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The woman sitting on the other side of the table, looking at Hermione with a solemn gaze that holds a darkness as of yet unspoken, has a nasty scar across her face. If you turn your head and look at it from an angle, it’ll look like it was done by a knife.
Parvati’s dark, slim fingers touch the scar, almost as if surprised that it is there.
“Did you know” she says, after moments of silence, “that an injury caused by a dark creature never heals? I think Lupin taught us that, but did you know? Because I don’t think you do until you see it every time you look in the mirror.”
“When my grandmother saw me in the hospital after… after it was over, she cried, because I’ll never a good husband now. With a face like this. She still... still doesn’t know about the other things.”
There is silence. A blue fingernail traces the scar.
“Fenrir Greyback” she murmurs, “I wonder if his parents realised the irony. Fenrir was a demon wolf in norse mythology. It was accurate. He was a demon.”
A shiver runs through her.
“I remember when he came towards us. I remember thinking this is when I die. I wish I had.”
She sobs, once.
“Lavender… god, why did she have to be so self-sacrificing? She jumped in front of me, you know. She… she didn’t even have her wand. So much to live for. And she… her first thought was protecting me.” The hand with the blue fingernails presses to her mouth, as if trying to hold back a noise that can’t be heard. Waiting for a sob that doesn’t come.
“He didn’t… didn’t even kill her, you know? I know they say he did. But he didn’t. He… god, why didn’t he kill her? Was he really that- that evil ? I… I don’t know.”
Her shoulders tremble, but her eyes are dry.
“He.., he ripped her open. I… he ate it. Do you understand? He-” she chokes on her words, her breathing becoming short and laboured. “ He fucking ate it! Her- her baby. I… I saw it. In his… paw? He… he ate it. In one bite. Swallowed it whole. I think I screamed. I know she didn’t. And then… she was on the ground and there was so much blood and he… he was coming towards me, hissing like… like an angry snake. I couldn't react, I just stood there. I… oh god.” She starts to sob.
“He bit me” she chokes out. “He bit me, he bit me, he bit me, oh god. He bit me. He bit me! ”
Her sobs are hysterical, desperate. They gone from somewhere deep, deep inside; the wounded cries of a dying animal.
They go on forever.
At last the despair recedes, content to once more lurk in the darkness of Parvati’s eyes,
“She was going to name him Hyachintos. We laughed over that, but she said it was tradition. All her sisters and brothers named for flowers. We… we discussed it. A flower name. I suggested Aster but… but she liked the myth. And the way it sounded. Hyachintos Brown. And… and I watched… I had to watch as an old norse monster ate him. I… I held her as she died. She smiled at me. Told me not to cry. Made me promise… promise to…” Parvati’s voice breaks again, she hides her scarred face.
“She didn’t want Ron to know, you know? Didn’t want her to have anything that was hers. Said he’d taken enough. Her body. Her heart. Her self-confidence. Her dreams. She wasn't giving him her baby. Not… not her son. Hyachintos. She was going to call him Hyachintos.”
Her dark, dark gaze disappears into the vast beyond, gazing at some ancient horror she can’t describe. Can’t share with anyone.
The silence ticks by, full and heavy like a woman about to give birth.
“The hyacinth flower was made from the blood of the boy Apollo loved. The boy who died in the god’s arms.” Parvati murmurs, as if she’s forgotten that she’s not alone.
“And as she… as she died , she made me promise. Never again. Never a girl like her. Not… not because of me. Made me promise… not to become a monster like the one who had just killed her son.”
Parvati’s lips tremble.
“I promised. I promised. God, I promised her. To never… never hurt a girl like that. Never.”
She draws a deep, shaky breath.
“Maybe that’s why I fear the moon,” she whispers. “Because… every time, I fear that this is the time I break my promise. This is the night where the monster wins.”
Tears slip from her dark eyes, coming to rest in the deep line of the scar from a werewolf’s claws. It’s a sight that’s as grotesque as it’s beautiful.
“I’m scared” Parvati whispers as she looks out the window, waiting for the moon, “that this will be the month where I wake with the taste of human flesh in my mouth. When there will be a dead girl at my feet.”
More tears, coming to rest in the scar, making it gleam like silver.
“That this is the moon that will shine on me as I create another Lavender Brown. That this time, it will be I who murder Hyachintos.”
“I promised her” she whispers, “but I do not know if I can keep my promise.”