For: Quidditch League round one

Falmouth Falcons

Beater 1 (reserve)

Write a writing style you've never written before. (Second person)

1008 words

A/N: Well, five years later, here I am. Dragged out of retirement for a writing forum. Cheers.

"Lavender?"

Her gentle voice draws you out of your thoughts. You offer her a shaky smile, but even you can tell how flimsy it is. If Parvati sees right through it, she doesn't say a damn thing. She moves closer, taking your hand in hers.

You look down at your hands, admiring the juxtaposition of umber skin against cream. The corners of your lips twitch, and your smile almost solidifies.

"You should be asleep," you murmur, pulling your hand away and gripping your glass.

How many times have you filled it tonight? If you're honest, you've lost count. Your veins have long since been saturated with liquor, and your brain swims in a warm, blissful haze.

"Hypocrite," your lover teases, but she doesn't push.

Maybe that's what you love most about her. Parvati is softer, less intense. No matter how much you screw up, no matter how much you continue to break, she never gets angry, never screams. She just fixes you with those dark eyes and looks at you like you're still worth something. Her eternal optimism had been annoying in the early days of rebuilding after the chaos and bloodshed at Hogwarts, but now you think it's endearing.

With a sigh, you tilt your head back, draining the burning, amber contents of your glass in one quick gulp.

It shouldn't be this easy to self-destruct, but here you are. It's been a year since that battle, and your demons haven't gone away. You've tried to drown them with alcohol and silence them with sleeping potions, but it's no use; they're always there, always waiting in the shadows to dig their claws in and tear you apart.

"Lav?"

You set the glass down again the battered table. "Yes?"

"Everything will be okay, you know."

You almost laugh at that. The sound builds in your throat, but when you open your mouth, a sob spills from your lips instead. Tears sting your eyes, and you don't bother to wipe them away. The droplets fall like rain, splashing and leaving warm, salty puddles by your glass.

It takes only a second of your breakdown for Parvati to act. Her slender arms wrap around you. Her palm rests lovingly against the back of your head, fingers raking into your honey blonde curls. Slowly, carefully, she guides you closer until your face is buried in her chest. The tears continue to fall, darkening her pink pajama top.

"Shh." She strokes your back with her free hand, her soft fingertips tickling your spine through your shirt.

"I see him," you whisper. "I see him every night."

She doesn't ask who. By now, you have woken up in a panic, screaming Greyback's name. And Parvati has been by your side, quick to wipe away the cold beads of sweat and whisper beautiful promises about how you're growing, how you're piecing yourself back together slowly but surely.

You try to reach for you glass again, but Parvati grabs your wrist and pins it to your side. "No. Lav, please," she whispers, pressing a kiss to your scarred, mangled cheek. "I'm worried about you."

Now, a laugh does escape your mouth. It is a dry sound, devoid of humor and bordering on hysteria. "You're worried about me?" The words are sharper than you intend. Parvati finches and backs away.

"Babe—"

"You don't know about all this shit going on inside my head," you snap, swiping furiously at the tears that still spill from your eyes despite your rage. "I do. It's all well and good for you to worry about me, but you know what? I'm bloody terrified! Do you know what it's like to die every time you close your eyes? I do!"

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, and you can feel your heart racing inside your body. A genuine smile forms at the pain. It hurts, but it's a reminder that you're still here, that you're still alive. It doesn't matter that you're haunted. It doesn't matter you can still feel his jagged, yellowing teeth piercing your shoulder while his filthy claws rip apart your once flawless face, or that you can still smell his sour scent of sweat and dirt.

You're alive. Greyback is dead or in Azkaban—you don't care which; all you care about is that he cannot get to you now.

There's a change inside you, something you can't quite put your finger on. Your body feels numb, and it has nothing to do with the countless glasses of liquor you've downed over the past few hours. This numb feels more like weightlessness, like a great burden has been lifted from your shoulders.

The floor seems to move beneath you, and you stumble. Parvati is there to catch you, and she holds you so tightly that you feel like the world won't fall away, like you can keep your feet on solid ground.

"Feel better?" she whispers.

You start to tell her no, but your jaw snaps shut before the syllable can escape. She's right. You do feel better.

"Oh."

You've spent so long mistaking the bottom of the bottle for therapy, always quick to drown rather than speak. Maybe if you hadn't kept it all inside, if you had used your voice instead, you wouldn't be so broken now.

Your eyes meet Parvati's. For several seconds, your mouth opens and closes wordlessly. How can you apologize? It isn't just that you've raised your voice and snapped at her; you've forced her to walk through hell with you. She didn't deserve that, but she stayed by your side, holding your hand so that you didn't face your demons alone.

Before you can even think of the words to say that can take away the pain you must have put her through, Parvati presses her lips to yours. You hold her closer, praying that the passion you put into the kiss is enough, that she can somehow taste the unspoken words on your lips.

I'm sorry.

I'm struggling.

I don't know how, but I will get better.

I love you.