She adored the perspective from the view of the Astronomy Tower. Tapping
the box of clove cigarettes against the butt of her palm, Lavender
scowled before grudgingly giving the splendiferous sunset its due. A
and a drag later, the mellow fragrance traipsed into her
lungs. She'd only picked up the habit during the War, but when she felt
bereft, not uncommon these days, she indulged.
And why the fuck not?
Scandalous scarlets, violets, and oranges beckoned to her. She sniffed
at their forwardness, as though their riotous camp would have some
effect on her. The students knew she had far more reputable skills than
her predecessor, Trelawny, but most of them dismissed her classes as
peripheral, part of the post-war detritus they needed to sit through but
not pay attention to. Lavender knew this, accepted it as she had found
herself absorbing so many distasteful, utterly unacceptable elements to
the end of the War. Voldemort was dead. This was a good thing. The
greater tragedy was that her lover, her beloved, dearest Parvati, had
also been subsumed in the fractious infighting of shadows and turncoats.
Parvati loved Lavender more than anything, she'd said, but she just had
to try and find her twin, stolen by the Death Eaters in an inexplicable
raid on Hogsmeade during a Hogwarts visit their seventh year.
She inhaled deeply on her cigarette, holding the burn in her lungs until
she was ready to release it to the gloaming. With it went a sliver of
the anger that burned her, causing a flush to her normally luminous
skin. She'd only discovered Parvati's feelings for her a fortnight
before Parvati went missing - missing
- the parchment-scrap peeking
cheekily underneath her tidily made bed. Lavender had read it dozens of
times before Parvati returned from her daily meeting with Padma, both
sisters dreadfully worried about what the future held and how to escape
their parents' scrutiny.
Parvati's mouth had made an irresistible, ruby circle, her normally
masked visage one of abject fear.
"You. I. Merlin. It's not what you-"
Olive-skinned fingers had tumbled against each other as Parvati worried
them, anxious and embarrassed.
"I hope it is."
Her hands had stilled. Lavender strode to Parvati, her hands trembling
as she allowed her thumbs to express their ecstasy in short caresses on
"You love me?"
Liquid-chocolate looked up at her, slim fingerpads daring under
Lavender's uniform, clutching against the back of her hipbones. There
was a nod, and with that, Lavender's attentions were occupied in
watering the desert lands Parvati had mentioned in her poem. Lips,
tongue, fingers and flesh were hers to lave, suckle and explore.
Brought back rudely to the present, Lavender shuddered with a melancholy
chill and ground out her cigarette. It was no consolation, not at all.
Paper and parchment were dry and lifeless, nothing like the warm skin of
her dear one
Despite her wishes, the nights refused to become shorter.
* * * * * * *
Gift for redpiratemel
Merry Belated Yule,
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