Title: Not Welcome Here
Summary: Victory isn't so great when you've lost what you're fighting for.
Character(s) /paring(s): Pavarti/Lavender
Rating: T
Word Count: 500
The rosy glow flickering over the folk chattering with firewhiskey, cast shadows across her features but the sorrow in her eyes was for all to see. Parvati had ceased to listen, once increasingly dog-eared photos earned praise and enhanced the jubilant atmosphere which echoed around the inn.
Mundane thoughts were not welcome here, she sighed a little, resting the remainder of her drink on the table and standing to leave, her only farewell a glance at the glass she longed to slam. Her exit was largely unnoticed, as was she.
Perhaps, the only part of her life she could take pride in was her self-control; no tears left trails down her flushed cheeks as she ran to the nearest apparition point. When Parvati reached her flat, her mattress caught her fall, and closed her eyes to the shimmering circles, glaring what the war had made, interwoven into the pillowcase. Eventually, her sobs evened out into occasional gasps as she slipped into a restless slumber.
***
The sun slipped its way around the curtains, however, it was the incessant tapping from a barn owl which awoke her. Parvati stumbled half awake to open the window, dropping a few knuts into the pouch on its leg and offered treat. The thankful hoot provoked a faint smile which reached her puffy eyes.
She threw the paper aside, not entirely sure the fee was worth its while when the ink riddled pages only delivered more pain. The warmth of her bed, and lack of anything else to do on a Saturday lead her under the covers, where she hugged her legs, as though it would make a difference.
Parvati wasn't a fool; she knew this was destroying her, but leaving meant seeing Padma –and her boyfriend- or solitude elsewhere. Any desire to force smiles and pretend had faded. Her fingers tore at the loose threads on a worn t-shirt and her forehead creased into a scowl.
A series of chimes rang through the house, startling momentarily her until she realised what it was; no-one called to see her anymore. It was probably a salesman with stereotypically inconvenient timing; the thought caused lines on her brow to deepen.
Rubbing at her eyes, the woman dragged herself to the front door, turning the handle with dread rising within her, spreading through her bones, and she pushed a little further, lest she find herself incapable.
The sight left a dumbfound expression on her face, unable to comprehend the scene which seemed to pause time. Parvati's fingers left proof of reality on her own skin.
Distantly, she registered that the law had been overturned - muggleborns were allowed back into their world - provoking a worried glance, fearful of rejection, which was not hers.
Then, arms braver than hers wrapped around her torso, a scent so familiar – regardless of the elapsed time – and she clung to the form.
Parvati buried her face into the lighter skinned neck, ignoring the thick hair brushing against her nose.
"Lav," she whispered.