Parvati has always preferred the front compartments, nearest to the engineer. This time, however, she chooses one in the back, as far away from the exit as possible—and thusly, as far away from the end of her time as a student and her graduation into adulthood. (How silly, really, it's all the same no matter where you sit.)
Padma is eager and ready—filled up with knowledge and expectations. Parvati can hardly sit near her—that much excitement makes her feel cold and sick. Afraid of what she might meet when she steps off the train, afraid that fortune might favor students like Padma who were sorted into Ravenclaw and read all the textbooks back to front.
She worries—not only for herself, but for all the others. The handful of Gryffindor lions who will not be so easily accepted into the real world as that ever famous trio of heroes. (How wonderful to be Harry Potter and have all the world fighting to help you along.)
Like Lavender—who she loves and also hates for her Sight. After five faithful years studying all aspects of divination Parvati is left without so much as an Inkling. This was a crushing realization to come to, especially with her dear Lav predicting everything from the weather to (on one momentous occasion) Quidditch scores and results. Will she really become a Seer, as she promised breathlessly beside the lake after their exams? And if so, what will Parvati do? Continue searching her Tarot deck for some sort of sign? Keep on squashing that burgeoning feeling of betrayal? Hadn't Professor Trelawney deemed them both exceptional during lessons?
Or Seamus and Dean. An inseparable pair even if Ginny Weasley had laid claim to the latter. In truth, Parvati worries more for Seamus. He seems beside himself with the need to rush head on into the flurry of violence and excitement that is the Wizarding World these days. Will his name be the next to be listed in the discreet Obituary page of the Daily Prophet? Seamus Finnigan—he just tried too hard.
Dean at least seems to have a more sensible head on his shoulders. She quietly hopes that he will know to rein in his more boisterous friend. She can hardly imagine one without the other.
And dear Neville. Most of all she fears from him. A maternal, smothering sort of worry that frightens her. She's repulsed by his bumbling, inept ways—but also drawn to him with the need to protect—or at the very least defend. Will he be able to keep abreast when surrounded by so much evil and hatred? She secretly fears that he'll simply drift away one day. And who would notice? Surely not Potter. No one so firmly planted in the Hero's shadow would be noticed for any more then a day or two. And certainly not the chilly girl he's chosen to dote upon. Parkinson would be more likely to celebrate.
And then, quite suddenly the train lurches, wheels grinding shrilly as the platform looms into focus before them. A very anticlimactic beginning of the end, in her opinion. No announcements, just tearful farewells exchanged between the more romantic students. Her stomach clenches and she steels herself for the outside, gathering her bags from around her as she steps out into the corridors. Younger years mill past her, merrily reliving stories of their adventures within the castle, and unaware of the transition being made as she heads towards the exit.