A/N: First time writing a First person in ages...yeah. So it's a bit odd. But I really like Lav/Seamus, so there we go.

Prompt: 77: Now you see me for who I am.

I have always been beautiful- it's who I am. It's not that I'm vain, I just don't quite know how to be anything else.

I look into the mirror, and my face stares back at me, brown eyes wide and afraid looking. They have always been one of my best features- large and ringed with long, thick lashes, they blink at me.

But now, the right eye is crossed with thick scars, ones that pull my face out of all recognition.

I turn my head so that only the left side faces the mirror- it is completely unblemished, and the pale, smooth skin shocks me after the ruin of the other side. The high cheekbones slant across my face, and the lips (or what you can see of them) are full and red- I slick on a bit more lipstick, then rub it off in a fit of anger.

"What the hell is the point?" I say, and my voice sounds odd coming from such a ruined creature. I look like a goddess of death- one side living, all soft brown ringlets and eyeliner, and the other dead, wrecked, terrifying.

"The point in what?" he asks, coming from behind me and sitting on the stool- he pulls me onto his lap, rests his head on my shoulder. Our reflections stare back at us, and he is so handsome, so unspoiled, that I try to shift away from him. It is as though misfortune is contagious, but he holds me fast. I relent, secretly happy to be held like I am actually worth something.

"In putting on any make up whatsoever," I reply. He raises one eyebrow and presses a kiss to the side of my neck. It is a movement so intimate that I shudder and close my eyes, forgetting for a second that I am only half a girl.

"And why would that be?" he asks, and I can feel his voice vibrating through my back.

"Because," I say stubbornly, and I remove myself from his grasp, gently enough that he doesn't feel like I am running away (although I know that I am).

"Because what?"

I reach for my wand and wave it over my face. The make-up disappears- the scars stand out more strongly; they are livid and red and oh-so-ugly, I think.

"Now," I say, "you can see who I truly am."

I stand and turn away from the mirror; his eyes follow me as he places his elbows on his knees, leaning forward.

"Lav-" he starts, but I ignore him, pulling out a top from my wardrobe. It is soft and flows over my arms as I pull it from the hanger- I wince as it dislodges one of his shirts, which flutters down to the ground like a white bird.

"I'll get it," he says, as we both stoop, and he gets to it first, hanging it up carefully. The air feels thick with something as he turns to face me, face grave.

"Lav, you have to stop this."

I glare, even though (or perhaps because) I know he's right. I don't answer; I turn my back and unbutton my shirt- the flowing purple material of the new one is tossed on the bed. I know that he can see the scars that continue down my back- I feel like a girl cut in half.

"Seriously, Lav. I still think you're beautiful."

I soften slightly- I am glad that my back is turned to him. "And you don't count."

"Why don't I count?"

Because, I think, you are so handsome and unspoiled. I don't deserve you.

Instead, I am silent. I reach for the top.

"Lavender Brown," he says sharply, and I turn. His sandy hair is falling into his blue eyes, and he scowls. For a second I am reminded of him telling me to do my homework in the common room, in the days when our relationship wasn't like walking on a tightrope. "Will you stop this!"

I face him, he faces me. I can see it in his eyes; the invisible line that he is about to cross. "Seamus…"

It is a plea.

"You aren't the one who died," he says.

I am suddenly furious; I see red spots dance in front of my eyes. I throw myself at him, the faces of everyone (Michael:Padma:Dean:Fred:Lisa:Ernie:Justin:Tony) float between us like spectres as he catches me, my nails inches from his face. He holds me as I shake, then subside. I am crying from one of my eyes- the other has no tear ducts. But they are enough to draw choking sobs from my throats.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I'm sorry sorry sorry sorry…"

The word entwines around us, and I try to say it, but it sticks in my throat. Another word flows through my mind like a silver ribbon: Lucky lucky lucky…

He kisses me, and I entwine around him like a snake, one hand burying itself in his hair as though of its own accord. A tear slides down my cheek and I realise that it is his.

Reviews are Seamus knowing that Lavender deserves him anyway.

Much love x