Thicker than Water (Marauders Era) PART II

10 August, 1995 - Truth (II)

Harry was staring at Lavinia like he wasn't at all sure what to make of her. And Lavinia, for her part, didn't feel particularly good about this either. On the one hand, as far as she was concerned, she had told no more than the truth. Because she didn't care what William had done. He had been nineteen. And they'd given him no chance of ever making amends. And she didn't see how that could ever be right, no matter what crimes he had committed.

But in her experience, people didn't often agree with that sentiment. People tended to want to point fingers and say their fault. And just... lock them up. Because it was easier to say they were evil. Easier to say they were the problem. Not that they were young and stupid or foolish and corrupted. Not that they had been trapped. Because if those things were true, then it meant that it could happen to good people too. And that thought was too uncomfortable to bear. So they took the easy way out and stuck on a single label and moved on with their life.

And Lavinia had never been able to do that. For better or worse, she had always seen both sides. Always understood both sides. And always forgiven both sides.

She just wasn't sure Harry would - or did - see it that way.

And yet...

Show him what it's like to live a softer kind of life.

That was why Lily had said. And Lavinia didn't know if softer was really the right word, but that forgiveness, the understanding she had somehow always managed... that was the sort of thing she thought Lily had meant. Because who else in his life would have been able to show him that? The others had always seen the world in more black and white. In good versus evil. And she supposed they had had to. Because how else could you fight a war? Merlin knew what had happened to her the only time she'd been on the actual battlefield. So she didn't suppose that even if James and Lily had lived that either of them could have showed Harry such a thing.

But Lavinia could. So she would.

And she would just have to hope that Harry saw it for what it was. Not that the look he was giving her right now said that he did.

If he thought she was being foolish, however, he didn't say anything, instead simply staring at her until, feeling rather awkward, Lavinia broke the silence.

"Do you have any other questions?" she asked carefully, frowning slightly at him and half hoping he would say no because... well because she really would rather have just been able to turn to lighter things. Simpler things. She would really have liked to not talk about the war and just... get to know him. What did he like about school? His interests, his friends, his life, his... well his everything. Because she had missed out on everything.

But at her question, Harry seemed to snap out of some trance and shake himself slightly and the question he asked wasn't light or simple at all.

"What was it like last time?" he asked carefully. "I mean, Sirius said a little but..." He trailed off curiously, watching her like he had a good guess how sensitive that subject was but asked anyway

Indeed, Lavinia had to suppress a wince, wishing she'd never brought up last time at all because... because she still remembered it. Every bit of it. The flashes of spells on battlefields, the faces of the people she hadn't been able to save. The mistrust. The fear. That weight that had pervaded their lives for years on end. The knowledge that any time any of her friends left on Order business, they might never come back.

"It was awful," she whispered finally, wringing her hands slightly in her lab. "It really was. It..." She swallowed and shook her head, trying to figure out how best to say this so he might understand while also not... freaking him out too much. "No one knew who to trust. Anyone could have been corrupted or put under the Imperius curse. Anyone could have been threatened, might turn you in just to save the neck of someone they loved just a little bit more. Neighbors, coworkers, friends... no one was safe. And... it wears on people," she explained, looking up from her lab to fix her eyes on Harry who appeared remarkably calm about the whole thing. "It takes a toll," she continued, now suppressing a slight frown. "To not know, to be so afraid so often. It's a kind of pain I've never seen anywhere else," she admitted softly, now glancing away from Harry to the mantle. To the photographs that documented the brief moments where that pain had lapsed. Where they had managed to forget the strain of it all. But those were only ever moments. And she had never forgotten that.