May 11, 1998

Lavender got out of bed knowing she needed to keep busy that day. Tonight, sometime after sundown, she would change for the first time.

The only way she was going to avoid freaking over W-Day, as she had come to think of it, was to stay active. First up on the agenda: a few stretches, followed by a run.

She had never been much for exercise, but since arriving in Paris, she'd gone for a run every day. Whether this was the result of too much nervous energy as she awaited her first change or Wolf Lavender somehow influencing her behavior, she wasn't sure, but the exercise definitely calmed her. It had the added benefit of making her feel slightly less guilty about the wolf, who if all went according to plan, wouldn't be running anywhere.

She tried to do three miles each day, alternating running with walking and each day trying to increase the initial run a wee bit more. She still could not run an entire mile yet without walking, but it surprised her how much she was enjoying the challenge.

Gasping for breath after her outing, she called out to let Sunshine know she was popping into the shower and would be ready for breakfast afterward. She and the house elf had taken to eating most meals together, something that she had not yet mentioned to her parents because she knew they would think it odd.

'And it IS odd, but I am grateful for the company,' she thought as she threw her sweaty clothes in the hamper.

As Lavender waited for the shower water to heat, she reminded herself that she had another big item on her To Do list today. She wiped the increasing steam from the bathroom mirror with a hand that perhaps was not altogether steady. Taking a deep breath, she took a long look at herself in the glass.

Other that unavoidable quick glances, she'd avoided mirrors since the attack, and had never allowed herself to study her face. She had to force herself to do it now, and the effort took so long she then had to wipe more steam from the mirror before she could see herself properly.

Her eyes were drawn immediately to the scars. Like the scars on her left arm, which she looked at every day, they were not red or scabbed but instead were white and aged in appearance – a testimony to the skill of the healer her parents had hired.

Her arm had gotten the worst of the damage – she had multiple scars on both sides of it. Greyback's claws had left wounds nearly half a centimeter or more in width and several centimeters in length, and there were two sets of puncture wounds. She knew if she had not gotten the arm up in time, the werewolf's bite would probably have severed her jugular and she would have bled to death. The multiple claw marks criss-crossing her left arm were a testament to how hard he had tried to pull that arm down.

"The Wizengamot's still out on whether that would have been a better outcome," she murmured to herself. "Guess we'll know tonight."

The scars on her neck appears to have come from claws rather than teeth, most of them on the back and side of her neck and largely covered by her long hair. She took another deep breath, wiped away more steam, and focused on her face.

"None of that," she told herself firmly, as tears threatened. "Today is the day, Lavender, and werewolves don't cry." It was becoming her mantra.

Wiping the mirror, she focused again. She tried to see her entire face in perspective, but found it impossible to do - her eyes gravitated to the scarred areas on the left side as if a magnet pulled them there.

Dispassionately, she considered that there was far less facial scarring that she had anticipated, and that the scars looked much better than she had thought they would. There were definite puncture wounds from Greyback's upper mandible across her left cheekbone in two places, matching the lower mandible puncture wounds were on her forearm.

There were a few scarred lines extending down her left cheek, most to a nominal degree but one that was several centimeters long. Whether these marks were from teeth or from claws, she was not sure. She belatedly realized that she was shaking and that the glass was fogged again, and decided to forego further inspection until after her shower.

After bathing, she forced herself to style and dry her hair in front of the mirror as she had always done prior to the attack. "Get used to it, Lavender," she muttered. "No more hiding!"

She tried casting a glamour spell to make the left cheek look as smooth as the right, and was pleased to see she could do it. However, she knew from experience that glamours would only last a few hours and were practically guaranteed to wear off just when you least wanted them to.

She raised her chin and met her own defiant gaze in the glass. She would not let this define her! The scars were part of her and, at least for today, she was not going to hide them.

She knew the scars would always be visible in close conversation, but could barely be seen from a few feet away. No one had stared or recoiled when she had passed them on the street in the past few days. She had gotten an occasional glance or question from a shop clerk in paying for purchases, however, and had told inquirers that she had been attacked by a dog years ago. People had responded with sympathy rather than horror for the most part.

One young wizard who had sold her some plants for the flat had made the mistake of saying he was sorry about the scarring. "Without it, mademoiselle, you would be tres belle."

Lavender had looked him up and down before responding with a blinding smile, "Ah, m'sieur, tu te trompe ou tu es un crétin. Je suis tres belle!" ["Ah sir, you are mistaken or you are a moron. I am very beautiful!"]

Her response made him blush with shame, and she swept out of the store with some satisfaction, tossing him a pitying look over her shoulder and swinging her hips in her exit.

'Parvati would have been proud of me,' she thought now, remembering the incident. Gods, she missed Parv! She wondered how her best friend was doing. She knew from The Prophet that she'd survived the war, and prayed she had done so without injury.

o o o

Dressed and breakfasted, she Apparated to the magical centre of Paris. She had spent some time in the district each day, and had noted the location of a quite a few apothecary shops. It was time for some reconnoitering.

She entered the first upscale shop on her list, knowing her casual robes – well cut and of expensive fabric - would not raise any eyebrows here. She was pleased to see that the shop was empty except for a man in his mid-40s behind the counter.

"Bon jour, mademoiselle. How may I assist you?" asked the clerk. He had clearly marked her as English.

Lavender gave him a vague smile as she strolled around the shop, glancing over the merchandise on display. "Bon jour, m'sieur. I am new to the area, and am just exploring a bit today. It is a beautiful shop. I see that you carry the Sorcellerie des Cheveaux hair care products." She smiled over her shoulder. "My favorites, and it is good to know they will be available close by."

"Mais oui, m'selle. As you may know, Sorcellerie des Cheveaux was created here in Paris."

"In this shop?"

"Ah, no." He shrugged. "We brew many of our own products, of course, but not Sorcellerie des Cheveaux. Most exclusive shops in Paris carry the line. However, if you are interested in trying something new, I believe you would be very pleased with La Luisant Sorcière, which is our own creation. Sorcellerie des Cheveaux is a fine line, m'selle, but you have beautiful hair and it deserves the very best."

"I agree, m'sieur," Lavender said, turning to face him. "I would be happy to try it. Are you the creator?"

His quick eyes noted, but did not linger on, her scars. "Marc Gaillant, at your service, m'selle. I am the shop owner and commissioned the formula, but I am not the potioneer. May I assist you today in some other way?"

"Non, merci, M'sieur Gaillant." Lavender smiled. "I believe that will be all."

She extended her hand once the purchase had been completed. "Je suis Lavender Marron. Enchanté."

"Enchanté, M'selle Marron. I hope I will have the pleasure of seeing you in my shop again."

Though his eyes did not drop, Lavender was left in no doubt that he had scanned her fully and appreciated what he saw. She smiled again, a bit aloofly, requested that he shrink the package for her purse, and bid him goodbye.

o o o

Three shops later, she had a purse filled with hair care products but had yet to meet an actual potioneer. This did not bother her overmuch – it was unlikely that a potioneer of great skill would be in a client-facing position in an upscale shop if Professor Snape were any indication.

Her plan had been to purchase and sample the best original hair care lines, and then return to obtain other original products from that shop before determining if it would be worth her time to request introduction to the potion-maker. Lavender had used expensive products her whole life – if something really was a cut above in quality, she'd know.

In the meantime, she would continue her search in smaller shops, where owner and potioneer might be the same person. Last resort would be exploring the dodgy end of the district, but she hoped it would not have to come to that.

Before she could continue today, however, her feet were demanding a break. The expensive heels she had on did their job in screaming "Money!" while making her legs look fabulous, but after two hours of shopping, she was regretting the impulse to wear them.

Thankfully, Paris had no shortage of cafés. She found a sidewalk table and sank gratefully into her seat, barely glancing at the man seated at the table to her right.

'Although if this morning is any indication,' she thought wryly, 'he'll be bringing himself to my attention soon enough.'

Lavender had already concluded that either Parisian wizards were quite capable of ignoring a scarred face if the witch had a comely figure or they just genuinely were interested in all women. She suspected it was no accident that every shop she had visited in the upscale district had men behind the counter.

None had been vulgar, or even obvious in perusal, but each left her feeling appreciated as an attractive woman. None had stared at her scars, or suggested facial creams or make-up for purchase. Instead, each was charmingly deferential while at the same time unmistakably leaving the impression of interest. She did not doubt that they sold a lot of products, but was grateful all the same, on today of all days.

"Vive la France," she murmured, sipping her espresso.

"Merci, mademoiselle," said the masculine voice to her right. "Et vive la rose anglaise."

Mentally, she rolled her eyes. Her feet still hurt, and she was not done with her coffee. She did not want to abandon her table, but was not in the mood for flirting.

Coolly, she appraised the man next to her. He appeared to be a few years older than she, but no more than 25. He was not quite handsome, with a nose that was slightly off center and unruly brown hair that reminded her a bit of the styling disaster sported by Harry Potter. However, when he grinned in response to her frank stare, she saw with some amusement that he had received his full quota of Gallic charm.

The warmth she could see in his dark brown gaze as he returned the stare was certainly flattering to a girl who was having a stressful day. Pre-Attack Lavender might well have melted in a puddle at his feet. Wolf Lavender, however, was made of sterner stuff.

"Merci, m'sieur. Je regrette, mais – "

He interrupted her in English. "I did not mean to bother you." Lazy brown eyes swept her face. "I thought perhaps we had some acquaintances in common."

She frowned. "I would not think so, Monsieur. Now if you don't mind - "

"Non, vraiment?" He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "You are not lupine?

She was confused at first. She knew from Potions that lupines were flowering herbs. He'd already referred to her as an English rose, but…

Suddenly she froze.

Lupine also meant "wolfish".