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A door slams. I jump.
Some hide how tragically fucking ravaged by war we are better than others. Like every single one of us isn’t forever branded. But I, the girl-dumped-by-the-hero-of-the-world, have managed to hide nothing nor accomplish anything. Except to piss off Alecto one too many times.
My greatest accomplishment will be simply The Girl Who Dated Harry Potter .
A door closes.
I jump. I’m convinced I’ll never know peace again.
“Red?”
Lavender hasn’t called me by my actual name all year.
“Come down!” she hisses from the open window. When I don’t immediately, she says louder, “Don’t be a twat!”
I could argue with her, but what’s the bloody point. She’d have a fit until the House woke if I didn’t oblige. With a little gentle guidance, the heavy wool carpet descends.
I’d found it buried in the corner of the Room of Requirement. With brooms banned on school grounds, it’s been my one refuge from the hell of sixth year. My one chance at freedom beyond this open-world prison.
It’s actually quite hideous, as far as Magic Carpets go. The tassels are fraying and knotted; the wool dusty and faded brown.
I reach to help her, and Lavender clamors aboard . She rearranges herself around me, arm twining with mine as she leans her weight on my shoulder. C linging to me like a buoy, we near the roof, high enough to see past that stretch of mountain beyond the lake.
The presence of her settles over my skin like a cloak. Heavy and calming.
It’s unclear what Lavender and I are, exactly. Friends seems wrong. She decidedly doesn’t feel like a friend. But, other than the girl who snogged my brother, and won’t stop talking, I’m not sure what title to bestow upon her.
“How was Defence—”
I shake my head quickly, silently begging her not to finish the question. “We made a deal, remember? Not that. Not up here.”
“ Right ,” she whispers.
I can’t look at her, but I feel her studying the bruise on my cheekbone and the scabs on my nail beds. Not cruelly. Observantly.
“About as well as Potions, then.”
I must look like shite.
The silence sits heavy as the carpet bobs in the air. My eyes drift closed at the smell of her iconically lavender lotion.
The Hufflepuff memory breaks through .
I jump.
Lavender’s warm fingers close tighter around my arm, and I feel her breathe deep, telepathically willing me to sync with hers.
Her
finger swirls across the skin of the inside of my elbow,
and I
feel
every part of my being relax into her like an anchor, tethering me.
I was wrong
, I think to myself.
Wrong about not knowing peace again—
Even if I don’t know exactly what she is or what we are, I know I’ve found peace in the arms of Lavender Brown.
She clears her throat abruptly, breaking the silence. She’s always so noisy.
But I don’t jump.