It wasn't going to be easy. It never would be easy again. At least not for a long time. The wizarding world was at war. They had to fight. They didn't have a choice. If they had a conscience, they had to fight.
It started out because of practicality, not love, or even fondness. It was easier to share space. And it was easier to come home from fighting to someone else. So Lavender and Ron moved in together the year after they left Hogwarts.
Ron spent his days on the field, engaged in endless duels with Death Eaters. Lavender worked in the infirmary. She dressed wounds, performed emergency surgery, created tinctures and ointments for the wounded soldiers.
This background came in useful when Ron moved in. Lavender would already be at home. She worked the same shift everyday. This was her 9 to 5. Treating the wounded in the War (it was the only one they had ever seen, so they figured it deserved capitalization).
Ron would come home a few hours after Lavender. She would have dinner laid out on the table. Nothing fancy, never extravagant. Supplies were meager. The War was being waged in the farmer's fields, turnips and potatoes crushed under heavy boots.
After dinner (usually a bowl of rice with some grisly meat) Lavender would run the bath for him, adding soothing herbs and lotions. He didn't mind. He never complained that it was girly. He just climbed in silently and sat still as Lavender scrubbed his back, kissing every scar she came across. Sometimes she would climb in with him and they would lie there in each others' arms, trying to soak away the pain.
This was no nuclear family. They rarely spoke. Words aren't needed in times like these. We all share the same thoughts, the same goals. There is no point in long nights dreaming about the future, about goals.
They rarely spoke, but if you were to ask either of them, they would say that they loved the other.
It started out because of practicality, not love, or even fondness. It was easier to share space. And it was easier to come home from fighting to someone else. So Lavender and Ron moved in together the year after they left Hogwarts.
Ron spent his days on the field, engaged in endless duels with Death Eaters. Lavender worked in the infirmary. She dressed wounds, performed emergency surgery, created tinctures and ointments for the wounded soldiers.
This background came in useful when Ron moved in. Lavender would already be at home. She worked the same shift everyday. This was her 9 to 5. Treating the wounded in the War (it was the only one they had ever seen, so they figured it deserved capitalization).
Ron would come home a few hours after Lavender. She would have dinner laid out on the table. Nothing fancy, never extravagant. Supplies were meager. The War was being waged in the farmer's fields, turnips and potatoes crushed under heavy boots.
After dinner (usually a bowl of rice with some grisly meat) Lavender would run the bath for him, adding soothing herbs and lotions. He didn't mind. He never complained that it was girly. He just climbed in silently and sat still as Lavender scrubbed his back, kissing every scar she came across. Sometimes she would climb in with him and they would lie there in each others' arms, trying to soak away the pain.
This was no nuclear family. They rarely spoke. Words aren't needed in times like these. We all share the same thoughts, the same goals. There is no point in long nights dreaming about the future, about goals.
They rarely spoke, but if you were to ask either of them, they would say that they loved the other.
