Fic: "Right Sorts of Friends" for paradise_loved
Title: Right Sorts of Friends
Author: florahart
Recipient's name: paradise_loved
Rating: G
Character: Lavender Brown
Words: 1885
A/N: We don't know one way or another what Lavender's bloodline and home life are like. I have made her a pureblood. This is a glimpse into her first year.
"Don't muss the hair, lovey," Mother said, hugging the air around Lavender and keeping her carefully-highlighted strands clear of anywhere Lavender might. "Now. Remember what I've told you. You're nearly twelve, and it's time to be making associations. See to it you find the right sorts of friends, and for heaven's sake, don't get sorted into Hufflepuff. Proper ladies don't work hard; that involves perspiration. You won't be a Ravenclaw, of course, but that's quite all right. It doesn't do to come off as smart, even if you aren't."
With that, she patted Lavender's back and steered her up onto the train, then backed away and dabbed at her entirely non-tearful eyes with an antique lace handkerchief that certainly didn't touch her face; Lavender watched her through the window of the fifth compartment ("not too far forward, dear, or you'll look anxious. But not in the back; people will make …assumptions"), smiling before she sat down.
She sat carefully in the window seat, back straight, and introduced herself properly to the other girls as they came in and sat down.
A boy named Neville--Hufflepuff for sure, that one; look at those square hands--came in to sit down, but Lavender explained about this being an all-girls compartment, and he went on. Well. After she had him put up her valise on the overhead rack. One of the other girls--Muggleborn, and probably full of odd ideas--thought that was cruel and went off after him, but Lavender merely relaxed back against the worn plush seat. She had to make friends with others in her house, and he wasn't going to be, now, was he?
--
She listened with half an ear to the song of the horrid ratty old hat--had that thing ever been fashionable? Merlin. It wasn't as though she were unfamiliar with the houses, so she mostly looked around at the other girls she'd shared tea with, on the train. The Muggleborn that went off after the Hufflepuff was probably going to be a Ravenclaw; Lavender had got a good look at her book-bag and she was nearly certain nothing in there had been anything but a book, so she had a pretty good idea. And, well. The Patil girls, she wasn't sure about. Parkinson, though. She'd make a good ally, though Lavender thought she might show her a thing or two about minimizing the up-tilt of her nose.
She was glad her name was early in the list. Less waiting, that way, and then she could just watch and see who her cohort would be.
There was the Bones girl--oh. Hufflepuff. Well. She seemed nice enough. Maybe Lavender could chat with her sometimes, when she wasn't perspiring. Mother couldn’t object to that, could she?
She was up, now, and since she knew there was no threat of Ravenclaw, she just concentrated on not being a Hufflepuff. Not that there was much threat of that, either; she certainly wasn't going to put in the hours for that.
The hat just touched her head, which was gross and now she was going to have to wash her hair, and announced Gryffindor, and that was fine. She went to sit at the table, next to a blonde and a pair of red-headed twins to wait.
When the Muggleborn--Granger, that was her name but it was of course no wonder Lavender hadn't known it--dragged her immense bag over, Lavender merely went back to watching, though she wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation. When Pansy Parkinson went to Slytherin and then Padma Patil went to Ravenclaw, she sighed. Twins usually--oh! Well. All right. One like mind, then, out of that whole compartment of girls.
It wasn't going to be all Mother had hoped, but she supposed she and Parvati could make do.
--
She wasn't surprised when Hermione was, in fact, just as disinterested in the social niceties as she'd thought from their first meeting on the train, but she didn't worry about that. Mother always said, you work with what you have, so she did. Of course, Mother also always said that while sighing over Lavender's hair, so thinking about it gave her a bit of a pang because really, she rather liked the wavy texture she had, but she didn't dwell on it.
By Halloween morning, she had taught Parvati to put hers in an updo that left little tendrils down--though her version wasn't quite as tidy as she would have liked--and in exchange, Parvati had taught her to make the pretty four-strand braid that didn't look as beautiful in Lavender's shorter hair, but was stunning in Parvati's, which fell to her waist. Together, they worked through Potions revisions, quizzing each other over hot rollers and a perfectly horrid experiment in eye shadow (who knew that shade of orange would be so awful on her?), and if Hermione had other interests, that was fine.
Though Lavender was nearly sure that given the opportunity she could do a great deal with all that hair.
--
She'd been a bit concerned about what it meant to be a Gryffindor, after all, when she realized that while she was busy watching the other girls, Neville Longbottom had been sorted into the same house she'd wound up in.
Well. She'd been wrong about him, then, though when she looked over at him, laboring over his cauldron or twisting his wrist just-so to swish and flick the wand he wasn't holding, practicing the move, she could see the traits she'd pegged in the first place: determination and perseverance.
She supposed she was that way too, only in her, mother called it stubbornness. But she hadn't wanted to be a Hufflepuff. Occasionally, she wondered whether perhaps he had felt the same.
Still, she told Parvati, shoulder-to-shoulder on her bed as they waited for their nails to dry, it was odd; it seemed as though their house, or at least their year, was filled with ambitious, smart, hard-working people, and that just didn't make sense.
Parvati shrugged and said for herself, she'd mostly wanted not to go to the same house as Padma. It wasn't that she wasn't smart enough; it was that they'd agreed they always had each other, and they might as well make other friends.
They hadn't quite anticipated the degree of separation, she added, a little sad.
Lavender nodded and thought about expectations and outcomes. They didn't always match up, Mother had said (generally while sighing over Lavender's skirt), and Lavender thought that was true, though she did try to meet expectations herself. But, for instance, she'd expected Harry Potter--and hadn't she been lucky to be in the same house with him?--to be heroic and, oh, she wasn't sure. Mannerly? And instead he was scrawny and confused and really kind of pathetic.
Still, she supposed he was brave, so the tradition as far as the houses was all right.
--
Draco Malfoy really was a right prat, Lavender had decided after the Remembrall incident. He wasn't doing much to improve her opinion, and really, it was too bad, because she liked Pansy. She'd envisioned whispering and sharing fashion magazines with her, but she was always simpering about after Draco. Pathetic, she thought. Mother always said that sort of thing was not done; a woman's job was to make herself beautiful and show men what she could be, not throw herself shamelessly.
Even Hermione, well, she didn't look her best because she didn't do anything with her hair and her teeth were a bit overwhelming, but at least she wasn't indecent!
It was a worrying trend, though, about the boys being prats. The pureblood boys; right along the time she talked about displaying oneself appropriately, Mother also generally mentioned how important it was to make the right impression to those of excellent birth.
As far as Lavender could tell, Ron was technically pure but not of what Mother would call excellent birth, and he was a bit thick, she supposed, but not awful, and Neville was …Hufflepuffish. But besides them, she'd started to think every pureblooded boy was awful. Malfoy. Zabini. Smith. All of them.
She shook her head and fixed her eyelashes, drawing her face down and looking up to get them just so.
Perhaps some of the older boys were more …appropriate. Though Parvati said they weren't, and she was usually right.
--
It really was too bad they didn't get Divination yet in first year. Lavender kept getting the idea something …exceptional was going on, something to do with Harry, but she couldn’t work out what that would be, except that he kept getting detentions and talking over the lunch table about unicorns and dragons at the school.
Which was ridiculous; there were no unicorns here. They'd surely have shown themselves to her, wouldn’t they? And it would be hard to hide an entire dragon.
She asked Hermione, but the answer was unhelpful; Lavender didn't understand half of it, and she didn't want to ask again. That was another really primary rule for making the right impression: never give the idea you're not very bright.
Lavender knew she wasn't; that was why she stuck to her strengths. But she still wished there was something a bit clearer for her to look to. Something to explain it all, like tea leaves, or a good crystal ball.
--
She'd got an Owl already from Mother.
It was inevitable, of course. The grapevine always got news back, one way or another, and even if no one quite believed it had really been You-Know-Who, the adventure made quite the tale. And now Mother wanted to know what she'd had to do with the entire affair. She'd had to answer nothing, and she knew what the next bit was to be.
She was going to be asked, well who did get involved, and then Mother was going to be annoyed. Lavender had written home all year about Hermione and her distinct lack of femininity, and about clumsy Neville Longbottom, the should-have-been-Hufflepuff.
And they'd been right there for a great adventure.
Hermione! Solving what Lavender heard had been a logic puzzle of some sort to help Harry along. And Neville! Standing up against them, but standing up, getting house points, getting recognized.
It wasn't that a proper lady should be haring off on adventures, of course. Lavender knew that. But haring off and being in position to know, to assist, to aid--that was different. And she had been none of these things.
She thumbed through the magazine on her desk and considered.
She still knew she wasn't smart, and she still knew she wasn't especially hard-working, but she could be helpful and loyal, and maybe, if someone asked her too, a little bit brave.
She wondered whether there would ever be another opportunity to participate in such an adventure, and vowed that if there was, she would at least go and see.
She wasn't smart, and she wasn't industrious, and she knew she was mostly a pretty face, but then, maybe sometime, a pretty face would be what they needed.
Neville's face floated into her mind, and she nodded to herself. If someone like that could be a hero, then maybe, one day, there would be a chance.
Author: florahart
Recipient's name: paradise_loved
Rating: G
Character: Lavender Brown
Words: 1885
A/N: We don't know one way or another what Lavender's bloodline and home life are like. I have made her a pureblood. This is a glimpse into her first year.
"Don't muss the hair, lovey," Mother said, hugging the air around Lavender and keeping her carefully-highlighted strands clear of anywhere Lavender might. "Now. Remember what I've told you. You're nearly twelve, and it's time to be making associations. See to it you find the right sorts of friends, and for heaven's sake, don't get sorted into Hufflepuff. Proper ladies don't work hard; that involves perspiration. You won't be a Ravenclaw, of course, but that's quite all right. It doesn't do to come off as smart, even if you aren't."
With that, she patted Lavender's back and steered her up onto the train, then backed away and dabbed at her entirely non-tearful eyes with an antique lace handkerchief that certainly didn't touch her face; Lavender watched her through the window of the fifth compartment ("not too far forward, dear, or you'll look anxious. But not in the back; people will make …assumptions"), smiling before she sat down.
She sat carefully in the window seat, back straight, and introduced herself properly to the other girls as they came in and sat down.
A boy named Neville--Hufflepuff for sure, that one; look at those square hands--came in to sit down, but Lavender explained about this being an all-girls compartment, and he went on. Well. After she had him put up her valise on the overhead rack. One of the other girls--Muggleborn, and probably full of odd ideas--thought that was cruel and went off after him, but Lavender merely relaxed back against the worn plush seat. She had to make friends with others in her house, and he wasn't going to be, now, was he?
--
She listened with half an ear to the song of the horrid ratty old hat--had that thing ever been fashionable? Merlin. It wasn't as though she were unfamiliar with the houses, so she mostly looked around at the other girls she'd shared tea with, on the train. The Muggleborn that went off after the Hufflepuff was probably going to be a Ravenclaw; Lavender had got a good look at her book-bag and she was nearly certain nothing in there had been anything but a book, so she had a pretty good idea. And, well. The Patil girls, she wasn't sure about. Parkinson, though. She'd make a good ally, though Lavender thought she might show her a thing or two about minimizing the up-tilt of her nose.
She was glad her name was early in the list. Less waiting, that way, and then she could just watch and see who her cohort would be.
There was the Bones girl--oh. Hufflepuff. Well. She seemed nice enough. Maybe Lavender could chat with her sometimes, when she wasn't perspiring. Mother couldn’t object to that, could she?
She was up, now, and since she knew there was no threat of Ravenclaw, she just concentrated on not being a Hufflepuff. Not that there was much threat of that, either; she certainly wasn't going to put in the hours for that.
The hat just touched her head, which was gross and now she was going to have to wash her hair, and announced Gryffindor, and that was fine. She went to sit at the table, next to a blonde and a pair of red-headed twins to wait.
When the Muggleborn--Granger, that was her name but it was of course no wonder Lavender hadn't known it--dragged her immense bag over, Lavender merely went back to watching, though she wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation. When Pansy Parkinson went to Slytherin and then Padma Patil went to Ravenclaw, she sighed. Twins usually--oh! Well. All right. One like mind, then, out of that whole compartment of girls.
It wasn't going to be all Mother had hoped, but she supposed she and Parvati could make do.
--
She wasn't surprised when Hermione was, in fact, just as disinterested in the social niceties as she'd thought from their first meeting on the train, but she didn't worry about that. Mother always said, you work with what you have, so she did. Of course, Mother also always said that while sighing over Lavender's hair, so thinking about it gave her a bit of a pang because really, she rather liked the wavy texture she had, but she didn't dwell on it.
By Halloween morning, she had taught Parvati to put hers in an updo that left little tendrils down--though her version wasn't quite as tidy as she would have liked--and in exchange, Parvati had taught her to make the pretty four-strand braid that didn't look as beautiful in Lavender's shorter hair, but was stunning in Parvati's, which fell to her waist. Together, they worked through Potions revisions, quizzing each other over hot rollers and a perfectly horrid experiment in eye shadow (who knew that shade of orange would be so awful on her?), and if Hermione had other interests, that was fine.
Though Lavender was nearly sure that given the opportunity she could do a great deal with all that hair.
--
She'd been a bit concerned about what it meant to be a Gryffindor, after all, when she realized that while she was busy watching the other girls, Neville Longbottom had been sorted into the same house she'd wound up in.
Well. She'd been wrong about him, then, though when she looked over at him, laboring over his cauldron or twisting his wrist just-so to swish and flick the wand he wasn't holding, practicing the move, she could see the traits she'd pegged in the first place: determination and perseverance.
She supposed she was that way too, only in her, mother called it stubbornness. But she hadn't wanted to be a Hufflepuff. Occasionally, she wondered whether perhaps he had felt the same.
Still, she told Parvati, shoulder-to-shoulder on her bed as they waited for their nails to dry, it was odd; it seemed as though their house, or at least their year, was filled with ambitious, smart, hard-working people, and that just didn't make sense.
Parvati shrugged and said for herself, she'd mostly wanted not to go to the same house as Padma. It wasn't that she wasn't smart enough; it was that they'd agreed they always had each other, and they might as well make other friends.
They hadn't quite anticipated the degree of separation, she added, a little sad.
Lavender nodded and thought about expectations and outcomes. They didn't always match up, Mother had said (generally while sighing over Lavender's skirt), and Lavender thought that was true, though she did try to meet expectations herself. But, for instance, she'd expected Harry Potter--and hadn't she been lucky to be in the same house with him?--to be heroic and, oh, she wasn't sure. Mannerly? And instead he was scrawny and confused and really kind of pathetic.
Still, she supposed he was brave, so the tradition as far as the houses was all right.
--
Draco Malfoy really was a right prat, Lavender had decided after the Remembrall incident. He wasn't doing much to improve her opinion, and really, it was too bad, because she liked Pansy. She'd envisioned whispering and sharing fashion magazines with her, but she was always simpering about after Draco. Pathetic, she thought. Mother always said that sort of thing was not done; a woman's job was to make herself beautiful and show men what she could be, not throw herself shamelessly.
Even Hermione, well, she didn't look her best because she didn't do anything with her hair and her teeth were a bit overwhelming, but at least she wasn't indecent!
It was a worrying trend, though, about the boys being prats. The pureblood boys; right along the time she talked about displaying oneself appropriately, Mother also generally mentioned how important it was to make the right impression to those of excellent birth.
As far as Lavender could tell, Ron was technically pure but not of what Mother would call excellent birth, and he was a bit thick, she supposed, but not awful, and Neville was …Hufflepuffish. But besides them, she'd started to think every pureblooded boy was awful. Malfoy. Zabini. Smith. All of them.
She shook her head and fixed her eyelashes, drawing her face down and looking up to get them just so.
Perhaps some of the older boys were more …appropriate. Though Parvati said they weren't, and she was usually right.
--
It really was too bad they didn't get Divination yet in first year. Lavender kept getting the idea something …exceptional was going on, something to do with Harry, but she couldn’t work out what that would be, except that he kept getting detentions and talking over the lunch table about unicorns and dragons at the school.
Which was ridiculous; there were no unicorns here. They'd surely have shown themselves to her, wouldn’t they? And it would be hard to hide an entire dragon.
She asked Hermione, but the answer was unhelpful; Lavender didn't understand half of it, and she didn't want to ask again. That was another really primary rule for making the right impression: never give the idea you're not very bright.
Lavender knew she wasn't; that was why she stuck to her strengths. But she still wished there was something a bit clearer for her to look to. Something to explain it all, like tea leaves, or a good crystal ball.
--
She'd got an Owl already from Mother.
It was inevitable, of course. The grapevine always got news back, one way or another, and even if no one quite believed it had really been You-Know-Who, the adventure made quite the tale. And now Mother wanted to know what she'd had to do with the entire affair. She'd had to answer nothing, and she knew what the next bit was to be.
She was going to be asked, well who did get involved, and then Mother was going to be annoyed. Lavender had written home all year about Hermione and her distinct lack of femininity, and about clumsy Neville Longbottom, the should-have-been-Hufflepuff.
And they'd been right there for a great adventure.
Hermione! Solving what Lavender heard had been a logic puzzle of some sort to help Harry along. And Neville! Standing up against them, but standing up, getting house points, getting recognized.
It wasn't that a proper lady should be haring off on adventures, of course. Lavender knew that. But haring off and being in position to know, to assist, to aid--that was different. And she had been none of these things.
She thumbed through the magazine on her desk and considered.
She still knew she wasn't smart, and she still knew she wasn't especially hard-working, but she could be helpful and loyal, and maybe, if someone asked her too, a little bit brave.
She wondered whether there would ever be another opportunity to participate in such an adventure, and vowed that if there was, she would at least go and see.
She wasn't smart, and she wasn't industrious, and she knew she was mostly a pretty face, but then, maybe sometime, a pretty face would be what they needed.
Neville's face floated into her mind, and she nodded to herself. If someone like that could be a hero, then maybe, one day, there would be a chance.