Year 7
(Lavender Brown)
"Miss Brown?"
You turn, the men in black suits are looking at you expectantly, albeit concerned. "Is there anyone we can call, or...?"
"No." You say tightly. "No, that won't be necessary."
They look even more concerned, if possible. Not because they are worried about you, but because they must be thinking that it might be illegal to leave an orphaned girl alone at a crime scene (though you are technically of age).
But they exit, eventually, leaving you standing in the middle of a charred living room.
They did not die a hero's death. They were not killed because they stood up to the dark side, because they fought. No, Mr. and Mrs. Brown were killed simply because Mr. Brown had made a bad investment with a couple of Death Eater's galleons, and since the Browns were not completely pure, it was no great loss.
You look around. Bits of the top of the couch still remained, floating in a slight breeze through the broken window. The few pieces of the fabric still stretch over parts, looking like a skeleton with sparse skin left. Picture frames are smashed, sitting where they must have been kicked to. Shards of glass from the front door and windows littered the floor, along with crumpled papers and other dubris. The royal purple wallpaper was ripped in one spot, but still mostly in tact. The smell of charred wood is still slightly present in the air.
They'd taken mum and dad's bodies already, to be kept until the funeral. They must have killed Eloise the House Elf along with your parents, or maybe just taken her. She was nowhere to be found.
It's just you, completely alone.
You creep up the stairs, purposefully not holding the wooden railing as you go.
Nothing looks damaged, or even touched. You take your first steps, and then hurriedly decide to take off your shoes. Dropping them on either side of you, you think that it's actually pretty dumb, there could be glass everywhere. But you do it anyway.
The sensation of cold wood touches your feet as you move through the hallway. You peek into your room to find it still untouched since you left it last year.
You find yourself in your mother's room next.
It's completely untouched. There's even still a glass of brandy sitting on the table next to her bed. The vanity mirror sits to the left, affording a reflection of the clean and organized room.
You feel like a ghost, walking farther into the room, interrupting the silence that had occupied it since she was killed.
Suddenly, you feel tired. No, exhausted. Like you can't take another step.
You crawl into your mother's bed, burying yourself in the cream-colored sheets, smelling your mum's smell, and the wave of depression finally hits you.
You're an orphan now.
And you cry. You let your tears fall onto the soft goose-feather pillows and you clutch yourself, feeling more alone than you ever had before.
The funeral is long. Both your grandparents are dead on both sides, and neither had any siblings, and you think you're the only family there. Everything is black, unlike Dumbledore's funeral. Lots of people come, wearing stylish clothes and whispering things like "shame, really..." and "how tragic!", though you feel like they're only there to socialize. You don't think your mother or father ever had any real friends.
But you pick yourself up and prepare to go to Hogwarts. You know everything will be different now that Dumbledore's gone. You hope with all your heart that somehow McGonagall has retained the position, though you know that it will probably be Snape as Headmaster.
You pack your trunk haphazardly. You don't have the energy to debate whether you should take the pink jumper or the purple one.
You haven't communicated with anyone over the summer.
Platform 9 and 3/4 is not as you remember it, with the shiny big red train and everyone merrily bustling about in happy chaos. No, today the train is a dull crimson and men in official black cloaks are shepherding students onto the train, marking each student as they pass. Pale-faced families reluctantly let go of their children, watching them disappear, and wondering if they'll see them again.
You lug your trunk up to an entrance, where you tell a man that you're Lavender Brown. He scratches a quill across the parchment, and then nods for you to get on.
The first people you see are Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom, sitting with a sixth year you recognize as Vicky Frobisher.
Neville nods at you, and Ginny smiles weakly. You give them a small smile of recognition, but continue down the hall. You're not sure if you're going to see Parvati.
And then you see Seamus, and to your surprise, your heart speeds up considerably. He looks completely lost without Dean at his side, shuffling into a compartment. You can't help noticing that he's grown almost six inches, and his sandy hair is longer than you remember.
But he really looks like a man, to you. A strong, broad-shouldered man.
You want to reach out to him, want to touch him, just a skim over his arm, to make sure that he's actually there. That you're not imagining him. You feel your feet moving you toward the compartment he went into, and you open the door.
Inside, sixth years who you vaguely knew as Mandy Brocklehurst and Isobel MacDougal sat with Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, and Michael Corner. No one is talking and it's silent, but it's comforting to see familiar faces.
You sit down next to Seamus silently. You meet his eyes, and he smiles at you like he's so relieved to see you. You imagine you look the same. His hand closes around yours automatically, and you ride the trip in silence, him holding onto you like he's afraid you'll slip away.
You walk into your dormitory, and it's like a giant weight has been dropped on your stomach when you see that no trunks are there. You stand, staring at your lone trunk propped against the foot of your bed, afraid to go any farther into the room.
Maybe you're too sentimental, but it's like staring at a grave yard. Beds that used to be occupied by trunks and blankets and sleeping girls are bare and cold. Closets are empty, once filled with clothing and shoes. Air that used to be filled with laughter and chatter now rings in silence.
"Lavender?"
You whip around to find Parvati standing there, holding her trunk, staring at you in excited disbelief.
"Parvati!" You breathe, and fall into her arms. "Oh my Merlin I thought you weren't coming this year, I didn't know where you were, I..."
"I didn't know either, I didn't see you on the train..."
Fay and Patty don't come back. Neither does Hermione, but you expected that. She must be off with Harry and Ron, maybe doing something to save the world. Despite everything that happened, you hope they're all safe and unharmed.
But even with Parvati lying in the bed next to you, you can't sleep that night. There's too many dreadful thoughts echoing around in your mind about the days to come.
School is a prison.
Muggle Studies consists of false information, made-up diseases, and hurtful words all about muggles. They are spoke of as if they are equal to flubberworms. The Carrow sister teaches it, saying things like muggles have smaller brains than magical folk, that they have to be exterminated, like they're some kind of vermin.
Detentions that once were polishing trophies and sorting seeds now mean beatings, hexes, and unbearable pain.
You watch as right before your eyes people you've grown up with are ridiculed and hurt, both physically and emotionally. It eats at your soul, that this place that was once a heaven turned into hell.
In resistance, Dumbledore's Army is reformed.
It's different now. Not fun, sneaking around, children playing imaginary battles. No, it is war now, and life or death is a very real concept. Eventually, you and Parvati retreat to the Room of Requirement, where others had been staying. The Carrows knew the dorm passwords, and when the two of you came back from Charms one afternoon, you found your entire room ransacked and painted green.
You feel a bit safer knowing that you're surrounded and guarded when you sleep at night.
He's laid at your lap. Neville's the one that brought him back after this time. It's the usual, some internal bleeding, some cuts, lots of bruises. A black eye this time too, making his face look more like some human scarecrow than the boyish grin it was before.
Though he's smiling now, as you gather up potions and bandages. "Aye Lav."
You put on your best scolding face as you unroll the bandaging tape. "Don't 'aye Lav' me." You say, badly mimicking his Irish lilt.
He chuckles a little, but then cringes in pain. "Yer like me guardian angel." His accent thicker than usual from pain. "Fixin' me up 'n keepin' me 'live."
And you look down at him, his body all bruised and bloody, and you simply want to cry because you don't know what you'd do if one of these days no one was there to bring him back after a detention. You imagine him writhing in pain on the floor, and you feel like you might throw up.
"One of these days you're going to get yourself killed." You say briskly, rolling a bandage around a cut that looks deeper than the others. It's a new one, you note sadly.
You force him to drink a few potions, for swelling and pain relief, and he does. You stay after giving him the pain reliever every time, because he becomes uninhibited with his speech. You know it's sick that you do this, you feel like you're taking advantage of him. But you long to hear what he really thinks behind all the jokes.
He coughs a little, but downs a glass of the sleep potion you give him. He always has to sleep off the injuries.
He cocks his head and looks at you, taking your chin in his grasp. "Yer so pretty Lav." He says. "Merlin, n' bloody hot-t too." His speech starts to slur, and then he curses the Carrows some more, like he always does.
But then he turns back to you, and looks at you.
Looks at you. Up and down, spanning all the way over your body, and you feel that ache again. It's a flashback to the Yule Ball, a familiar urge to promptly snog his face off, among other things.
He gulps.
"Y-yer beautiful Lavender." He says. "But lonely t-too. An' lost. But I'm goin' ta find you."
His head lolls back on your lap and he begins to snore softly. Your heart catches.
You push a few pieces of hair off his face, running your hands along his cheeks, tracing his lips lightly with your finger. He's lovely, this boy, you realize. You don't know why you ever thought that there was anyone else. He did not speak poetically, or excel in Charms, or even play on the House Qudditch team. But this boy, this fart-joke making, accidental pyrotechnician, brave, bright boy is lovely.
And Seamus Finnigan has got you all figured out. He's the only one that has.
That night, remember your mother again. Her bouncy sunshine hair, and her long, black lashes and red lips, her matching outfits and infectious laugh.
But this time, you remember everything. You remember the cold, vacant look in her eyes, remember the constant brandy drinking. You remember the way she would look at herself in the mirror, as if looking at a picture in a magazine of someone else.
You don't think she was ever happy when she was alive.
You don't want that for yourself anymore.
You have nightmares like you've never had them before.
They're more painful, you think. Your nightmares usually consisted of you running from something, something chasing you, some sort of theoretical monster. Never anyone else in the dream but yourself.
These, though, are so realistic it's as if someone reached into your heart and poked a needle into it. There are men in black cloaks, and they have snake fangs for teeth, and they kill, kill, kill. They're sometimes about Parvati, though more often Seamus. You watch them die.
One night, you wake up after a particularly terrible one, pillow soaked and tears still running down your face. You feel afraid in the darkness of the room, and suddenly you desperately need to see Seamus, to make sure he's alive. You need to see him draw in a breath and then exhale.
You run to his hammock, and take a deep, relieving breath when you see his familiar face, albeit bloodied up, in quiet sleep, mouth open unattractively as small snores come out. Your fingers itch to touch him, to hug him, to wrap yourself around him and never let go, because you know he'll protect you. You touch his cheek, where a scar is forming that will probably never go away.
His deep breathing suddenly stops, and you watch his eyes open blearily. "Lavender?"
You retract your hand quickly, and look bashfully down at your feet. "Sorry."
He meets your eyes, propping himself up with his hand. "What's going on? Is everything ok?"
"Yes, yes, everything's fine. Sorry." You say, preparing to turn away.
"Hey." You feel his hand grasp your wrist. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." You insist. He raises an eyebrow, obviously not believing you. "I just... I had a nightmare, and I needed to make sure that..." You take a breath, desperately trying not to cry. "...that you were still, um, alive."
A fat tear makes a track down your cheek, and you sigh in defeat.
"Lav, I'm right here, see?" He says desperately, reaching out to touch you to prove that he's really there.
When you look back up at his face, he's looking down at you with concern and obvious comfort. His hand moves to your chin, wiping the tear away with the pad of his thumb. His fingers run through your hair, and a lump grows in your throat.
"You wear your hair up a lot more now." He says sadly. "No more pink ribbon."
"Gets in the way of making potions. Also, it's too much of a disadvantage if I'm ever in a fight." You say. The words surprise you, as if someone else has inhabited your body. They are so very different than who you used to be. The old Lavender Brown would never have talked about getting into a fight in such nonchalant terms. Or wear her hair up in the messy ponytail you wore now.
He lets his hand drop. You turn away slowly and walk back, but wanting nothing more than to jump into his hammock with him.
It's the first time you've ever felt up-close the wrath of the Carrows. Usually you stay behind, darting and scampering around in the cover of night, patching up those who've been victims, hoarding all the medicine Madame Pomphrey can sneak you, delivering messages, keeping quiet. It's funny, you never used to be quiet.
But it was a girl, a little girl this time, with dark blond hair and brown eyes and a blue ribbon in her hair, and she reminded you so powerfully of yourself, of that small, helpless little girl you used to be. Avery raises his wand to demonstrate how to properly conjure an Extreme Stinging Jinx, and you yank the girl out of the way and pull her tight against you, as if you could just apparate away to somewhere safe, somewhere where all the food tastes like cake and all anyone worries about is what dress they're going to wear that morning.
And then the male Carrow (you think) takes hold of the back of your head and leads you away out of the classroom, whispering in your ear that you should never disobey, for you will feel pain like you've never felt it before.
He drops you down on the cold, stone floor. You think this used to be the potions room - no, you're somewhere on the third floor, that can't be. You try to stand up, but he shoves your shoulder back down with the heel of his shoe.
"What's your name?" He whispers into your ear, breath reeking and voice snake-like.
"Lavender Brown." You say evenly, for you are Lavender Brown, the lion-hearted girl, who fears nothing. You state your name proudly.
He growls, circling you like you're his prey.
"Pretty one." He says almost thoughtfully. His dirty fingers run through your hair, reminding you of the way Seamus does. You feel sick that he's done something so personal to you that you try to kick up, but barely end up grazing him.
He laughs a deep laugh, but lets go of your hair. "Smell good too."
He leans in, sniffing around, fingers ghosting down your arms. His cracked lips begin to suck on your neck, and you want to scream, scream and call for help, even though no one can hear you. You feel disgusted, he is disgusting. You don't want him doing this to you, violating you like this.
His hands suddenly grab onto your breasts and that is it, you knee him right in the groin, sending him off you growling in pain. You jump up and run to the door, desperately trying to pull it open, but it's locked, and your wand is sitting in the Room of Requirement right now. His hand rips you away from the door and back against the wall.
"Oh, you'll pay for that!" He shouts, and points his wand straight at you. "Crucio!"
And then you feel pain, pain like you've never felt before, like someone has cut you open and taken out your insides. All over, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head is filled with pain, sharp, biting, knifing pain, and you hear yourself cry out, screaming, but your ears seem so plugged up that it's muted, and the corners of your vision begin to get blurry.
"Crucio!"
You focus on Seamus, because he's your rock, he is your stable thing. You try to focus on that lopsided smile, and his woodsy-tree scent, and the way that he can always make you laugh. The way he never used to do his homework, the way he always knew those useless facts about various Quidditch teams, and his Irish accent. He is sunshine and laughter and light and fire, and he saves you from the dark. He's squeezing your hand, whispering in your ear "Be strong, my angel. My lion-hearted girl."
"Crucio!"
You try to be strong, for Seamus, but you feel your resolve slipping. The pain cuts you deep. You are weak.
Right before your vision turns to black, you see the silky pink ribbon you were wearing in your hair being crushed by a big, black, dirty boot.
You open your eyes slowly, you're in the Room of Requirement, staring at Hannah Abott's back.
Your throat feels swollen, like you haven't had anything to drink in days. You lick your dried lips before mumbling, "Hannah?"
The blond whips around, running over to your bedside. You only now realize you're on a cot, not in a hammock.
"Lavender, how are you feeling?" She asks you kindly, she's always been nice, you think.
"Like shit." You say, the taste of the brutal words on your lips.
She moves away for a moment, bustling around and digging her hands into what you think are the medicine boxes. She returns next to you with a purple-blue potion you recognize as a pain reliever.
"You're going to need this." She says, uncorking it and pouring some into one of the glasses some of the girls nicked from the kitchens a couple weeks ago.
You take the glass and force yourself to drink all of it. It isn't necessarily a bad-tasting potion (as potions go), it tastes rather like too-sour orange juice, but it hurts you to swallow. Hannah sits back on her heals and watches you until you drain the glass.
"Demelza. Come here."
Demelza Robbins, a current fifth year with thick curly brown hair appears at the side of Hannah. "Yes?"
"Where is Seamus?"
"'Think he's out getting food with Neville."
"When he gets back, tell him Lavender's awake. He'll want to know." She says, and Demelza disappears.
You watch Hannah catalog potions for a while, vision mildly unfocused. You sit up slowly, head screaming for you to lay back down. After a while, you hear the portrait hole open and hear his Irish lilt. "Hannah, Dem just told me, is she - ?"
His blue-green eyes blink once, and in a moment he's next to you.
"Lavender." He breathes.
You try to smile, but the muscles in your face still feel sore. His arms wrap around you and pulls you to him, and although it hurts like hell, you hug him back, because there was a moment when you truly thought that you would never get to hear his voice again.
He pulls back, looking you over, hands on your arms, still tethering you to him. "I - I... Mandy brought you back, said you were unconscious... What... What happened...? You were totally limp, Lav - "
You feel your heart hammer in your chest because even among the Gryffindors, Seamus Finnigan would be the last to admit he was scared. Words are spilling out of him, probably faster than he means them too, an awkward wave of feelings and thoughts, but he's never been suave. That's probably one of the things you love about him, the way he just erupts like this like he just can't seem to hold anything in for one more second.
By this time, Hannah's left with Neville, and you bury your head in his chest.
You can hear him whisper into your hair, "You didn't see, Lav, you were all bloodied up, and I was so afraid."
And you shove him away, beating on his chest with as much strength as you can muster right now. "How do you think I feel Seamus Finnigan? I have to see you looking worse than this on a daily basis!" You yell at him angry, watching his face contort in pain. You hope you hurt him, you want to hurt him, he needs to know. "What if one of these days, you don't come back?"
And there it is. The reality that no one was ready to admit out loud.
His eyes look like you've just gutted him, like you've cut open his chest and ripped out his heart, and threw it to the ground.
"Lavender - "
You fall against him again, because you can't bear to look at his hurt eyes anymore. You hear his heart beating, it's your new favorite sound. It tells you he's still alive, he's still there.
You stand against the foggy castle windows on the fourth floor, breathing in the cold, biting air. You can't remember why you're up here, but when you see Seamus standing with his back to you staring out the window, you walk up next to him. Your cuts and bruises have mostly healed, and you intertwine your fingers with his.
He has been more quiet than usual lately.
"It's not safe to be here." He says.
"You're here. Wherever you are, I'm safe." You say. It's strange, the way things are so different with Seamus. The tried-and-true way to get a boy to like you is to play coy, never show your cards, always be in control. But with this boy, in this moment, you are honest and vulnerable, and you can't understand why.
"I can't always protect you Lavender." He says painfully, and you know that this is hard for him to say. He has always had a bit of a hero complex, even with Harry Potter sharing a dorm with him.
His thumb caresses the back of your hand soothingly, like the way he did back in fifth year, and you follow his gaze out the window. The stars are out tonight, and almost a full moon as well.
"You think we could ever just run away?" He asks, his words slightly echoing through the corridor.
"You don't want to do that." You say. "You're too much of a warrior."
"Says you." He says playfully, like a ray of sunshine in an otherwise cloudy sky.
"I'm no warrior." You say.
Suddenly, he is serious. His fingers brush through your hair, making shivers run down your spine.
"Lavender Brown, you are one of the bravest people I know."
And you can't take it any more, can't take any more of this tension, so you take a fistful of his shirt and pull him to your lips.
Your lips smash together, and there is nothing polite or sweet about this kiss, not like that one back at King's cross. No, this is a burning fire, wanting to consume more, more, more. You're burned by his fire touch, flames lingering everywhere his fingers skim, and you drink in his delicious smell.
His hands grasp possessively around your hips, and he squeezes them as he deepens the kiss, and your entire body is electrified, sparks flying everywhere, your hands twisting the hair at the nape of his neck.
His lips move down your neck, he buries his face in your hair, sucking the skin beneath your earlobe and you bite back a loud moan because Merlin if that isn't the best feeling in the world. He ravishes your neck, devouring you, and you love it, but you pull him back up to your lips. You press yourself against him, molding yourself against the hard line of his body, and you hear him groan against your mouth.
When you finally pull away, both of your breathing is erratic and lips are swollen. His hair is sticking every which way because of your hands, and he's looking at you the way no one ever has before.
And your heart almost bursts because you love him, you love him and he is the first one to see you for who you really are, not just silly Lavender Brown, and he makes you feel so strong.
You see his lone silhouette, standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, enough distance between him and the castle so that he won't be seen. His hammock was empty, and he wasn't out on a mission, and you had a strong sense he would be here. You move silently across the grass, coming up next to him.
He's looking out into the darkened trees with eery calmness.
"I haven't been outside in two months. Two months." His voice echoes sadness, accent sounding thick. You've noticed it gets like that when he's angry or in pain, or thinks about home. "Mam says fresh air is good for the soul, cleanses ya' of all typs'a inner demons."
He takes a long, deep breath.
"I spent most a' me childhood outside. Flyin', runnin', chasin'." He breathes a laugh. "Lush, rollin' green hills, thas' what Ireland's like. Well a'course, not all of it, but where me home is. You ever been?"
You shake your head.
"It's beautiful." He says, as if he's seeing it right in front of him. "I'm goin' ta take you there. Once we escape this hellhole."
Your heart aches painfully, because the unspoken, "if we live" is practically screaming at you. But you smile at him, and say, "I'd really like that."
You kiss his rough, stubbled cheek. Your arms hug his left upper arm, and the two of you stand there looking into the trees until it's almost too dark to see the way back to the castle.
It's dark.
You snuck your way into his hammock, and the two of you lie there, Seamus staring up at the ceiling. You trace flowers with your fingertip on his bare chest as he breathes deeply in and out.
You snuggle closer to him, pulling the basically threadbare blanket closer around the two of you.
"Seamus?" You whisper.
"Yeah?"
You pause. "I'm scared."
You hear him swallow thickly. He replies after a minute, "Me too."
You wish you could just stay here forever, against his strong and warm body.
You know that's just a fantasy.
But it's a nice one. You savor this moment, and you let yourself drift into sleep wrapped up in his arms.
(Seamus Finnigan)
"No. Absolu'ly not, Seamus." She screams in your ear for the tenth bloody time today. You stare down at your dinner, you can't look at her in the eyes. Pushing peas around on your plate, you try to think about anything but what's happening.
"If you think for one bloody second that I'm lettin' you go back to tha' place, you're mad!"
You shove your chair out from the table violently, leaving your dinner half finished because you don't think you can stomach much more. Slamming your door behind you, you pull covers on your bed over you, letting your eyes stare a hole into your packed suitcase.
It's early, the sun just begins to rise. You've already got your trunk down the stairs without much ruckus, and now all you've got to do is get your jacket and you're out of there.
You think about getting some breakfast, your stomach rumbling, and you enter the kitchen.
Coming face to face with your dad, sitting at the kitchen table with his arms crossed. You freeze, jacket and spare book in hand.
He looks up, eyes tired and disappointed.
"This isn't like you, Seamus. Sneakin' off without a word."
You say nothing.
"It's not safe -"
"It's not safe anywhere, dad." You spit out. "If I can get back to Hogwarts, then I can at least finish school. I can't take another minute here."
He stares at you for a long time. His face is like an older version of yours, basically the same structure. He looks you over, as if he's searching for something he might have missed.
And suddenly, he gets up, and pulls you into a hug.
Still clutching your jacket, you're bewildered. Your dad has never hugged you, as far back as you can remember. Not that he wasn't caring, but physical contact was more his mam's thing.
"I love ya' son." He says, his voice heavy with emotion. You're starting to get a little choked up, and swallow thickly. You feel a bit scared, what if you never see the family again? You're sure that's what he must be thinking. "An' your mam loves you too, she's just worried -"
"Thanks, dad."
He hugs you tighter, big, calloused farmer hands gripping your shoulders. He smells like home, and you take a minute to hug him back.
"Good luck." He says, and without another word, he leaves the kitchen completely. You stand there, in the empty room, taking in what might be your last look at your home.
You're so relieved when you see her, when she sits down next to you, when she lets you hold her hand. She looks as tired and sad as you're sure you do, but she looks every bit as beautiful as you can remember.
The train feels ghostly, like you can still see the memory of the brightly colored red train housing games of Exploding Snap and chocolate frog eating contests.
The compartment is quiet. Everyone is lost in their own thoughts, their own fears. You wonder what this school year is going to be like. You wonder if your mam's woken up yet and found out that you've run away. You wonder if dad will tell her the truth.
You stare out at the dreary landscape that passes you, letting yourself sink into the seat and breathe for a moment. You squeeze her hand a little tighter, and she squeezes back.
Hogwarts is hell.
You never thought you'd be thinking that. It has always been, like most, a haven. But the floors are freezing, the dungeons dangerous, and even daylight can't protect you from the things that lurk in the dark.
Everything is too much, extremely loud, and incredibly close. But barren, all at the same time. Snape is headmaster, a fact that even if you had heard it back in first year would have made you incapably angry. Classes aren't really classes anymore, and everything that comes out of your so-called teacher's mouthes is utter bullshit, and makes you want to punch a wall in.
When you go to sleep at night, you find yourself staring at the empty bed to your left.
Dean didn't come back.
You knew he couldn't - he was a muggleborn, not safe anywhere. He was in hiding, but you don't know where. You're plagued with wondering where he is, if he's alright, if he's starving or wounded... or if he's dead.
You miss your best friend.
You are a soldier, and you serve Dumbledore's Army.
It is only older students - you won't put the young in danger (although they're not really safe now as it is). It is not a club, it is a resistance. You do stupid things like painting graffiti on the walls, defacing personal property, jinxing, and disrupting assemblies.
The actions are insignificant, but it helps you all believe you're still a part of the fight. Anything to show you won't be cowed by the Headmaster and the Carrows.
You start not being able to control your anger. You talk back regularly to the Carrows, insulting them, provoking them. You're furious - livid - and you won't keep it inside.
And maybe, a small part of it is that if it's you that's getting beaten and hurt, then it's not... well, it's not anyone you love.
"Aye Lav." You croak.
You see her hazily getting out some bandages. Her lips are pursed and she looks angry. She always is.
"Don't 'aye Lav' me." She says.
You laugh softly, but stop when your insides suddenly spasm, and you struggle not to cough. You're covered in scrapes and bruises, face almost unrecognizable, you're sure.
"Yer like me guardian angel." You say as her soft, pale fingers ghost over your black and blue skin. "Fixin' me up 'n keepin' me 'live."
Your vision blurs. Everything aches, painful and sharp but dull and dormant at the same time.
"One of these days you're going to get yourself killed." She says shortly. You can tell she hates bandaging you up, but you secretly love it. Being so close to her, having her make the pain go away is insurmountable.
You take the sleeping potion, gritting your teeth and coughing a little after you down you dose.
You set down the glass on the ground, letting your head loll back on the cot you're laying on. Lavender kneels next to you, looking at you tenderly. She makes you feel calm, you feel your muscles relax as you watch her watch you.
You prop yourself up on your forearm, reaching out and taking her soft chin in your grasp slightly, tilting her face up.
"Yer so pretty Lav." You say. "Merlin, n' bloody hot-t too."
Your mind starts to go hazy, and you don't really register what's coming out of your mouth.
Her brown eyes are wide, and you feel an overwhelming need to be close to her, to feel her against you, to make her feel the way she makes you feel.
Your eyes droop, and you fall asleep with her face in your mind.
You watch her whenever you can. Taking her in, the white of her teeth, the color of her hair, her lips, her eyes, the slope of her neck, the curve of her hip.
She's gotten thinner, but not healthily. It's sometimes too dangerous to enter the Great Hall, especially unaccompanied, and you've seen her skip meals regularly.
You want to strip everything away, to see her completely emotionally naked. You want to know who she is, because you know there's so much more behind her cat-like grin and bubbly giggles. She's becoming someone strong.
Things go from bad to worse.
You and some other seventh years move into the Room of Requirement permanently, hammocks conveniently springing up to suit the number of people in need of them.
It makes you be able to sleep at least a few hours at night now, instead of laying awake and staring into the echoing, empty dorm with only Neville as company.
You grin as you kick the bottom of Neville's hammock next to you in the dark.
He turns over on his side away from you and mutters, "Bugger off Seamus".
You smile, savoring the moment of normality, and finally drift off to a natural sleep.
You want her. Badly. And you can't believe that amongst all the pain and suffering happening in the world, you body still reacts when you see her in those ridiculous shorts she sleeps in, insisting that she forgot to bring her pajama pants when she collected her things. Soft, pale legs that you can't help wish were wrapped around you.
The way she sighs and rubs her stiff neck at the end of the day, the way she bites her lip...
You gulp, turning your view away from her and down to some plans of the Hogwarts castle Neville is talking about.
You spit blood out onto the floor, followed by an actual tooth.
You stare at it dumbly, before another blow hits your stomach. You grit your teeth (those you still have) and try not to feel it, try to ignore it.
You're pushed down, kicked on the back, and your cheek slams into the dungeon floors. Your head starts to ache powerfully, you're drenched in your own blood, your fingers numb. Your vision is almost completely gone. Suddenly, everything lessens. A dulled pain, and things start to get hazier and hazier... almost like a white light...
You open your eyes suddenly.
You're alone in the dungeon now, bleeding through your clothes, brown and dried against your skin.
You think you almost died. And it terrifies you.
You rub your face tiredly, buttoning up a dirty Oxford shirt and staring into the frosted mirror in the makeshift bathroom that sprouted up when the Gryffindor girls moved in.
You turn abruptly, watching as Lavender crosses the room still in her pajamas, tying up her hair haphazardly as she goes.
Your chest aches. You remember just last night, when you woke up with her at your hammock, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed, her lips tight, and the shake in her whisper.
"I just... I had a nightmare, and I needed to make sure that... you were still, um, alive."
And she started to cry, and all you wanted to do was sweep her up into your arms and hold her until she stopped, and hug her and kiss her and love her.
"Can I get my -?"
"Oh. Yeah mate, sorry." You say, moving out of the way of Michael Corner, who grabs his toothbrush off the ledge under the mirror. He looks at you for a moment.
"Tell her." He mutters.
"What?"
He shrugs, letting his gaze shift to Padma Patil standing a few feet away.
"You don't know how much time we all have left."
She's lying there, completely unconscious and limp and bloodied and anger runs hot through your veins. Her hair is tangled, a scrape over her cheek, bruises all up her arms. She is not smiling or laughing or smirking or pouting, no, her lips are white, and you don't even recognize her as Lavender.
You feel sick, you almost vomit on the floor next to her.
You stare at her in disbelief, you can't move.
And god dammit, if she dies -
No. She won't die.
She wouldn't.
She can't.
When Demelza finally tells you she woke up, you run to see her as fast as you can.
You hug her, you don't want to let her go, and you feel yourself tell her everything, softly, into her hair. And she's breathing again and that just makes you want to jump for joy.
"You didn't see, Lav, you were all bloodied up, and I was so afraid -"
But suddenly she shoves you away, beating her fists against your chest like a toddler.
"How do you think I feel Seamus Finnigan? I have to see you looking worse than this on a daily basis!" She looks as if she might cry again. She's so... so broken, and you want desperately to take the pain away, but you just can't and - "What if one of these days, you don't come back?"
And you stop, the words branding a tattoo into your skin. If you don't come back. If you never see daylight again.
If you die.
"Lavender - "
She falls against your chest dejectedly, and you let her cling to you, and listen to your chest and your heartbeat as you bury your nose in her hair and pray you never have to see her cry again.
You know you aren't supposed to be here. You know you're breaking about fifty different rules. You know you could get punished severely for this.
You don't care.
You're so bloody angry but you can't even do anything about it. You feel stifled and suffocated and pissed off all the fucking time.
You stare out of the window, air cold around you. You stare blankly out the window into the darkened trees.
You feel warm fingers clasp yours, and you know just from the sound of her footsteps and her smell that it's Lavender.
"It's not safe to be here."
"You're here. Wherever you are, I'm safe." She says.
You remember, painfully, seeing her close to death on the stretcher in the Room of Requirement. You failed her. You didn't keep her safe.
"I can't always protect you Lavender."
Your thumb moves across the back of her hand. "You think we could ever just run away?"
"You don't want to do that. You're too much of a fighter."
"Says you."
She scoffs, shaking her head. "I'm no warrior."
You turn towards her completely. The moonlight from the window clings to her hair, her cheeks, her eyelashes, her lips. And you just sort of see her for a moment, as if everything she is flashes across her face in an instant. She's changed so much this year. Everyone has. She's so strong, and she doesn't even know it.
"Lavender Brown, you are one of the bravest people I know." You utter.
She looks at you for what feels like an hour, her big brown eyes unblinking, but you know couldn't have been more than a few seconds.
She takes a fistful of your shirt and pulls you down suddenly, pressing her lips roughly to yours.
All the pent up want in your chest explodes as you move your lips against hers, and your heart takes off like a rabbit, and you drag your hands down her arms and to her hips, gripping them hard. And her hands wind around the hair at the bottom of your neck, twisting and pulling and making you want to shudder.
You wrench your lips away from hers and jump down to her neck, and Merlin how is it possible that her skin is so bloody soft? You bury your face in her silky hair, nuzzling his nose against the skin under her jaw. Her hands grip the back of your head hard and tangle in your hair, and you suck the skin under her ear and she moves against you, sighing and letting out a moan right into your ear, and you almost accidentally bite a chunk out of her neck. She pulls you back up to her lips. And you press closer and closer, pulling her flush against you, feeling every delicious curve of her body.
Finally, the two of you break away. You want to remember the way she looked forever, chest heaving, lips swollen, hair ruffled.
All because of you.
And you're together now.
Well, as "together" as one can be, in the circumstances.
You eat your meals together (you make sure she eats three times a day). You snog whenever you can. She holds your hand under the desk in all your classes.
She keeps you sane.
Your mam would have told you to bring a jacket.
You stand in only a shirt, shivering, staring out at the Forbidden Forest from the edge.
The trees seem like they cry to you, cry of home.
You think of the cozy house, with the circle rugs and the crackling fireplace, and running in from outside tracking mud in the front hallway, and your mam yelling and scolding you but giving you hot chocolate anyway, and Ferguson and Maddy and Fina and dad.
You're ripped out of the painful thoughts by Lavender's presence next to you.
"I haven't been outside in two months. Two months. Mam says fresh air is good for the soul, cleanses ya' of all typs'a inner demons."
You take a breath, catching yourself before a tear falls. In the end, you're just a lost boy still clinging to mam.
"I spent most a' me childhood outside. Flyin', runnin', chasin'." You remember it all, home comes back to you all at once. "Lush, rollin' green hills, thas' what Ireland's like. Well a'course, not all of it, but where me home is. You ever been?"
She shakes her head slowly.
"It's beautiful." You whisper.
And suddenly, you can see yourself, sitting a wood chair on the back porch, whiskey in hand, feet kicked up. Your hand in Lavender's, and she smiles as your kids horse around and shout and laugh on the grass in front of you, and the sun shines down making the ground almost sparkle, and everything is yellow and green and pink and clear.
You look into her eyes, and as if making a promise, you say, "I'm goin' ta take you there. Once we escape this hellhole."
She smiles, but it there is sadness behind it. "I'd really like that."
Her fingertips caress your chest, her hair splayed out over her shoulders. Your arms encircle her, and the two of you cling to each other in the dark. She pushes herself closer to you, and you feel yourself tightening your grip on her. You don't want her to blow away.
"Seamus?" She whispers.
"Yeah?"
There's a pause, enough for the silence to fill it, before she says, "I'm scared."
It is so bare, so honest, that it catches you off guard. You reply, without thinking about it, "Me too."
(Lavender Brown)
Your body flies backwards, and you are falling. You feel weightless, your arms and legs claw at the air. Your back hits the floor hard, you hear your spine crack. There's shooting pain from your shoulder blades to your feet, your eyes feel like they're about to explode inside your head and your skin erupts in burning, itching, and it's ripping, it's ripping off. You can't feel your fingers or your toes, and sharp laughter and your heart pounding rings in your ears... and for a moment everything just slows down and the pain starts to dull you can't feel anything anymore.
And suddenly you see everything. You see your entire short life before your eyes, every moment of pain and regret and anxiety and happiness and calm, and your mother and father and Eloise and Parvati and Seamus. And you see everything you want but haven't gotten yet, everything that you wished to have.
Before you know it, you're falling again, the dark suffocating you and swallowing you up whole.
(Seamus Finnigan)
It's over.
You clink your glass exhaustedly with Dean's, allowing yourself an exasperated chuckle as you take in his tired face, glad that you finally see him again. You want to tell him about everything that happened while he was gone, with Lavender, but there will be time for that later.
The weight is lifted off your shoulders. You can smile now.
You see Parvati emerge into the Great Hall, and Dean jumps from his seat, running towards her unabashedly, pulling her into a hug. She doesn't put her arms around him, only stands there rigidly.
He moves away and you ask "Hey Parvati, 'you seen Lavender?"
She says nothing, just stares at you silently, and every second that goes by your heart drops a little more, and her mouth crumples and tears fall.
You can't breathe
"Parvati, where is she?" You ask, voice steady. You fists curl around the bottom of your shirt for something to hold onto. "Where is she?"
You look around at the wounded, looking for her face... but she isn't there. You search around blindly, asking anyone if they've seen her, but everyone only gives you a soft "no".
But finally you see her, a nurse bending over her and slowly wrapping bandages around her legs. You walk over to her, feet made of lead, and you almost choke when you see her. Skin ripped away, bones even visible in places. Her hair is tangled and frayed, cheeks and lips white with no blood or color or life.
You ignore the look of sympathy you get from the nurse, but hold onto her tired voice whispering, "She's still breathing. She's still alive. She's holding on."
A/N: OK! Well, obviously, this is an enormously outrageously long chapter (the longest thing I've ever posted on here actually), but I figured it would be since so much happened during seventh year. I know it's also been a really long time since I've updated, and I apologize, and thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter.
Please review!