And yet still she wasn't used to they way she felt on the full moon. Who: Lavender Brown What: The night of the full moon is stressful on Lavender. Where: Her flat in Goldhurst Terrace. When: Nighttime, 14th of October 2004. Warnings: Mentions of sex. Also werewolf tendencies. Status: Complete.
Try as she might, Lavender couldn't stop feeling the presence of the full moon which shone brightly through the curtains of her living room window. Even when she pulled the curtains shut, she could still feel it hovering outside. Her fingers, her legs, her skin; all itched with the need to just do something. She'd spent the last 30 minutes trying to watch the telly in her living room, only to now find herself growling at the TV as a particularly long set of commercials prevented her from watching her show. Frustrated, she picked up her wand and jabbed it at the TV to turn it off. To her dismay and anger, instead of turning off, the TV volume began to blare even louder than before. As the voice of the bloke in the commercial reverberated through the living room, Lavender growled loudly in frustration. Her hand scrambled across the couch for the remote. She grabbed it quickly, jabbing her finger at the "off" button until the TV finally turned off and silence reigned. With a cry of frustration, she hurled the remote at the TV and jumped to her feet.
She paced back and forth in front of the couch. Her hands reached down to grip at her jeans and she twisted the fabric tightly in her fingers. Unable to stop herself, her gaze darted to the window, where a hint of the moon's light shone through a crack in the curtains. She growled, low and deep in her throat. It had been years since the Battle of Hogwarts, years since she'd been attacked by an untransformed Fenrir Greyback. And yet still she wasn't used to they way she felt on the full moon. The constant urge to move, to act, to do anything was a constant drain on her body and her emotions.
There were times when she'd had a boyfriend, and on the nights of the full moon she'd taken her tension out on them, spending the entire night in bed as their naked bodies writhed together beneath the sheets. And then there had been one or two times when she'd been single, and unable to think of anything else to do, she'd gone out to the nearest bar and flirted with whoever she could find. The first time had led to a rather strenuous night in bed with a man she'd never seen again. The second time, filled with disgust at herself for sinking so low, she'd left the bar and gone for a run.
Running. It was the one thing she'd found that helped with the urge to move and didn't involve her doing something she'd hate herself for later. Immediately upon thinking of it, Lavender changed the course of her pacing and headed towards her bedroom. She pulled a pair of sweatpants and a tank top out of her dresser and quickly threw off her clothes and slipped into the new ones.
She stuffed her wand, keys and mobile (just in case) into a small Marc Jacobs waist pack, which she clipped around her waist. After slipping her feet into socks and trainers, Lavender hurried into the living room, shutting off lights behind her as she went. Without a single backwards glance towards her flat (or the moonlight that shone through her window), Lavender ducked out of her flat, slammed the door behind her, and took off through the building and towards the street. It was only when her trainers began to slap against the asphalt street and her muscles began to stretch with the action of running that Lavender finally felt that she could relax. If she had to, she thought, she'd run all night. If only it were possible to out-run the full moon that hung in the sky above her.