Drabble 2.


"She drifts through the sky,

Counting the reasons why,

How her life turned so fast,

Remembering all of the past,"

-Pink, 'Waiting for Love'

Glorious. Lavender Brown had been glorious. She was quite easily the most attractive girl in her year, and always had been. She had long, glossy hair the colour of honey, bright blue eyes, an easy smile, and a graciously curved body. It was not merely physical; as soon as she had blossomed from a girl into a woman, Lavender had understood how to draw boys and men to her, to bewitch them, to make them adore her. Lying alone in the hospital wing, it seemed impossible that there were not boys fighting over who would remain with her and who would leave.

The name Lavender Brown, when uttered in the halls of Hogwarts – whispered between boys who would rather muse on her than work in a class, and hissed by jealous girls who knew that they could never compete with her absolute loveliness – represented a paradigm of feminine beauty that could not be surpassed. Lavender closed her eyes, savouring the memories of being awed and envied. Her sun had blazed the brightest, eclipsing other girls and scorching so many with its intensity. Every day, she had looked immaculate.

There had been times when Lavender wondered how such beauty was sustainable. It seemed odd that her appeal was relentless, whereas other girls failed to shine every day. It seemed that there ought to have been a price on such glory.

And there had been.

Fenrir Greyback had ruined her. Lavender was recovering steadily, but she couldn't bear to catch sight of the grotesque ruin of her beauty. She would rather have died. Lavender knew that this seemed melodramatic, but she would rather have been remembered as the unattainable siren of schoolboy dreams than the pale shadow of a girl that the werewolf had left behind.

Greyback had lined Lavender's face with angry red scars. It no longer mattered that her complexion was perfect, or that her features were pretty.

Greyback had shaken Lavender like a puppet. Never again would she give a dainty shrug, dismissive of male attention, so severe was the resultant injury done to her shoulder.

Greyback had taken Lavender's beauty. She would never be confident of her good looks, or move with the natural ease of someone who was comfortable in their own skin.


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