One of the Beautiful Ones
I was one of the beautiful ones. Five feet, seven and a half inches. Not too tall, but not too short. Not too tall that I can't wear my bel8ived stilettos without towering over everyone, and not so short that I couldn't reach the freezer door to retrieve my favorite ice cream, Fortescue's low fat strawberry and caramel ice cream. Fair, even, slightly blemished skin. Dark enough so that I could tan, but not burn and light enough so that a blush could grace my cheeks, but my whole body didn't become a strawberry. Not skinny, but certainly not overweight. Fat enough that I needed to watch my weight if I wanted to continue buying clothes at Le Chic, but skinny enough that I got the occasional compliment on my good figure. Sure my hips may have been a little wide, therefore requiring a slight enlargement in the waistband of skirts and jeans. Yes, my left breast is slightly larger than the right, but it's not a big worry. Of course my feet are not exactly dainty either. I could live with all these little things. Big, beautiful, crisp blue eyes surrounded by long eyelashes were often powerful tools when luring in an unsuspecting boy. However, my weapon of choice is my prized blonde curls. When I was a little girl, I used to tie it up in ribbons, but as I began to grow older I started to allow it to freely tumble down past my shoulders. Though, my love of brightly covered ribbons never vanished thus ribbons still made their occasional appearance.
I was beautiful. My parents adored me from the moment I was born. We were the stereotypical family. The blonde haired and blue eyed John and Mary Brown married and had three blonde haired, blue eyed children. The first a slim and bright girl named Marilyn Leigh. Not long after her, a long legged, handsome, and athletic boy named John Jr. who would be known as JB. The perfect family was rounded with the birth of another girl. She was unexpected, but loved all the same and named Lavender Josephine.
Some boys fell at my feet, others I had to work for. Ronald Weasley was somewhere in between. He definitely wasn't throwing himself at me, but I caught him sneak the occasional glance. We both blushed when we caught the eyes of each other; my cheeks became rosy while his face often looked like it had been stuck in an oven for an hour. After the quidditch match he became mine, but perhaps I wanted him a little too much. It was like an addiction. I no longer knew how to live my life without him. Every moment that I was away from him I was consumed with ideas of how to get to him. While every moment that I was with him I thought about how I could make our moments together last longer. All I knew was that I needed to be connected to him somehow; I no longer knew how to live without him. Perhaps I was a little overbearing when he was sick. I shouldn't have crowded him so much; I just wanted him to be okay. I needed him to understand that I would no longer be able to live if something happened to him. Maybe I shouldn't have sent him that necklace at Christmas, but I could think of no other way of getting him to understand the deep, all- consuming feelings that I had for him. But I should've known, I should have known that it was never meant to last. That eventually it was all going to go downhill. The fights he and Hermione had were my first clue. The look on her face when she came to visit him should have made me realize it. We were never meant to last, but they were meant to be. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger: hogwartsian Sweethearts; together forever. I knew it was going to happen, yet when we officially part ways, broke up, whatever you call it, my heart split cleanly in two. More than two, more like shattered it into a million pieces. It took a while for it to stop hurting. I took until the middle of August for my pieces of my heart to finally come together again. Ronald Weasley had done two things to me. First he took my heart and then gave it back to me in an almost irreparable state. Secondly, he showed me that it was beginning of everything going downhill. My seventh year had been horrible with the takeover by the Death Eaters. When he attacked me, he topped it all.
Fenrir Greyback attacked my by surprise. I was running to get something that Neville had forgotten… what it was, I'll never remember. It doesn't matter anymore, because my life changed in an instant. It started off with a quick, barely registering scratch along my neck, but then he bit into my cheek and tore at me like a dog ripping the stuffing out of a doll. At some point I blacked out, but I remember waking up. So much at one time. So much pain, so many thoughts, so little time. Madame Pomfrey explained to me what had happened and some of the possible side- effects that I could have. Increased sense of hearing and smell, and a notoriously short temper as the full moon approached. I would never transform, and for that I will always be grateful. She begged me not to look at myself in the mirror, but I pleaded with her saying that I needed to see myself as I truly was now. I wanted to see what everyone would see what they looked at me from now on. Reluctantly she gave in. She handed me a small oval mirror and for the first time I was allowed to see the marred face that was now mine left with only memories of the beautiful face that had once been. Madame Pomfrey didn't say anything and neither did the mirror. My mouth widened in a silent gasp. About thirty seconds passed before the gasp finally escaped my lips and then boiling hot tears began to run down my cheeks. There were cuts, deep gruesome gashes and a big chunk of my right cheek was missing. The cuts and scratches were covered with a thick, goopy orange paste. There was dried blood in my greasy, unwashed hair. I must have been crying quite loudly because Madame Pomfrey came rushing back to me and pried the mirror from my fingers. She wrapped her arms around me like a grandmother might do. She could barely look at me as I laid my head on her shoulder and continued to cry. Earlier, when she brought me the mirror I expected that she had run off so quickly to another patient because she did not want to see my reaction. Now I could see pity in her eyes, pity that I did not want. I had been one of the beautiful ones.
When I was little, people would come up to me and twirl one of my blonde curls around their spindly fingers and compliment my parents on what a beautiful little girl they had. At the beginning of my adolescence these same people talked about the beautiful woman that I would someday become. They told me that I would get a good job in the ministry, grow old with the perfect man, and have 2.5 children. At sixteen they complimented my parents on what a respectable girl that they had raised. They noted that boys must have been tripping over each other to get to me. If only they could have seen me that day with my paste covered face, bloody hair, and craving for a rare steak. That day all I could do was think and wonder. I wondered if the people who once twirled their fingers around my girls would still say to my parents, "Oh what a beautiful daughter you have, you must be so proud of the young woman she has become?" I wondered about what my parents would say. I wondered if they still loved me, would they still think of me as their daughter. I wondered if Marilyn and JB would still think of me as their little sister, the cute curly haired imp that followed them around. That day I cried and cried and cried. I cried because I didn't want my family to have that same look of pity that continued to grace Madame Pomfrey's face. That day I was still the eighteen year old girl who made stupid mistakes and giggled with my friends whenever a cute boy walked past. I was an eighteen year old young woman who wanted to travel to France, to Russia, to India, and to America. I wanted to fall in love. I wanted to open my own dress shop. I wanted to have five children. I wanted to live a life that would be my own without people judging me for it. I wanted people to see a young woman who is sometimes still as insecure as a thirteen year old girl, but ready to go out and explore and make the most of the life that I had been given. I wanted people to see below the scars on face and see the true Lavender Brown. I wanted to people to see that I was still one of the beautiful ones.
But that was then and this is now. My relationship with my parents is tense at times. They're not sure what to say when the situation of my werewolf tendencies comes up. I've chosen my life and am living it well. I made it to France and to India. I someday hope to make it to Russia and America. I did fall in love, he died five years ago. When he died from a bout of dragon pox my heart shattered into an innumerable amount of pieces and I fear that it will never come together again. He loved me and I loved him. He accepted me for exactly who I was. He always told me that I was beautiful inside and out and that he loved me. I am closer to my brother and my sister than I was before I was attacked. They've always been there for me helping me whenever I needed them. Taking the children whenever I was in a particularly irritable mood and letting my husband keep me calm. The people who once told my parents would a beautiful daughter they had and how successful she would become now have split reactions. Some can no longer like me in the eyes, while others congratulate me on achieving true beauty and a lifetime of happiness and love. I have my own dress shop and with help from George Weasley the shop now has locations in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and Paris. I have the five children that I always wanted. Lindy runs the shop in Paris and lives with her husband, Josef. The two have given me two beautiful grandchildren, Adelaide and Leo. After Lindy, I have three sons. Jeremy works for the Dept. of International Magical Affairs, Gabriel is a dragon keeper, and Ryan is a healer. The youngest is another daughter, Daisy. She's fresh out of Hogwarts and is training at the Auror Academy. I don't think I could have let her go if I didn't know that Harry would be right there watching her every step of the way.
Nowadays, I have everything that I could have ever wanted. I live my life comfortable and I know who I am. For years I couldn't bare to look at myself in the mirror and now I have one in every room in the house. The most important being the floor length one opposite my bed. Every morning I get up and see myself in the mirror. I think of the tribulations that I may suffer throughout the day, and the joys that I may have. I think of what I have overcome and how great my life has been. I see my scars and I love them. They've made me strong, but I also see below them and everything that they changed within me. I have a family of my own. Some of them are by blood and others have seeped their way into my heart making them part of my family too. My family sees my scars, but they see what's below. When Adelaide and Leo run into my open arms screaming "grandma", when my boys proudly introduce to me to the latest girl in their lives, when brother and sister come over to laugh about the what happened way back when, when I gather without my Hogwartsian classmates to reminisce and when my husband blows me a kiss goodnight from his picture at my bed side I know one thing for sure. I am one of the beautiful ones.
AN: It's the first thing I've written in a while and it's the longest thing I ever written. I started writing late last night and finished this morning. I'm quite proud of it. A review is not necessary, but much appreciated.