Lavender Brown terrifies Terry Boot, and he is almost convinced that's what he likes about her. She's some sort of superhero femme fatale, he thinks, as he watches her and Parvati giggle over dream interpretations and Hermione Granger's hair. Lavender Brown, with the power to render him absolutely speechless, to turn his knees into goo with a single glance. She could be the perfect Scully to his Mulder. The Marion Ravenwood to his Indiana Jones. The Michelle Phiferian Catwoman to his Batman.
But who is Terry kidding; if he's anyone, he's probably Robin. And Lavender probably has no idea who those characters are anyway.
He's been building up to this moment since the Yule Ball was announced. It's just one simple, easy question, but it's not for Terry. He has to make this impressive.
It takes him a week to think up the perfect line, and another three days for Divination to roll around again. He freaks himself out of asking on Tuesday; someone sneezes and Terry takes it as an omen as he dives back into his seat. He nearly chickens out again next class, but a sharply directed kick from his cousin Morag sets him back on course.
Time seems to move in slow motion as Terry crosses the room to the tuft Lavender is sitting on, his teacup clinking erratically against the saucer, completely giving away how badly his hands are shaking. The small bit of tea that is left in the cup is lopping over the side onto his hands, but he can barely feel it.
His attempt to suavely slide into the seat next to her looks much less debonair than he would have liked, his bony knees hitting the underside of the table; the Divination room was not designed for gangly teenage boys post-growth spurt. She barely notices him sit down, Lavender is far too engaged in the story Parvati is retelling for the third time that day to pay attention to the gawky blond boy that nearly capsized the table.
Terry waits for Parvati to pause her story long enough to take a breath, and seizes the opportunity to try to get Lavender's attention. He utterly fails the first time and he thanks god that she didn't hear. The sound that escapes his throat was likely only loud enough for dogs to hear, and Terry silently damns the fact that he isn't completely over the bridge of puberty yet.
He takes a breath -- only just now realizing he'd been forgetting to breathe -- and tries again. He could do this. He needed to embrace his inner Jedi, there is only do or do not, there is no try. "Hey L-lavender," he stutters, but somehow at least manages to keep his voice from cracking again.
She turns from Parvati to look at who had approached, and all Terry can see is the way her golden blonde hair cascades off her shoulder as she twists in her seat. "Hi Terry," she smiles -- she smiles at him -- before turning back to Parvati again.
That alone is enough to make Terry feel at least slightly brave, and he opens his mouth to speak again. "I um. I was wondering... I know you're the best at reading tea leaves of any of us, and I was hoping you'd tell me if my interpretation of mine's correct."
She nods and takes the saucer from him, although she barely acknowledges the flattery. He is right, after all.
Terry doesn't give her a chance to explain what she sees, though. That's not a part of the plan. "Because um. What I'm seeing in there, in the tea leaves, is us going to the Yule Ball together," he rushes, afraid to look at her. After a moment he remembers he is supposed to be playing this cool, and moves to run his fingers through his hair; he's going for Zach Morris and winds up with Screech, nearly knocking his glasses off his face in the process.
Lavender looks between the teacup and Terry, wrinkling her nose a little; that's certainly not what she sees in the tea leaves. An instant later it dawns on her as to what Terry is implying, and she lets out an "Awwwww" that echos of someone cooing over a litter of puppies or a toddler attempting to walk for the first time.
"You're so sweet, but no. I'm sort of waiting for someone else to ask me," Lavender replies, throwing a not-too-cryptic glance at the back of Seamus Finnigan's head. The Olympic-sized torch Terry has been carrying for Lavender for years is nearly snuffed out in an instant.
Terry brushes it off and mumbles something about how it's fine, that's completely fine, he was probably holding the cup upside down anyway and it actually said something about being wary on staircases today, and he laughs as though he hadn't just completely humiliated himself, because he had no business asking Lavender Brown to the Yule Ball anyway.
Lavender Brown terrifies a lot of people, and it isn't her fault in the slightest. "That's that girl, the one that Greyback attacked," gossiping women whisper as mothers swat down their childrens' hands as they point at the scars on the girl's face.
The stigma hasn't died down like it was expected to. Bill Weasley might have been a war hero, and Remus Lupin may have died fighting by Harry Potter's side, but that wasn't enough to erase the damage that had been caused by werewolves for centuries. Lavender isn't even truly infected, not in the way that many are, but the scars that clothes and makeup can't hide only serve as reminders of what had happened, and what people didn't want to remember.
Lavender Brown terrifies Terry Boot, but not for nearly the same reasons. Terry still thinks she's brilliant, like Buffy Summers or Emma Frost or Jadzia Dax. They survived the wrath of the Carrows together, and they fought side by side with Dumbledore's Army, but he is still never quite sure what to say to her without sounding like a twitterpated goon. It's for the best; she needs to feel normal, whereas Terry thinks she's anything but.
She lets him talk about Pokemon to her, though, and offers him the holographic cards in exchange for the cute ones, and lies that her tea leaves told her to.