A/N: Thank you to Aequitas, Ennalee, and GringottsVault711 for your amazing advice and support as betas.

I told myself that this story was about SPEW. And originally that's what the dedication said it was for. But it wasn't. I remember the exact moment when I thought to write this story. And it's really for the person who would least expect it, though I doubt she will ever read it and she probably wouldn't be too happy with me if she did.

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Hogsmeade Station was crowded with students. Amid the din of clanging trunks and shouting voices, no one heard the Death Eaters approach. It was only as curses began to fly through the air that the students became aware of the danger. As one, they ran for the coaches and the safety of Hogwarts' walls.

Realizing that the Boy Who Lived was nowhere to be seen, Bellatrix Lestrange recognized that the Death Eaters' task could not be completed. In anger she sought out the first target she could find, a tall girl with mousey brown hair. She sent her anger out through the tip of her wand, a final gesture of cruelty before she signaled the retreat. “AVADA KEDAVRA!” she cried. Color faded from the girl's face. The browns paled in her skin, and she was grey.

In a flash of green light, Lavender Brown was dead, lying flat upon her back before the gates of Hogwarts.

# # #

From Gryffindor Tower, Hermione Granger stared out her dormitory window. The room behind her looked strangely barren-- it only contained two beds this year. At her parents' insistence, Parvati Patil would not be returning to Hogwarts. Her four-poster was gone from its place between Lavender and Hermione's beds, the indents its feet had made in the carpet already disappearing. Hermione had watched as the train came in, sat transfixed in horror as curses flew amid the crowd, held her breath when she saw the flash of bright green light.

She, Harry, and Ron had not come in on the train, as they had been at Hogwarts for an entire week already, researching possible artifacts of Rowena Ravenclaw's. Dumbledore's portrait had informed McGonagall about the search for the Horcruxes, and she had made special arrangements for the three Gryffindors to come and go from school as necessary.

The attack on the train station was, to Hermione's mind, not wholly unexpected. Nor was Ginny's knock on her door less than half an hour later. Hermione let out a quiet breath of relief at seeing her friend safe and sound.

Wordlessly, Ginny entered the room and sat on the foot of Hermione's bed. In equal silence, Hermione left the window and sat cross-legged at the head of her bed, clutching her pillow on her lap.

Ginny opened her mouth, her eyes damp but her voice hardened and steady. “It was Lavender. Bellatrix Lestrange got her. As she was running towards the school.”

Too stunned for speech, Hermione's jaw dropped. And then she was crying. Tears poured down her cheeks and chin.

Ginny stared at her friend, slightly perplexed by this display of pain. Once, perhaps, this might have seemed a natural reaction. But war had hardened them all. There had been so many deaths, so many. So many… They had become accustomed, after a fashion. And while they still cried sometimes, it wasn't often that they let themselves. The pain of the deaths was put aside and locked away. Locking her pain deep inside, Ginny steeled her voice and spoke. “Hermione... She isn't the first to die; you've dealt with death before.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, no. You don't understand.” Lavender was not black or white. She was not even brown, for the warmth of brown would have implied life. She was simply grey.

Ginny frowned slightly. "Please, Hermione, explain. You didn't react like this last week when you found out Colin had been killed. You didn't react like this three weeks ago when you heard about Professor Sinistra being murdered while on holiday. You and Lavender were never friends. Even before that business with Ron last year, you didn't like each other.”

“But I never hated her.” Tears continued to pour down Hermione's cheeks as she shook her head slightly. She hadn't hated her, not at all. She had been neither happy nor sad that she was not closer to Lavender.

Lavender Not Brown.

On Hermione's part there had been moments of spite, moments of regret. Yet objectively, Hermione could see no difference between the two of them. She would never know, but she guessed that Lavender too had had moments of spite and moments of regret.

Lavender Not White, Not Black.

Hermione's eyes glowed like embers as she replied to Ginny. “ You're perfectly right that we never got along. I know that. She either laughed or took offense at almost everything I said.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

“She didn't deserve to die.” Hermione had never hated her. Never. The absence of friendship between them had been a simple fact of life, largely unquestioned.

Lavender Dead.

“Almost no one does.”

“Does that make any difference? Does it?” Hermione challenged, her eyes sorrowing and blazing at once.

Ginny said nothing in reply.

“Maybe she disliked me. What of it? Maybe she hurt me. Maybe she hurt me often. I know we didn't see eye to eye. But does that really matter?”

“Usually.”

“No. It doesn't.” Hermione was firm. “Although she hurt me, it wasn't with malice. She was thoughtless, yes, and often unaware of how much pain she left in her wake.

“She was brave, you know. A true Gryffindor, whatever our personal conflicts. She stood up for what she believed in and what she saw as right. We may have differed. But she believed in right and wrong. Perhaps she was not kind, but she was not malicious either.”

Ginny inclined her head slightly. “So she didn't like you and you didn't like her, but you don't hate her for it.”

“It's not that simple. But that's something like it.”

Lavender Grey.

“Lavender Brown was not the most thoughtful person in the world, nor was she the nicest. Perhaps she hated me. She disliked me, certainly.

“We were not friends, but she had qualities I could respect and admire. She was brave, quite possibly braver than I have ever been or will ever be. She believed in right and wrong, and stood firmly for what she saw as right.”

Lavender Not Brown.
Lavender Not White, Not Black.
Lavender Dead.

Lavender Grey.

Hermione's voice softened slightly and she clutched the pillow more tightly. “She meant well, regardless of what she did or said. She honestly meant well. And in the end, that's really the best that can be said for any of us.”