Stars Fall, Epilogue
It's really done now, and I'm a little sad because I really really loved writing it. This pairing is probably not dead. I like it too much. :) I hope you've enjoyed reading as much as I've loved writing it
His office smells like books and dust and dirty aquarium tanks (everything like he remembers). There are papers scattered everywhere, and Lavender's sitting on the desk (never ever in a chair), a paper in her hands. She looks up when he opens the door, a smile curling on her Rose-Vision-lipsticked mouth. "Way to steal my thunder, Remus. Of course I couldn't have my cinematic deathbed scene. No!"
Lavender frowns theatrically, her arms crossed over her chest. He just shrugs at her, grinning broadly. "Not like I planned on that massive stroke in my sleep."
"And after all that 'oh, I'm cursed to live forever' drivel you subjected me to, you have the nerve to die in my deathbed." She grins, leaning in to shake her head at him (he wonders how he managed for the eternity—or was it just a moment?—he'd just spent without her). "I got you back. I keeled over at your funeral. I insisted on going and fell out of my chair ten minutes in. Died right there. So ha."
He looks around. People don't choose places for no reason…they always mean something. "What are we doing here?"
She shrugs, shaking her head. "Dunno. Guess it reminded me of you." She sniffs, wrinkling her nose at the dust and disarray. "Before I cleaned you up." She smiles, that perfect wide happy smile. The paper in her hand is familiar, and Remus recognizes it. "I didn't even know you'd ever seen this. You kept it," she half-whispers.
It's her essay on werewolves, arguing the biggest way to tell between a wolf and a werewolf is whether, after the moon sets, the creature in question turns into a human for the rest of the month. There's a heavy implication of 'duh' behind her words (the paper almost drips with it, in a way that only a thirteen-year-old author could convey); what other differences matter? One's a human most of the time and one's not. Humans are humans and it's not their fault if they happen to turn into something else once a month. Imperius victims aren't held accountable for the actions taken by some third party through them, why should any werewolf?
To tell the truth, (now it doesn't seem so wrong to admit) it was reading this paper that Remus first loved Lavender Brown. Long before Fenrir Greyback had ever ruined her human life, long before she'd borne those scars with grace, long before he'd ever really known her, the thirteen-year-old Lavender had still had a compassionate and understanding heart (and a teenage girl's keen concept of 'completely unfair').
She sets the paper down. "I've got a lot of things to tell you. Everyone got all morbid after you kicked it without proper notice. 'Tell Remus this, Lavender, when you're dead, tell him that.'"
"I'd rather just talk to you right now. It feels like forever since I've seen you." He still hasn't managed to walk over to her. She seems too real.
"Three days. I can't say I got too fussed over you dying, although waking up to your dead body wrapped around me was slightly…creepy. I felt bad, everyone was getting all weepy and if I'd had the energy I would've been dancing on your grave." She shrugs a little as if in apology.
"Now, that's love," he tells her, smiling and she laughs. He looks her over. "Lavender, most people put on clothes before this point." (Not that he minds, really.)
She laughs, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder. "I'm wearing something." In his opinion, the lavender-and-white-lace lingerie she's wearing doesn't really count as 'something.' Her eyes sparkle as she looks back at him. "I'm beautiful again. As far as I'm concerned, this is as much as I'm going to wear ever again." She grins, getting off the desk and holding out her hand.
He takes her smooth, young hand into his own. The scars she's worn for so long have faded, gone with the silver of her hair and lines engraved in her face. "You were always beautiful," he tells her (he's never meant words more in his…ever). His hand brushes against the more generous curve of her smooth-skinned hip—he couldn't care less about her flawless white skin (it's almost strange to him, to see her so free and careless in her skin, and if she didn't laugh the same, if she didn't still smell of her expensive perfume, if her hand didn't fit so well in his own, if her stars didn't shine so familiarly, he might not know her), but she's so happy to be beautiful for him that he has to appreciate it.
"Now I can believe you a little when you tell me I'm a goddess," she smiles, getting off the desk and holding out her hand. "And speaking of beautiful," she says brightly, "Not bad! Twenty-one suits you."
"I don't think I ever called you a 'goddess'," Remus protests, reddening slightly. "It sounds rather…tawdry."
She ducks her head to his shoulder, laughing (he doesn't think she ever laughed this much in life; she's not even got there and heaven already suits her). "I counted twice. Both times I will not fault you for not remembering…I was making a huge distraction of myself in both instances."
He blushes (so maybe that word fell out at some point, he said a lot of ridiculous things when she was…making a distraction of herself). He shakes it off. "Really, Lavender, you might want to put some clothes on. I don't think you want to see your parents looking like that."
She wears a lavender and white-lace dress that flows around her when she walks. After she's smoothed the fabric over her hips (she's not so terribly skinny anymore, the sharp angles in her face and frame have smoothed out) she pauses, looking over at him.
"So," she says softly. There's a little bit of curiosity in her voice, a little uncertainty. But there is no fear. "What's it like?"
He can't really think of any word to explain (there aren't any, really; it's beyond words) but he tries.
"It's like…stars." He shrugs a little helplessly (he's lost for words and he so wants to tell her how…just how…) holding out his hand again. "I think you just have to…" (not see) "…feel it."
Lavender's hand curls into his, and her starry indigo eyes meet his for a moment. "Stars…" she smiles peacefully, her eyes still locked on his. "Maybe I know a little bit, then."