Padma Patil was tired of being second-best.
Or, she was tired of being considered as such. Because in all honesty - she made better marks than Parvati. And she'd heard the whispers from where she so often tended to lurk in the background, hushed remarks that Padma was most certainly the prettier one. But they never said it to her face - they always just continued on their way, sometimes right past her, without even acknowledging her presence.
But perhaps, she mused, that was the root of the issue.
Of course, they considered Parvati the best, because they knew her. Parvati flourished in the center of attention, a sunflower that thrived in the spotlight. Bright and vibrant and bold, she was all but impossible to miss.
And then there was Padma. She was not a flower, not by any means. She was the ivy that snaked up the sides of buildings, deep and dark and pretty - but altogether, decidedly forgettable.
And she was tired of it. She hid it well, though, behind practiced smiles and immaculate facades -
Pretending like her heart hadn't twisted horribly when she realized that Parvati's date to the Yule Ball would be the Boy Who Lived, leaving her with the likes of a Weasley.
Pretending like she hadn't been almost seething with anger when Parvati had earned house points for scoring well on a test, despite the fact that Padma had scored higher.
Yes, it might have been selfish of her, and there were times when her heart would twist for no reason other than the realization of how horrid these thoughts were, and how jealous of a person they made her.
Parvati was her sister, after all. Her other half. The flame to Padma's shadow.
But perhaps, that was the problem.