A/N: I am taking requests, by the way. Sometimes these pairings just don't come naturally, man, and I like to keep things fresh...

Prompt: 36. Oblivious

Pairing: Parvati Patil/Lavender Brown

There is no clock in your dormitory.

That is the first thing you notice.

In the beginning, this annoys you. You're the kind of person who counts the tick tocks to sleep, the kind of person who lets sleep wash over you in crashing waves, breaking evenly and calmly on the backs of clockhands.

But you come here, and now what?

You are just a girl at first, but you find a quick replacement for your ticks and your tocks.

The sound of her breathing.

She falls asleep first almost every night, slipping into a steady rhythm of sighs.

Inhale, exhale, inhale…

And you listen, catching yourself on those gentle breaths, and you find yourself counting to the ticking of her body.

It goes on like this for years.

Now, you can only feel the pull of sleep when the sound of Lavender fills the room.

She doesn't know a thing. She doesn't know how important she has become to you. She doesn't know that you sometimes wonder if those girly chats you have, the ones about boys and kissing and love, well, if they're all a bit…silly.

Because you're too afraid to tell her, but you think you know what love is.

Love is her. Love is finding out that she sleeps like a starfish and you sleep like a cat, and you can fit around each other even in single beds. Love is tracing the lines of her hands with your fingers, eyes closed, and never stumbling from the path of her life line because you know it off by heart. Love is tasting last night's dinner on her breath and not caring because lazy morning kisses are the sweetest thing you've ever known. Love is the lightest shade of purple, that eye shadow that you let her dab onto your eyelids, that colour that makes your heart twist and your smile grow.

Love is Lavender.

And she will never (can never) know this.

Inhale, exhale, inhale…

So you just wait until the dead of night, when she has fallen into her happy, blissful slumber, and you can let the rhythm of her soul guide you to your dreams.

She is oblivious; you sleep soundly.

There is no clock in your room.

That is the first thing you notice.

It is small and square and bright, filled with Get Well Soon cards and fake flowers. The bed is lumpy and perpetually cold, and you've spent so many nights here praying for sleep.

The second thing you notice?

There is no Lavender here.

There is no Lavender.

Because war is not a kind mistress, and you were a silly little girl to hope for so much. You thought she could love you? You thought you could be happy together?

Well, you were never brave enough to tell her that, were you?

Some Gryffindor.

Now her body is cold as stone, buried under layers of dirt and decay, and you lie in a hospital bed so they can try to treat something, something they can't quite diagnose, something they can't quite name.

But you know what it is that keeps you awake.

It's not trauma, like they think. It's not grief, or fear, or stress or any of those other things.

It's because you're the kind of person who counts deep breaths to sleep, the kind of person who lets sleep wash over you in crashing waves, breaking evenly and calmly on the backs of sighs.

And without Lavender, sleep evades you.

Inhale, exhale, inhale…

The only good thing is that, sometimes, you see the stars twinkle in a way that makes you think she's watching, that she knows.

Sometimes, you think she might have loved you, too.

Inhale, exhale, inhale…

(You wish she'd wake up.)