[He has to glance down. Her gaze is too knowing, too sad-- and how long does the war go on for, that this girl looks as exhausted as he does? How long do they fight? It must be for years, he thinks, years and years; they must never stop fighting.
Do you really want to hear it? The brave answer, the Gryffindor's answer, is yes of course. Let him know, so that he could take the knowledge and use it to his advantage. Except--
Except, who knows if they remember what they learn here when they go home? He trains with Sasuke under the false pretense of becoming stronger for the war at home, but Remus knows that's not the reason. He's simply passing time, investing himself in something new in order to while away the hours. He has no proof he'll remember anything of his time here, if he'll ever return at all. And if that's the case . . .
What good will knowing the future do? To know Peter dies-- to know Sirius dies, and that name stirs a myriad of emotions all on its own, never mind connected to death-- what good would that do him? It would haunt him, plunge him back into despair, bring the war starkly back into the forefront-- and god help him, he doesn't want that. The past four months have been an extended vacation, a way to relax without feeling guilty, and he doesn't want to stop that. He doesn't want to have to learn that everything goes to hell-- that they never win, that they all die, that Sirius or Peter (or himself, and sickishly he pushes that thought away) ends up dying on the side of a road somewhere, ambushed and tortured and left in pieces.]
No.
[He says it roughly, his voice thick, his fingers gripping his cup tightly.]
I know it's hard. I'm sorry. I know it-- it would be easier if you could tell me, I'm sorry, I just--
no subject
Do you really want to hear it? The brave answer, the Gryffindor's answer, is yes of course. Let him know, so that he could take the knowledge and use it to his advantage. Except--
Except, who knows if they remember what they learn here when they go home? He trains with Sasuke under the false pretense of becoming stronger for the war at home, but Remus knows that's not the reason. He's simply passing time, investing himself in something new in order to while away the hours. He has no proof he'll remember anything of his time here, if he'll ever return at all. And if that's the case . . .
What good will knowing the future do? To know Peter dies-- to know Sirius dies, and that name stirs a myriad of emotions all on its own, never mind connected to death-- what good would that do him? It would haunt him, plunge him back into despair, bring the war starkly back into the forefront-- and god help him, he doesn't want that. The past four months have been an extended vacation, a way to relax without feeling guilty, and he doesn't want to stop that. He doesn't want to have to learn that everything goes to hell-- that they never win, that they all die, that Sirius or Peter (or himself, and sickishly he pushes that thought away) ends up dying on the side of a road somewhere, ambushed and tortured and left in pieces.]
No.
[He says it roughly, his voice thick, his fingers gripping his cup tightly.]
I know it's hard. I'm sorry. I know it-- it would be easier if you could tell me, I'm sorry, I just--
No.