Padma sat in the pew, dealthy pale and rigid. She'd been there since 2pm, and it was now midnight. She couldn't bear watching them take her sister away from her, and leave her in a dark, damp hole in the ground. It was a far cry from everything they had in their lives, different from secret passageways and tea-leaves and turning tea-cups into rats. She'd never spent a day in her life without her sister, not even when they were sorted into different houses, not even when Voldemort took over and everyone went into hiding. Why should a thing as common as death take her sister away from her? She sighed and a tear ran down her cheek. She didn't think she could cry anymore, but she was wrong. She missed her sister so much that her chest ached everytime she thought about her. Everything reminded her of Parvati, especially everytime she passed by a mirror or spoke. Everyone told her to think of the positives, that she was in a better place now. But the only positive she could think of is that no-one would call her "Parvati" ever again.