Author's Note: Comments are always appreciated. Just let me know you read it. I would love to know what you think. This story has been a long time in the making. It's an experiment for me, as I rarely write in the first person.

Disclaimer: If you're dumb enough to think that I own any Harry Potter characters, you are the one who ought to be sued, not me.

Padma

I never expected much from either of them. My mother had let me down so many times I hardly understood the concept of up, and my sister was her lackey, believing that she could do no wrong, and that her mistakes simply proved her humanity. I suppose it's my fault in some aspects. As a child I believed my sister to be more delicate than I, and tried my best to shield her from our mother's abusive behavior.

As we stepped off the Hogwarts Express that June, and looked around, realizing that our mother had not come to collect us, I knew that this time I could not protect my sister. She continued to look around with wide eyes for several moments after my shoulders had slumped in defeat.

Finally she turned to me, sadness shining in her eyes. "I suppose she isn't coming?" Pavarti said. It was a noble attempt to appear carefree, but I knew she was crushed.

"I guess not," I replied, staring at the ground. Friends and their families drifted past, calling out farewells, and I couldn't bear to look at their happy, excited faces.

A flash of rage breezed across my sister's face as she straightened her shoulders and grabbed a hold of her luggage. "Well then, we ought to get started walking, eh?"

She walked off, head held high, at a fast pace. I had much less luggage than her, and I could hardly manage to keep up. Hurrying behind her, I could nearly feel the fury emanating from her.

When my usually carefree sister got angry, it could be like a bomb exploding. She had once destroyed her best friend's wand in a fit of rage, and had burnt some of my clothing at one point. Usually I was the only one who could calm her down. I knew that this was not the time to talk, however. The walk might very well cool her off.

And it would be a very long walk. Luckily, our home was in London. We wouldn't be forced to hitchhike with our spell books and owls in tow. Still, it would take awhile to reach our house.

Faster and faster Pavarti marched until I was forced to call out, "Pavarti! Slow down!"

She stopped suddenly, and I saw that her shoulders were trembling. Dropping my bags I ran to her.

She looked at me, tears streaking down her face. "She's always been like this, init? I just never noticed."

There was no point in disagreeing. I nodded slowly, looking into her eyes, which were mirror images of mine, allowing for the tears, of course.

"Ah," she said slowly, dropping all pretension she normal held. Even I, her sister and dearest friend, knew her mainly to be a selfish, stuck up girl who was very much in love with herself. Now she stared up slightly, at the sky. Her lips moved vaguely, and I knew that she was praying. Then a tear slipped out of her eye, and another, and another, until it was raining from her eyes. She managed to stand tall for several minutes, as I watched her struggle with something inside of her. It was like seeing a demon trying to free itself from her skin.

Finally a small gasp escaped her mouth, and she crumbled to the ground, wailing. Even from a child I had never heard such a pitiful sound.

I tried to comfort her for upwards of five minutes, until a car full of teenage boys drove by, as I held her in my arms, and yelled, "Hey lesbos!"

Pavarti lifted up her head, silenced. Then she began to giggle, wiping at her eyes. Her laughter became manic as we struggled to continue walking. We had to pause every few feet, as she could not control her laughter.

I admit to feel very guilty for hiding our mother's problems from her for so long. But I was glad, at least, that I did not have to remember things now.

Pavarti was always the pretty, popular twin, although we looked exactly alike. She was the one whose radiance shone. And while she basked in the spotlight of childhood, I was quiet, more intelligent. I spent my childhood years keeping numerous journals. I know there are things missing from them. There is a lot of my life that I do not remember and never will.

Coming home to find our house darkened and abandoned looking was no surprise to me, but as we stepped around the corner, I think Pavarti might have cried, were she not so exhausted and shell-shocked.

We dragged our things to the front door, and I wondered why it hadn't occurred to us to use magic. My arms were killing me from the effort of moving my exceedingly heavy trunk. With all of her clothes and make-up, I'm sure Pavarti's trunk was even heavier.

Neither of us bothered knocking on the door. It was all too obvious that there was no one home to answer. Pavarti opened a side compartment of her trunk and pulled out her key to the house.

I went straight to my room, and laid down on my bed in the dark. I was more furious than I had ever been. Of course, Pavarti searched every room for any sign of our mother. When she was done, she came into my room, and climbed into bed with me. We hadn't slept that way in years, but I wasn't surprised.

"All the food is rotting," my sister said, in a quiet voice. "I'm scared. What if something's happened to her?"

I didn't say anything for several moments. "What's happened to her is that she has run off with another man who is worth more to her than her children are."

I felt Pavarti shaking her head violently. "No. No."

And, soundlessly, she began to cry. I wrapped my arms around her tightly, and that was how we fell asleep.

A/N: The next chapter should be up in a day or so. I'm sick, so I've got nothing else to do but write!