Thicker than Water (Marauders Era) PART II

29 August, 1996 - Aftermath (II)

The silence the next morning was tight and heavy, weighed down by all the words neither Lavinia nor Remus seemed to know how to say. They hadn't exchanged so much as a sound between them since Lavinia had walked in with the sunrise and ordered Remus to sit on the couch and let her take care of his wounds. There weren't many, thank Merlin, because though she hated to admit it, Lavinia was rather underprepared to handle these sorts of wounds. Werewolf bites, of course, transmitted lycanthropy, but the marks made by their claws also caused damage beyond the mere tearing of skin. Lavinia honestly had no idea what it would do to someone who wasn't already infected, but what she did know was that they didn't heal like normal cuts. She couldn't wave her wand and whisper a spell and make them disappear. She had to give him potions, apply salves and bandage them and in a few days they would turn into scars.

As if Remus needed more scars.

Lavinia sighed, dabbing a reddish salve on a mark on Remus's left arm, the silence now pulsing in her head like a second heartbeat, shoving into her ears and pushing down her throat until it was hard to breathe.

She wanted to say something. Anything at all. Just to break this awful silence that was laden too many things that hurt too much. But she hardly knew where to start. And even if she did figure out what to say, she wasn't sure she'd manage to get it out through the thick silence coating her throat, held in place by all her awful suspicions of exactly what Remus must be feeling right now.

She shouldn't have let herself think about those things, of course. She should have gone into that healer's place, where her heart disconnected from her head and her hands and she could heal impassively, but she didn't know how right now. She didn't suppose she could have properly explained it - maybe she was just tired - but Lavinia couldn't quite bring herself to separate from this. It was already too personal. Already too painful. As a result, her fingers were shaking, her throat was tight and she wasn't sure her tongue would work if she dared try it.

Part of it, of course, was the sleepless night. Lavinia had spent the entire thing sitting there on the porch, leaning against the front door, listening to every yelp and whimper and howl and knowing each one corresponded to a wound she would need to treat. A scar she wouldn't be able to take away. And in the long moments of silence when Remus was either sleeping or else momentarily distracted or - she hardly dared hope it - perhaps even contented, Lavinia watched the handful of stars bright enough to shine through the hazy light of the full moon slide across the night sky.

And she thought. Or perhaps brooded was the better word, but either way, she spent those long hours of the night agonizing over what the moonset would bring. Over what she would say. What she would do. What Remus would do. Because it was bound to be something stupid. It was one thing to try to convince Remus that Lavinia herself didn't mind and hadn't been scared and wasn't going to let this change anything because she had spent fifteen years proving those exact things. But Tonks? How could she explain away the close call with Tonks, who had not been prepared. Whose surprise was too easily misinterpreted as fear. Who Remus would undoubtedly think had just proved him right.

And despite the time ticking by, when the moon slid beneath the horizon and the sun glowed orange on the other side of the world, Lavinia still didn't have answers. Still didn't have words to explain this away.

All she'd managed to come up with was that maybe she should have let Tonks stay. Whatever damage the woman might have done, Lavinia rather suspected that she would at least have had things to say right now. She didn't know how helpful those things would be, but it seemed better than this pulsing, hollow quiet that Lavinia didn't know how to fill. How to break.

After all, what could she say? Remus knew every argument she would make, he just didn't care. And yes, she would spell out each and every one of them again if he needed or wanted to hear it. She would fight him on every false assumption he had made, just like she always had, but... well. More and more lately, Lavinia was left to wonder if she had ever managed to get through to her friend at all. If any of it had ever made a difference. Not that she would stop even if it didn't because she didn't really think she had the self control to force herself to stop defending him, even to himself - especially to himself - but... But how could she phrase it differently this time? How could she convince him? How how how? And the honest truth was that she had no idea at all.