Turning over the 'Closed' sign on the door, Lavender stepped out into the night and locked the shop behind her. Her hand was closed lightly around the handle of her wand and her eyes darted around the dark street, eyeing and sizing up the few late night shoppers. Wind bit down into her clothing and she tucked her scarf tighter around her neck and pulled her hat lower around her ears.
Her boots were soft against the pavement as she walked, careful not to walk to quickly, but also careful not to dawdle. She was working on being okay again, but six months on from the most frightening night of her life still had her twitching at shadows and flickers of lamplight in the wind. The cold caressed her scars as well, and she buried her chin in her scarf to try and keep away the pain. It wasn't a long walk home, but it was long enough that by the time she reached the door of her flat she knew her scars would be puckered pink and raw.
She murmured the counterhexes to lift the wards on her door, tracing her wand shakily over the thick wood. Even with her gloves, by the time she finished lifting off the last hexes her hands were numb, and she was shaking as she hurried to get the door shut again and keep the cold out.
"Lavender?" A voice with a light Irish brogue asked. Lavender felt a smile creep over her face, despite the chill. Seamus was always here Friday nights, and warm smells of roasting chicken and potatoes came to her nose as she started to unwrap the many layers of her clothing.
He came through the hallway to help her with her jacket, a smile lighting up his face before his eyes narrowed in worry. "Are you alright?"
"Of course," she replied, raising her eyebrows in confusion. "I'm just cold."
He reached out a hand to touch her forehead, right where one of the scars was, and his fingers came away with a few drops of blood. "Oh," she said softly. "I'll go clean up."
She brushed past him into the bathroom, biting her lip hard against the tears. Stupid scars. They had been slow to heal, and, each time something like this happened, they took even longer.
Looking at herself in the mirror was hard. What always met her eyes was flawless skin, alabaster white and clear of any blemishes like dragon pox scars or acne like her classmates had been plagued with. Thick, blond curls that fell to the small of her back and were usually held back by some kind of ribbon or pin. A straight nose, carefully maintained arching eyebrows, full lips, and brown eyes. This close to the new moon her eyes were brown and warm – closer to the full moon they got a yellowish tint to them that made her look away from her reflection.
But what she most saw in the mirror was her scars. Four slashes made by claws (it had really been fingernails, but that memory is still too fresh to accept) trace across her forehead and right temple and into her hairline, and there's a bite mark (again, it was actually made by a human mouth with sharp fangs) near her left eye. She blocked the memories even before they started to rise up, in what was becoming a practiced habit of hers. The scars were all pink and raw, the largest one on her forehead seeping blood from the cold.
She grabbed a pot of the salve that she used to heal the scars and applied it slowly, trying to think of it medically instead of emotionally. They did look a lot better than they had even just a few months ago, but they were still nasty. They still made her ashamed.
When she came out of the bathroom she didn't meet Seamus's eyes. "Lavender..." he started, before she cut him off.
"What's for dinner?" She asked, not wanting to deal with any of his concerns right then. Bad enough that the people at the robe shop stared at her. She didn't need to be told she was beautiful by Seamus, because it wouldn't make a difference when confronted with the stares and shocked looks and horrified whispers of customers.
"Roast chicken and potatoes," he replied, a sigh evident in his voice.
They sat down to eat soon after that, trading tales of their day. Lavender worked in a small robes shop off of Diagon Alley, no competition for Madame Malkin's, but geared rather for the more modern witch. It was a simple job that she enjoyed, even if the looks of some of the young women and men who entered the shop made her want to hide in a corner and cry until they left. But her boss, Brenda, hadn't looked twice at her scars when she'd done Lavender's interview, and for that Lavender would also be absurdly grateful to the woman.
Seamus, meanwhile, was in training with the Aurors. He still had another six months of training to go until he was partnered with a senior Auror for three years, but he loved his job. Some of their other classmates had joined him in the training program, which had been specially accelerated for the members of Dumbledore's Army. They had done so much training and preparing to fight their last year of Hogwarts, the regular training program and the people in it had been overshadowed quickly.
He was telling her animatedly about an encounter they had run today, and how Auror McLean had been impressed with his performance. She was caught up in his excitement, though for herself, Lavender had had enough of the fighting last year. She was content to sew robes and make alterations – she didn't need to still be fighting. She didn't quite understand why Seamus still wanted to fight, not that they'd ever really had a conversation about it.
After dinner, they moved over to the fireplace and Lavender poured them firewhiskey. It had been a long week, and Saturday was the one day they both had off. It was nice to just enjoy each other's company, because often they wouldn't even see each other, despite practically living together. She couldn't remember the last night they had spent apart, even though sometimes he came home after she was asleep and was gone before she woke. He had a demanding schedule but it didn't bother her too much, even if it was a little lonely sometimes.
They curled up on the couch in front of the fire, Lavender tucked into the curve of Seamus's arm. The boy she had gone to school with had been a wiry thing, full of passion and fire, but the past year had made him hard, physically and mentally. He was such a good candidate for the Aurors because Dumbledore's Army under Neville had taught him a thing about picking his fights, and the exercise regimen they had been put through had given them both stamina and muscle.
She buried her face in the side of his neck, smelling his own distinct scent. Since being attacked by Greyback, the one good thing that had come of her changes was a heightening of her senses. She could smell much better now than she could before – her nose could pick out the slight nuances in smells that she couldn't before. Seamus still smelled a little like the garlic and thyme he'd used to season the chicken, as well as the uniquely Seamus smell of his sweat and Auror robes.
He was running a hand absentmindedly over her hair, smoothing her blond curls with his fingers. It lulled her into a half sleep, half awake state. She never felt as relaxed as she did when she was with him, and likewise, she could feel the tension draining out of his muscles as they rested together on the couch. Their breaths matched in frequency, and she quirked a smile at that. Seamus had always hated Divination, and after seeing her friends die and be hurt in the Battle of Hogwarts, she'd lost all her faith in the subject as well. But it had been good for learning how to read people, how to sympathize with them, even with something as simple as matching breaths. Divination had given her a way of noticing things, small things, about people that she hadn't before, and she thought that might have been one of the reasons she and Seamus worked so well as a couple. He was all fire and passion and heart, and she was a little more reserved.
Of course, she hadn't always been. But seventh year had changed so many things for Lavender, not in the least her looks, that she had been forced to grow up fast. They all had. They had learned to run fast and fight fast, to plan and plot and prepare, and she had never thought that at the age of seventeen, she could fight in a battle that would ultimately decide the course of a war. But she had, and now the world was free again, and sometimes it still blew her mind that she had been a part of it.
Seamus yawned and Lavender smiled up at him, stretching as she looked around. "Tired?" She asked. The crackling of the fire had settled down into dimly glowing embers, and though the wind still howled outside, she was warm and content in her small flat.
Seamus nodded before standing and offering her a hand up, leading her into the bedroom. They got ready for bed in comfortable silence, Lavender shrugging out of her top and pants and throwing them into the pile of clothes already on the floor. They slipped into bed together and he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her back against his chest. "I love you," she whispered, turning slightly to kiss him before settling herself in for sleep.
"I love you too," he said, his voice rumbling slightly. She could feel the vibration of his chest against her back and she dozed off with a contented smile on her face. Life was good to her, with this man in it. She couldn't ask for much more.