Your sister is sorted into Ravenclaw, and it's no longer a choice. It's second nature; where she goes, you follow, and as twins, you share.
The first night, it's your bed. She lies behind you, braiding your hair in the dark, easy, repetitive movements. Her whispers soothe you, sing you to sleep, and when you wake up the next morning, it's with her arm snaked around your waist.
Luna Lovegood asks you one day if it's weird to constantly look in the mirror and realise you're looking at another person. Your eyes stray to Padma as you try to see what everyone else sees. Brown skin, doe eyes, long, shiny, black hair. You have the same birthmark, yes, but there is something scintillating about your sister, something frail and soft and beautiful.
You, you are powerful, creative, a goddess.
Before you can answer Luna, Padma grabs your buttered toast and spreads jam on it. She takes three careful bites and hands it back without looking up.
As twins you share, but you are not the same.
When you eat the rest of the toast, you wish she had put blackcurrant on instead of strawberry.
Some people question whether you should have been in Ravenclaw. You hear them whisper in the corridors that you're not devoted to anything, that you and your sister decided before you even came.
In a way, they're right; you and Padma leave nothing to coincidence. You didn't decide your house; you decided to stay together.
In a way, they're wrong. You're devoted to Padma.
(Parvati, the goddess, is depicted with one red, one blue lotus flower in her hands, and you and Padma knew you were at a toss-up between being loyal and being always right. The latter seems more like the goddess Saraswati's place, but as twins you share.)
When winter approaches in your fourth year, the two of you set your eyes on the same boy. He's exotic too, with his darkened skin and ruffled, black hair, and he reminds you of home. He stumbles and stutters when you tell him hello, and a part of you loves the power you have over him.
A part of him wonders why he can't see you are both carved from legends.
He, The Boy Who Lived, England's shot at their own, imaginary Messiah, with his saviour's complex and his tragic flaw.
(You don't care that he's attention-seeking. So are you, you're just subtle about it.
Besides, you have Padma for that.)
You, the deity of love and devotion, who came from the mountains and longs to go back, with your gentle touch and your nursing heart, don't think he realises who you are. You end up being taken for granted, and you know you don't belong.
Padma is having just as little fun with Ron Weasley, and as you get up, she mirrors your actions and emotions. The two of you turn on your heels and leave.
If you want attention, you will always have Padma.
When the Ravenclaws enter their common room the next morning, something is different. Perhaps they don't notice it at first, the lotus flower fountain, but when they do, wild theories sprout. You and Padma are present but distanced, and you listen with a smile on your face.
Ravenclaws, being witty, creative, and knowing too much for their own good, have always been prolific conspiracy theorists.
Some say that house-elves must have put it there, others say it's the fountain of youth. A third party says that's ridiculous. A fourth wonders if it's a fountain of knowledge, since they're Ravenclaws, and knowledge is Ravenclaw's traits. A fifth argues that's not all a Ravenclaw is. Someone suggests that it's the Fountain of Fair Fortune. Someone else claims that is just a fairy tale. A Muggle-born interjects that everything in this world is.
Someone leans in and smells it, and you watch him hungrily, willing him to solve the puzzle.
People mistake Ravenclaws for people who base their opinions on logic, but so far, only this boy does. He's trying to use what he's learned to figure out what is in the fountain.
It's redundant, of course. The second he tastes it, he'll know.
He's apparently brave enough or sure enough that he dares. You watch him from your corner, Padma sitting, still, beside you. Slowly, he ladles up a spoonful of the draught and sips.
When he straightens again, he turns to look at you. "You put this here."
Someone else, seeing him alive, copies his actions. She, too, straightens and says, "This is the Potion of Clear Sight."
A murmur breaks out between the rest of the group members. Some of them are staring at you as if you'll jump at any time, pouncing on them. Or perhaps they're waiting for you to speak.
Padma takes your hand and looks at you pleadingly. You shake your head, and she relaxes.
"We were right, you don't belong here," someone says, and suddenly, a whole line of students with something to say decide to say their piece.
"But we were also wrong; you have Ravenclaw traits."
"You just don't seek knowledge because you already have it."
"You're a goddess."
"No one here's like you."
Beside you, Padma whimpers, and you squeeze her hand, giving her a covert smile.
"And you're creative. In the literal sense of the word; you create something from nothing."
Someone who hasn't yet drunk from the fountain protests. "But that goes against Gamp's Law! You can't conjure food and water!"
You wait for someone else to say something, because that person is wrong, but the potion is wearing off, and instead you look at Padma.
There is still one secret you'll never share with them.
You create life.
You created Padma.
Prompts
The Mystery Challenge: Write a Ravenclaw!AU, (word) covert
The Game Is On: The Crooked Man - Write about someone who has a secret
Challenge Your Versatility: Parvati Patil