[They shared a face once – both, a mirror image of the other. But now, one lies beneath a willow tree six feet under the earth whilst the other weeps, her face marred by an ugly burn and tears.]
oOo
When Parvati thought of Padma now, she thought of the last moment. They had been together, at the time, convinced this was their last moment as Padma and Parvati, inseparable twins. There were hands clasped together firmly, with all the life they had in them. As classmates and sisters, they had fought together at the time, but they were being ushered along now, to get to safety. Women and under-sixteens first, someone had shouted pointedly in their faces, and they were being pushed away from the growing bulk of witches and wizards, uncorrupted and tainted alike, battling for their own ideas of discretion, exemption, and freedom.
If freedom was perceived by deadly jolts of light flashing in the night sky, and bloodcurdling screams echoing through the night, the love in the world certainly had fallen.
Then, like a flash, a dark shadow was in front of them, wand pointed menacingly. Padma screamed, or was it Parvati? Neither of them knew, it was the same heart-breaking sound that rang like church bells in each other's ears. Fire, was all Parvati saw. Fire, was the last thing Padma would see. Red and orange, blazing lights. There was a horrific pain in the side of her face, like she was being microwaved alive. It was like a horror movie; a bad nightmare.
It was a nightmare that came true when Padma's hand slid from Parvati's clenching fingers. She forgot all about the burning on her cheek and lips right then, spinning in the mass of flames, until she caught sight of her charred twin. She had smiled, one last time.
Parvati clenched the grass either side of her ankles fiercely, and glared up with tear-logged eyes at the branches of the willow tree above her. She should have died too, that night. It was by pure luck that Professor Trelawney had wrenched her out of the fire, otherwise she would have settled happily for joining her twin in a charcoal grave.
Sometimes, the leftover twin would talk to herself in the mirror, pretending it was Padma. They'd discuss diminutive things like what dresses they should wear, right to extreme measures like muggle poverty. Parvati would begin to believe that nothing had ever happened; they were still together, as best friends, as sisters, as twins.
But then, Parvati would catch sight of the scar on her face, and she would be reminded of her horrors once more.
