The Runaway

The Runaway

There was nowhere to hide. All she could do was keep running. The shadows taunted her as her feet pounded on the uneven pavement. She was so very alone.

Lavender had never felt less like a Gryffindor. She wasn't courageous or daring or... she was just a silly naïve child. She knew, deep within her heart, that by running from the death that surely awaited her was the least Gryffindor think she could ever do. She should have stayed behind, waited it out. Fought with her friends to the very end. But Lavender was scared.

When she could run no longer she perched on the corner of the pavement. If she could just breathe, she might be able to get her head straight. Yet she knew she was lying to herself. Nothing could fix her broken heart. Nothing.

She didn't want to die though. Losing Ron to Hermione wasn't grave enough for that. Death was... well, death is death. Final. Absolute. Lavender shuddered as she remembered how it had felt, seeing and feeling death... in that blasted crystal ball.

It was all Trelawney's fault. If only she hadn't left Lavender alone in the class room with such horrors. Her heart ached and her face flushed as she re-played the scene in her mind. Ron... with Hermione's children... such beautiful children...

She wanted it so fiercely that she ached for it. She wanted that love, that devotion. She wanted him to want her like she longed for him. She had really loved him, she still did. And he had used her. Used her, like a pawn, in the game for Hermione's affection.

But she wouldn't think of them. Lavender picked herself up and before she knew it, she was running again.

She wasn't particularly fast or agile as she stumbled further and further away from Hogsmeade. She could never return. Never.

"Oh, sweet marlin," she sobbed, the tears falling to fast to catch. This was torture.

"Oh, Ron. If only you knew... If only you knew what was going to happen! Would you have stayed with me, until the end? Would you have died with me, for me?"

Lavender came to a halt as her emotions got the better of her. She wanted to hate him.

She wanted to hurt him. Her hands balled into fists and she punched a wall, imagining

it was Ron or Hermione... or both. She inflicted blow after blow on the wall, hoping

that the physical pain would block out the emotional pain.

By the time Lavender had finished, her hands were a bloody mess. She winced at the sight and blinked back the fresh tears. Bowing her head, she continued on her way. She wouldn't run though. Not this time. She would walk. Take her time. At least in her muddled mind, it seemed to be the Gryffindor coward's way out. She wasn't running away. Not really. She was walking. She forced her head up and breathed in the air around her. Wrinkling her nose, she realised that even the damn air was corrupted.

Lavender could only hope that she would survive this war. She had no intention of returning.