AN: This chapter is inspired by Iris written by the Goo Goo Dolls.
Thank you to iheartweasleytwins, Lucille, vi, OMG, and LOSTcharlie-claireLOST for reviewing the last 2 chapters. Anybody else who reviewed and I forgot to mention, a special thanks to you! It would be really helpful for those who reviewed without an account to make one, so I can thank you directly.
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Disclaimer- I do not, nor will I ever, own Harry Potter.
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Summary of last chapter- Lavender agrees to visit Hogwarts with her father. She notices particularly horrible scars across her face. She makes her way back to her past best friend, the makeup bin. The makeup causes her face to bleed, as it's not fully healed yet. Her father rushes her off to Madame Pomfrey.
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Iris- Goo Goo Dolls
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's meant to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
And you can't fight the tears that aren't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive
And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's meant to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
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Two blurred shapes were hurling into the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. The majority of the portraits on the wall were dozing, and the ones awake held no interest in the shapes spinning towards the ground. Witches and wizards apparated in here multiple times a day since the war.
Lavender hit the ground with a loud thud. She stood and dusted herself off. Remembering her scars and the reason her stomach felt so upset, she anxiously covered her face with the hood she was wearing before scanning her surroundings. They had arrived in the Headmaster's office, which had no human presences save Lavender and her father. Her face still felt as if someone had set a fire on her pale, marred skin. The magical makeup felt like it was sinking further into her flesh.
Lavender had never been in the Headmaster's office before. Lavender stared at the portraits adorning the wall. The remaining Headmasters and Headmistresses who remained awake looked at her with pity. Lavender angrily pushed forward her hood and looked down. She couldn't even look at a painting without someone treating her as if she was different.
Different. She hated that word. Most people tried their whole lives to be different. They've always been accepted by anyone and everyone, not knowing what it's like to see the mix of repulsion and pity that adorns the faces of the 'normal' when you're different. They don't realize what a curse it is to be unlike everybody.
"Miss Brown?" a happy and familiar voice questioned softly.
Lavender turned her face slowly, not moving the hood. Her eyes came in contact with bright, twinkling blue eyes, who belonged to the voice. She scanned the rest of the portrait, observing Professor Dumbledore, the wisest man Lavender had ever met.
"Hello, Professor," Lavender mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
"I've heard you fought valiantly during the battle. Thank you. You are a true Gryffindor," he complimented.
"Thank you, Professor," said Lavender half-heartedly.
"Oh, and dear Benjamin Brown, too. I haven't spoken with you for years! I trust you've been staying out of trouble?" said Dumbledore.
Her father blushed. "Nice seeing you as well, Headmaster," he stated.
Lavender remembered the pain in her face and the reason they had come here so suddenly.
"Daddy? Let's go to Madame Pomfrey, my face still hurts," begged Lavender.
"I almost forgot!" he said to Lavender.
He turned to the previous Headmaster. "Looks like we've got to visit Madame Pomfrey. It was nice seeing you, Headmaster."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he smiled. "See you both soon," he spoke.
Lavender fixed her hood and grabbed her father's hand. They made their way down the staircase and exited past the stone gargoyle. Lavender nervously walked behind her dad, hiding her face from view. They walked through the corridor, which was almost empty. Nobody who wished to speak with her was there.
They walked silently for a few minutes until arriving at the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey was there, shuffling through medical papers, no doubt a list of injuries from the Battle.
As she noticed them, she said, "Shame. I thought I was done with injuries for sometime. What have you been doing? Killing Dark Wizards? Falling hundreds of feet off of a broomstick?"
"No, Madame Pomfrey," Lavender said quietly. She pulled back her hood and pushed her hair out of her face.
Madame Pomfrey looked at her face in disapproval. "Come, come. Sit down here," she said, leading her to a bed. Her father took his place at a chair near the bed.
As Madame Pomfrey muttered about needing to listen to her if students ever wanted to get better, she strode across the room, closing the curtains behind her.
"She hasn't changed much, has she?" asked her father.
Lavender shook her head. The curtains were pulled back in one swift motion. Madame Pomfrey had a cup of a ghastly smelling green potion, a tub of magical ointment and a small, moist cloth.
"Here," she stated, holding the potion out for Lavender to drink. "This should lower the pain."
Lavender shuddered as she drank the potion. It tasted almost as bad as it looked. Her faced burned from embarrassment that she caused the pain, as well as embarrassment that Madame Pomfrey could see her face. Lavender's face hurt less, as if the potion was pulling the pain out. It was as if someone had stopped the fire that was steadily burning her flesh. She handed the empty goblet to her father, who set it on the table.
Madame Pomfrey then began fixing Lavender's wounds. She hung above her like a hawk, scouting out the worst places and rinsing the bits of makeup she hadn't been able to get out by herself. Madame Pomfrey dabbed Lavender's face with the washcloth, in careful strokes with the skill of a healer. When Madame Pomfrey was satisfied with the amount of makeup left, she put the washcloth aside and took the tub of ointment out. She unscrewed the jar and stuck her finger in the gooey mess that would heal Lavender's face.
"Miss Brown, before I let you leave my care, I gave you a tub just like this and asked you to put it on your face. Have you used it?" Madame Pomfrey inquired.
Lavender was suddenly reminded of the small tin, laying forgotten on the floor with hand mirrors, broken glass and piles of clothes that had not been considered suitable for the new, damaged Lavender.
"I forgot about it," Lavender muttered.
"Well, I'm sure it would be best for all of us if you didn't forget in the future, Miss Brown," chastised the nurse.
"I'm sorry, Madame," Lavender whispered.
Madame Pomfrey looked at her with pity. Whether the pity was linked to the werewolf bites, the scars, or the fact that she would never be normal, Lavender didn't know. All she knew is that she was incredibly embarrassed and wished she had never agreed to coming. That voice inside her head that convinced her to come was suddenly changing its course.
"He would have understood, Lavender. He wants you to take your time at getting better."
Madame Pomfrey then instructed her on using the ointment. "Put it on your fingertips, then rub it in," she said, holding out the tin for Lavender to dip her fingers in. "Make sure to be generous. If you run out, feel free to owl me, I will send you some extra. Remember, you'll have the scars forever, but you need to allow them to heal. When they are free of infection, maybe you could put the makeup on them."
Lavender nodded. She still felt the horrible feeling in her stomach. She had been clinging on to the invisible hope that her face would heal, and she would be as jaw-droopingly beautiful as before. She now knew she would look like that battle-torn chew-toy forever. Even if she tried to cover them up, the makeup would settle into the gashes and she would look worse than before.
Lavender was angry with Madame Pomfrey. She knew deep down that she was doing everything in her power to assist her, but the nurse spoke like she understood her. Madame Pomfrey thought it was simple, having to walk around with those ugly marks on her face. She spoke as if she knew what it was like, losing all your self-confidence, the second you regain consciousness after being attacked by a werewolf. She acted like she knew what it was like to be a monster.
She looked at her with pity, like Lavender was the victim. She was not the only victim. Everybody fighting in the war was a victim; she didn't need to be looked at like she was never going to be better. She didn't need them to be sorry for her. She needed them to reassure her that everything would be fine, and every pity glance, every look of disgust made her lose every ounce of hope that once resided in her brain, that lived in her heart.
Lavender pushed all of those thoughts to the side and said, "Thank you, Madame. I'm truly grateful. You've been such a great help."
Madame Pomfrey smiled. "Thank you, dear. Tell your friends to stay away from dangerous things, I finally want some peace in my office."
"Alright," Lavender said.
"Again, thank you, Madame Pomfrey," thanked Lavender's father.
"It was my pleasure, Mr. Brown. Glad to see you again," Madame Pomfrey replied.
Madame Pomfrey turned and walked back to her medical papers she had been studying when they had arrived.
"Alright, Lav! Let's go help repair this dump!" her father exclaimed.
Lavender fixed her hood. Her anger had not subsided. In fact, it had grown. She was not just angry with Madame Pomfrey. She was angry with her father for realizing how she would not be able to handle being here. She was angry at the world for reasons that had nothing to do with them.
Her anger burned the most for Fenrir Greyback, who deserved the anger. He deserved every possible piece of hell that could possibly fly his way, every hardship, every suffering. She wanted him to feel what she felt. She wanted him to suffer, to be tortured, to feel everything she had felt. Lavender wanted him to feel these things as much as she wanted to repair herself, to be able to live again, almost as much as she wanted everyone to know who she was.
Lavender wasn't a shallow, giggly girl anymore. She was a grown woman, who felt pain, lived pain, and breathed pain, more than anyone else her age. She suffered through loss, through the hardships of war. Lavender had seen people join the side of evil, more people fight against the side of evil. She'd seen lives been taken unfairly, and heard of lives taken by the people who lived them. She'd felt remorse, regret, suffering. These people who looked at her image, saw only the scars and didn't look beyond, they knew nothing about her.
Lavender didn't need pity. She pitied herself, true, but those looks of artificial compassion from others felt like someone was healing her werewolf bites and bringing Greyback to do it again.