Seamus sat down on his barstool – the red one, with the seat slightly indented from years of wear. It was all in all perhaps not so reassuring that the seat always juttered a bit when he sat down on it, but it didn't bother him too much.
"The usual?" The barmaid called down to him. He nodded his head slightly and gathered his papers out in front of him, reading through each case quickly yet carefully.
November 9th. Three females caught and detained for bewitching a muggle's car so it veered off the road into a pond. The muggle was arrested for "drink driving".
November 11th: One male and one female caught and detained for bewitching a muggle's suitcase to open up and spew out contents in an "airport". Not dealt with quick enough, caused disturbance.
November 11th: One male caught and detained in Azkaban for neo-death eater-ism. Used the killing curse on two muggles. Trialled and imprisoned for life.
Seamus sighed, running his hands through his shock of sandy hair. In the last two months there had been a big influx of crimes – mostly minor, where the offenders were imprisoned for a night, warned and fined, but the odd spattering of neo-death eater-ism. They were few and far, maybe a couple once a year officially, but Seamus suspected other deaths, suicides and acts of violence were of the death eater kind. He was not the only one, but no-one wanted to relive the dark times of the first and second wizarding wars. So, like others, they ignored it and pretended it was down to natural causes or "radicals".
"Excuse me." A high, girlish voiced cooed from behind him, "are you Seamus Finnigan?" He swung his barstool around, and it took all his strength not to let his eyes stare at the ravage scar that decorated this woman's face. It entwined the right side of her face, from her forehead down to just above her neck. It was ugly, and savage.
"Er…yes." He smiled. Her smile faded.
"You don't remember me."
"I...I confess not." He admitted. "I'm sorry." How could he forget such a distinctive face? She smiled wanly.
"If it helps, we went to the Yule Ball together, in our fourth year." She took the barstool next to his. It was one of the newer ones, squeaky when you sat on it. He tried to recall his date, but all he could remember was that the girl was pretty and wore a blue dress, shimmery. She gave a short laugh. "Lavender Brown."
"Oh! Yes! Lavender!" Flashes of her face came flooding back; an attractive girl, with long, curly dishwater blonde hair and a good figure. They'd kissed…and, well, more in his dormitory after the ball. They'd locked the door and no-one had ever known they'd even been there. Then he recalled post-war. She, like many others, had been transported to St. Mungo's. He'd forgotten about her shortly after; he'd had other things to worry about. His mother. His sisters. Sophie.
"I haven't seen you for so many years." She speculated, raising her hand to the barmaid and gesturing that she'd like the same as Seamus. "So, well, it's good to see you again!" The barmaid slid the drink down to her and she took a large gulp. He nodded. Awkward silence ensued for a few moments as they sat unaware of what to say.
"So…er, what are you doing now?" He asked, sliding his papers into his briefcase. Ignoring his question, she asked another.
"What are the papers for? Top secret?" She smiled.
"Oh, er, just government issues. Crime. That sort of thing." He swung his drink between his hands.
"Ah, so you are a civil servant." She joked. "A good man in a top hat and suit. I'd never have imagined that, I would have thought you'd be doing your fire antics!"
"Money was tight."
"Oh." Silence commandeered another minute as they struggled for words.
"I own Madame Malkins now." She picked her nails. "Except it's not really Madame Malkins anymore, it's Lavender's Locks. I cut hair. Sometimes I get familiar faces. Mostly not."
"You always wanted something to do with hair or fashion, didn't you? Livin' the dream?" He turned towards her properly now. Her scars were on full show, but he could now see they were actually bite marks, up and down her pale skin, some a deep scarlet, others dull red. Her skin had been sliced, repeatedly, over and over again.
"Oh yes, I did…my pretty little head obviously didn't realise how hard business could be though." She gave a tinkling laugh and sipped at her drink.
"Money struggles?" He asked, delicately.
"Oh, not really." She replied vaguely, "it's just these." She pointed towards her wounds. "They don't exactly attract customers. Some children are even frightened of me." She swirled her finger round the remains of the liquid in her glass.
"They don't bother me." It was only a slight white lie. This time she pelted out a full blown roar of a laugh, till tears came to her eyes.
"Nice lie." She grinned. He chuckled, slightly unsure what to say. "It's okay, honestly. After leaving St Mungo's I knew I'd be scarred for life. It's just hard sometimes, even twenty years on." She looked down suddenly, as if ashamed or sad… Seamus couldn't tell. He patted her awkwardly on the back and put his arm round her.
"It's okay." He said softly. "Everyone has scars from that battle, whether they're physical or emotional. Everyone remembers." She looked up, the corners of her lips pricking up a little.
"I know. But the physical ones seem harder to deal with. At least you can hide the mental ones. Pretend you're okay. With this down the side of my face, I'm a constant reminder of what happened." He hesitated for a moment, then gently squeezed her hand.
"Everyone hurts, Lavender. Just some more than others."