Warning: mentions of self-harm. Also, this is my first attempt at writing anything non-linear, so I apologise if it's terrible.
Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them. – Oscar Wilde
"Parvati - ," Padma begins, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. "She was brave, and funny, and kind, and…" All the words she had so carefully rehearsed fly out of her mind as she spots her parents among the sea of people watching her intently.
She can't bear to look at them, or even be around them on a good day, let alone today.
.~.~.~.
The day after Professor Dumbledore was thrown from the Astronomy Tower, the school cried because he'd died. Padma cried because she was still alive.
.~.~.~.
If she thought about it, Padma concluded that most of the rift between herself and her sister began as a result of their parents, whether they knew it or not.
Parvati was the good one – obedient almost to a fault, eagerly embracing their Indian culture and everything that accompanied it. She was younger by a few minutes, yet superior in all other respects, and Padma was never allowed to forget it.
"Your sister sets such a good example for you, doesn't she, Parvati?" Her parents would say, their voices dripping with sarcasm, knowing full well that Padma was right behind them and able to hear every word.
To her credit, Parvati tried to avoid being pulled in one direction or the other, claiming loyalty to both her parents and her sister. Still, Padma couldn't stop herself holding a grudge that only increased as the years went on.
.~.~.
Their Sorting widened the distance, physical and psychological, between them.
Padma went first, hoping only that she would be put in the same House as her sister. Hmmm… The Hat mused, you're strong, and brave. And you've got smarts, a lot of them. Just be careful your emotions don't get in the way. Someone as bright as you can only belong in… "Ravenclaw!"
Padma groaned to herself, mustering a happy expression as she headed for the Ravenclaw table. Her sister smiled at her from where she stood with the other first-years. Conflicted as she was, Padma couldn't return the gesture.
Their mother had been in Gryffindor, and she was expecting both her daughters to be placed there, too. Of course, she never said it aloud, reassuring them that she would be proud of them regardless of the results of their Sorting. Some things, Padma knew, carried more weight when left unsaid.
Parvati sat conversing with the Hat for longer than Padma had done – she told her the next day that she'd asked to be placed in Ravenclaw with her sister – and for an instant Padma allowed herself to hope that they would be in the same House. Her fragile hopes were dashed when the Hat opened its mouth and shouted, boldly and unmistakably: "Gryffindor."
In Padma's mind, that moment sealed their fate.
.~.~.~.
"Happy Birthday, Padma!"
She turned to find her sister beaming at her, holding out a small box wrapped in pink paper.
"Happy Birthday," Padma responded, reaching for the box. A slight frown formed on her face; she and Parvati agreed not to buy each other birthday gifts, not wanting to strain the family finances. Parvati must have read her thoughts.
"I know we don't usually do presents, but this is our sixteenth, and I used the money I earned from working at the shop, so there's no need to worry."
Padma's frowned deepened, though she fought to conceal it, and she felt suddenly bitter and ungrateful, barely paying attention to the contents of the box. Parvati had used her money to buy a gift, the money she received from her job. There was no way Padma could have done that, because she didn't have a job. Her sister had got there first, as usual.
"We match, see?" Parvati said brightly. She either didn't notice or chose to overlook Padma's souring mood, pointing to her neck, where a silver pendant dangled, one half of a heart. Padma held the other in her hand.
"This way, no matter how far apart we happen to be, we'll always be together."
.~.
"Honestly, Padma, do you have to constantly sit there with that miserable look on your face?"
They are twelve-years-old, in India for the summer holidays, sitting in a magically-enhanced Muggle car while their parents bicker in the front seat.
Padma doesn't know what to say. She finds herself struggling to breathe. Her heartbeat races, her muscles clench, her palms sweat and she thinks she might choke if she tries to speak. Speaking isn't safe, anyway. She has no right. If she wants to avoid the sting of invalidation, she must not speak. She must not feel. She must not have opinions, nor should she express them.
Parvati reaches over and gives her hand a reassuring squeeze, before returning to her copy of Witch Weekly. Padma barely notices. Her world is awash with anxiety. What should she do?
She inches up one sleeve, digs her nails into skin. There. One pain defeats another. Relief, real and satisfying. She bites her lip to hold in the smile that longs to light her face. Everything is clear again. It has never been clearer.
.~.~.
The Yule Ball placed another nail in the coffin of Parvati and Padma's relationship. Padma had just accepted that she would go alone, or not go at all, and then Parvati announced that she would be attending with none other than Harry Potter, and Padma could go with Ron Weasley, if she liked. That way they could double date.
She had no choice, really. Refusing her sister, who looked so earnest and excited, would leave her looking rude and unkind, and the guilt wold keep her awake for weeks.
Meeting Aleksander was the only good thing to come from the Ball. He always acted like a gentleman towards her, and she was immediately smitten. So much so, in fact, that she could overlook the fact that she wouldn't have met him if Parvati hadn't been asked to dance by another boy from Durmstrang first.
Aleksander had done something no one else had managed to: he'd chosen her, of all the girls at Hogwarts, and what she thought of as attraction quickly developed into an obsession.
He'd sometimes send her letters in the morning, using an owl even though he could have delivered them himself, and Padma kept every single one, memorising them word for word.
He had an unpredictable, massive effect on her. He could send her mood soaring to the skies, and at those times she swore she loved him more than anyone in the world. Yet at the slightest hint of rejection, at even a smile that faded a second too early or a tired "hello," that wasn't quite enthusiastic, she would second-guess every little thing.
Had she done something wrong? Had she somehow led him to dislike her?
At those times, she hated him, and herself, with a fiery, almost unquenchable passion. How dare he make her feel like this? How dare she let him?
She punished herself far more severely than she would even think of treating anyone else; keeping a blade in her schoolbag, always within easy reach. And if that took too long, her nails would suffice.
.~.~.
Aleksander continued writing to her over the holidays, and Parvati was by no means oblivious to the mysterious pen pal her sister had developed, and how the giddy smile wouldn't leave her face for hours after he wrote her.
"So, who is it?" She asked. "Is it that boy you danced with at the Yule Ball? Alex something?"
"It's none of your business." Padma snapped. "I'm allowed to have my secrets, just like you do. Merlin knows you're always whispering with Lavender about something."
Aleksander belonged to her, and she would not share him with anyone.
He broke up with her at the beginning of the following year, saying something about her being too clingy. She cried herself to sleep at night, when there was no chance of being overheard, and pain was her only consolation. She counted each one of her scars as a separate affirmation that she was still alive, needing tangible proof. Empty was all she ever seemed to feel.
.~.~.
Padma was alive, in this battle where the possibility of death lurked behind every mask, every curse, every corner. It was a rush no self-inflicted pain could match, and Padma loved it.
She duelled with a hooded figure, while giants stomped through the grounds, leaving ruin in their wake. Padma had the upper hand, or so she thought. One minute she felt safe, flanked by other members of the DA, and the next, she was alone, with a jet of red light heading straight for her.
"Padma!" She heard her sister scream, and a heartbeat later, a familiar set of hands had pushed her to the ground, where she lay frightened and panting, but miraculously unharmed. Around her, the battle continued, and she dragged herself into a sitting position, searching frantically for Parvati.
Her eyes skimmed over the Acromantula scuttling through the courtyard and the hooded figures firing deadly hexes in every direction. She did not care about any of them in the slightest; she needed to find her sister.
Finally she spotted a familiar black plait splayed on the floor, and her heart filled with dread at how still and gone Parvati looked.
"Parvati!" Padma wailed, in an eerie echo of her sister's final shout. It was a desperate, jagged sound, and with it she pleaded and begged and prayed that she would get a response, that the unbearable scene before her would be a hallucination, a nightmare, anything but the truth.
She stumbled and staggered through the chaotic mess of duellists, heedless of the many dangers she was lucky to avoid. Did danger even matter? Did anything, when so much destruction was the result?
"Parvati!" She said again, and this time it came out as a strangled sob. She seized her sister's robes – shining redandgold, and how she'd always envied them! – and shook her violently, demanding that she wake. "Come on, you have to wake up! We have to move!"
Nothing happened, and Padma bowed her head, crying harder.
"Padma? Padma!" Someone was saying her name loudly and insistently. She blinked, struggling to focus on the person in front of her.
Oliver Wood was watching her with tears in his eyes. "She's gone, Padma. I'll carry her to the Great Hall, everyone's meeting there." He gently removed her hands from Pavarti's robes, and picked up her sister's limp form, carrying her reverently, with the delicacy Padma knew she deserved.
Padma followed mutely, conscious only of the enormous sense of loss swirling deep in her bones. Grief settled in her that night, and it never really left.
.~.~.~.~.
Lavender told her a few days later, speaking slowly due to her still-healing scars, that Parvati had been hit by the curse meant for her. Parvati had valued Padma's life enough to sacrifice her own.
Padma never touched her blades again.
.~.~.
She takes a deep breath, unconsciously reaching for the half-heart pendant that dangles from her neck. She has to remember why she's here. "Parvati was so many things, more than I could sum up in words. She loved gossip, hearing it and spreading it. I used to joke that I didn't need to listen to any so-called rumour-mill. All I needed was five minutes with my sister." There is a small rumble of sympathetic chuckles at that.
"I used to think I knew what lonely was. Now I know that nothing comes close to losing the person who was literally your other half. I used to think Parvati and I were so different, that she surpassed me in every little thing, and I resented her for it. I was terrible to her, and I wish – I wish I hadn't been. The regret is tearing me apart. Now I know that no matter how easy it would be for me – for all of us – to wallow in blame and guilt and remorse, my sister wouldn't want that. None of our loved ones would. Parvati was my twin, and she gave her life to save mine. So I'm choosing to repay her the only way I can: I'm going to live, for her."
Written for:
The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition (Prompts: This is Not a Test by the Corona's, Oscar Wilde quote, choke)
Le Sherlock Category Competition:1.1
The Flower Language Challenge: Iris
The Sherlock Competition: Part 4, Prompt 8
The Disney Movie Plotline Competition: Snow White
A Jury of Your Peers Competition: Minor Character
Fantastic Beasts Challenge: Knarl