Disclaimer: All characters and settings, etc, belong to the wonderful JK
Rowling. And I guess Warner Brothers now. It gets confusing, let's just say
that they're not mine.
Authors Note: Just a quick Lavender/Hermione drabble. I've started writing an actual story based on it, but that won't be out for awhile, and after that I have to find a beta. Also, this hasn't been through a beta either, but since it's short, I'm not too worried. -mar
Oblivious
Hermione had always looked best this way. Sitting sideways in an armchair with the fire light dancing on her face, absorbed in a book, moving only to turn a page or brush away the lock of hair that always fell into her eyes. She would be silently mouthing the words she was reading, and made animated facial expressions. Every so often she gasped quietly as new information shocked or excited her. Lavender sat, watching Hermione from across the room. It was certainly not the first time she'd sat here like this, with a quill poised as if to write something as she stared at the other girl without a second glance at the parchment.
Lavender knew Hermione as someone who knew everything about anything. Yet here she sat, engrossed in her book and completely oblivious to the fact that Lavender could give her anything she'd ever wanted. Someone to run her fingers through her hair, someone who could lay down with her head in her lap and talk for hours about nothing, someone to kiss secretly in empty classrooms. She didn't know how long she'd felt like this- a few hours, forever, it didn't make a difference. It had been so long- she'd watch Hermione through the opening in the curtains of her four-poster as she slept, fretfully. Lavender wondered if Hermione ever relaxed. She doubted it.
She regretted the day that she'd let this slip to Parvati. Parvati assured her that it was all a phase, something hormonal and totally ridiculous. Someday she'd look back on this and laugh, not only because Hermione was a girl, but because she was Hermione Granger, that bossy, stubborn, too-smart- for-her-own-good, obsessive perfectionist. Lavender didn't know why it was Hermione- probably because of her passion, the spark in her eyes, and the fact that she was everything Lavender wasn't. And now Parvati had made her unsure of the only thing in her life she'd ever truly known.
It was late, and she felt dizzy. Lavender shut her eyes and put her head down on the desk, wishing for something to just let all this go away. To be numb. Dead. Anything. The only thing that kept her going was a lingering hope that someday, the girl who could see truth in everything, would see the truth in what was right in front of her all along.
Authors Note: Just a quick Lavender/Hermione drabble. I've started writing an actual story based on it, but that won't be out for awhile, and after that I have to find a beta. Also, this hasn't been through a beta either, but since it's short, I'm not too worried. -mar
Oblivious
Hermione had always looked best this way. Sitting sideways in an armchair with the fire light dancing on her face, absorbed in a book, moving only to turn a page or brush away the lock of hair that always fell into her eyes. She would be silently mouthing the words she was reading, and made animated facial expressions. Every so often she gasped quietly as new information shocked or excited her. Lavender sat, watching Hermione from across the room. It was certainly not the first time she'd sat here like this, with a quill poised as if to write something as she stared at the other girl without a second glance at the parchment.
Lavender knew Hermione as someone who knew everything about anything. Yet here she sat, engrossed in her book and completely oblivious to the fact that Lavender could give her anything she'd ever wanted. Someone to run her fingers through her hair, someone who could lay down with her head in her lap and talk for hours about nothing, someone to kiss secretly in empty classrooms. She didn't know how long she'd felt like this- a few hours, forever, it didn't make a difference. It had been so long- she'd watch Hermione through the opening in the curtains of her four-poster as she slept, fretfully. Lavender wondered if Hermione ever relaxed. She doubted it.
She regretted the day that she'd let this slip to Parvati. Parvati assured her that it was all a phase, something hormonal and totally ridiculous. Someday she'd look back on this and laugh, not only because Hermione was a girl, but because she was Hermione Granger, that bossy, stubborn, too-smart- for-her-own-good, obsessive perfectionist. Lavender didn't know why it was Hermione- probably because of her passion, the spark in her eyes, and the fact that she was everything Lavender wasn't. And now Parvati had made her unsure of the only thing in her life she'd ever truly known.
It was late, and she felt dizzy. Lavender shut her eyes and put her head down on the desk, wishing for something to just let all this go away. To be numb. Dead. Anything. The only thing that kept her going was a lingering hope that someday, the girl who could see truth in everything, would see the truth in what was right in front of her all along.