Thicker than Water (Marauders Era)

17 November, 1981 - Remember

And suddenly, ten years hadn't seemed like nearly long enough.

The moment he had seen that headline in the copy of The Prophet that Lavinia had discarded on the coffee table, Remus had been reeling, like some great tether in his life had snapped and left him with... nothing. No solid ground beneath his feet, no hand to hold onto to stop the fall. Nothing.

And Lavinia had taken one look at him and walked out the front door like the sight of his face was too much to bear, too much of a reminder of the everything they had just lost. He hadn't known what to do, sitting there alone as the shock ebbed and the grief took its place, filling him with an awful hollow feeling as thoughts he did not want to think swirled in his head.

But the next thing he knew, Lavinia had set down two flasks in front of him, her expression blank, her eyes utterly empty. And he had understood that it hadn't been pain that had made her leave. It had been practicality, sense, some last bit of something left in her once the grief had swept through that had made her do this for him, made her think of him, despite a pain he knew must be debilitating. Because that was Wolfsbane Potion in front of him. He had known it without asking and it had occurred to him only then that the full moon was coming up and there would have been no one to control him. No one to keep him in check, because James and Sirius...

And the world had cleaved again. And this time, the words hadn't stayed in his head. He had needed to say them, needed her to deny them, needed her to offer him something, anything, to say that he was wrong. That they were all wrong. Sirius would never betray them.

She hadn't even let him get the words out.

Because of course she hadn't, Remus realized. Of course she hadn't wanted to hear them spoken aloud, hadn't wanted to make them real. Sirius had been her fiance, the ring was still glittering on her finger and the thought of what he had done... If it was painful for Remus, he could not imagine what it was like for her.

And to him, there was only one explanation for that refusal to let him finish: she had no denial. No evidence to the contrary and no other explanation. If she had, she would have offered it then, would have shouted it to the world just to try to clear his name because Lavinia... Lavinia defended her own. And if she wasn't defending him... then it was because she had no defense.

The confirmation had cracked something in his chest and he hadn't bothered trying to keep the tears in.

Within a few moments, Lavinia had been there, her hands on his shoulders and then her arms around him, letting him cry, letting him grieve with the support of the only friend he had left. Because that was also what Lavinia did. She helped people. And even in the middle of her own grief, she would not hesitate to help him if she thought he needed it. And he had needed it, more than he had realized until he had been sobbing into her shoulder and he had understood that there was no comfort greater than knowing that someone understood. Someone was there.

He had only realized later that Lavinia's shoulders had been steady, her breath even. She had not cried then, nor had he seen or heard her cry anytime since.

He might have marveled at her strength, might have envied her courage, except 'strength' was the wrong word. The more he watched her, the more he understood that. It was not strength that held her back straight. It was not strength that kept her eyes dry. It was not strength that had her returning to work barely a week later. It was denial. Because once again, Lavinia was running. And he did not know how to help her stand still, how to help her breathe and pause and process. He did not know how to help at all. And of course, even if he had, he doubted she would let him.

Today was almost two weeks after that awful night when everything had fallen apart and Remus had somehow managed to pull some pieces of himself back together. It was fragile and he knew that, but... but it was something. He had gotten out of bed at his usual time today instead of staring at the ceiling for hours gone uncounted. He had made himself breakfast. He had felt... something. Not normal, not at all, but something other than the aching hollow that had been filling him up.