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Title: Hope and Ceremony
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: G
Genre: Romance
Pairings: Parvati/Lavender
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Lavender never expected to finish her Hogwarts education.
Author's Notes: This was written for the prompts 'Graduation' on my GenPrompt Bingo table and 'Against All Odds' on my Trope Bingo table.
Lavender brushed down her robes again. They were perfect, as always, but she couldn’t help but continue to fiddle as she waited in line behind Susan Bones for the scroll that would free her from Hogwarts. Her nose kept twitching from Bones’ perfume – something pretty and citrusy, but entirely too strong for Lavender’s sensitive nose – and her bones still ached from the full moon two nights ago.
There was no one waiting for her in the crowd. No one was waiting to see her cross the stage and shake McGonagall’s hand and become a fully qualified witch. She was, after all, no longer a witch but a werewolf, and no one cared about what a werewolf did so long as she didn’t bite anyone.
Okay, she thought, straightening her pointed hat. That’s not fair.
Further down the line, behind her sister and before Potter, stood Parvati – the one person who actually did care about what she got up to these days. Parvati, who had learned to brew Wolfsbane just for her, and who had hexed her naysayers whenever she’d heard them. Parvati had been the one to convince Lavender to return for eighth year in the first place, sitting by her bedside in St Mungos and arguing the point until Lavender had relented just to get to her to be quiet.
McGonagall had invited her, but she hadn’t expected her, and the only facilities they had for the full moon were the ones that Professor Lupin had used back when he was a student.
“Abbot, Hannah,” Professor Sprout called. She was the Deputy Head, now, so she got to do the announcements while McGonagall looked grave and respectable.
This is going to be like the Sorting, she thought, but cruelly shorter. Reading out their names will only highlight the gaps in the register – the people like Ron who chose not to come back, and the ones who never had a choice at all.
She fiddled with her bracelet – a thirteenth birthday gift from her absent parents – and tried not to think of claws and teeth and how she almost didn’t have a choice.
The Healers had told her that the lycanthropy virus saved her life. Each and every single one of them had looked at her like they were sure she would have preferred to die. She would have been a martyr. A pretty, blonde girl – a pureblood from a minor, Light family – a tragic victim of war. But werewolves aren’t martyr material, and her big blue eyes are stained an inhuman, impenetrable gold.
Parvati doesn’t mind, she reminded herself, and took a deep breath as Susan Bones was called forward. She thinks they’re pretty.
Striking, was the word Parvati had actually used, that day when Lavender had woken up in hospital only to find her by her bedside. Parvati had frozen at the sight of her, but only for a heartbeat. Then her expression had melted into a smile that had made the pain fade, and her hand had squeezed Lavender’s where it rested on the coverlet.
She’d brought make up on her next visit, to supply Lavender with new eyeshadows that would suit; she’d brought a necklace with a tiny, many-armed goddess as a pendant and a box of Lavender’s favourite cream cakes for her birthday when all her parents had given her was heartache. She’d brought hope.
“Brown, Lavender.”
She stepped forward. Prowled. The ache in her bones felt better when she moved, and the heightened grace of a werewolf must have been something that Professor Lupin had actively tried to hide. She kept her head high and a fixed smile on her lips, painted cherry red for the occasion, and retrieved her scroll, making sure not to grip it too tightly.
She shook hands and thanked her teachers, and didn’t let the scattered applause alarm her. That there was any was a miracle, after the year she’d had, and it was actually something of a boost. It felt good to walk across that stage and be acknowledged. It felt like she was walking on air; that all the plans she’d made in Parvati’s arms were going to happen; that her dreams were in her grasp.
Safe on the other side, she turned back to look at the row of students still queuing and spotted Parvati in an instant. She caught her eye and winked.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: G
Genre: Romance
Pairings: Parvati/Lavender
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Lavender never expected to finish her Hogwarts education.
Author's Notes: This was written for the prompts 'Graduation' on my GenPrompt Bingo table and 'Against All Odds' on my Trope Bingo table.
Lavender brushed down her robes again. They were perfect, as always, but she couldn’t help but continue to fiddle as she waited in line behind Susan Bones for the scroll that would free her from Hogwarts. Her nose kept twitching from Bones’ perfume – something pretty and citrusy, but entirely too strong for Lavender’s sensitive nose – and her bones still ached from the full moon two nights ago.
There was no one waiting for her in the crowd. No one was waiting to see her cross the stage and shake McGonagall’s hand and become a fully qualified witch. She was, after all, no longer a witch but a werewolf, and no one cared about what a werewolf did so long as she didn’t bite anyone.
Okay, she thought, straightening her pointed hat. That’s not fair.
Further down the line, behind her sister and before Potter, stood Parvati – the one person who actually did care about what she got up to these days. Parvati, who had learned to brew Wolfsbane just for her, and who had hexed her naysayers whenever she’d heard them. Parvati had been the one to convince Lavender to return for eighth year in the first place, sitting by her bedside in St Mungos and arguing the point until Lavender had relented just to get to her to be quiet.
McGonagall had invited her, but she hadn’t expected her, and the only facilities they had for the full moon were the ones that Professor Lupin had used back when he was a student.
“Abbot, Hannah,” Professor Sprout called. She was the Deputy Head, now, so she got to do the announcements while McGonagall looked grave and respectable.
This is going to be like the Sorting, she thought, but cruelly shorter. Reading out their names will only highlight the gaps in the register – the people like Ron who chose not to come back, and the ones who never had a choice at all.
She fiddled with her bracelet – a thirteenth birthday gift from her absent parents – and tried not to think of claws and teeth and how she almost didn’t have a choice.
The Healers had told her that the lycanthropy virus saved her life. Each and every single one of them had looked at her like they were sure she would have preferred to die. She would have been a martyr. A pretty, blonde girl – a pureblood from a minor, Light family – a tragic victim of war. But werewolves aren’t martyr material, and her big blue eyes are stained an inhuman, impenetrable gold.
Parvati doesn’t mind, she reminded herself, and took a deep breath as Susan Bones was called forward. She thinks they’re pretty.
Striking, was the word Parvati had actually used, that day when Lavender had woken up in hospital only to find her by her bedside. Parvati had frozen at the sight of her, but only for a heartbeat. Then her expression had melted into a smile that had made the pain fade, and her hand had squeezed Lavender’s where it rested on the coverlet.
She’d brought make up on her next visit, to supply Lavender with new eyeshadows that would suit; she’d brought a necklace with a tiny, many-armed goddess as a pendant and a box of Lavender’s favourite cream cakes for her birthday when all her parents had given her was heartache. She’d brought hope.
“Brown, Lavender.”
She stepped forward. Prowled. The ache in her bones felt better when she moved, and the heightened grace of a werewolf must have been something that Professor Lupin had actively tried to hide. She kept her head high and a fixed smile on her lips, painted cherry red for the occasion, and retrieved her scroll, making sure not to grip it too tightly.
She shook hands and thanked her teachers, and didn’t let the scattered applause alarm her. That there was any was a miracle, after the year she’d had, and it was actually something of a boost. It felt good to walk across that stage and be acknowledged. It felt like she was walking on air; that all the plans she’d made in Parvati’s arms were going to happen; that her dreams were in her grasp.
Safe on the other side, she turned back to look at the row of students still queuing and spotted Parvati in an instant. She caught her eye and winked.
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Date: 2014-05-27 06:11 pm (UTC)From:This is aimed straight at the feels. The Harry Potter universe is absolutely horrible for werewolves and she would have had a really hard time of it - especially since, unlike Remus, everyone would have known. So I'm really glad that that came through in this.
*squeak* Is it bad that I like hearing that I made you tear up? XD I'm glad you like it. I'm not used to writing longer pieces for these two, but I think it's something I may have to get into.