Lavender/Open
Lavender didn't ever consider herself the type to swan into a room, but there was just something about wearing a scandalous red dress and not caring who saw the puckered skin on her neck and shoulder that made her feel extra swan-y. She undid the cloak that was over her shoulders and held it out to the cloak-check wizard, taking the ticket and tucking it into her bodice.
She gave the young man a wink and strolled into the main room. The decorating committee had done well and she smiled a little at the pictures floating around, drawing in a slow breath as faces smiled back at her. That was the one thing about this whole gathering that always sort of pained her. Seeing those faces.
It wasn't that she didn't want to remember people. She did. But she felt a pang of guilt whenever she thought about how she'd made it and so many others hadn't.
Lavender gave a little wave to one of the other journalists from the Prophet and sashayed past, pausing only briefly to nudge his chin and close his gaping mouth.
It wasn't often that she swanned about. But she did so like doing it on special occasions.