Trigger-warning: self-harm. If self-harm is a trigger to you or you just don't want to read about it, please don't reat this. It's not very graphic, but still. There's a very slightly more explicit version on AO3, you can find it under my username 'nomsy'.
"I'm beautiful," Lavender says to the mirror.
She is.
She is.
She used to be.
Or rather, she used to be cute. Hot. Pretty.
'Beautiful' is reserved for people who aren't just pretty but special-looking. People like Parvati, or even Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger, who saved her life. Probably. That's what she's been told. Lavender doesn't remember what happened, except that it hurt and that it was loud. There were teeth. Blood. She didn't cry. She thinks. She's never been entirely sure what she's really experienced and what is just her mind filling in the blanks. She hasn't spoken to Hermione. She doubts she will.
Parvati said to do it, to say thanks, to get out of the flat and talk to someone, anyone. But Lavender doesn't want to. She doesn't want to see anyone, especially not anyone who knows her from before. Anyone who remembers pretty, ditzy, happy Lavender.
She raises her hands and scratches at the wounds on her face.
The healers keep telling her not to do that.
"They" – the scars, that's what they mean, but no one says the word – "are hardly going to be visible."
That's what they had said in the beginning. It must have been a lie even back then, at least going by Lavender's definition of 'hardly visible', but now it's even less true.
Though to be fair, no one has said anything like that in a while. Most people don't say much to her at all, because she doesn't usually answer. She doesn't like talking to them while they look at her with pity and, she suspects, both fascination and disgust they can't quite hide. No one would admit to that even if she asked them, of course, so she doesn't.
It's easier with a knife, and seems to her to be more hygienic, but Parvati took them all away. She also took Lavender's wand. She'll be angry when she comes home and sees this, but she'll try not to show it. Parvati's nice like that. Lavender does wish she wouldn't treat her like a child that can't be left alone, though. Everyone does that, as soon as they see her. They talk to her differently, now. More carefully. As if words could break her.
They don't need to worry.
She's broken enough already.
Some people think words can hurt more than anything physical.
They're wrong.
The therapist asks her why she does this and how she feels when she does. Lavender likes the therapist, but he is a Muggle. He doesn't know that when Lavender says she was attacked by a monster, she's being quite literal. Not that these details matter.
She takes a washcloth and cleans her face. It stings. Lavender doesn't mind.
She has to stop, she knows she does.
And she will. Soon.
"Where do you want to go? What do you want to do? You need to get out sometime, Lavender," Parvati says every other day. She means well.
But Lavender likes the flat.
She's been wanting to become a healer since the battle, to make sure no one ever feels the way she does now, but she doesn't have the grades. She's never been smart.
She's only ever looked good.
She knows there's a knife in one of the kitchen cupboards, one Parvati forgot about, but she doesn't move. Parvati's made her promise, "No knives."
It's become a rule in their flat.
Lavender doesn't like it.
She sighs, presses her forehead against the mirror.
Her breath fogs up the glass.
Briefly, she sees herself smashing it on the floor, picking up the shards... A couple more scars really wouldn't make a difference.
She takes a deep breath. Squeezes her eyes shut.
Parvati would never forgive her.
The therapist would be angry. Disappointed. He never says it, but she can tell. She can always tell. She's sure that she's not supposed to be able to do that. The therapist shouldn't judge, she's been told, and he says he doesn't, but Lavender doesn't trust his word, even if he's kind. She's sure he thinks she's weak, that she should just stop. Everybody thinks she's weak, always, that she can't do anything, that she needs looking after, needs people to save her, to stop her.
They always blame her it's none of their business it isn't it's only hers
She needs air. Now. She needs to get away.
Another deep breath.
Thinking before doing things. That's important.
Sometimes she thinks she's going insane, if she's not already there.
Breathing. Slowly.
Everyone tells her she's going to be fine. She knows that. She isn't fine now. It hurts now.
People will look at her if she goes outside. Not because they're impressed, not because she looks so good.
Because she's ruined now, and it's visible to everyone. No one will ever look at her again the way they used to, with admiration, jealousy, desire.
Lavender looks into her own eyes in the mirror. They are still the same. She's never liked them much, she used to think them quite ordinary. Now she'd give anything to be ordinary all over.
If she puts on mascara and eyeshadow the right way, she thinks, her eyes will look nice. Parvati's better at doing make-up than Lavender is. Surely she'll be glad to help.
Lavender bites her lip until it hurts. Parvati's gone for a job interview and a food shop. She'll only be home tonight.
Lavender puts on her shoes. She's going out now.
She'll buy some make-up. Maybe a nice dress as well. Maybe a new wand. And new shoes, it's starting to get warm outside.
Maybe she'll sit in the sun for a little while. She can close her eyes so she doesn't have to see the looks on people's faces.
As she leaves the house and walks down the street, people stare at her. She thinks that she should have tied her hair back.
She sets her jaw. Next time.