 1980 - War

And they had seen her. William had seen her. And the look in his eyes... she couldn't figure it out but she didn't think she had to. Shock had been written all over his face and it had been enough for her to understand that one awful truth that had made her lay fog all over her head: she had attacked her own brother. She had taken the life he had saved and thrown it in his face. Did he think she had chosen to fight him? He must have because what other explanation was there for her being there, on a battlefield. So he must think that she had taken this life, a life that existed only because of him, and used it to turn her wand on him and his friends, his fellows, his brothers in arms. He must hate her. He must -

She forced the thoughts away, forced them under the blanket of her rage and focussed her eyes on Dumbledore.

"Don't thank me for helping you hurt people," she snapped, ignoring the part of her that said she was going to regret this later, the part that reminded her why she held her anger close, why she smothered it before it could get out, the part that hissed that the self hatred she would feel later would set her farther back than this was worth.

Dumbledore was watching her, his face unreadable and those electric blue eyes unbearably soft on hers. "I do not wish to cause you pain, Miss Selwyn," he murmured and there was something like pity in his eyes that made her chest cave in, but she pushed the feeling away. She didn't want his pity.

So instead, she almost laughed. Or maybe it was a sob that she choked on, she didn't know and didn't care. "But you are," she told the Headmaster, fighting to keep her voice steady. "And you won't stop." She watched him for another moment before shaking her head, that endless exhaustion creeping through her veins. "And I don't blame you," she added, though she knew the bitterness in her voice suggested otherwise. "You have to fight. All of you do," she added, gesturing at James and Lily and Peter and Remus, all sitting on the couch and all with varying degrees of worry on their tired faces. "That's what you do. You fight because you're good and honest and... and brave," she spat the world out like it was an insult, hating it. Hating herself for that one thing she had never been, no matter how hard she tried. "But don't drag me into this," she continued, returning her eyes to Dumbledore. "Stop trying to make me into something I'm not."

Again, he simply watched her with that unreadable expression. "Your help is invaluable, Miss Selwyn. May I suggest that you give this a few days? You've just been to a battlefield, it's bound to be upsetting, but perhaps if you gave it some time..." He trailed off and she could have sworn there was something like hope in his voice, something like understanding, but his words only made her pain burn brighter. Because he was right. He was right and she should wait. She should let the fog subside and let herself remember why she had stepped onto that field in the first place. But right now... right now she was done. She was tired and afraid and done.

"No," she returned simply. "No I won't give this time. I don't need to give this time. This wasn't just a battlefield. This was... This was..." She didn't have words for it. She couldn't say the first thing that came into her head because it was silly and stupid and would make her sound so very childish.

This was the war I fought inside myself. Because that was what she had seen. How many years had she spent torn between the two parts of herself: the girl she was supposed to be and the girl she was? How many months spent crying and breaking in the hidden halls of the castle, tearing herself to pieces because she couldn't pick between the life she'd always known and the life she wanted. And the consequences of that war had left scars all over her.

And this war... she hadn't seen the clashing ideologies, she hadn't seen the clear lines she'd forced herself to draw this past year and a half. Death Eaters killed people for terror and fun and it was wrong. She knew it was. But she hadn't seen that. She had seen teenagers fighting teenagers. She'd seen children used as weapons. She'd seen her little brother firing spells at her friends, the two halves of her life thrown into stark and wild relief, ripping her down the middle and leaving nothing left for her to hold onto. No one to run to. Just like her nightmares.