Summer haze – sitting on the lawn with bare feet, looking up at the sky and just Wondering for a spell. Lavender doesn't often take time off from her busy life to sit around, sip ambiguous fruit juice (cherry? Grape? Cranberry?) and set her glossy magazines aside. For a girl with very little to actually Do, she Does it all with great efficiency. An onlooker might say that her life was all but meaningless – filled with shallow, silly things of no real importance to anyone – but, they're important to her. The beading and stitching of it, the pretty faces and splashes of color, the whispered conversations and paroxysms of glee over the tiniest of things; they're all important.
Lavender is willfully creating lovely memories – a lovely childhood, even – piece by piece, so that one day she can look back (hopefully in a quiet moment between the many glamorous parties she will no doubt be attending constantly as an adult) and sift through all of the beautiful, shimmering fragments of a Perfect Youth. No shadow, nor scowl will penetrate this utopia, not if she can help it. There are too many evil, bad, dreadful things in the world as is – there's no need to let them permeate everything . Memories are safe, yours to shape until they work just perfectly in your mind's eye.
Hers is a life like weeds, always growing and moving outward and outward – fed by everything giggle and raised eyebrow, every Cheshire grin in the back of the classroom, ever self-conscious twirl in the mirror of Madam Malkin's. There's not enough happiness to be found in the world, Lavender is sure, and so she creates her own – mapping it out on the green grass, and hoping silently to end up slightly browner than when she first came outside.