A sizzling brightness cut like a knife across my eyelids. Lifting my head slowly, I tried to regain feeling in my body. My fingers cracked out of their unnatural position while my kneecaps slid back into place with a satisfying pop! Sitting up was an excruciating experience as always, and standing presented its usual predicament.

Once on my feet and moving, I grabbed the vial of Wolfsbane and returned it to its cabinet in the bathroom. I would have to pick up more in time for next month’s transformation. Looking into the mirror, I cursed my reflection. Dirty blonde hair that was once long and thick now seemed dead. My hair isn’t the only thing that looks deceased, I thought, staring into my own eyes. For the millionth time in the last seven years, I cursed Fenrir Greyback.

Pulling a black robe over my head, I finger combed my mousy locks before grabbing my bag and exiting my suffocating house. It was only noon and already I was craving a drink. My body felt shattered and ached in protest of having to work so quickly after a transformation, but I needed liquor so much it hurt as well.

“No honey, stay on this side of me,” a harried mother whispered quickly, jerking her little girl to the far side of the street. I watched, my eyes burning a hole in the woman. I knew exactly why she didn’t want her child coming near me. The mother’s eyes met mine and I could read the fear in them. Scowling, I pushed past the pair. I wouldn’t allow the woman to see my own eyes cloud with tears.

Yes, I thought. I, Lavender Brown, should be refrained from looking upon children, for I shall surely eat them before your very eyes. I wanted to be sick.

Wiping the sweat from my upper lip, I quickly ducked across the cobbled street, hiding my face behind my frayed hair. Even though I was now used to people avoiding my eyes, recognizing me from the newly released Werewolf Registry, it didn’t make it any easier. The pain of having gone from a completely normal life to one of pain and humiliation was sometimes overbearing.

A gust of wind whipped up the main street of Hogsmeade just as I opened the pub door. I had chosen The Three Broomsticks over the Hogs Head today. I had had enough of darkness for the next few days.

The pub was its usual gleaming self, courtesy of Rosmerta. I bumped my head at the familiar bartender before claiming my regular stool in the far right corner.

I watched the patrons as I waited to be served. A group of rowdy old warlocks were stationed by the door. They came in almost as much as I did. By the large bay window sat a younger crowd, probably fresh out of Hogwarts. I could feel the sting of envy tracing up my spine as they laughed and smiled without a care in the world.

“So, my dear, what will it be today?” Rosmerta asked, rapping on the wooden bar.

“Scotch, please.” I leaned forward as the thick liquid was poured. My tongue felt dry as I ran it over my teeth, which were still abnormally sharp. I could taste blood in my mouth and swallowed.

Rosmerta handed me my drink and I barely nodded my thanks before draining it. She shook her head sympathetically before refilling my glass.

After the curvy bartender had left to attend other customers, I twisted in my seat to watch the crowds. They were all so happy. Whole families entered with spirits high from the soft spring day. Couples came in periodically. Just as I was turning back to order another glass, two people caught my eye.

A homely woman with frizzy brown hair was walking hand in hand with a young girl. They were passing the windows and I saw the girl point towards the pub and push out her bottom lip. When the mother finely gave in, the small girl pulled her inside.

I quickly faced the mirror again. I recognized that woman from my own Hogwarts days. Hermione Granger had been in my year. Sneaking a peek, I saw the pair sit at a table close to where I was. I lowered my head, hoping Hermione wouldn’t see me.

Listening to the little girl chatter, however, my eyes drug involuntarily to the mirror. She couldn’t have been older than four and her hair was blazing red. With a jolt, I remembered that Hermione had married Ron Weasley after the War. This must be their child.

I could feel a pang of longing begin to ache deep down in my gut. I hastily guzzled the remains of my drink to try and quell it. That was long over. Obviously, I thought nastily, watching the young girl in the mirror.

Her mother glanced up and caught my eye.

“Lavender?”

Shit, I thought. Turning slowly on my barstool, I faced my fellow Gryffindor. “Hi Hermione.”

Standing up, she quickly walked around the table and embraced me. I hardened my features so as not to make a face of disgust. Not once since the War had I heard from her or anyone else, and yet now she thought we were good enough friends for hugs?

“How have you been?” she asked, concern embedded in her eyes. I shrugged. She could tell I wasn’t doing well, so why would she ask?

“I’ve been better,” I said. I gestured to the tiny girl at the table. “Who’s this?”

Hermione held out her hand and the tiny girl walked shyly up to her, grasping her hand and smiling meekly up at me. I could see instantly that she looked just like a miniature Ron, and my breath caught slightly in my throat.

“Rose, say hello to my old friend, Lavender Brown.”

The girl grinned before performing a curtsy, accompanied with, “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Brown.”

I could feel another eye roll coming on, but held fast. Rose was truly Hermione’s daughter, through and through. Instead of making the snotty remark on the tip of my tongue, I nodded sweetly to the redhead and replied, “The pleasure’s all mine, Rose.” But inside, I was wondering why Hermione was allowing her child to come within ten feet of me, unlike all the other mothers. Perhaps she was more open-minded than the women I passed on the street. But, as I recalled from my school days, Hermione Granger was rarely open-minded.

After the child toddled back to her table, I fixed Hermione with a glare so hard I’m surprised it didn’t scorch her. I returned to my stool and the woman claimed the one next to me. I sighed loudly, wishing she would simply disappear, and take her daughter with her. But, as always, Hermione couldn’t seem to take a hint.

“Lavender, how have you really been?”

In the absurdity of the entire situation, I slammed my empty glass onto the counter. My voice was harsh like gravel. “Listen here, Granger. You have no right to be speaking to me right now. You want to know how I am? Why is it that no one, not a single person from that bloody Order, could find a second to find out how I was in over half a decade?”

Hermione pulled back at my acidic tone, her face filled with shock.

I barreled on. “You people think that since the War is over, life can go back to being hunky-dory. Well, it might have slipped your minds, but for some of us, our lives were ruined that night. And if you’re still wondering how I am, I hope you realize by now that you’re seven years late.” And with that, I sharply turned back to face the bar, ignoring Hermione’s appalled expression as she softly rose from her seat and took her daughter’s hand, leading her out of The Three Broomsticks without her promised lunch.

Nothing so much as a sorry, I thought viciously as the tiny bell chimed, announcing their departure. But, of course, what does perfect Hermione Granger have to be sorry for? I wanted to either throw something or completely break down with the realization that in the end, Hermione had won. She had the life I longed for more than anything. She had married the man I had chased after all of my teenage life, had bared a beautiful daughter for him, and probably lived in a quaint little home somewhere in the country. She had completely stolen what I had dreamt to be mine. And I could safely say I hated her for it, with just as much determination as I had back in our sixth year.

Rosmerta was walking back my way again, and I lifted my glass, ready for thirds. The burn of the fine Scotch was calming my broiling insides, though I fought the urge to puke the drink back up. I probably should have eaten a little before trying to drown myself in alcohol.

As the bartender filled my glass for probably the final time this afternoon, she said, “You know, Lavender, I probably wouldn’t feel so bad about filling you with liquor that you drink like water if I saw it was doing you any good. But, honey,” she whispered gently, “I don’t think it’s helping you at all.”

I could feel a pinch behind my eyes and my nose close up so I couldn’t breathe properly. The motherly tone added a banging in my chest along with the other painful injuries I inflicted upon myself. Rosmerta, I felt, was the only person I had that was even close to a friend.

“Why don’t get out of town for awhile, or take up a hobby?” she continued. “Just something to stay out of this bar.”

I shook my head sadly. “You don’t see how people look at me, Rosmerta. Everyone told me after I left St. Mungo’s that things would be different, that people would accept me as a Lycanthrope. But nothing has changed.” I sighed. “Nothing has changed in the last seven years, or in the last thousand for werewolves.”

Sipping on my drink, slowly this time, I said, “I knew things would change for me, but I didn’t know they would change so much.”

“Maybe you need a fella,” Rosmerta said simply, filling another man’s drink and slipping it down the bar to him.

I snorted humourlessly at her. “If I don’t have any friends, how do you propose I’m supposed to have a boyfriend? Besides,” I muttered, “I tried that and we see how well my last relationship turned out to be.”

“Well Lavender,” Rosmerta said with a trace of impatience, “maybe you need to at least try instead of sulking inside my bar developing an alcohol addiction.” And with that, she topped off my drink and sauntered down to the other end of the bar. I noted the contradictory of her actions and grinned. The foreign act pulled at my cheeks and I dropped the smile immediately.

I sat there thinking of the confrontation with Hermione. Her daughter Rose had been beautiful, though a blow to me. I wondered what would have happened if Ron and I had stayed together…would our daughter have been just as pretty? Astonished with myself and my thoughts, I took a searing gulp of Scotch and rocked back and forth on my stool. I had questioned myself over and over again on what would have happened if Ron and I had not been so foolish years ago. But, I reasoned, we had been sixteen.

The tinkling of the bell sounded louder than normal, and I felt as if instinct told me to look over my shoulder at the person who had entered.

Seamus Finnigan looked just as cheery and carefree as he had at Hogwarts, I noticed at once. I slung my ragged hair across my eyes and peered between the locks. The man’s bright brown eyes sparkled as he waved at Rosmerta and began walking across the pub. I scrunched my shoulders, trying to look as small as possible as he claimed the stool two away from mine. Turning my head, I hoped he wouldn’t try to recognize me.

“Lavender Brown?”

Looking up, I saw him staring openly at my face in the mirror. I was going to have to retreat to The Hog’s Head again. Swiveling slowly, I faced another old Gryffindor, this time a little more welcome to speak to.

“Seamus,” I nodded a greeting. Why was he talking to me?

Jumping up from his stool, he darted over and sat in the one right next to me. “Long time no see,” he said, a wide grin taking over his handsome face. His thick Irish accent brought an original smile to my own face, the first in a long time.

“Why don’t I ever see you anymore?” he asked conversationally.

I raised my eyebrows to him. Surely he knew…

“Well,” I said, unsure of myself. “I just, ah, don’t get out…all that much these days.” My fingers strummed an indescribable tune on the gleaming counter and I felt ashamed. I felt ashamed and angry that I didn’t lead a perfectly normal life like all the other people in the damn Wizarding World. And I was angry that Seamus was talking to me, like I was a perfectly normal person. I wasn’t normal, and I hadn’t been normal for seven years. How could he try to carry on a normal conversation with me?

“Why are you talking to me Seamus?”

The bluntness of my question obviously caught him off guard, for his eyes widened and he leaned back on his stool. I just sat there, blinking slowly, waiting for his answer.

“Lavender,” he began, “surely you don’t think that I would refuse to talk to you just because you’re a…” He looked intensely into my eyes, and I could tell he wasn’t lying, and the pureness of his statement almost sent me over the edge. I could feel the tears welling behind my eyes, for perhaps I could truly be accepted by someone. Maybe someone could care that I was more than my disease, that there was actually more to Lavender Brown than the animal inside me. Just maybe…

“Seamus,” I sighed, willing my eyes not to start leaking. “If you could know what I’ve been through the last few years, you would know why I’m skeptical of anyone even speaking to me.” My hands clasped around my half empty drink and I looked away from Seamus.

My old Gryffindor friend simply stared at me, at loss for words, as I knew he would be. But I hoped he would reassure me, tell me that he was still my friend, even after the years. All I wanted in this world was a friend.

“Look, Lavender, I’m sorry about not ever coming to check up on you, but no one has heard from you in forever. We just assumed you had left the area and didn’t want to associate with us anymore.” He paused, then went on. “I just saw the updated version of the Werewolf Registry, and saw that you were still living near Hogsmeade. That’s really the only reason I knew that you were…well, you. You don’t look, err, you’ve changed a, uh, bit since the last time I saw you.”

I chuckled, and the laugh was scratchy and strained my throat. “Just a bit, eh?” A small tear slipped down my cheek, and I lifted my hand to swipe it away, but his hand reached it first. His smooth palm cupped my face and his thumb brushed the tear away gently. My eyes were wide in shock. My body was humming at the human contact, which I had not received in so long. I closed my eyes and exhaled, making sure I wasn’t dreaming. When his hand left me, I opened my eyes and simply stared at him.

Biting his lip, Seamus ran a hand over his shortly cut hair and said, “Lavender, I would never believe you were less than a regular person just because of what happened. There’s nothing wrong with you…you just have a small problem. But it’s no big deal,” he hurried on. “It doesn’t make you anything less or change my opinion of you at all.”

Sighing, I said quietly, “You’re probably the only person besides Rosmerta to believe that, Seamus, and it means a lot to me, so thank you.” I pushed my drink away, and the bartender caught my eye, grinning triumphantly. I quirked a dimple at her, before returning my attention to Seamus.

“We’ve been friends for awhile, haven’t we Seamus?” I asked him.

“Since first year,” he nodded. “I took you to the Yule Ball, remember?”

Blushing at the memory, I told him I did. Seamus also coloured, remembering that night, and I’m sure wishing he hadn’t brought it up. We had argued over him dancing with a girl from Durmstrang, but the night had ended in a kiss. Maybe he brought it up for a reason, I thought hopefully.

Thankfully, Rosmerta picked that instant to walk over and retrieve my glass. I looked into it, astonished with myself. I hadn’t drained it.

Rosmerta smiled at me, knowing why I looked so amazed and said to Seamus, “Mr. Finnigan, you are a real life saver. Looks like you’re helping our Lavender from giving herself alcohol poisoning.” Winking, she returned to the other end.

“Alcohol poisoning?” he asked, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“It’s nothing, she was just joking,” I said quickly.

Smirking, Seamus just looked amused. I could feel myself relaxing around him, and for once I felt like myself. My old self, the one that smiled and giggled at everything to keep the mood upbeat. I could feel a tingling in my stomach as Seamus and I sat and talked about our memories.

A hand crept over Seamus’s shoulder and I leaned over to see a pretty girl with thick glossy hair. I recognized her but couldn’t recall her name, for I’m sure she was in the year below Seamus and me at Hogwarts. I knew she had been a Gryffindor.

“I’m through shopping, darling. Ready to go?” she asked, her face glowing. I felt myself twitch at her choice of words. Darling?

I watched as Seamus jumped from his stool and took the girl’s hand. “One moment Vicky. I would like you to meet my old friend from Hogwarts, Lavender Brown.”

The girl smiled her greeting and shook my hand, and I shivered at her icy fingers. I caught Seamus looking lovingly at her before telling me, “We’ll stay in touch, Lavender. See you soon, I hope!” And with that, the couple left The Three Broomsticks.

I sat unmoving on the stool. What had just happened? For a moment, I had caught myself thinking of Seamus in a more personal way. He had, after all, sat and talked with me, even touched me. I had felt the craving of his hands after he had wiped away my tear. I had relished in the fact that someone cared enough to think I was something more than the animal I had become.

Why hadn’t he mentioned he had a girlfriend while we had been talking?

I’m a stupid, stupid girl, I thought. Wrapping on the bar, I asked Rosmerta to bring me back my glass of unfinished Scotch. The bartender didn’t ask, for she had seen the exchange. Her eyes were hooded and sad as I took the glass and emptied it. I could feel tears running down my cheeks as quickly as the liquor flowing down my throat.

And in that moment, I realized that all my life I had chased after love and the feeling of companionship. And for my whole life, it had evaded me. I then made the connection that love, for me, is like the moon, for the moon is beautiful, breathtaking, but in the end, it only brings pain.