Thicker than Water (Marauders Era)

1 January, 1978 - Morning

Lavinia woke up the next morning in more pain than she'd ever been due to one of her mother's tirades. Which, she supposed, made sense. She'd never had two people at her at once and she'd certainly never had spells or knives used against her.

She lay in bed for a long while, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, with no idea what time it was and no motivation to move. Her very bones seemed to ache and she was certain her bruises would have turned an awful purple by now. It made her want to stay in her room all day. She didn't want to face her mother, or her grandmother. She wondered vaguely how they would react to the state of her face. If they would punish her for not healing herself.

She sighed, not wanting to think about it at all, and rolled over, glancing at the clock on the wall. It read just past ten and Lavinia's heart went flying up to her throat even as she kicked the covers off. She was late for breakfast. She couldn't be late to breakfast. Her mother hadn't told her to stay in her room and Jilsey and hadn't left any food and...

She stumbled out of bed, her aching legs wobbling as she made for the washroom. She tripped over the shoes she'd discarded by the door and stumbled, catching herself on the doorframe and biting back a scream as she fell against the wall. A wave of pain washed over her, mingling with the fear and reminding her just how much trouble she was already in.

Her breathing was too fast, like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room. She couldn't be late. She couldn't be punished. Not again. Last night had been bad enough. What would they do this time? What would...

She caught sight of the towels hanging on the wall of the bathroom. Red. Red like her blood. Her towels weren't red. And her cabinets were white not natural wood and... And this wasn't her bathroom. She turned back to the room. That wasn't her bedroom. She didn't have a white duvet. None of the bedrooms in her house did. Rhea thought they looked cheap.

She took several deep breaths, trying to calm her breathing and remind herself where she was. She was at the Potter's. Because she'd left. Because... because her mother had gotten carried away and William had had enough. And she'd run.

Lavinia swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment. Safe, she reminded herself. Safe. Or as much as she could be given the circumstances and the fact that she wasn't exactly friends with anyone in this house. And that she'd met Mr. and Mrs. Potter once and even then only in passing. Her father had called them blood traitors to their faces, an insult for all that it was true in the literal sense. She wondered if they would remember that. If they did, she may as well pack her bags right now, she supposed.

But blood traitors or not, their son had let her in. Had given her a bed and an open invitation she knew she'd done nothing to deserve. Which didn't change the sudden realization that Lavinia didn't know how to act or who to be here. With James late at night she was sharp, but with Sirius she was softer. And at home...

Her thoughts stumbled and fell flat at that thought. At home she was nothing now. If even counted as home anymore. Part of her - most of her really - still couldn't believe she'd left. Though at the moment, with her very bones feeling heavy and hurt, it did seem rather the rational decision.

She sighed and pushed the thought out of her head, stepping properly into the bathroom to clean up.

She blinked several times at her reflection, shocked, though she knew she probably shouldn't be. It wasn't a pretty sight, to say the least. The left side of her face was a deep purple mixed with almost black. A shallow cut - from the knife, she remembered - ran from her temple down her cheek. And on the other side were the little cuts from the grandmother's rings, each ringed with its own little bruise. At least she doesn't hit very hard, Lavinia found herself thinking.