Aeternus, Eternus
A/N: All right. I wrote this on the plane back from glorified
France, and read it
again recently and decided it had my signature bizarreness, and
had a subject I
felt should be aborded more often.
So basically, enjoy.
Should you feel about ten minutes in that this is boring and
dull, you may as well click the back button on tour browser and read something
else.
You are meant to be doing this for fun.
And also, you might have difficulty reading this, as for some
odd reason, my computer is having problems with sentences and skips lines and I cant undo it.
Sorry or any inconvenience caused
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He'd lied, when he told her he'd love her forever.
He was one of those Greek monsters that were so beautiful to
look at, but
destroyed you if you got too close.
Never. Don't be stupid.
Sarcasm would drip from his voice, flooding her mind.
She learnt then what the words self-dependence meant, even
though it had
been staring at her in the face for years.
To live without needing a hand to feed you, to get up in the
morning knowing
there was nothing waiting for you when you stepped out into the
open.
She abandoned herself, magazines gathering dust on the shelves,
clothes and
shoes she'd spent a fortune on were stained with food and worn
to tatters.
She learnt what mattered.
The only person she found she wanted to talk to ended up being
Hermione.
She was the only one who didn't treat her like a china doll. .
People she didn't
even know tip-toed around her, and spoke to her in hushed
voices.
They thought she was dying.
Hermione, though, took on a completely different approach.
Like those who didn't want to hurt her, she was careful to avoid
any
conversation that might lead to mention of Seamus, but if she
walked that path,
She didn't jump over the hedge and run, without looking for
directions.
She looked around her, and turned towards the woods, stroking
the grass with
her fingertips. It was strange how she would rather get lost
than find her way
home.
She would rather be spinning in nature than lying in bed.
She spoke to Lavender as if she were still human, still
breathing, as if she could
still feel things like she used to.
The winter came, freezing her fingers and taking her by the
throat, the empty
howl of life echoing thorugh her, crushing her.
She thought she was dying, then.
Hermione stood by her bedside in the hospital wing, leaving only
when
Madame Pomfrey insisted she do so, eating and sleeping only when
she had to.
But she couldn't save herself from the dreams.
Dreams of Seamus.
Dreams of Seamus hating her.
In some dreams he was just there, staring at her as if she were
the Morigan.
In some dreams he raped her.
She would wake up, writhing in pain, burning with fever,
crushing Hermione's
fingers in her own, telling herself that it wasn't reality.
According to what she heard, from whispers and taunts, it was
while she was
dying that Seamus fell in love with Parvati.
Lavender knew, even though she didn't, what Parvati was doing.
Cleansing him of any love he might have left for another,
erasing past from
future, taking control like an invader in a desolate land.
The invader was the Dowager Queen's knight.
She knew that love was painful.
She heard Cho Chang's screams in the night.
She heard them for years.
A rose, red like blood, thorns a plenty that gouged deep down
into your
fingers.
You can never let go.
It follows you like the shadows from Hell, reminding you of the
pact you made.
The contract you signed in blood.
You didn't read the thin print
You didn't want to know about the demons in the haven you were
promised.
Snowstorms engulf you, prising open wounds that don't heal.
By the time February was upon them, Lavender's eyes had gone
died, staring at
the rest of the world as if it were a blank canvas.
Pansy Parkinson told that Lavender was on a muggle drug she'd
heard about.
Hermione was the only one who didn't believe her.
She took control.
If Lavender didn't want to eat, Hermione lured her to the dining
table with a
plate of chicken. If Lavender didn't want to go to class,
Hermione bribed her
with a massage.
Hermione became somewhat of a mother.
So that's how Lavender learnt.
It didn't matter about Seamus anymore.
What started to matter was her life, and the one that was
growing inside of her.
Lavender was five months pregnant with the baby of one who hated
her.
She didn't tell Hermione.
And Hermione needn't have found out through her own logic.
She'd always known. Ever since the first day back in October
when Lavender
had sat down in front of her and stared at the flames of the
lire, as they licked
the wall around them.
Hermione was aunty Hermione before Lavender was even a mother.
But even though hope was setting in, Lavender was still living
in the turmoil of
hell that had become her life. Because no matter where she
looked, there was
always something to remind her of the demons she was facing, the
inarticulate
tasks she had to face, before reaching for the grail.
Now it wasn't the pain of loss that was killing her, it was the
pain of the years
she would face with a hand in her own, watching life through the
eyes of an
innocent.
She started to fear the future. She used to fear the past.
Because with the pain
came a reminder of trust betrayed, a scar that she would
protect, even though
she could see the traces of one she hated in every ounce of
being.
One that she loved, even though it had been abandoned, her lease
on life was
an endless thread of conditions.
Lavender knew this, but it gave her the courage to hope, instead
of letting go.
To show her child the angels of life, instead of letting the
demons take her.
The child of Appolyon was born on the eighth of June.
Hermione stood by her side, clasping her fingers.
Seamus sat on a chair, drinking from a goblet of brandy.
What was amazing was that the pain she'd always known would come
with this
child, almost didn't exist. It became absolutely nothing
compared to the pain
she'd suffered alone, in the night, each second stealing
something from her, the
long fingers of hate reaching through her, winding out her soul.
Seamus didn't look at the child when it was born. He didn't want
to believe
that he was father, even though Harry, Ron and Hermione had
argued with
him to a point that Ron threw an inkwell at him.
Lavender though, couldn't take her eyes off it.
It was a girl, the shouts had told her.
She named her the moment she saw her.
Aimee Hermione Brown.
The Aimee was for loved. A little thing, so un-aware of the
world who had
turned it's back on her. Loved by her mother, and by her fairy
god-mother..
The child of an angel named innocence.
The child of hope, and life through glory.
The child who would watch the moon, queen of all nature, and
would hear her
lullaby, singing to her the tale of heroes, the tale of lands
reigned by good, and
a time when evil had not existed.
Evil, the child of hatred.
Good, the child of love.
Aimee, the child of both.
But it was of no matter to fate.
Three days after she was born, Aimee Hermione Brown died.
Madame Pomfrey couldn't explain it, words torn from her mouth
before being
let spoken. Professor Dumbledore said it was to have lived in
the arms of pain,
and then to be given over to love.
Hermione wept and said it was nobody's fault.
Lavender said nothing.
Her child lay dead in her arms, never to be given a chance by
life.
Never to paint the dance of her footsteps.
Never to feel the cold rage of winter, and the warm stroke of
the spring.
Never to be.
It was night when she left the hospital wing, little Aimee in
her arms.
The moon watched her, walking barefoot in the grass, her robes
flowing
behind her, looking like an angel cradling baby Jesus.
She watched Nature as she went, the ore of life, the infinity
dreamed of by
those too blind to see.
She stood by herself, letting the wind take control of her,
watching the soul of
night, thinking about her past, abandoning each memory to the
river of life.
She stood on her toes, the earth of the cliff shifting
underneath her.
She looked at her daughter, her little form limp and cold, and
took a breath.
"Aeternus, Eternus Aimee. Forever."
She stepped off the cliff and tumbled through the air, the hands
of death
reaching for her.
She walked the path destiny had set her.
Little Aimee in her arms.
~* Fini *~