Lavender's face is scarred and twisted, but laughing and twirling over a field of grass, she seems almost pretty. Parvati can't stop staring at her lopsided smile. Her feet dance over clover and dandelions, and she grabs Parvati's hands and pulls her with her.
"Come on, dance!" she says, giggling, and her voice is as light as ever.
(She gets told it's so beautiful— what a shame— so tragic about the rest, isn't it— at least once every time she goes out.)
Parvati tries and fail to stifle her grin. "Can't dance without music."
Lavender rolls her eyes, lets go of Parvati's hand, and waves her wand. Violins seem to sing from the sky.
Parvati lets Lavender capture her hand back, following the shorter girl's lead as she twirls and steps over flowers as bright and lovely as she is. She can't stop staring; she is filled with a thousand butterflies; her heart is taking flight, fluttering higher and higher and higher and it feels like it will burst out of her chest.
"You know," Lavender says, "after all that happened, I don't think I ever told you. Not even when we were dying. And I want to. Parvati, I love you." She looks intensely at Parvati, not hiding, watching to see the slow smile spread across her face.
"Can I kiss you?" whispers Parvati, and Lavender answers by pressing her lips against hers. Her kiss is soft and light and the scar across one side is an interesting texture, and Parvati feels so light she thinks she would float into the air like a balloon if Lavender weren't still holding her hands.
Lavender leans back, giggles, and rests her forehead against Parvati's. "That was… nice."
"Yeah," says Parvati. "Nice.
Lavender laughs, suddenly and loudly, and twirls away to scoop up a crimson flower and slip it behind Parvati's ear. "A beautiful flower for a beautiful girl," she says in a voice like Kermit the Frog, and Parvati can't help but laugh.