As they started walking, she stayed close to him, not sure what to say. Well, that wasn't true, she knew what to say, she just wasn't sure she wanted to say it. Because the things she was thinking about, well, they weren't particularly good things and she didn't want to make him hurt anymore because he was already upset over the potion. And it was all just sort of messy.
Still, she had to say it. She couldn't not say it, that was part of who she was too and he had asked. "Matthew, my nephew, he's having the not-nightmares," she said finally. "That was what was in his drawing." A horrible picture of a woman with bright red hair and she just knew, but she still asked. Lavender could handle having the nightmares, she knew about suffering and she could endure it.
"God, Michael, he's six years old. He hasn't even started yet." Her voice broke just a little then, all those cracks showing, reminding them both of what she would never forget. "So, I'd have dozens of worse nights if it meant we were even a little bit closer to figuring out what's going on and finding a way to make it stop."