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Padma barely remembers the aftermath of the battle. What she does remember are the sounds and the smells—people crying out for help, screaming in agony, the quiet murmur of spells (too little, too late, for most concerned), and the sharp copper tang of blood everywhere. But like any task or assignment she’s ever had, she pushes past the unpleasantries and forces herself to focus on the moment, the here and the now of her own spells, and later Hermione’s. She doesn’t want to stop, because stopping means having to think again, but Mrs. Weasley pulls them aside and her momentum is gone.
She forces herself to focus instead on the hot liquid put in front of her and the fact that none of the bodies she and Hermione had come across were Parvati. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not, because the battlefield—the school grounds—were vast, and Parvati could be anywhere, alive or dead or dying, and Padma didn’t know. She and Parvati had never shared a bond like some twins did, and Padma had never wanted to until this moment where not knowing was worse.
She left Hermione without a word, because she was a Ravenclaw, and she had spent most of her life searching for answers. This was just one more for her to find, and gave her something to concentrate on other than the smell of blood that would probably never go away.
***
She doesn’t cry.
Losing Parvati is like losing a part of herself, but not like an arm or a leg. They were sisters, but they hadn’t been very close since before Hogwarts. It was more like the time Parvati had cut Padma’s hair in her sleep, so short that she barely recognized herself in the mirror in the morning. Part of her gone, but it didn’t hurt, and maybe it should have. But Padma can’t help thinking that Parvati will be coming home at any moment, laughing about something she and Lavender had gotten up to.
But Lavender is dead, too. Padma had only known her in passing, her sister’s best friend, but Padma had gone to her funeral two days before because Parvati couldn’t. She thought about wearing red, but she didn’t own any red robes and the ones in Parvati’s wardrobe looked too much like blood and the scent-memory is still far too strong. Blue would have to do, and Padma could only hope Parvati would understand. She had never cared about her sister’s approval before, but now it seems important that Padma has it, that she can fill the Parvati sized hole in the world. Maybe, just maybe, if she can take all of what was Parvati into herself, people will look at her and see both of them, and that is the only thing left she can offer her sister.
***
She almost didn’t take her NEWTs. Lisa and Terry finally convinced her to sit them. They were the only Ravenclaws left from their year, and while part of Padma wanted to snap her wand in half and walk away from all this, she felt that she owed something to her fallen comrades. Taking the exams was an easy tribute, all things considered.
None of them felt like celebrating, but at the end of the week, they ended up at a pub, rehashing the exams like they had done a hundred times before. They were adults now, and while the alcohol burned, it muted the sharp edge of pain and loss down to something dull and throbbing.
“Now what?”
It was Lisa who finally asked the question that was on their minds. They were Ravenclaws, after all, and NEWTs had been such a be-all, end-all for so long. The idea seemed so childish seen in the dim light of the pub.
“St. Mungo’s is looking for people in their spell reversal unit,” Terry said, voice muted. “I’ve never much been one for healing, but there’s a lot of research that goes into it, and…I’m tired of hurting people.”
Padma and Lisa both nod their understanding. The war had touched all of them, ever since fifth year when they had joined the Defense Association. Padma still couldn’t think of it as Dumbledore’s Army, even in passing or jest; the idea that the former Headmaster would have wanted a group of partially trained witches and wizards to lead his war against the Dark Lord was both laughable and sickening.
She’s still angry about the choices they were all forced to make, though she knows she would probably follow Harry again if the need arose. She knew enough about him to know that this wasn’t the life he’d wanted for any of them, and his choices had probably been hardest of anyone’s. But they had just been children, when the war had begun, and they had been the ones fighting it as their parents and the Ministry and all the other adults buried their heads in the sand and pretended they didn’t see what was happening.
“I’m thinking of traveling,” Lisa said, eyes distant. “I’ve never even been to the continent. See the world a bit before I decide what to do, where to settle down.” Live a little, before it’s too late, she didn’t say, but Padma knew she had to be thinking it.
“What about you?” Terry asked her. Padma took a sip of her butterbeer to push down the lump in her throat.
“I don’t know.” Her answer hangs in the air, refusing to be absorbed by the sounds around them. Padma thinks this is the first time in her life that she’s never had an answer to a question, and it makes her feel ill. Her friends look at her with quiet sympathy, but don’t press the issue.
***
Within an hour of returning from Hogsmeade, she writes four drafts of the letter before she works up the nerve to send it.
The worst she can do is say no, she reminds herself. But if Hermione says no, Padma isn’t sure she’ll be brave enough to go to Muggle university by herself. The idea that she might go is terrifying and thrilling in itself without the fear of not knowing anyone. Even starting at Hogwarts, she knew she’d at least have Parvati.
But the reply comes the next day, and Padma finds herself rushing through the admissions process and packing her trunk with all the books she might need. Aristotle, Descartes, Socrates, Voltaire, and the like replace books on charms and potions and ancient runes. She’s thrown herself into this new world of theoretical thinking, and for the first time since the end of sixth year, she feels excited about something.
She feels a flash of guilt, but tries to tell herself Parvati would have wanted this for her, that Parvati would have laughed and stolen Padma’s first draft of the letter and sent it to Hermione before she could crumple it up and start over. But she and Parvati had been so dissimilar in all but appearance that the consolation rings false and she can’t quite convince herself that her twin would have approved.
Never the less, she had made a commitment with Hermione, and she wouldn’t back out of it now.
***
Their first semester blurs past. Padma rarely struggled with classes at Hogwarts, but every day feels like an uphill struggle in the Muggle world. She never realized how much she didn’t know, and only Hermione’s shared frustration is enough to keep her from being overwhelmed.
Being home for break is both refreshing and stifling. The house is too quiet and her parents watch her like a hawk, frowning their mild disapproval at Padma’s choices.
“There are positions open at the Ministry,” her father tells her at dinner the first night. Padma pushes the food around her plate and wishes for cafeteria food if only it means avoiding this conversation.
“Flourish and Blotts has an opening,” her mother says. Padma resists the urge to make a face. She feels like she’s suffocating, and wishes the holidays would hurry up and end so she could go back to the tiny, cramped dorm room that she shares with Hermione.
The next day, she converts years of saved allowance money from Galleons to pounds and buys a Muggle computer. She doesn’t tell her parents about the computer, and when they ask where she spends her days, she doesn’t tell them she Apparates to her favorite café in Muggle London.
She almost cries the first time she starts navigating the internet; there’s so much to learn, and Padma isn’t sure there will ever be enough time to learn even a fraction of it. She’s reminded of the first time she entered the Hogwarts library, amazed at how much knowledge was in one place, just waiting for her.
And then she finds LiveJournal, and here is finally a place where she can spill out some of her thoughts without feeling like she is being judged. She never goes into detail; the Muggle Secrecy Act has been ingrained into her very being since childhood. And besides, she isn’t quite ready to talk about any of that.
But she talks about her school work and her frustration at being so behind. She talks about her parents smothering her, and the postcard Lisa sent from Taiwan or Perth or Los Angeles or wherever she was this week. In this little sphere of reality, she can pretend she’s normal.
Back at school, she is relieved to find out that Hermione has herself a new laptop too, that this mix of Muggle and magical their life had become wasn’t awkward and wouldn’t cause a rift between them.
***
Two years from Parvati’s death pass before Padma finally cries. After, she’ll blame the firewhiskey and the stress of finals. Hermione gives her a sad, knowing smile, but doesn’t press the issue.
Getting drunk was really stupid, something Parvati would have done, and maybe that’s why Padma did it. She had spent her whole life striving to be different, but there was no one to be compared to any more, and Padma has to be brave herself.
It’s the hardest thing she’s ever tried to do, but she refuses to give up.
Still, the thought is tempting. She finds Hannah Abbot’s address online, considers calling her, but doesn’t. She won’t force anyone else to remember, especially in her own (imagined) attempts to forget.
Besides, giving up on magic would mean giving up on so much more. She would probably have to give up on school and this life she and Hermione had carved out for themselves. This was what they had fought for, and this was their right. Padma only hoped that Hermione was correct and they weren’t just running away.
***
She doesn’t often think about the role Hermione played in the war. Padma knows who Hermione’s friends are, knows her roommate was probably the brains behind the plans to take down the Dark Lord. But it’s not something they ever talk about, not when there are essays to write and problem sets to complete and tests to study for.
“Please stay,” Hermione begs; the owl announcing Ron and Harry’s visit had found them between classes, and Padma had offered to excuse herself. It’s not that she doesn’t like Ron and Harry, but she barely knows them. They’re larger than life, talking about Auror training and the magical world, and the dorm room seems to shrink around Padma.
She wishes she hadn’t stayed, and as the boys continue talking, the smell of blood fills the room. But Hermione seems to sense her discomfort and changes the subject. She forces herself to focus on the bones in the human hand, memorizing them with the same ease she had once applied to remembering her runes.
“Come to dinner,” Hermione practically commands, and Padma has a hard time telling her no. Ron looks indifferent, and Harry offers her a small smile, and it’s enough for Padma to put her books away for the night.
Sitting in the Muggle pub, they’re surrounded by people that Hermione and Padma share classes with, the scent of sharp alcohol and dark stout thick in the air and their conversation light. Padma thinks, if only for a moment, that they’re almost normal.
***
The summer between sophomore and junior year seemed to last a lifetime. Padma enjoyed the long, drawn out days and the warm weather, but there was just too much idle time. She liked having assignments to focus on, her life portioned up into manageable tasks of homework and short essays and long term papers and reviewing for exams.
The summer was always Parvati’s favorite season, and maybe Padma can understand a little, lying on the green grass, staring up at the blue sky and the yellow sun. The air is fresh and clear, lingering with the scent of morning dew and wildflowers.
She also has the chance to have dinner with Terry without feeling guilty for avoiding homework. He invites her to a real, sit-down restaurant, not some Muggle pub with the television blaring in the corner or a Wizarding pub with the wireless tuned in to Quidditch.
“Muggle life seems to be treating you well,” he tells her, after the waiter has set down plates of salad in front of them and left.
“I’d hardly call my life Muggle, Terry,” she replies. “Hermione and I still use magic for plenty of things.”
“Charming your books to be feather-light?” Terry asks. By the quirk of his lips, she can tell he’s teasing. She feels herself blushing.
“And St. Mungo’s seems to be treating you well,” she says, turning the tables. He grins, and doesn’t look anything like the boy she remembered from school. Padma has to remind herself that he’s a man now, and they’re not teenagers any more, lost and broken after a war they shouldn’t have had to fight.
“I really like healing, after all. It’s amazing what magic can do, put to the right uses.”
Padma thinks back to her anatomy textbook, and wonders if Terry knows all 206 bones in the human body from memory, if he knows the difference between a ligament and a tendon, if he even knows what a cell is, let alone what mitosis and meiosis are. She realizes that when she thinks about blood now, she thinks about plasma and platelets, and white blood cells and red blood cells, veins and arteries and capillaries, and she thinks that magic can’t teach you any of that.
She changes her major to biology for the coming term, and doesn’t once regret it.
***
When Hermione proposed a trip to Avalon, Padma hadn’t expected almost a year to pass before they followed through. The wait was worth it; Avalon was breath-taking.
She feels truly alive here, and laughs in the cold, dark air. They spin in circles, the way Padma used to do with Parvati when they were very little. She isn’t sure if it’s her own echoing laughter she hears, but for a moment it feels like her sister is there too.
But even if it was just her imagination, in that moment Padma is finally convinced she had made the right choices. Parvati might have taken a different path, but she would have given Padma all her support.
For the first time in three years, she sleeps without dreaming of dying screams and the smell of copper in her nose.
***
She likes sharing a flat with Hermione during their senior year. Sometimes at night she thinks about how Hermione and Parvati had shared a room for six years at Hogwarts, and she wonders how different that must have been. Hermione admitted once that she was almost in Ravenclaw, and Padma wonders if they would have gotten along as well then as they do now. That was a lifetime ago, though, and they were both different people. They’re older now, but maybe they need each other more than they would have as timid eleven year olds.
Padma is glad she took the chance of sending Hermione an offer to share a room at university. Their arrangement is cozy and domestic, and Padma finally feels like she’s found her place in the world. Harry and Ron stop by from time to time, but so does Terry, and Lisa when she’s back in the country (she gets paid to travel, now, but still sends Padma postcards). She smiles more than she frowns, and thinking of Parvati doesn’t hurt any more.
And after their graduation ceremony, with Ron and Harry and Terry and Lisa lounging around Hermione and Padma’s flat, bits of red and blue and gold and bronze confetti still in their hair and on their clothes, a bottle of firewhiskey being passed around, Lisa asks: “Now what?”
“I don’t know,” Padma replies, but this time she laughs. She’s learned during her time at university that sometimes not knowing the answer is okay, and she doesn’t have to be afraid, and maybe those were the most important lessons of all.