a passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?
Summary: Sylvia Plath once wrote: "I am still so naive; I know pretty much what I like and dislike; but please don't ask me who I am. A passionate, fragmentary girl, maybe?" If she'd ever heard of her, Parvati Patil would probably say it was written with her in mind. Parvati-centric character exploration drabbles/snippets/whatevers. Rating is just a guess.
I dreamed a dream — a silent dream of a land so filled with pride that ev'ry song, both weak and strong withered… withered and died…
- Joseph M. Martin, "The Awakening"
The dreams are so vivid they hurt her eyes, even in her sleep. The colours are too vibrant, the lights too bright. Everything about them is just too much, except the sound, because they are silent.
Unlike her twin sister's clear ones, hers don't always make perfect sense, especially later when she writes them down step by step. Despite their nonsensical nature, somehow she just… knows. In the marrow of her bones and the sinews which bind them all together, she understands by instinct the bizarre amalgamation of scenes and senses.
She understands because it is not about what she sees — it is about what she feels.
Parvati wakes up in a cold sweat, gasping, every time. This is how she tells them apart from the ordinary ones. That and experience. The dreams, you see, have always been there to some degree, but she doesn't become aware of what they are until she is a little older. It is her normal. How was she to know everyone else didn't have them? That people didn't regularly feel what she and Padma later learn is called "deja vu?"
She is not a seer or an oracle or even a psychic, not by any means. There are no prophecies, no visions, no possessions, no séances. Just the dreams. Always the dreams. They will follow her no matter where she goes, to the ends of the earth, she is sure of it.
Most of the time, though, Parvati really wishes they wouldn't.
Trelawney's a kook, yes, but who knows? Maybe Parvati's got a bit of the "gift!"
