Thicker than Water (Marauders Era) PART II

24 May, 1998 - Return

Two weeks later, Ethan was standing on Lavinia's front porch with a suitcase behind him and a somber expression on his face. The sight of him made Lavinia feel sick. She felt guilty. She felt hollow. She wished she felt nothing at all.

But she did, and that churning shame in her stomach made her want to slam the door in his face and crawl into bed and pretend she wasn't the coward she knew herself to be. Because he shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have uprooted his life for nothing. For her and this worthless excuse of a woman she had become. He should have come when he wanted to, not when she needed him to and she wished, in that moment, that he would go away. That he would just... leave. Just let her pretend she could keep this grief contained.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered. It was not what she'd meant to say. Not what she should have said. She should have collapsed into gratitude. She should have thanked him again and again. She should have lied and told him she was fine and he didn't need to worry.

But instead...

"Why not?" His words were patient. Painfully so.

"Because you didn't have to come," she whispered. "I didn't mean to make you think you had to come." Which was true, even if a part of Lavinia, a part she didn't particularly want to think about right now, was oh so glad he was here. Was jumping for joy at the idea that she might finally have some company who didn't need her to be okay. Company who might love her even if she let him near her at her worst.

But the rest of her couldn't shake the reality that he had a life and he had put it on pause for her. And he shouldn't have. He should never have thought for even a moment that it was necessary. Because it shouldn't have been.

And yet here he was, looking at her with an expression that would have been heartbreaking if Lavinia had a heart left to break. And really, even knowing she didn't, she felt something in her chest constrict.

"Oh Lav," Ethan murmured softly, tipping his head slightly as he watched her. "You didn't make me do anything. I'm here because I want to be."

And that nothing in her chest that most certainly wasn't a heart, cracked wide open.

He was not the first to say those words to her. She wondered, vaguely, if he might be the last, but he was not the first. The first had been Sirius, a lifetime ago.

You don't make me worry. I do it because I care. And I choose to do that.

As though caring about her, about the mess she had been and still was, was something anyone would ever want to do. As though it was a choice anyone would voluntarily make. She'd thought Sirius a fool when he'd said it, but she'd cherished the words anyway.

Later, James had spoken them too. Or his own version of them. He had laughed in her face the only time she'd suggested she made him worry and told her with a tone that bordered on arrogance that no one could make him do anything at all. She hadn't believed him. She'd seen Lily make him do plenty of things and didn't suppose her friend could be the only exception.

Truthfully, though she wasn't sure if any of them had been aware of the fact, it had taken her years and years to believe any of her friends when they said such stupid things. But she had, eventually. And it hadn't been because of any measure of confidence or trust. It had been because she had finally loved someone who hadn't believed that she could. Or should. It had been because Remus, fool that he was, hadn't believed that she would do any of the things she did for him for any reason other than the pity he had forced upon her.

And that had been truly laughable. First and foremost because she'd never pitied him. And then because he had never made her love him. Never even asked for it. She had offered it freely, easily. Happily. Because Remus was so easy to love. So easy to depend on.