IWSC Season 3 - School: Mahoutokoro, Year: 1, Writing School: Tenses, Chosen tenses: past simple, past perfect
Word count: 506
It hurt. She had tried not to think about it, but it still hurt.
Parvati sighed, leaning against the windowsill as a small cloud of steam swirled above the cup of coffee she held. She had been sitting like this for what felt to her like an eternity, yet she could not make herself move. The windowsill had become a safe haven of sorts, a sanctuary—somewhere deep down, she feared that leaving would wipe the memories.
In some way, she revelled in the grief. It was sick, really, but ever since Lavender had died in the Battle, Parvati had been wallowing in the emptiness that had first overtaken her on that fateful day. It was almost as though she had lost her sense of self then, as though she had lost meaning, something she had been unable to recover in the weeks that followed.
She could still remember it clearly. In her mind's eye, she could see how Greyback had jumped Lavender, how she had bled out on the cold marble floor, and how she, Parvati, had stood only a few metres to the side, shell-shocked. She still remembered how she had felt: it had been as though time had stopped, and for a second, her mind had gone blank, before an uncanny sensation washed over her. It had been as though somebody had dropped a bucket of ice cold water on top of her, and all she had been able to feel was pain, the kind of pain that had made her wish she could rip her heart out and go back to not feeling anything at all. She could still remember it, clear as day.
Since then, the pain had subsided somewhat. It was now a dull ache, nothing like the excruciating stabbing sensation she had felt at first. Yet, it was still there, deep down. It was always there, and it served as a reminder of what had happened every time Parvati looked at Lavender's belongings.
Still on the windowsill, Parvati's thoughts veered to the future. Lavender and her had planned many things before the Battle—they had agreed that after their NEWTs, they would open a shop at Diagon Alley. They had had quite an innovative idea: customers would come in, they would have their futures foretold by Parvati, and they would be recommended a matching set of robes by Lavender. The two of them had often talked with excitement about this plan; even in the midst of the war, during the worst months, they had had their dream to hold on to. And this windowsill, the one Parvati could not let herself leave, was where this dream had been born, where this dream had been nurtured, and perhaps, this was the place where this dream would come to rest.
Parvati sat, tears glistening in her eyes as she absent-mindedly swirled her coffee around. It was unfair, she thought. She was alone, all alone, and there was nobody to comfort her, not in the way she needed. Nobody, except for her own memories.