For Emma. I hope this will satisfy your Shavender loving!
They say you sparkle like a different girl
But something tells me that you hide
When all the world is warm and tired
You cry a little in the dark
Well so do I
-Letter to Hermione by David Bowie.
You're not what you used to be.
You, Lavender Brown, used to be the perfect little girl; the pretty one with the big brown eyes and curly brunette locks; the chatty Gryffindor who was friendly and easy to be around; the one who was always smiling; the one that was always seen but never heard.
You were always seen and never heard, but today, you scream.
It takes you forever and more to realize that you're never, ever going to become what you used to be again.
You know that you had taken a lot of damage; you knew yet you had always hung onto an irrational sliver of hope that one day things could be right again.
But then you look in a mirror and see the long jagged scars running down your face and across your chest, and who would ever love you if even you don't love yourself?
Lavender Brown is a name of innocence, of vanity, of promises to be kept, and of passing rumors. It speaks of whipping through the summer air on a broomstick, and of fleeting school romances. It's a name for a girl with the whole world wrapped around her little finger.
You don't think it suits you anymore, for that is what you used to be.
Now all you are is broken.
(Maybe you should change your name to Shattered.)
You are out of treatment now; the war is long behind you and the scars on your face are much less noticeable. Everyone has moved on but for some reason you're just stuck in the same spot, picking up your pieces and dropping them all over again.
Some days are better, when someone compliments your hair and you think that maybe you're not completely ugly, not completely worthless.
Some days are worse, when people jeer at the ugly line running down the side of your face and poke insulting werewolf jokes to your face.
But most days are the same, where every minute, every hour is just a motionless lull that you go through, only to reach the night, where you scream and tangle yourself in the sheets and your own nightmares.
You are a silly little girl of broken dreams. Everything you used to be is in the past, and now all you are is nothing.
You used to have a jar of hearts. Today you take it off the shelf, dust it off, and gaze at all the people you had played over the years, when you used to be young and pretty and with nothing to lose.
You used to be a heart breaker, but now you're the one left with an empty heart.
It's becoming a new obsession of yours; to just stare at yourself in the mirror and wonder how everything had disappeared.
You used to be an explosion; but now you're barely a spark.
Every day, you gaze at yourself longer. At first, it is just mindless staring, but soon, you being to see the old you, smiling and waving and blowing kisses.
It is like a vintage photo. You wonder when your own mirror became the Mirror of Erised.
You stare and stare until your eyes water but you keep on staring. You just can't stop yourself. But you don't really want yourself to stop either, because as sick as it is, it gives you a sense of pleasure, to mock your ugly self.
It feels much better, to agree with everyone else.
"I'm stupid."
"I'm ugly."
"I'm a bitch."
Nobody wants to keep fighting for a lost cause.
It is only a matter of time before you eventually take out the razor.
Seamus and Parvati, the only two you have left, would vehemently protest, saying you're beautiful and perfect and it's everyone else's mistake that they can't see it.
But you know it's lies, that they're all lies. You finally realize the truth - that nobody wants you.
The cold metal is pressed to your wrist, and in a quick swipe, you draw up crimson teardrops.
You hold back a scream, but as painful as it is, you do it again. And again and again, until suddenly, you can't even see your arm under all the blood.
You're already ugly, so it doesn't really matter if you give yourself a few more scars.
You know they know.
It isn't hard to notice, what with you wearing long sleeves even in the heat of summer, with you refusing to participate in many activities and events, with your voice sinking down into a constant whisper.
They must know; they're not stupid. But if they're not doing anything about it, that must mean even they don't really care about you.
You thought that they were as close as a family you'd ever have anymore. But families love each other and clearly they don't.
You decide that if no one loves you, then no one would really miss you either.
So you stand there in your bathroom, holding your faithful knife to your throat. You think that perhaps a fatal stab would be better than bleeding to death.
Your hands are shaking. You steady yourself. There is no reason to be scared of something that has been coming all along.
You take a moment to reminisce your school day memories, your parents, Parvati, and Seamus.
You had always loved him.
You lift the knife and laugh dryly. True love never existed for you.
You bring the knife
d
o
w
n
and you are stopped by a large hand, holding your hand still.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Seamus roars. You tremble, unable to speak now that you've been caught.
He throws the knife away. It skids over the tile floor. You let out a strangled cry, and struggle against his grip to retrieve it.
You never would have thought that you would have become so attached to your own death.
"Lavender!" He gets in front of you, and blocks you from all sides. You huddle into a ball and look the other way.
The tears begin to flow. It has been a long time since you last cried.
"Lavender," he says again, softer this time. You whimper, still not looking at him.
"Lavender." His fingers gently tilt your chin up towards him, and you shiver from his touch. He is all you have ever wanted, even if you hadn't realized it back then, and you break down under his touch.
Who knew you were so fragile?
You sob and he holds you awkwardly in his arms, mumbling sweet nothings and you just cry more because you could have died and maybe you should have because you're only a nothing and nobody loves nothings.
"Lavender, never do that again. For everyone's sake, please, just don't do that again," he pleads.
"Nobody would care," you choke out.
"Parvati and I care!" he shouts. You cringe, and he lowers his voice. "What would have happened to us if you had died? Think, Lavender. We love you."
You shake your head. "I'm not what I used to be."
"I know. We've all changed," he says. "But that doesn't mean that no one wants you. People who truly love you will always love you, regardless of whether you've changed or not."
Your eyes widen because if he's saying what you think he's saying, then there might be a reason for you after all.
He holds your chin in his strong hands and looks you in the eye and says, "I love you. I always have and I always will."
He leans in to kiss you and so many emotions flow through, like the blood that used to run down your arms.
He says, "Don't leave me," and you, Lavender Brown, decide that you won't.
A/N: Well, I didn't want my first Lavender/Seamus to be so angsty, but it does have a kinda happy ending, so maybe you all can forgive me.
Done for:
Hugs And Happiness Challenge - Emma!
Fanfiction School of Imagination and Creativity - Math, Table Six
Camp Potter - Campfire Songs
Pairing Diversity Boot Camp - Prompt #30: If you be the one to cut me, I will bleed forever.
Out Of Your Comfort Zone Competition - Seamus/Lavender, "Fear is only a verb if you let it be; don't you dare let go of my hand."
Legendary Creatures Competition - Sarama
Popular Songs Competition - All Time Low
Key Signature Competition - F minor
HP Potions Competition - Deflating Draught