QLFC: write about a character who comes to respect someone they didn't previously. Additional prompts — (colour) lapis lazuli, (quote) "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."
A/N: This takes place in an alternate universe where Lavender lived, but was turned into a werewolf during the Battle of Hogwarts. In addition, I'm sticking with having only three Gryyffindor girls that year: Lavender, Parvati, and Hermione.
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worth something (anything)
Lavender Brown is twelve and she has roommates for the first time ever: neurotic, high-strung Hermione with her frizzy hair and ink on her nose and chewed on fingernails, and cheerful, curious Parvati who decorates her corner of the room with beautiful trinkets and sings in the shower and brushes her hair with exactly one hundred strokes every morning.
Lavender Brown is nineteen and she doesn't have roommates anymore.
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The St. Mungo's Ward for Serious Bites is a place more suited for corpses than patients. It's small and dingy and smells permanently like something is rotting, and the patients scream at all hours of the night, loud enough that sometimes even the silencing charms wear off.
Lavender gets that, though. She usually feels like screaming, too, cooped up in her own personal hell.
"You're going to get out of here." The bottom of Parvati's hair is wet, a side effect of her latest stress habit of sucking on it. "They can't keep you here much longer; it's inhuman. No matter what they say, I don't believe you're a threat to anyone, Lav."
Lavender doesn't respond. The nurse comes by three times a day to drug her to oblivion under the guise of 'treatment', the crowd of protestors outside the building keep screaming about her eating their children, and Parvati has to wear fake nails because all her own are gone.
.
Eighteen days into her living nightmare though, something changes.
"Medical malpractice, negligence of standard of care, and intentional infliction of emotional distress, just to start with," Hermione spits out in disgust. From her cot, Lavender can see the way Hermione's hands are on her hips and the dark circles under her eyes: she's on a warpath. "If you don't release Lavender Brown, Ms. Patil and I will legally enforce this, mark my words. This is simply discrimination."
"She's a werewolf," the Healer protests. "It's a danger if we let her out before keeping her for the full moon!"
Hermione looks the Healer straight in the eye, bringing herself up to her full height. "And how do you plan to help her? Do you have Wolfsbane potion? Have you made arrangements for how to stop Lavender from hurting herself during her transformation? Do you care at all about her comfort or safety?"
The Healer looks back at Hermione Granger in stunned silence. Lavender, curled up on her bed, rolls her eyes at Parvati.
"I can't believe she's here," Lavender voices, throat hoarse from her lack of speaking. "I didn't think I'd warrant an appearance from Hermione Granger, in the flesh."
"Yes, well." Parvati forces a smile, but it's bitter at best. "She did always prefer people when she could look down at them as charity cases."
.
It turns out that the punishment for Hermione Granger bailing her out of a hospital ward is lunch.
The place Hermione chooses is quiet, thankfully. Each booth is blocked off for privacy reasons, so Lavender doesn't even have to apply her appearance charms. She does so anyways — gruesome werewolf claw marks and scars all across her skin is an awful look.
"I'm glad you're out of there," Hermione says passionately, sounding a minute away from going on one of her crusades about saving the world, or perhaps boring everyone in it to death.
"We aren't friends," Lavender tells her in return. "We haven't been since we were eleven. I'm not parliament or an enslaved house-elf, Hermione. You don't need to put on this act. You owe me nothing."
Hermione doesn't have anything to say to that. Lavender busies herself by pouring more tea into her cup and taking small nibbles of the biscuits their server had brought them a bunch of earlier.
"I may not owe you anything, Lavender, but we were roommates for six years," Hermione says eventually, pushing her bushy hair behind her ears. "That means something, especially now. After the war."
"Don't pretend you ever liked me. You even didn't tell me when my own boyfriend was in the hospital. Did you ever think, with that brilliant brain of yours, that maybe the girls who literally lived with you for years were anything more then ditzy airheads to mock at?"
Hermione's face contorts at that, twisting into something ugly and vicious. This is her, Lavender thinks, the kind of girl who painted SNEAK all over Marietta's forehead and made even Draco Malfoy cry.
"Don't pretend you were a saint either, Lavender," Hermione snaps back. "How many times did you talk about someone behind their back? Or laugh at me with Parvati? I'm trying to make amends, not argue with you. I'm not eleven anymore."
Their conversation lulls at that. Lavender scowls down at the empty table; they've managed to have a full-blown argument before their meals have even come. Clearly not much has changed, not even after a war.
"I'm here because I need you," Hermione says finally, as if admitting defeat. "I need someone who isn't human to fight alongside me for magical creature rights before the Wizengamot rules against it."
That's the tipping factor. Lavender bursts into laughter so intense it makes her clutch her side. "And there's the Hermione I know. I knew this wasn't simply your goodwill."
"Is that a yes?" Hermione leans forward, eyes gleaming, and pointedly ignores Lavender's mockery. "I need someone who won't fall apart when people protest, Lavender. I can't do this alone… I'll make you Wolfsbane if you agree, but I want to create a better world for people like you."
Lavender closes her eyes, thinks of her smashed bedroom window in Parvati's apartment. They never bother repairing it anymore because people keep throwing bricks. It doesn't matter that she's a war veteran, just that Fenrir Greyback turned her into a werewolf and stole her happily-ever-after with a single bite of his teeth.
"The full moon is in six days, I'll need the Wolfsbane by then," Lavender says, standing up. Their food still isn't here, but she'd rather not extend their conversation any longer. Hermione Granger might do good things, but that doesn't make her a good person. "If you keep your half of the deal, Hermione, I'll do it. I'll be your pretty pawn."
Lavender walks out of the restaurant, and Hermione Granger, witch extraordinaire, watches her go.
.
"That's not a fair deal," says Parvati, curled up with Lavender on their couch. Their Chinese takeout lies abandoned on the floor. "That's risking your safety. You two wouldn't be the first people who tried this fight, Lavender. People tried in the '60s, and now they're dead. You and I both know how far Hermione Granger is willing to go. I can't lose you. I can't lose people I love anymore."
Lavender's expression softens and she rests her head on Parvati's shoulder. "I don't want to die," she says, "but I want to be treated as more than a second class citizen. Hermione is the first person who seems to acknowledge that I'm not inferior because a monster bit my shoulder."
There's a pause, heavy and apologetic. Parvati unscrews a bottle of pink nail polish to busy her hand and grabs one of Lavender's filed nails. "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent, Lav. I know that's so easy to say, and so hard to believe, but I don't want you to forget how strong you are, or how much I love you. If you need to do this, I will support you. I'll fight the entire damn world if that's what it takes."
"I love you." Lavender lifts her head up to kiss Parvati softly, letting her hair fall forward and create a curtain around them.
"I know," Parvati says, and if a tear leaks out of the corner of her eye, they both pretend not to see it.
.
They have tea this time, because it's shorter than lunch and easier to ignore each other during.
"I made you a copy of my plans, with a few diagrams attached and a schedule of my proposed timeline for this." Hermione drops a stack of paper between them. "Take a look."
"The brightest witch of her era, indeed," Lavender says, smiling sweetly. Hermione narrows her eyes, but she wisely chooses to stay silent as Lavender begins to read.
The first few parts of the plan seem simple when broken down: get Lavender into magical university so she's back in the public eye, get Lavender a job so she's seen as a contributing member of society, petition Wizengamot for a court appearance, have a public celebration where it is ensured that Lavender is seen.
Still, it feels like something is missing. Lavender furrows her eyebrows until it hits her. Hermione, brilliant despite how high strung she is, has thought of everything academic: school, work, government representation and public sightings, but this is manipulation, and that's Lavender's forte, not Hermione's.
"We need to do a photo shoot," Lavender says, closing the folder temporarily. "Get me one of those medals of valour, and I'll give you a show. We just need a journalist."
Hermione's follows so fast that Lavender can almost see the cogs in her head turning. "I have a journalist in mind," she breathes out in delight. "That's brilliant, I should have thought about that."
Lavender nods and takes her final sip of tea before putting some knuts down, enough to pay for her portion. "Don't sound so surprised," she says, smile tight. "I'll owl you with more ideas later."
.
They do the photoshoot in front of the Ministry of Magic. The photographer is a young girl, mischievous and bright, and she snaps away as Lavender drapes the medal over her chest, scars on full display. Her dress is a custom creation, a colour called lapis lazuli. It has no association with her house colours or any ministry shades, but it makes her look like a scarred young women instead of a scared little girl. It makes her look beautiful.
The magazine with her on the cover sells out in less than 24 hours.
.
Hermione comes to Lavender and Parvati's shared flat this time, holding a copy of the magazine with pride. She looks out of place with her prim, proper ministry clothing against their colourful walls and furniture, but she's smiling.
"Wow," Parvati says in awe, looking at the magazine. "I'm going to get that framed. You look absolutely stunning."
Lavender catches Hermione rolling her eyes, but she doesn't say anything out loud to diminish Parvati's good mood, at least.
"You need a major and job," she says instead, turning formal and focused in less then a second. Lavender nods, watching as Hermione spreads colourful brochures on their wooden table.
"How about fashion, Lav?" Parvati suggests, coming up behind Lavender and wrapping her arms around her. "You've always been so stylish, and there are a lot of people in the world who really do need your style advice."
Hermione frowns, her face blocked to Parvati. Lavender makes eye contact and silently dares her to say something, anything disdainful.
"Fashion sounds like a great choice," Lavender says, and Parvati beams. "I can start making magical clothing… something like Muggle armour just for the aesthetic, but also ball gowns refused with magic."
Lavender pauses for a second, a devious idea growing on her mind. Hermione notices immediately and winces in what's to come, but Parvati is lost in her happiness. Things are changing for them, if only for them: for the first time, Lavender almost dares to hope that she can rewrite her future.
"Can I dress you for the next gala?" Lavender asks and Hermione freezes.
It's an openly known fact that Hermione doesn't approve of the way Lavender dresses, her carefully hair sprayed hair or her witch-weekly style fashion. On the other hand though, this is Hermione, with her open disdain for the old fashioned ministry and their backwards customs, the way they mistreat their citizens.
"Keep it reasonable," Hermione says hesitantly. Lavender waits, she's known Hermione long enough to know when the other girl has something to say. "But make it Muggle… I trust you, Lavender."
Lavender nods, surprised. In her stomach, something like shocked respect begins to grow.
.
The battle between the university and Hermione is one she only hears about second hand. Hermione doesn't want her in this until it's time. Truthfully, however, Lavender thinks it's just Hermione's way of sparing her from the harsh words hurled at her. It's both insulting and sweet, the way Hermione tries to spare her feelings.
"At least she's trying," Parvati comments, reading Hermione's latest letter while simultaneously snacking on the Muggle crackers Hermione brought along last time she was there.
"Seven years too late," Lavender says back.
Parvati's smile is a little too knowing. "Is it too late though?" She asks, as if she doesn't know the answer already, and Lavender stays in stubborn silence.
A week later though, the acceptance letter to her university of choice arrives, a result of all of Hermione's hard work, her careful bribery and snapped insult, every humbled politician and ruthless journalist she fed this story to.
Lavender simmers in her stewing rage, goes through a full moon and fixes her clawed skin afterwards, and then writes Hermione a thank you letter in plain black ink and invites her to a thank-you dinner.
.
It comes both too far and too soon, the day she and Hermione appear before the Wizengamot.
"Are you ready?" Hermione asks, as if they haven't gone through her speech hundreds of times before, as if they don't have hundreds of facts and statistics and heart-wrenching stories up their sleeves. They're armed as if for warm, and Lavender can't help but admit she's missed this, the way the cause gets under her skin until it consumes.
Hermione gets it, though, she's a Gryffindor too, despite her neat planners. It's about honour, about the victory and the fight.
"You didn't have to do this," Lavender says instead. "This wasn't your problem, we weren't even friends, but you did it anyways?"
Hermione gives her an odd look. "Of course it was, Lavender. I'm an outcast too; I know what's it like to feel inferior. I would have done this regardless, but I wanted to help you. I wanted you to know you weren't fighting alone."
It's enough. Lavender braces herself and then sweeps Hermione into a hug the way she hasn't done since they were eleven and meeting for the first time in their shared room.
"I'm ready," she says.
.
On one hand, extending the voting period isn't an ensured victory. There's still time for the Ministry to change their minds, to go backwards into oppressive customs, but that's not what Lavender Brown thinks about when she pushes open the door to the Ministry and spills out into the outdoors.
"We did it," Hermione says, and she is smiling ear-to-ear, eyes gleaming, hand perched as if she's about to start writing another proposal already. "Well, we did something, and it was because of you Lavender. You were phenomenal."
"Let's get lunch," Parvati says, smiling as if she can't believe it happened, that it's real, that they fought and they're winning, and that's what they've accomplished.
"Let's," Lavender acquiesces, and that's what they do, go to a Ministry-frequented restaurant and take up space, the monster and mudblood and symphasizer.
Halfway through lunch, Hermione leans over and pulls another stack of papers out of her satchel. "We're not done yet," she says, and Lavender grins, scars stretching over the dimples in her cheeks, and leans in to listen to her friend.