Heeey guys :) I'm french and i've written a story about Seamus and Lavender that I like a lot. I was curious to know what it could looks like in english so I tried to translate it. I know it's not very good, cause i'm just not bilingual and I must have made a few mistakes (i don't even talk about the style and everything) but I would really appreciate if you could tell me if it's bad or very bad, and if there's something to save ! Ahah

Bonne lecture :)

(Oh and by the way, this story was inspired by "Give up the ghost", by Radiohead. Go listen to it, it's miraculous)

May 1998

Dean came, at last. It's been a week since I've been close to Lavender, just beside her hospital bed. Until now, I was writing on the back of the magazines that people read in the corridors. I even wrote on my skin, once. Good thing that Dean thought of buying a notebook. Good thing he found some time to bring it as well.

I always need to write. And I better write cause if I don't, i don't want to do nothing anymore except from cutting myself out of reality. I used to drink myself to death to do that. We all did that at Hogwarts, apart from Neville, perhaps. We did that especially when we were not in the room of requirement yet. Once we were there, sure we wanted to get drunk. But we were all ashamed to get in such a state in front of the others. Yes, we used to do that on our own.

I think that phenomenon particularly touched the Gryffindors. Obviously, they're supposed to be brave, so when it's time to deliver a bunch of naive first year pupils... it's just like the german Lutwaffe, during the World War II : they were doped to the core not to be afraid to go right to their death. Same at Hogwarts, but for us, it was a question of fucking reputation. To show that we were the brave. We were the reckless. We were the idiots.
In the dormitory, just before performing our little act of daily heroism, we took a glass of whisky. And I can tell you : doloris is much less painful in these conditions. Anyway. When I see Lavender in that state, I don't want to drink. I want to do like my cousin, the addict. I want to smoke out my face. I want to end up out of reality. That never happens with alcohol. Alcohol always makes me happy, I can't help it. But I don't want to be happy. I want to join Lavender. She's in the coma.

I started running out of bravery after the first week at Hogwarts, this year. Realising that Dean didn't stand a chance to come back and hold me company. All my beautiful Gryffindor assets flew the christmas holidays, I brought some pipe-weed from Ireland, a stuff that the wizards themselves invented. They definitely don't deserve better than the muggles. I just wanted to show it to Neville ; he was so interested in plants, I thought he might have been interested in smoking some. I still had humor. A darkened humor, but still.

And he, the hero, the true one, had the courage to refuse. He adopted his chicken-harted face, but in fact, I knew I was the idiot. Again and again.

I don't know why Lavender asked me to make her smoke. She had never tried. We must have thought that we could get closer. We were already in love with each other but even those war events didn't give us balls. I understand for her, but me...

We've been looking for each other. We started smoking more regularly, just the two of us. We missed Slughorn's lessons. What could he say ? Denounce us to the Carrows ? Too kind, too overwhelmed. We were going to my dormitory and we were getting as high as possible. After one hour, especially at the begining, I could progressively see Lavender transform into a zombie. I can see her beautiful eyes injected with blood, and her empty look watching the ceiling. She used Ron's former bed, while I used Harry's. I had this intuition that if I used mine, she would consider that as a provocation, a way to tell her : « you're here just because I want to shag ». So I adopted Lavender's attitude : the attitude of a stranger in his own room, then of his own body.

Little by little, the joints had less effect on us. Given that even the ceiling wasn't attractive anymore, we started staring at each other. We could stare for minutes without talking. Once, I saw her, her candid face, her Hogwarts uniform and her wavy hair. And all of that, I saw it through the smoke she was spitting. I thought it was disgusting. I saw myself as in a mirror, admiring her, poisoning her with my stupid weed and my bottle of whisky in my bag. So I got disgusted of myself. At that moment, I didn't even dare imagining Neville, trying to achieve his potion, under Slughorn's benevolent look.

But we were two. We were ashamed and lost. Two fucking resigned guys.

I loved her with a strength I didn't understand. Where did it come from ? Since I couldn't look the Carrows in the eye anymore. We kept pretending, with Lavender. We played the Gryffindors, we spoiled Snape's life. But none of our acts was made without us being drunk, or high, or both. We were a team.

When Neville lead the DA on his own, after Ginny's leaving, he started entrusting us the most dangerous tasks. He didn't realise. He didn't realise that five minutes before a new operation, we could take three shots of whisky and smoke a joint. In five minutes. I was going out of the common room, holding Lavender's hand cause we couldn't stand up anymore. We were doing our job, as robots. Sometimes, one of us did something stupid.

Once, I remember, I droped an armour, during the night, not far from Snape's office. Lavender guffawed, she fell down and she kept laughing. I watched her, leaning against the wall. I slid to the ground and we stayed there, laughing like two idiots, right in the middle of the corridor. This laughter, that was coming without being controlled, it wasn't a real laughter. It was the glaucous spasm of the addict who's making fun of himself. It was suicide, a real suicide. We could have got caught with all this noise. But we were counting on our lucky star to keep doing this unhealthy game.

Get high.

Take risks.

And let it be.

I loved her with all my never got caught. Not when we were together.

And when we were sober, we laughed together, in front of everyone. We were laughing of our crap, but it was a real laugh. A desperate laughter, but it was hidden behind real jokes.

People were wrong about us. They took us as examples. But we kept laughing. They didn't understand that when I was holding Lavender's hand, it was a question of balance.

We were still hoping, though. But it was some sort of principle. We didn't think of it anymore ; Neville was there to remind us of Harry's existence, from time to time. I was so isolated, in my world, that world I was sharing with Lavender, I wasn't even sure that guy had ever lived.

Finally, going to the room of requirement was a good thing for our mental health. For all of us. It was weird. Everyone thought I was going out with Lavender, but I still didn't have the balls to get closer. I knew she loved me. And I didn't do nothing. This new situation didn't feel good : security, comfort... I didn't miss joints and alcohol though. Because we spent all our time pretending, Lavender and I. Always together. Next to each other, watching those people making artificial hope. We had this peculiar look of people in love. Actually, we were looking at this from above. We didn't care. I didn't think, I was watching the others getting bored. And I felt the heat of Lavender's body just on my left, all the time. I used to sleep stuck to her. And during all this time, I didn't do nothing.

Harry came. With Ron and Hermione. Hope came back as well, inside me. I saw a new glow of life in Lavender's eyes and I thought that it was time to sacrifice. I was ready to die with dignity. And I thought that the link we had made was immortal. Even at that moment, I didn't tell her what I felt for her. We were looking at each other with all the envy that we had to fight, and to massacre this bunch of psychopaths who had driven us crazy.

We were happy to fight. Yes, I was bursting with joy. We had to split up quite rapidly. It's not that we had overestimated our chance to survive, but we didn't realise, we didn't think it would be that painful to fight with this fear, inside, not to be ever able to say : « I love you ».

We were careless, for a moment.

I quickly understood that I was wrong. I was so afraid that I didn't even know who I was fighting against. Good thing that Dean was there, not far, to punch me in the face and to make me get under the skin of the soldier who doesn't give a shit.

I didn't see Harry dueling Voldemort. I was already beside Lavender, crying on my own fate.

I saw her soft face, tortured by this bastard, Greyback. She was unconscious. Already.

I told her : « I love you ».

I love you.
I love you.
I love you.

And now, while she's in this nil, I would like to join her by smoking, like when we were the two of us in this crazy world. But I'm fed up being a coward. I tell her everyday that I love her. I hope that somehow, in her head, it's going to change something. Maybe she's going to want to meet this new Seamus. This Seamus who sounds brave.

It doesn't feel like the battle is over. I'm still fighting, with Lavender. We're fighting to survive. I don't want her to die. I absolutely don't want to live without her.

I wish I could give up the ghost into your arms, Lavender.

Thanks to have read until the end !
Merci encore et bonne journée :)