As Lavender Brown's body lay amongst the ruins of what was once her home, she watched a family grieve the loss of one of their own, wondering why fate had so cruelly dealt them such cards. From a young age, all she wanted was to love and be loved in...
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»»» GROWING up, Lavender always knew that there was something different about her mother.Unlike normal mothers she would often disappear into a world of her own, sensing things beyond the naked eye and voluntarily choosing to take the burden of it. It always fascinated her as a young child to watch as people would approach her mother with all sorts of questions and problems. Some would need help finding closure after the death of a loved one, others would want to silence the voices that haunted them in the depths of the night. Mary Brown seemed to have a solution for them all.
When she was younger, out of sheer boredom, Lavender would often accompany her mother to work and listen to the various stories that they would bring. There were times people were unable to speak, trapped in memories that claimed them as victims and far too frightened to see what reality could possibly hold for them.
One particular memory that she could never forget was on a dark stormy night when she was only four years of age. She had stayed up playing exploding snap with her father, squealing every time the cards would pop up at her. Harold added to the magic by conjuring them to change colour at her touch.
"Lavender, for my precious girl," he would say as they each turned a wonderful shade of purple.
The storm didn't bother her too much as she had curled up on the sofa, head resting on her father's lap, forcing the last straws of energy to remain awake to listen to his stories. Somewhere in the distance, she knew her mother was busy knitting away, humming to herself, lost again in another world. The sharp knock on the door woke her up and startled everyone in the family for it was an extremely late hour.
Mary and Harold exchanged glances, before ushering Lavender to the kitchen and ordering her to remain hidden. Though You-Know-Who had long since been vanquished, people still had a difficult time trusting one another.
Lavender rubbed her eyes and squinted into the hallway at the new arrivals; an elderly lady, a man, a woman and a small boy that looked about the same age as she. The woman kept whispering, her large eyes scanning the room before landing in the corner where Lavender hid.
Augusta Longbottom had brought her son and his wife to get help for St. Mungo's had delivered them both a sentence worse than death. Still holding out to hope, she had heard of the alternative magic that Mary Brown dabbled in and was desperate to attempt anything to relieve them.
Mary held out her hand and in one she held Frank's, the other, his wife. Though it would forever be unclear as to what she saw, tears streamed down her cheeks holding but a fraction of the pain they now suffered. No matter how much she tried, she could not take away the burden.
The little boy grew agitated and started to cry, a sound that caused Lavender to venture outside of her hiding spot. She never liked it when people cried, finding the sound unnerving and discomforting. But there was something about that boy's cry that felt so primal that she had to go investigate. It led her to slip her hand into his own and give it squeeze.
