Have You Ever Seen the Rain?

“Usually they’ll take the form of something meaningful to you.” Harry told the DA on the second meeting on Patronuses. “Now remember, something really, really happy. Go ahead and practice.”

Harry started to move between everyone and the room was filled with people concentrating and reciting the incantation. Sylvia bit her lip and tried and tried and tried.

Harry came by her, looking a little sheepish. “Maybe we should have tried the boggart.” he said.

Sylvia shook her head. “There’s so many people in here, I doubt it would stay a dementor.”

“Go ahead and try.” he said. Next to them, Hermione already had a silver otter circling her.

Silvia took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She thought about three Christmases ago, when her mother had taken her and Matilda into muggle London to see the muggle decorations and eat fish and chips.

“Expecto patronum!”

Silver steam shot from the end of her wand.

“Something happy, Sylvia.” Harry said patiently. “Come on.”

Sylvia closed her eyes again. She heard Fred and George laughing across the room, and George’s face popped up in her head. ‘I’ll always know you’, he whispered in her ear.

“Expecto patronum!”

A silver owl burst from the tip of her wand and soared around the room. Harry grinned. “Great job, Sylvia. I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks, Harry.” Sylvia said faintly.

Across the room, George watched the owl for a moment, then locked eyes with Sylvia. A smaller replica gleamed on her chest.

The door opened and shut, and the noise was suddenly cut in half. Alicia moved close to her friend as they watched the little house elf approach Harry.

“What’s happening?” Alicia asked.

The elf was talking too quietly for them to hear.

“Umbridge?” Harry asked as the elf struggled to punish himself. “What about her? Dobby - she hasn’t found out about this - about us - about the DA?”

There was a terrible moment of silence.

“Is she coming?”

“Yes Harry Potter! Yes!” the elf howled.

Harry looked around at all of them. “What are you waiting for?” he bellowed. “RUN!”

Everyone bolted for the door. Sylvia was caught in the struggle and turned right as soon as she was clear of the door, heading for Gryffindor tower. Someone knocked her to the side and she sprawled on the cold stone floor. Panicking, she tried to pull herself up and tripped again in the process.

A hand grabbed hers and she was pulled up. Sylvia looked up into George’s tight face, and he pulled her back into a run.

“I’ve got you.” he soothed, and they pounded down the hall. Ahead of them Angelina and Fred threw themselves into an empty classroom. “Come on, we can make it to the tower. I’ve got you.”

In that moment, running for what might have been their lives, he knew he’s never let go.

~*~

The next day after breakfast and checking on the flowers, Sylvia knew what she had to do. She put together two bouquets of white lilies, the only flowers she had that had bloomed, and put on her cloak and disapparated.

She stood on a small hill outside Upper Flagley, where her mother had grown up. And now, it was where she and her daughter were buried.

Sylvia trudged through the snow up the path to the graveyard. Though she had only been here once, she knew exactly where to go. Finally she stood in front of two graves, one of which bore her own name.

She had mourned her mother for two years. And then when Matilda’s death was confirmed...there was so much guilt and pain. There were so many nights alone in Matilda’s flat where she cried and cried. Cried for her sister, cried for her mistakes, cried for all the muggle borns whose wands were snapped in half and she couldn’t do anything about it.

And then she was on the run and she had been so afraid. There wasn’t space for anything else. She was so alone and there was no where she could go. Afterall, she was either dead or a traitor.

And then Bellatrix Lestrange got a hold of her. And there wasn’t room for anything else.

“I’m so sorry.” Sylvia whispered to her mother. “I tried to protect her. And in the end...in the end she’s the one who died.”

The grave stared back at her.

Quiet footsteps approached and someone stood next to Sylvia.

“I thought I’d find you here.” Evelyn said quietly.

Sylvia looked down at the shorter witch in surprise. She had her own bouquets of daisies. “How?”

“George told me about what happened last night. And when you weren’t in your shop I figured you’d come here for a visit.”

“You don’t know me.”

The words were harsh and full of malice, but Evelyn stood there calmly. “I know you’re a good, kind witch who tried to save her sister from a terrible fate but sent her to her death. I know that you’re brave, and sweet, and so terribly sad.” She looked at Sylvia’s shocked expression. “You have a file. I read it.”

They stood in silence for a moment, and then Evelyn bent down and gently placed one bouquet at each headstone.

“When you’re ready, I’ve got something to show you.”

Sylvia took a deep breath, then took out her wand. For a moment, Evelyn tensed, expecting the wand to be turned on her. But Sylvia waved her wand at the headstone bearing her name. The name vanished and she carefully carved out the correct one.

Matilda May Vance
1978-1997
May death never stop you.

Sylvia bent down and put each of her bouquets next to Evelyn’s, and then looked at the Canadian. “Alright. What do you have to show me?”

Evelyn extended her hand, and Sylvia took it. They apparated together back to Diagon Alley. Evelyn led the way up to her flat.

“Shouldn’t you be minding your shop?” Sylvia asked.

“It’s Monday.” Evelyn said. “I’m closed Mondays. It’s good to have a full day off.”

Evelyn took off her cloak once they were inside and crossed to the fireplace while Sylvia took off her own. Evelyn gestured for Sylvia to sit and grabbed two picture frames and the military medal off the mantle. She arranged them on the coffee table and then sat next to Sylvia.

“I’ve seen these.” Sylvia said. “Can I go be sad now?”

Evelyn ignored her and grabbed the first photo, the photo of her military unit.

“The 445th Wizarding. Canadian Army. We were assigned to come here and help with the war effort. We patrolled. We hid any muggle borns that came our way. Tried our best to give the Death Eaters a run for their money. We fought alongside your lot in the battle of Hogwarts. It was sort of brilliant, really. We were from the other side of the world. No one was looking for us.

“There’s me. Ian Forest, our Sargent. Trip, or Henry James the Third, was our disguise specialist. He was just dispatched to some desert country. Frankie Jones, our healer. He died in the battle of Hogwarts. Tess Burke and Colin Grahm. They’re actually married now, and if you’d asked me back then I’d have told you not in a million years. Argued constantly. Kevin Hayes was kissed by a wild dementor about a week after Voldemort’s end. I’m told it was an accident but I doubt it. Quinn Tracy, our strategist. He’s suffering from severe PTSD. Last I heard, he locked himself up in a cabin in Alberta.”

Evelyn sighed and put the photo down, and picked up the medal instead. “We did a lot of awful things in the war. I won’t get into that. But when it was all over and we went home, they gave us these. Star of Military Valour. Facilis descensus averno.

“And it was just...such a lie. We all had blood on our hands, we came home with two coffins and a basket case. And it’s not like the rest of us were much better off than poor Quinn. An hour after the awards ceremony I went to Ian and handed in my request for discharge paperwork. He turned them over to a superior with his own.”

Evelyn looked at the other photo and sighed. “I’m muggle born. This is my family. My father is career military. When he found out I requested my own discharge he sort of...well he disowned me. My little brother, who is a wizard and had joined a unit not unlike my own, is now the good son. He’s posted somewhere in Asia. And I moved back out here, because with my father hating me there wasn’t any point in staying in Canada.”

Sylvia looked at the items on the table, confused.

“The point of all this,” Evelyn said, “is that we all have our scars from the war. Some of us just happen to wear them on the inside.”

Sylvia’s temper flared. “Are you - “

“I’m not belittling you.” Evelyn said patiently. “I’m trying to tell you. You are not alone.”

Sylvia blinked in shock.

“George really cares about you.” Evelyn said in a low voice. “And I’m sure he has probably pieced together what happened to you. And I’m not telling you that you have to explain everything to him. But he wants to help you get better.”

Sylvia felt herself crumple. “George has his own things to work through.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to try.”

Suddenly hot tears pushed on the back of Sylvia’s eyes. Sherlock padded over and jumped on the couch, then lay right across Sylvia’s lap. He knew she needed something to cry into. Evelyn patiently stroked her white hairs and let her sob into the dog’s fur.

“You love him, don’t you?” Evelyn asked quietly.

Sylvia hadn’t heard those words in years. It was just like school again. It broke something open in her.

“He’s with Angelina.” Sylvia replied, not wanting to answer directly.

“That doesn’t matter.” Evelyn looked down at her. “If two people are supposed to be together, it will happen, one way or another.”

“Angelina is whole.” Sylvia said in a thick voice, rubbing her eyes. “He deserves that.”

Evelyn gently traced the scar on her friend’s cheek, and Sylvia flinched. “You are whole.” Evelyn promised. “You’ve just been bruised and scarred in some places. But that’s alright. Bruises heal, and scars will eventually too. As for George…” she sighed, “...he’s got a lot on his plate. But it will work out.”

“Why do you care?”

Evelyn smiled vaguely. “I saved his life once. I guess I feel responsible for him. And I see the way he looks at you, and trust me, he’s seeing something under the scars.”