Thicker than Water (Marauders Era) PART II

7 July, 1996 - Starting

Late June merged into early July with the sort of quiet gloom Lavinia normally associated with midwinter. Of course, this gloom had far less to do with the weather than that of February usually did.

It would have been fine, Lavinia told herself, expected, really, if it had only come from inside her head. If it had just been her pain slipping quietly into her daily routine. She'd known that would happen. Had known that even with her return to work and the renewed business of her hands, the early mornings and late evenings and the empty moments dotted throughout her days would still hurt. Would still ache. Would still fill with that soft sort of hell Lavinia had learned meant grief.

The problem, of course, was that it wasn't just in Lavinia's head. The darkness of that summer didn't come from her grief. Or rather, not all of it came from her grief. Lavinia had no doubt that her broken heart and aching soul didn't help. After all, the pain had, in the weeks that had elapsed since the Department of Mysteries, become the sort of quiet, constant torment Lavinia had grown so very used to last time. It was like slipping back into a familiar coat, into this feeling she had worn so frequently so long ago. Except the coat was a stranglehold and familiarity had never been farther from comfort than this.

But even so, Lavinia couldn't help but feel that it was easier to bear this time because she remembered this. Because though she knew it had been years, it didn't feel like so very long ago that her world had fallen apart the first time. And it hurt less for its familiarity. Or at least, that was what she told herself. And she refused to believe the alternative.

Because it couldn't hurt less because Sirius had mattered less. Because he hadn't. He had mattered just as much. Even if... well even if last time, she had lost more. But she hated that. She hated the idea that she might grieve less for him than she had for her losses in the first war because it felt wrong. Because he had meant so much and that future she still sometimes felt like she could reach out and touch had been so precious to her. Because every damn time she caught sight of his face in the photographs or heard his name in casual conversation, her heart started screaming and it was always the same word, laced with old pains and new.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Because it was always him. Always leaving. Always ripping her heart out with him. And some stupid, aching part of her heart that hurt too much to accept this grief gently kept saying that it was always his fault. Always his choice. He was always turning his back to her and running headfirst into danger without a thought for the damage his leaving would cause her.

And that was wrong. She knew that. Sirius had cared about her. He had loved her. But Sirius had been brash and bold and brave and she'd always known that. And yes, he had chosen to leave. Both times. But this second time... this second time she couldn't blame him. She refused to blame him. He had turned his back on her for Harry. He had run into danger for Harry. He had died for Harry. And, as Lavinia kept reminding herself, that was a worthy cause. That was a good reason. Even if it hadn't been necessary in the end... well, at least Sirius had died for someone he loved. Even if she would have liked if instead he had managed to live. For her. For both of them. But he hadn't. And sometimes she wanted to hate him for that.

It was the quiet war she waged inside herself when she stared up at her ceiling, still scattered with long faded stars from a lifetime ago. She fought against blaming him. Against hating him. Against wishing she could scream at him to stay. For her.

Again.

Because hadn't she done that last time? And it hadn't mattered then. So why would it matter now?