Challenge #57 (Poetic Prompts)
Title: For Me, It Isn't Over.
Rating/Warnings: Rated PG, I guess, just because I like to rate things PG over G because it makes me feel badass.
Characters/Pairing: Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley
Summary: In response to Challenge #57 (Poetic Prompts): I wanted to write something that was inspired by Adele's Someone Like You. I MADE MYSELF SAD.
Word Count: 1474
Author's Notes: NONE.
Registered purchases?: Both!
Lavender Brown was returning to Europe after having spent some time traveling the world, on assignment with the Daily Prophet and their new Reporter's Exchange program. The point of it was to open the writers' eyes to the different cultures, and in turn try to make them more open-minded themselves. The general thought was that open-minded writers made for less bias in their pieces, which could make for a wider readership for the flourishing London wizarding newspaper.
Lavender hadn't expected to be one of the people chosen for the position, nor had she expected to enjoy it so much. She'd spent much of the last five years following her graduation from Hogwarts bouncing from wizarding community to wizarding community, immersing herself in the different languages that lilted around her heads in waves.
Of course, much of that time had been spent thinking and evolving herself. Remembering her behaviour at Hogwarts during her schooldays never failed to bring a flush of shame to her cheeks, and the concerns of her childhood (makeup, hairstyles, which boy she'd try to snag/snog next) felt strange and foreign next to the new set of values her new world-travels had brought to her -- things like world hunger, and human slavery, and how rare and readily accepted love could be in this world that was full of such dark things.
It was that last thought that propelled her back to Hogwarts this time. She'd turned down a long-term writing assignment in a small, secluded village in South America (one that was quietly attempting to integrate wizards and muggles) to attend her class reunion, and for once she found herself looking forward to seeing the people she'd grown up with.
Like Ron. She knew that their relationship when they were sixteen had been doomed to fail, both of them held captive with a desperate void that neither was actually capable of filling. Even then, she had clung to him with the knowledge that he would leave her, that he would find someone better for him, someone he would love more than he'd ever allowed himself to feel for her.
Despite their break-up almost a decade prior, she still harbored this secret hope in her heart of hearts, that someday they'd come back together, they they'd see each other as they were Now and not as they were Then, and would be able to find some happiness. Her connections within the press kept her updated on the gossip surrounding him, and she knew about his on-again-off-again relationship with Hermione Granger, and about the trysts he had in between with various Quidditch groupies.
Without really knowing, without even speaking to him, she could tell that he was searching for something more than what he had, too.
And it was that thought that pulled her to the Great Hall on that chilly December day. Snow was falling outside the large windows, and the enchanted ceiling was even dropping some fluffy flakes on the attendees, although they were neither cold nor wet).
She'd wandered around the room, champagne flute in her hand, wearing a deep purple dress that fell from her curves in waves. One thing on-location reporting is good for, she thought, is helping to keep a svelte figure.
Lavender knew she looked better than she had when she was a teenager, although she'd been pretty then, too. The hard work of actually participating in the stories she would eventually write about (because she had turned out to be quite a brave girl, so maybe the Sorting Hat hadn't been wrong all those years ago) had given her strength that came with helping the locals farm, and all the baby-fat she'd carried had melted away to reveal her lean form. Her hair was still a long mess of light-brown curls, and she'd allowed these to hang loose.
Someone had told her once that the movement of them as she threw back her head and laughed was utterly enchanting -- and she didn't think Ron had been capable of lies in the intimate moment he'd revealed that to her.
She passed her classmates, each of them as dressed up as she was, and stopped to talk to a few of them. The gathering held a sort of show-and-tell feel, and she'd find herself gazing at strange objects people thrust under her nose, as if they were trying to prove their worth with tangible things they'd gathered over the years.
Yes, here was Neville, clutching some rare potted plant, which hadn't surprised anyone in attendance. Luna held a long string that had an empty loop at the end, and when asked about it she just muttered about some Humdinger Nonsense that must have escaped. Seamus was carrying a smoking set of something that was probably too dangerous to be holding in close quarters, but she grinned along with him as he explained what it was (though she was careful to not breathe in the smell of it). Ginny had gone on to be a Holyhead Harpie and was dragging her Nimbus 10K behind her as if it weren't worth hundreds of galleons. Oddly, Harry and Draco had nothing in their hands except each other, and that was probably the most surprising of all.
Until he'd spotted her.
Lavender had been leaning up against one of the walls, taking delicate sips from her drink and wishing she'd had the thought to wear something a little less revealing. How quickly one forgot the drafts of a large castle.
She'd barely formed that thought when she felt a whoosh of heated air surround her, and the Warming Charm settled on her bare shoulders. She started.
And there he was. Ronald Billius Weasley stood before her, towering over her, having filled out his once-lanky-and-gangly form, although she wasn't sure how. She gasped with an intake of breath, her lip caught behind her teeth as the corners of her mouth turned up. Her wide brown eyes traced his outline, from his feet encased in worn black shoes to the creases of his pants and then up his torso until they met his eyes.
They were soft and blue, and suddenly all she could think of was summer afternoons spent staring at cloudless skies, their backs on spiky green grass as they'd held their wands up and cast their Patronuses into the air and recalled the happy thoughts that had allowed his Jack Russell Terrier and her Fennec Fox to burst forth like the happy giggles that inevitably soon followed.
Their relationship hadn't been completely unhappy memories. She wondered what he thought when he saw her. She wondered what he had held on to, what he remembered.
"Well, Lavender Brown." his voice was quiet, and she recalled what his breath felt like on her earlobes.
"Ron! Fancy meeting you here," she'd replied, a slight emphasis on fancy, because she certainly did.
Their arms simultaneously extended towards each other, and then dropped suddenly. He looked unsure, and she didn't feel any more confident in his presence, knowing that she had years and years full of words that were threatening to burst forth from her. It was taking everything in her to control the dam that was building with each second he stood in front of her.
And again, he shifted, moved towards her as she stepped back and then they were hidden from any prying eyes (not that there were any, with everyone else in the hall occupied with making themselves look as good as possible) in a shadowy alcove.
The smell of him washed over her, and she almost wept with the familiarity of it, the smell of cotton and sunshine and some other thing that was almost like cinnamon but that she'd always known was unequivocably Ron. Her palms found themselves on his chest, and then his arms were around her, her ear pressed to his chest and tears almost spilling from her eyes at the relief, the rightness of being wrapped up inside of him after so long.
She shook, and he tensed. Neither of them spoke. Seconds passed, or maybe it was minutes or days or a thousand years, because she knew that this was what she'd been searching for her whole life, that this was what she had run away from to come back and find again.
They separated, although barely, their bodies still touching in different places, and he was bent over her, both of them breathing the same air. She felt like she was inhaling him.
His lips were soft on her forehead, and her eyes drifted closed, trying to make this moment last because she never wanted it to end.
And then he spoke, and his voice was leaden with more feelings than he could articulate, and he cracked as he breathed just two words that broke everything in her.
"We can't."
His left hand brushed over her face, and she saw the gleam of gold on one of his fingers, and that was when the tears finally started flowing from her eyes.
1474/30=49.1 49 40
+ 10 for bonuses
50 points for Gryffindor!, maxed for the week!
Could I get a pairing: ron/lavender tag??
Christa // Gryffindor
Rating/Warnings: Rated PG, I guess, just because I like to rate things PG over G because it makes me feel badass.
Characters/Pairing: Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley
Summary: In response to Challenge #57 (Poetic Prompts): I wanted to write something that was inspired by Adele's Someone Like You. I MADE MYSELF SAD.
Word Count: 1474
Author's Notes: NONE.
Registered purchases?: Both!
Lavender Brown was returning to Europe after having spent some time traveling the world, on assignment with the Daily Prophet and their new Reporter's Exchange program. The point of it was to open the writers' eyes to the different cultures, and in turn try to make them more open-minded themselves. The general thought was that open-minded writers made for less bias in their pieces, which could make for a wider readership for the flourishing London wizarding newspaper.
Lavender hadn't expected to be one of the people chosen for the position, nor had she expected to enjoy it so much. She'd spent much of the last five years following her graduation from Hogwarts bouncing from wizarding community to wizarding community, immersing herself in the different languages that lilted around her heads in waves.
Of course, much of that time had been spent thinking and evolving herself. Remembering her behaviour at Hogwarts during her schooldays never failed to bring a flush of shame to her cheeks, and the concerns of her childhood (makeup, hairstyles, which boy she'd try to snag/snog next) felt strange and foreign next to the new set of values her new world-travels had brought to her -- things like world hunger, and human slavery, and how rare and readily accepted love could be in this world that was full of such dark things.
It was that last thought that propelled her back to Hogwarts this time. She'd turned down a long-term writing assignment in a small, secluded village in South America (one that was quietly attempting to integrate wizards and muggles) to attend her class reunion, and for once she found herself looking forward to seeing the people she'd grown up with.
Like Ron. She knew that their relationship when they were sixteen had been doomed to fail, both of them held captive with a desperate void that neither was actually capable of filling. Even then, she had clung to him with the knowledge that he would leave her, that he would find someone better for him, someone he would love more than he'd ever allowed himself to feel for her.
Despite their break-up almost a decade prior, she still harbored this secret hope in her heart of hearts, that someday they'd come back together, they they'd see each other as they were Now and not as they were Then, and would be able to find some happiness. Her connections within the press kept her updated on the gossip surrounding him, and she knew about his on-again-off-again relationship with Hermione Granger, and about the trysts he had in between with various Quidditch groupies.
Without really knowing, without even speaking to him, she could tell that he was searching for something more than what he had, too.
And it was that thought that pulled her to the Great Hall on that chilly December day. Snow was falling outside the large windows, and the enchanted ceiling was even dropping some fluffy flakes on the attendees, although they were neither cold nor wet).
She'd wandered around the room, champagne flute in her hand, wearing a deep purple dress that fell from her curves in waves. One thing on-location reporting is good for, she thought, is helping to keep a svelte figure.
Lavender knew she looked better than she had when she was a teenager, although she'd been pretty then, too. The hard work of actually participating in the stories she would eventually write about (because she had turned out to be quite a brave girl, so maybe the Sorting Hat hadn't been wrong all those years ago) had given her strength that came with helping the locals farm, and all the baby-fat she'd carried had melted away to reveal her lean form. Her hair was still a long mess of light-brown curls, and she'd allowed these to hang loose.
Someone had told her once that the movement of them as she threw back her head and laughed was utterly enchanting -- and she didn't think Ron had been capable of lies in the intimate moment he'd revealed that to her.
She passed her classmates, each of them as dressed up as she was, and stopped to talk to a few of them. The gathering held a sort of show-and-tell feel, and she'd find herself gazing at strange objects people thrust under her nose, as if they were trying to prove their worth with tangible things they'd gathered over the years.
Yes, here was Neville, clutching some rare potted plant, which hadn't surprised anyone in attendance. Luna held a long string that had an empty loop at the end, and when asked about it she just muttered about some Humdinger Nonsense that must have escaped. Seamus was carrying a smoking set of something that was probably too dangerous to be holding in close quarters, but she grinned along with him as he explained what it was (though she was careful to not breathe in the smell of it). Ginny had gone on to be a Holyhead Harpie and was dragging her Nimbus 10K behind her as if it weren't worth hundreds of galleons. Oddly, Harry and Draco had nothing in their hands except each other, and that was probably the most surprising of all.
Until he'd spotted her.
Lavender had been leaning up against one of the walls, taking delicate sips from her drink and wishing she'd had the thought to wear something a little less revealing. How quickly one forgot the drafts of a large castle.
She'd barely formed that thought when she felt a whoosh of heated air surround her, and the Warming Charm settled on her bare shoulders. She started.
And there he was. Ronald Billius Weasley stood before her, towering over her, having filled out his once-lanky-and-gangly form, although she wasn't sure how. She gasped with an intake of breath, her lip caught behind her teeth as the corners of her mouth turned up. Her wide brown eyes traced his outline, from his feet encased in worn black shoes to the creases of his pants and then up his torso until they met his eyes.
They were soft and blue, and suddenly all she could think of was summer afternoons spent staring at cloudless skies, their backs on spiky green grass as they'd held their wands up and cast their Patronuses into the air and recalled the happy thoughts that had allowed his Jack Russell Terrier and her Fennec Fox to burst forth like the happy giggles that inevitably soon followed.
Their relationship hadn't been completely unhappy memories. She wondered what he thought when he saw her. She wondered what he had held on to, what he remembered.
"Well, Lavender Brown." his voice was quiet, and she recalled what his breath felt like on her earlobes.
"Ron! Fancy meeting you here," she'd replied, a slight emphasis on fancy, because she certainly did.
Their arms simultaneously extended towards each other, and then dropped suddenly. He looked unsure, and she didn't feel any more confident in his presence, knowing that she had years and years full of words that were threatening to burst forth from her. It was taking everything in her to control the dam that was building with each second he stood in front of her.
And again, he shifted, moved towards her as she stepped back and then they were hidden from any prying eyes (not that there were any, with everyone else in the hall occupied with making themselves look as good as possible) in a shadowy alcove.
The smell of him washed over her, and she almost wept with the familiarity of it, the smell of cotton and sunshine and some other thing that was almost like cinnamon but that she'd always known was unequivocably Ron. Her palms found themselves on his chest, and then his arms were around her, her ear pressed to his chest and tears almost spilling from her eyes at the relief, the rightness of being wrapped up inside of him after so long.
She shook, and he tensed. Neither of them spoke. Seconds passed, or maybe it was minutes or days or a thousand years, because she knew that this was what she'd been searching for her whole life, that this was what she had run away from to come back and find again.
They separated, although barely, their bodies still touching in different places, and he was bent over her, both of them breathing the same air. She felt like she was inhaling him.
His lips were soft on her forehead, and her eyes drifted closed, trying to make this moment last because she never wanted it to end.
And then he spoke, and his voice was leaden with more feelings than he could articulate, and he cracked as he breathed just two words that broke everything in her.
"We can't."
His left hand brushed over her face, and she saw the gleam of gold on one of his fingers, and that was when the tears finally started flowing from her eyes.
1474/30=49.1 49 40
+ 10 for bonuses
50 points for Gryffindor!, maxed for the week!
Could I get a pairing: ron/lavender tag??
Christa // Gryffindor