It had been a hard couple of weeks, and Mr. Potter's death had only been the beginning.
"They say these things happen, you know," Lydia said gently. "Broken heart. But she knew her grandson, and she lived a full, happy life."
Sirius was not listening. He was staring at a cold cup of tea, tears streaming down his face. Lydia sighed, turning to make lunch. He'd been hardly responsive all morning, since he got the news that Mrs. Potter died in her sleep, following her husband just after they'd put in the headstone. It would have to be re-engraved to include her dates.
But Sirius was not thinking of these things, these practical details. He was too caught up in thinking about his own pain. It was probably a good thing that he wasn't the actual Potter child, and that James was, because even though James was likely behaving the same way, Lily would be able to push him to do what needed to be done. Lydia was incapable of pushing Sirius for things like this, for things with so little bearing on her own life and happiness.
"Sirius," she said gently, setting a sandwich in front of him. "You need to eat something."
He looked up at her listlessly.
"Lydia," he croaked, "I don't think I can do this."
"Do what?"
He just shook his head, staring at his sandwich for half an hour before finally eating about half of it and going off to bed, not moving at all until Lydia climbed in beside him. He then shifted, curling up against her, pressing his face to her breast, and she wrapped her arms around him. What else could she do?
Two days later, she helped him get ready for the second funeral in too short a time. He stared at himself in the mirror as she shaved his face.
"There," she said, rising his face carefully. "Perfect."
She kissed his clean-shaven cheek and he looked at her, startled. He smiled weakly, a smile that did not reach his eyes, a haunting of his former brilliant grin. Lydia felt sick, looking up at his face when it looked like that. It wasn't natural. It wasn't right.
"I love you," he said softly.
This would be as good a time as any to say it back, and better than most, but Lydia's throat closed at even the thought of saying those words to him, especially when he was looking at her like that. She could not bring herself to lie to him, though, and even when she knew the lie would help him heal, it felt wrong, disgusting, for her to do it.
"Let's get your tie on, then," she said softly, focusing more intently on the tie than was absolutely necessary. He said nothing else, and she worried he was upset with her for not answering back when he obviously needed her to, but when he raised her black veil to kiss her before they went to get their coats, she felt no anger in his touch or kiss. She saw no anger in his eyes. Perhaps he was too grieved to feel the acuteness of her spurning his love, in her own small way.
They arrived at the funeral and Lydia sat next to Sirius, who took a seat beside James. She would have liked to have been with Lily, but there was no way she could leave Sirius's side at this moment, and he needed to sit next to James.
There were fewer people in attendance than had been at Mr. Potter's funeral, and Lydia felt keenly that the Ministry people who had flocked to that first one did not care as much about his wife.
This was what it was, Lydia realized, to be a pureblood wife. Society and government and everyone attended the husband's funeral, cared about the husband, but only society would really care about the wife if the husband went first. She felt Sirius's hand in hers and she was glad she had put a stop to his growing plans for marriage. She couldn't image what it would be like, being Sirius's widow. At least the people who loved her now would still love her without her marrying anyone.
The service was a solemn thing, with nearly everyone present crying tears of varying levels of sincerity. Lydia tried to cry, but it wouldn't happen. She found this frustrating, but she tried not to let it bother her too much. Sirius was crying more than enough for the both of them.
Lydia spotted Sirius's mother among the society matrons present and then turned her eyes back toward the front quickly. Lydia's mouth went a bit dry, and if Sirius had been more present of mind he would have asked her what was wrong because her whole body went tense.
In Walburga Black's eyes, Lydia had seen the purest hatred she had ever seen in her life, even more than the looks Severus and Sirius had exchanged in school. It made her stomach turn, and she found it difficult to focus on the rest of the service, even when James got up and said beautiful things about what a terrible sadness the loss of his mother so soon after his father filled him with. Lily was sobbing softly into the handkerchief she was holding under her veil. Lydia thought that Lily was getting too used to the conventions of societal funerals.
So was Lydia, come to that.
The four of them left last, and Lydia looked down at the casket, standing at Sirius's side. She hoped against hope that she didn't have another funeral like this one any time soon.
"Let's go home," she muttered as Sirius's tears began to dry on his cheeks. His eyes were looking clearer, less red. "Let's go home and have something to eat."
She did not mention the look his mother had given her. He had enough to think on, and she'd rather not think of it ever again.
In a way, Lydia got her wish about funerals. The next one was not a week later, but it was of an entirely different sort.
Mr. and Mrs. Evans, the people who had been so kind to her for years, had died in a car crash.
"At least it wasn't related to the war," Lydia had said hollowly when Sirius told her the news, determined that it would not affect her. After all, they weren't her parents. But she had broken down in Sirius's arms not a moment later nonetheless, feeling the horrible pain in her chest she'd felt at Artemis's death.
The funeral was of a very different sort, with mostly Muggles in attendance. Lydia was shifting in her black dress, feeling a bit uncomfortable to be wearing something other than dress robes to a funeral. Lily didn't notice that Sirius and James were equally uncomfortable.
Lily's discomfort was obviously from a very different source. Remus was watching Harry, as he'd been during the other recent funerals, but that didn't mean she didn't have family in the room. Her awful sister, Petunia, was there with her awful husband, Vernon, and they'd even brought their awful son, Dudley.
Who would name a child Dudley, anyway?
"She thinks it's my fault," Lily explained as they walked back to where the bodies would be lowered into the tomb. "She told me before you arrived that she blames my being a freak for their deaths."
"That's ridiculous," Lydia said, rolling her eyes. "If anyone's a freak in your family, it's her. Have you seen how she piled those absurd pearls on her absurd neck? And have you ever seen so many pearls at a funeral? Tasteless."
It was meant to make her friend feel better, but Lydia saw that Lily's tears renewed and she sighed.
Severus had tried to point out to Lily when they were younger how ridiculous Petunia was. It was sheer jealousy that had driven the girl to be so terrible to Lily, and Lily had done nothing wrong but be her usual, wonderful self. Lydia could understand how frustrating that was to be around all the time, but she would never treat Lily ill for it. To lose a friend like Lily was probably the stupidest thing a person could do, and even more stupid considering they were sisters and had been best friends for as long as either could recall.
Watching the caskets being lowered into the ground, Lydia could feel Sirius's hand squeeze hers gently. Just as she had barely known the Potters, Sirius had barely known the Evans's, but he understood that they were important to her. Perhaps he understood it better than Lydia did herself.
She swallowed as the dirt was piled on top of the caskets, watching, wondering what the epitaphs Lily had chosen for her parents would be. That was perhaps another way Petunia was jealous: Lily had been named the executor for her parents' estate. Not that it made much of a difference. They were selling the house and splitting the assets and that was that. There was nothing especially complicated about it.
Lydia rubbed her thumb along Sirius's cold hand and wondered what it would have been like to have a funeral for her parents. She still did not know what Severus did with the bodies – she didn't want to know – but she imagined that it was nothing like a burial like this. There were no words to see them off into whatever comes next. There were no mourners crying. If he was merciful, Severus wouldn't have disposed of them in the same place. Perhaps he incinerated them. That would have been a horrific insult to her father's memory, as a wizard. Somehow, though, it seemed fitting.
"Do you want a few more minutes?" Sirius asked as others filed away, leaving Lily to sob at the graveside under the sneering nose of her atrocious sister.
Lydia should not leave her friend, she told herself, but on the other hand, standing in that graveyard was painful to her. Somehow, it was making her physically ill.
"No," she whispered, and she followed him away from the church, holding his hand tightly as they paused in an alley and Sirius Disapparated. Lydia felt herself clutching at Sirius as they landed outside his house, realizing that out of the corner of her eye as they'd left, she thought she had seen Severus.
Had he attended the funeral to pay his respects to the Evans's? It both seemed like him and seemed nothing like him at all. She frowned, letting Sirius lead her back into the house.
"You get some rest," he said gently. "I'll make dinner."
"No," Lydia said, shaking her head. She didn't want Sirius ruining her food. "No, I'll do dinner."
"Relax, love," Sirius said, kissing her cheek. "I'll make soup. Something basic. I promise not to burn it."
She could not bring herself to put him out with his kindness when she knew it meant so much for him to take care of her, even if she was more or less unwilling. So she nodded, letting him kiss her, feeling that familiar rush of his lips meeting hers, that familiar feeling of her body getting excited at the sensation, and then she watched him go into the kitchen before she wen tot the bedroom, pulled off her clothes, and crawled into bed quickly.
Sirius came in a few minutes later and put a bowl of soup beside her on her nightstand.
"You look pale, love," he whispered, sitting down beside her and touching his hand to her forehead. "Are you all right?"
"It's cold," she said dully. "The room is cold."
Sirius nodded and waved his wand, and Lydia could feel the room warming just a little. But it was not enough. There was something stifling about the way that room felt, and even when Sirius left her alone to rest, she did not, could not touch her soup.
Everything felt wrong, and the feeling did not go away.
Later that week, Lydia found Sirius staring at nothing in the kitchen and she sat down on his lap to jolt him from his reverie.
"What's wrong?" she asked as his hands wrapped around her waist.
"Nothing, love," he lied. Even he must have heard the lie in his voice, because he winced, looking away from her.
"Why won't you tell me? Because you can't or because you won't?"
He hesitated, chewing on his lip.
"I can't give you particulars," he said slowly. "I don't imagine you'd want them, anyway. But…things aren't going well, in the war."
Lydia sat patiently, watching him, her mind flashing back to her calculations about the war. If there was ever a time to tell him, now was it, staring her in the face. The war would not be won. It could not be won, if it ever ended anyway. It would be an eternal stalemate, or a loss for Sirius, and then he would die. Perhaps this would make him see that they should run, perhaps if she framed it right, said just the right thing, he would agree to run away somewhere with her.
But she knew what she would have to say to pull him away. It would work without a doubt, but Lydia could not lie to Sirius, not even to save them.
"Are you in danger?" she asked slowly. Perhaps there was some way she could convince him without saying those words.
"Not any more than I was, I don't think," he said, running his fingers through her hair. The deliberate way she spoke was the only way she knew he wasn't lying. Sirius could lie with ease, even to her she was certain. He was trying to find the right way to say the truth without telling her too much.
"Am I in danger?"
His face actually paled before her eyes and Lydia got the sense that she'd brought up something he'd not thought of before. Perhaps this was the way to push him forward. Perhaps this was the way to get him to run with her.
"Sirius," she said, touching her fingertips to his collarbone gently, "would you send me away if I were in danger? Into hiding or abroad or something?"
His eyes were wide and horrified as if he was realizing that his dependency on her could put her in more danger than he had anticipated. Remus was right about him needing her, but if his weakness put her in danger….
"I don't…. I suppose I might have to," he said softly. "Hiding at the very least."
"But…you would come with me?" Lydia asked, surprised at how small her voice sounded. It was suitable, but not affected. She was more afraid than she'd realized of being alone. "You wouldn't send me away by myself."
Sirius was clearly in a very intense internal struggle. His eyes were filling with tears and Lydia inwardly balked at causing him pain. But if she didn't push now, she didn't know when he might be this vulnerable again, or if another time would be too late.
"Sirius, I can't be alone," she said, the fear in her voice palpable. "I can't…. I've been alone before, and I…."
"Shh," he said, a tear running down his cheek as he pulled her tight against him. "If it comes to that, I will go with you. I…. Well, if it comes to that I don't think one of us more or less would make the difference. I would go with you."
He would go with her. She felt a mild feeling of relief at this admission, that they would at least be together even if they lost everything else.
But then Lydia realized what that would mean, what it would mean for her and Sirius to run away. Everything they knew would be doomed. Sirius would be a broken man, labeling the war a lost cause, perhaps losing Lily and James and Harry and Remus and Peter and…and…
Lydia would not want to stay if she lost all those people, but she could only barely fathom it. The fact that Sirius was standing there, calling it a possibility meant that it was something she should be fathoming.
Lydia glanced at the paper Sirius had left on the kitchen counter and saw an article about a wizarding orphanage that had been burned to the ground, but the Death Eaters put up careful wards to keep the residents inside the building as it burned. The Order, the Ministry, did not arrive in time.
Fifty children and four adults burned to a crisp.
She could feel her hands shaking and felt an urge to vomit. The picture was simply of the Dark Mark that must have been put over the building.
This was what worried him. These were the things he was seeing, the place he had gone the night before and come back from sweaty, covered in soot, tears streaming down his face as he kissed her hands and told her it was nothing.
Nothing took on a different meaning these days, it seemed.
Lydia excused herself to the toilet and just stared in the mirror. She was looking older already, too old to be herself. For a split second she had an impression that there was something wrong with the mirror, but she knew it was her. She knew that this was her, and that she was no longer herself, in a way, if she had ever really known who she was.
In a normal life, the sort of life generations before had, Lydia would have married someone, would have probably had a child, would have become a professor or published a book. Instead, she was living with a man she didn't love and working on things she was too afraid to publish because what if You-Know-Who came looking for her because of something she'd invented or applied or tweaked?
She closed her eyes, gripped the edges of the sink, and thought of somewhere warmer before she began to vomit.
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to new reader, Nevermorea. I hope you enjoy it as we continue to explore Lydia's story. Can't believe we've passed the 50 chapter mark already!
-C
