Let's talk about sacrifice. Let’s talk about war and the forever young - the children who died for a future we would never see. Let's talk about youth. See, Dumbledore recruited those who had only just graduated for a reason. Young enough to be unaware of our own mortality, still idealistic enough to want to fight; death seemed so far away until the moment it stared us in the face. There is a reason Fred died laughing. There is a reason Harry grew up so very quickly. We the young, we the invincible, we who are no longer here. No one leaves war unscathed.
We are the broken generation. We are the generation of recovering alcoholics, of empty seats at every holiday, of panic attacks and overprotective parenting. We are the generation that scopes out every exit in a room, that flinches at loud noises, that has made survival into an artform. We are living, but only just.
~
The first time Hermione has a panic attack is the first time she convinces herself to leave her beaded purse at home. She goes out for dinner with Harry and Luna at a quaint little hole-in-the-wall near Grimmauld Place. As they walk there, Luna takes her arm gently and smiles at her with muted eyes. She feels more frail than ever as she walks lightly at Hermione’s side, her skin is almost translucent against her arm.
At the restaurant, they find a table near the exit and Luna slips gratefully into a chair. Harry takes one of the two remaining and moves it so that his back is to the wall, muscles visibly tense as he scans the room. Hermione does the same, her hand shaking slightly on her wand as she takes a deep breath and sits. It is only that she feels so exposed, and she can’t help but think of all of the things that could go wrong, all of the ways in which they are vulnerable. She remembers the last time she wasn’t vigilant enough and jumps a little when the waitress arrives to take their order. By the time they begin eating, she has convinced herself to relax with small success. Her eyes dart towards the exit every few minutes but she is fine, she is enjoying herself - the food is good and the company excellent.
When a muscled, blond workman walks in and asks for a table, something twinges in the back of her mind and she forgets for a moment that the war is over. Before she can register that the man isn’t a threat, she’s already dropped her fork, and reached for her bag. As her hand hits empty, her mind goes blank and she forgets how to breathe.
She knows she’s not in danger, somewhere distant in her mind, but she needs her bag, she can’t breathe, she needs it where is it why have her lungs stopped working the world is swimming and suddenly she’s sweating shaking and she doesn’t know what is happening and she still can’t breathe she can’t breathe -
Harry turns, asks her a question, and she doesn’t remember how to speak. His brow furrows as he notices how quickly she is breathing, the way she can’t stop shaking. He pulls his chair close to hers and puts his arms around her, breathes in, breathes out as he talks to her in a calm, quiet voice. She focuses on his chest moving, listens to his heart, remembers that he will protect her. As her shaking begins to ease, she lifts her gaze from the table. Large eyes focus on her and Hermione stares back, locks onto Luna’s gaze while thinking vaguely on how fragile she seems. Her breathing begins to slow and she slumps into Harry’s embrace, exhausted. He strokes her hair and sighs.
“Better now?” He asks and she nods wearily, gripping his arm to keep him next to her. Luna drops her gaze and begins to talk about something Hermione can’t quite focus on. She takes another slow breath, sits up a little straighter and lets Harry go as she begins to shakily pick at her food. He says nothing more on the subject but squeezes her hand and stays next to her for the rest of the meal, knee pressing against hers as though that small touch will save her from the world. She doesn’t know if it will, but can’t help feeling grateful anyway.
Later, when she and Harry return to Grimmauld Place, she unpacks her beaded purse and burns it in a small private ceremony, before moving the essentials to another purse. It will be years before she leaves home again without it.
~
The first time Dean has a drink after the war, he’s at an impromptu party in the eighth year dorm. Malfoy is hovering uncertainly by the stairs and staring into his glass while Theo leans against the banister beside him. In the corner, Hermione is sitting against the wall surrounded by a small group of people, Harry’s head in her lap and a glass of wine in her hand as she laughs at something Dean can’t hear. Near the fireplace, Seamus is sitting with Parvati on the sofa and Dean feels an uncomfortable lurch in his stomach as his gaze slides to the empty space where Lavender used to sit.
He crosses the room to the alcohol table, and pours himself a drink that tastes more like vodka than anything else. He stands there for a moment, sipping at it and making tentative eye contact with Pansy, who is several drinks in and looks alarmingly desolate. She smiles a little and pours two shots with a shaking hand. She takes one and nods towards the other. He picks it up and watches as Pansy down hers in one smooth gulp, before trying to do the same and coughing with watering eyes at the sting. She laughs a little and pours him another before patting him on the shoulder and unsteadily wandering off. He watches her go, still grimacing, and quickly downs the second shot. Topping up his first drink, he wanders over to Seamus and drifts a hand over his thigh in hello. He lowers himself to the carpet and leans back in between Seamus’s legs, who leans forward and kisses his head lightly before continuing his conversation with Parvati.
Their quiet voices wash over him and Dean closes his eyes. His head begins to spin and he focuses lazily on the sensation of Seamus’s hands in his hair. He vaguely recalls that he’s holding a drink and brings it to his lips before carefully setting it down beside him. He stares out across the room and his vision feels terribly clear but his mind is so very blurry. He hears Parvati saying something to Seamus above his head and wonders why Lavender isn’t speaking too. When he remembers, he almost forgets how to breathe through the wave of desolation that sweeps over him. His nails dig into his thigh in a bid for control and he can feel a tear trickling down his cheek. He wonders faintly why he is still alive when none of them are, wonders why he is the one who had to stay. He almost wishes that he had been killed as well, and the thought prompts him to reach for his glass with an unsteady hand. He stares vacantly into the fire and finishes the drink before letting his head fall onto Seamus’s lap.
When he awakens the next afternoon, curled into Seamus in bed, head spinning and mouth dry, he feels worse than he ever has but all he wants is another drink.
The last time he drinks, though he doesn’t know it at the time, is over a year later. The morning after, he wakes up in a St. Mungo’s bed, Seamus pale and exhausted in the chair next to him. When he lifts his head to examine the room, Seamus stirs and looks at him, his lips in a tight line and pain in his eyes.
“You’re done drinking” he says, something between iron and heartbreak in his voice. “I don’t care what we have to do to get there, but this isn’t happening again.” And Dean is too tired, too hopeless to do anything but agree wearily and reach for Seamus’s hand. That week, they throw out all the liquor in their flat and start looking for a small place in the country - somewhere quiet and beautiful, with enough space for the both of them to heal.
~
The first time Luna wakes up without enough energy left to leave her bed, she breaks a little inside. Luna knows what it is to deal with trauma, how it feels to grow up without a mother, to be left only with a father who’s grief consumed him until he was too empty to help her. She knows loss so intimately that she sees it every time she looks in the mirror. But somehow, this latest grief has taken her unaware, sapped the last of her energy and left her as empty as her father. The morning the last of her energy leaves her, she wakes up with the sunrise and wishes she hadn’t. She stares up at the faces painted on her ceiling. She thinks of Fred, who always made her laugh, of Colin, who always had something cheerful to say to her, of Lavender, who had saved her life at least once in battle. She thinks that maybe there is no one left to save her this time and so she rolls over, curls into a ball and pretends she doesn’t exist.
Somewhere around noon, her stomach reminds her that she is alive and she thinks vaguely of getting up, of finding something to eat, maybe taking a shower. Instead, she accios a Dreamless Sleep from the medicine cabinet, gulps it down and sinks back into oblivion. When she regains consciousness, she isn’t sure how much time has passed, and can’t muster the energy to care. She stays there in her bed watching the shadows move on the wall until eventually someone knocks on the door. At first she thinks she must be hallucinating but then there is a second tentative knock and she wonders if perhaps it could be real. Her leg twitches in an abortive movement to stand before sinking back into the bed. The knob turns and she hears hesitant steps coming up the stairs. She thinks suddenly that it must be her mum, come to take her home and she calls out. The steps freeze and then return with greater urgency. When the person enters her room, they are blond but they cannot be her mum. Luna stares for a moment in disbelief and begins to sob. Draco leans down beside her bed and gently pushes her hair out of her face.
“Luna?” He asks, in a voice that is all the more heartbreaking for its worried confusion. She cries harder and curls in towards his hand. Memories flash before her eyes. She remembers a time long before her mother was gone, when they would play together in the garden; remembers laughing with him and running on chubby little legs in the light of the sun. She remembers being locked in darkness with Dean, hope arriving with a familiar face, thin and worried. She remembers food and water thrust through bars, a shaking hand and a whispered promise of return. She remembers, and remembers and cannot stop. Draco reaches for her with both hands, lifts her into his arms and wraps her in a blanket. She does not know if she can stand and so she does not even try. Instead, she curls into his chest and closes her eyes. Hearing his heartbeat against her ear, a wisp of hope returns to her and her small frame relaxes minutely in his grasp.
Draco takes her home to his flat, and learns to cook chicken soup. He brings her tea and soup. He braids her hair into tiny little braids and gives her dramatic updates about all of her friends. He worries and cares and gives her all of the love he never learned how to show as he waits patiently for her to return to herself. One morning, Luna wakes up with the sunrise, smiles softly and begins to remember how to be strong again.
~
The first morning Parvati wakes up without Lavender on her mind, she feels so guilty that she scratches an angry line down her arm. It blooms red against her skin and she blinks, shocked, before grasping onto the calm that blooms with it. She finds herself tracing the line throughout the day, as though if it fades then so will her memory. The next morning, the line is barely there and something pinches in her heart. She calls to mind Lavender’s face, pictures her curls and the hazel tint of her eyes. She thinks of the birthmark on her ear and for a moment, can’t remember which side it was on. Guilt bubbles up in her stomach and before she can think, she scratches another line beside the first. The day after, she thinks of Lavender at work and tears prick at the edges of her eyes as her nails dig into her arm. She does not understand what she is doing, only that it makes her feel a little more in control, a little less lost.
By the time she bumps into Pansy that fateful day at work, her arm mirrors the pain that she doesn't know how to keep inside. She grips her sleeves in her hands and ducks her head but Pansy is sharp, and intelligent and looks ridiculously attractive in her tailored suit. Parvati can’t help but glance at her, admiration clear in her gaze. They enter the lift together and impulsively Parvati begins a conversation. When Pansy pins her gaze on her, Parvati stands a little taller, pushes her hair behind her ears. That week, they go out for dinner.
Parvati wears a long-sleeved dress to their date but she feels pretty and alive in a way she hasn’t since Lavender died. Across the small table, Pansy is vibrant and pink cheeked and Parvati is captivated. They spend the evening with heads bent towards each other, all bold glances and sly touches. Pansy tells her about tattooing, about penance and remembrance and taking back one’s life. Parvati listens, lets her pain slip away. She laughs, offers quiet comments and feels more like herself than she has in a long time. At the end of the night, she kisses Pansy on the cheek and asks to see her again.
The first time Pansy stays the night, Parvati forgets about the scars on her arm. They fall into bed giggling and Pansy kisses her as she pulls Parvati’s shirt over her head. It is only when Pansy runs her hands over her shoulders and down her arms that she remembers and it is only then that Pansy notices. Parvati closes her eyes as Pansy freezes. She opens her mouth but does not know what to say so she closes it and as Pansy gently touches her arm, opens her eyes. Pansy kisses each scratch, whispers against the scarred skin how beautiful she is, how strong, how wonderful and Parvati blinks back tears.
When Pansy asks her quietly “Would you like to maybe talk about it?” She does not know what to say but cares too much not to try. She begins to speak haltingly about the pain of forgetting, of remembering, of living all of the years her best friend never will. Pansy kisses her softly in response, and when she quietly mentions a tattoo, Parvati does not say no.
At a party a few months later, she wears a sleeveless mauve dress. She laughs, and smiles and slips a hand around Pansy’s waist when she finds her in the kitchen swapping insults with Malfoy. On her arm is a delicate bloom of color where Pansy tattooed purple lavender sprigs onto her skin.