Title: Realization in the Life of the Average Hogwarts Student: The Tao of Parvati

Rating: PG ish

Disclaimer: I am not a Scottish gazillionaire, that title is restricted to JK and Mr. MacDuck. I own nothing.

Summary: Part of a series where students at Hogwarts realize things about life through an incident that effects them all in some way.

It was a Saturday morning. Mum was making breakfast. Dad was sitting at the table, next to me, reading a Muggle newspaper. Padma was across from me, reading a Muggle novel called, "The Bell Jar." I was pretending to work on my Potions' essay. But it was too early... The soft, coolness of my pillows and blankets were still fresh on my mind. A nice breeze had been coming through the window. The sun was pleasantly dim, blocked slightly by my shades... But the damn birds. The birds were chirping like it was the best bloody thing in the world to wake up Parvati Patil. If only I could use magic outside of school.

So far on my essay parchment I had written, "Witch Hazel is." That's as far as I got. Who could do a Potion's essay when sleep was on one's mind? Beautiful sleep. And when one was trying to ignore one's sister's silent implications of intellectual superiority by reading a Muggle novel at the dinner table. I sighed as Dad let in the Prophet owl. I picked up my quill to write, but I found that I had already followed up "Witch Hazel is," with, "a stupid, Muggle novel." Then the rolled up paper caught my eye. In large bold print I could see "HOGWARTS STUDENT." I unrolled the paper, betting myself three galleons that it had something to do with Harry Potter. Well, I was almost right.

My jaw dropped in shock at the rest of the headline. Below the headline, "HOGWARTS STUDENT MISSING" was a subtitle, "Suspected Death Eater Kidnaping." My stomach shifted a little uncomfortably after reading that, but it dropped completely when I saw that below that was a black and white picture of Ronald Weasley in Muggle clothing. In the picture the wind was messing up his hair and he was giving the camera a lop-sided grin, completely unaware of his missing status.

It took a few seconds for my breath to catch and my heart beat to slow down again. For a moment I thought the newspaper wasn't real. It couldn't be. Ron was just a goofy guy that I lived with for nine months out of the year. How could he be missing? A suspected Death Eater Kidnaping? Didn't they know he was just a kid? But I felt mostly confused. Was there a proper thing to say when one heard news like this? I didn't know if there was a certain degree of shock or horror I should feel. I mean, we weren't exactly friends, but it's not as if I only saw him once at Flourish and Blotts. He lived with me. He slept no more than twenty yards away from where I slept. Then, unexpectedly, the thought came to my mind, "If he really was kidnaped by Death Eaters, he's as good as dead." That unsettled my stomach even more. Why did I have to think that?

Unable to unclench my hands from the paper, I started reading the article.

The first official missing person since the return of You-Know-Who has been registered with the Auror Office overnight. The aforementioned missing person is a sixteen-year-old boy named Ronald Weasley, who as been missing since Wednesday evening. Ronald is the sixth of seven children to Arthur and Molly Weasley of Surrey. If found, he will be attending his sixth year, in Gryffindor house, at Hogwarts this September the first.

Weasley, a pureblood, is purported to be a confidante to Harry Potter. He is also close friends with fellow prefect, Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born, also of Gryffindor house. An anonymous Ministry official comments, "Well, I'm not surprised with the company he keeps. Purebloods have to be very careful with whom they associate these days." Another official, who wishes to remain nameless, agreed upon the comment and added, "Why else would they take a Pureblood? Still a child, at that. It's a warning to everyone else from the Death Eaters." However, officially investigation has just begun and Kidnaping cannot be declared just yet, but evidence is in strong support of Kidnaping at this time.

Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt is heading the investigation under the request of the boy's father, Arthur Weasley, who is in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office of the Ministry. Shacklebolt surmises that Ronald was abducted on Wednesday, some time between four and seven, in the afternoon. Weasley had been doing odd jobs for an elderly witch in the area of his home. He had no set work schedule and when he did not arrive home before nine o'clock, his parents began to worry. The Weasley parents had their eldest son, Bill Weasley, who was visiting home at the time, go to the witch's house and see if Ron was still working. Bill found the woman unconscious and tied to a chair in the living room and no trace of his youngest brother.

When reached for comment, all family members respectively withheld comment, with the exception of Fred and George Weasley, who were volatile and belligerent, obviously quite upset at the time. Ministry intervention has prohibited all media from speaking to Harry Potter on the matter of one of his best friend's disappearance.

For any and all decent citizens searching for this young man, the family has divulged the following information: The young man's approximated height is six foot and three inches, with trainers, and weight is one hundred and eighty to one hundred and ninety-five pounds, with a lean, athletic build. Most distinguishing features are red hair, freckles (copious) and blue eyes. If you see the sixteen-year-old or know anything of his whereabouts contact Kingsley Shacklebolt at the Ministry with an emergency owl.

I was still gripping the paper with the utmost intensity when I finished reading. It was unbelievable. A big hoax, but not even Fred and George would do this. Despite my sister's reputed, horrible date with him, he had crossed my mind more than twice as an option. Things like this don't happen to people I know, I wanted to say. Things like this don't happen to boys I would possibly consider asking on a date. How could this happen to someone I know? Surely, Ron isn't worth Kidnaping. I mean, he's friends with Harry and he's loud and occasionally obnoxious, but he was a good guy. He was cute and funny and always held doors open for girls. And it was always fun to talk about how attractive he was around Hermione.

The smile from the memory fell from my face when I saw the picture in the paper again. I had known that with the war people would start disappearing and Dark Mark sightings would be more frequent, but this was unexpected... It wasn't supposed to be people I knew. It was supposed to be adults, in the Ministry or something... People who you could imagine didn't have families or friends, but this was different. I knew Ron. I knew his sister and brothers. I knew Harry. And I knew Hermione. Oh my god, Hermione. I wished for a moment that Lavender and I had been better friends with Hermione so she'd have someone to console her night then. Parents can only go so far when something happens to a friend. And Harry, well, I couldn't imagine Harry doing a good job. I thought to myself, the only girl she had was Ginny, and Ginny would be doing her own grieving.

My mother's tongue clicked over my shoulder, bringing me out of my reverie about my classmates. I hadn't even realized she was there.

"Those poor Weasleys'. Why does it always seem that bad things happen to good people?"

"What's wrong, dear?" My father asked, finally looking up from his newspaper.

"One of the Weasley children has been kidnaped," she said quietly, absentmindedly putting a soothing hand over my hair.

My father clucked his tongue, frowned and went back to reading his newspaper. I wanted to be outraged at their lack of caring, but what was I doing? Nothing. Padma looked at me, half in worry and half in confusion. I dropped the paper on the table for her to read. I didn't feel up to reading it again, myself. In fact, I felt a little sick.

I looked at my hands while Padma was reading because I didn't want to look at her face. They were sweaty and ink-smeared. She made an odd strangled noise when she was done reading. I looked up to see her face. She looked scared.

"What's wrong, dear?" Our father asked her.

"That boy! Ron, he's in our year!"

"Oh my, I didn't read that," Mum said.

"I went with him to the Yule Ball," she said in a quieter tone. Her face drooped even more and she looked at me.

In a sort of defense of myself, "He's in my House! He's lived in the dorm across from mine for five years. I've had god knows how many meals across from him. Now it's... I didn't think it would be someone we know."

Mum and Dad shot each other worried glances, while Padma just looked at the floor and pushed her book away from her. Mum went quietly about finishing breakfast. Dad held his paper up to his face again, but he wasn't reading it. I glared angrily at my Potions' essay.

"I hope he's alright," Padma muttered quietly.

I glared at my sister, "Of course he's not alright! Death Eaters are doing horrible things to him as we speak, if he's not dead already." I was stunned at my own vehemence and didn't bother to gage anyone else's reactions. That is until, out of guilt, I looked at my sister to apologize. Her eyes were sort of watery.

"Were you good friends with him? I wasn't thinking to ask."

"Not really. No. He was just a nice guy."

Lavender called later.

"Oh my god! Did you hear?"

"Yes."

"That is so horrible! I can't believe it!"

"I know."

"Poor Ron! Poor Ginny! Hermione goes over to the Burrow every summer, you know. I wonder if she's there now. Oh my gosh! We should call Seamus! He'll have already talked to Dean and surely Ginny would've talked to him. I have to know what's going on!"

"No."

"What?"

"I don't want to talk to Seamus, who's talked to Dean, who's talked to Ginny. We should just leave them alone. I don't want to gossip about a boy who very well might be dead. Especially one we know."

"It's not gossip!"

"Yes, it is. Let's just... I'll call you later, Lavender."

"Okay... Ta."

"Bye."

I went outside to find my sister. She was sitting in the grass with her arms wrapped around her knees and a book at her feet. She was on the same page she was on at breakfast. I sat down very close to her like I used when we were little and put my head on her shoulder.

"It's a beautiful day," she said. I nodded.

Then she assumed the position we would hold each other in when we were little and frightened. She turned towards me slightly, put an arm around my waist and rested her head on top of mine. I moved my legs over hers so I was basically in her lap. It was a sort of fetal position hug that could only be performed with my twin. It meant that we were scared, but we didn't have to be as long as we had each other. We hadn't hugged like that since we were eight.

"I'm inside," she said quietly. For a moment I wondered what she was saying, but then I remembered the game. During a bad storm, or whenever we were scared, we would take turns saying where we want to be. Where it wouldn't be scary.

"I'm with you," I said.

"And I'm with you. Behind the door."

"By the fire."

"With a blanket."

"Telling stories."

"Grandma's in the rocking chair."

"Singing in Hindu."

"There's no war."

"There's no You-Know-Who."

"There never was."

"We're hugging like this."

Padma skipped a beat, tried to say something, then broke away from me. She cried, in a distressed voice said, "I can't do it anymore! I can't imagine being safe. It's too scary."

I shushed her and held her against my chest while she cried. This was so different. We'd been so different for so long. So separated. I thought that if I got to re-know my sister we would hate each other. I certainly never thought I would do this. Console her.

"I remember Grandpa talking. This is how it is. First it's people. Then it's people you know. Then it's people you love. Then it's you," she said, nearly gasping in between crying.

The tone she struck me as odd when she was talking about Grandpa. The way she said it made his words sound like a dire prophecy, a death knell. I had never thought about it that way. I had always assumed that he meant that you, we should be... ready, I guess. War can destroy you and everyone you know, but you should work to protect them. That's the impression I always had. So I told her.

She looked at me in incomprehension and asked, "How can you be so optimistic?"

Again she baffled me. I didn't think of it as optimistic. It was what I was supposed to do, correct? It was what everyone should do. It felt like the right thought.

"Am I wrong?" I said, feeling a little out of place. "Aren't we supposed to protect our loved ones?"

"Yes, I guess. It's just... You seem so sure about that. What if you're trying to keep someone out of harm and it doesn't work. Mr and Mrs. Weasley obviously didn't want Ron to be hurt, but where is he now?"

I felt my face contort in confusion, "It's not a theory, Padma. It's just was Grandpa said. You're acting like it's a, a law, or something. We try and protect each other and keep each other safe, but sometimes it's impossible."

Then with a sudden surge of energy or anger or a mix of the two, she sat up straighter and countered.

"What do we do then? If Ron dies, what will Mr and Mrs. Weasley do? If you die, what will I do? What do you do, if you can't protect the people you love?"

I felt the sudden lurch of a drowning man. My thoughts were trying to assemble themselves and just get a gasp of air before they were overcome with the crushing effects of my sister's despair. It was part the twin thing. She was troubled with this horrible thought, so I was too. But who could answer that? I was angry with her expectation of me? Didn't her snotty Ravenclaw friends call Gryffindor the House for the lazy and stupid? She was supposed to answer questions like that.

"I don't know."

A psychological mess. Questions about death. Life after death. Not nirvana or reincarnation or hell or heaven. It was about the people who remain living after someone dies. Why weren't there century old philosophies or glorious, biblical stories about the right way to deal with grief? I suddenly realized there were so many questions that I couldn't answer. My sister couldn't answer. Religions couldn't answer. The answer that a dogma or bible gave you felt cheap and intolerable. The entire thought left an ashy taste in my mouth.

My sister cried again and I knew this wasn't about Ron anymore. It was hardly about Ron to begin with. This was about trying to... /comprehend/ the horrible things coming our way. I just wish I had thought before that I wasn't impregnable to this epidemic of hostility.

I held Padma closer to me and kissed her on the forehead. I had no answers for her and those problems hurt me just as much as they hurt her. But no one had answers. People like my sister, who spend their time looking for answers, trying to live a life of tests and assuredness, would find that bleak. Miserable. Horrid, even. Some part of me does too. But mostly I think that is what makes life... able to live. To think that there are no real answers, that you can make your own and really try makes me want to keep going. Sure, it's unsafe and kind of scary, but... it's the best adventure I can think of.