Megan Jones usually frequented a name change whenever her hair follicles decided to take a dive between plastic gloves and fifty cent dollar store hair dye that was most likley preformed on monkey's first. She would assure herself that primates needed to feel pretty too, and that since gingers were practically a dying breed everywhere except for the United Kingdom and certain weirdly ambiguous sections of South Africa, she had the moral high ground. Vicki was born. Pav agreed with her on the basis that just because Vik's middle name is Victoria, doesn't make it lame. Not whatsoever, really. Pav wouldn't dare dream of that conclusion. In fact, she believed this added a fluid edge. She might've felt her spine was gonna retract admitting this to Vik, but her grandmother always preached about being vulnerable or some shit, so she compared this to when she was (emphasis on the tense) an absolute addict of The X-Men for the duration of two geekatron fueled years of her life. Mystique was (maybe is?) her ride-or-die. Vik told her that was super lame.
And Pav liked that. She liked it too much. She liked her so much, after their first meeting she burst into the her dormitory with whipped sparks from her wand, whisked the old time radio on, and swished her hips along to the (moderadly sorry top 40) wiles and incantation of the Fugees, Lauryn Hill's vibrato ushering Pav along the circular room, imagining a casual yet refined Vik with her, strutting to the jive of her own body.
And her body. Despite her self proclaimed dwarfism (she's actually ⅛. This may still be problematic though. Who knows?), the chick had hips as broad as her shoulders. Her body seemed to be gun-ho for a fulfilling life of motherhood, which she was also just as ready to lay out, her dream baby names included.
"Bro, I don't even care how they turn out to be when their older, I just wanna raise tiny little boys! Pinching their cheeks and stuff. The stitches would be completely worth it. Plus, ladies like scars, don't they?"
"Please, don't get cocky on me now. That kind of stuff is only in the Fantasy and Science Fiction section of Barnes & Nobles."
"Woah, there! Aren't we living one, technically?"
"The accurate term is, 'Urban' Fantasy."
"Wait, doesn't Lavender hate that word?"
"The accurate term is, 'Despise', Vik."
"You're hilarious."
They'd do this completely awesome and awkward couple thing where they'd hold each others pinkies in hallways and lounge chairs. Pav initiated the tradition when she read about lesbian couples back in the 60's who'd do the same exact thing as some 'anarchy against men' covert lifelong operation. Just lady friends admiring their lady parts in high secrecy. Sometimes she'd imagine all the past leslies looking onto them in approval from the beyond. "My Daughters!" they'd chant. She'd totally wink at them.
"Enough about my innate coolness, lend me some baby ideas. I'm getting tired of always sticking with Archibald since I was 9."
"How average of you, Pavarti. For shame."
"Stop it! I'm sensitive, ok?"
"Alright, for sure. Back to my point. I wanna have two boys, right? I'd name them both Simon and Levi. Hopefully they're twins."
"Now look who's average. You totally got those from NameBerry. Poser."
Sometimes babies aren't the best choice. Especially against mole hills of school work that maybe, kinda, (who knows!), should've been done the night before. Pav enjoyed that Vik wasn't so tryhard about their education. Want to be an Auror? Power to you, babe! But dashing each others shared notes the morning of began to have a distinct jolt to it. Pure addiction, even. Pav almost seemed flabbergasted when Hermione, notorious princess of academia, barely even gave one scoff when seeing the circus act that would terrorize the love birds when the sun came up.
"I can admire your guys' spirit. It's kinda charming, actually." Should Pav be sensing a bit of condescension?
Definitely not. She knew better. She thought she knew better.
"You're just jealous, Granger. Of our 'carefree' attitude."
She just shrugged, kneeling down to buckle her boots, "Kind of."
This is when Vik flipped her hair around, only giving a snide look toward Pav. Although she swore she could notice Vik mouthing the words, "Keep it going."
So she did. "Look!" Desperation! Hi! Hello, how are you?
The third girl lifted her head, "What?" Her right eyebrow is raised. She could clearly notice and see right through Pav's pupils, which she could also swear she felt dilating like some narcotic hummingbird.
"I..uh..look, you should totally help us become knock off valedictorians today. We clearly need at least half of your smarts."
Only for the second it took for Hermione to stand, her thin shoulders froze .She was classically lithe. Just a classic woman in general. Women? She's 17, shit face. She places her finger under her chin, "I'd think, tell me if I'm wrong here, I'd wager that you want me to schedule a session around 4:00 today? I'm free till 7."
So many heartbeats have skipped within the past 10 seconds that the Infirmary wouldn't have any hope of ever reviving Pav.
Pav nodded twice. Maybe three. Maybe five! Always with the 'maybe's'.
"The three broomsticks maybe isn't the best spot to do this in."
"I think your right? But don't you like to hide out there after classes."
"Sleuthing, Hermione. The correct word is sleuthing."
"And maybe I'll join sometime. I'm almost notorious for that kind of thing by now."
"I was under the impression that you required a much needed hiatus!"
"Pavarti. Every hero's an addict to tragedy, haven't you realized this?"
"So the library at 4?"
"The library at 4."
And she left. A hole of space seemed to have stayed, however. Leftover energy sizzled and cracked around Pav.
Vik dragged herself to the front of the bed, "As your official cupid-of-the-week, I'd wager that was some hot shit I just saw there. I don't even think you need my help. With this pretend GF business, I mean."
She grinned, "Don't quit me now."
"Whatever Stonewall. Don't get cocky on me. We still gotta learn how to braid each other's hair. Because you suck at that."
"Yeah I do."