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Lakshmi Patil is somewhere she should not be: deep in Ravenclaw’s common room, hands threaded in Penelope Clearwater’s soft hair when she should be down in the dungeons, wiling the night away studying endlessly for her next Potions exam.
Her parents would not be pleased, Snape even less so, but Lakshmi tells herself -
Winter has crept into Hogwarts, burrowing itself deep into the very walls, covering the floors in a thin layer of frost. The dungeons are perpetually cold, and there is a mass murderer on the loose.
All these reasons act as nothing but a distraction, obscuring the real reasons: a chance to spend time with her girlfriend, in a room that does not feel like there are enemies around every corner. None of the Ravenclaws remotely care that she is here: her little sister is in Ravenclaw and she answered the riddle - everything else is immaterial.
Lakshmi likes being a Slytherin, but she is not particularly drawn to her housemates' company. She surrounds herself with Ravenclaws and, to her eternal dread, Gryffindors (but they are not half bad, really, if a little lovesick and forlorn), and she is more than content. It is better than last year, back when the love of her life was dating someone else and spent half the year trapped in a perpetual sleep after almost dying, even if this year there are dementors roaming the grounds making the frost half an inch thick.
Since she started dating Penelope - her girlfriend - everything has become less dreary, the world now dripping with colour, even if there is a mass murderer on the loose and two of their friends are currently the most oblivious people in existence.
“Is a waterfall braid okay?” Lakshmi asks, reaching out to sweep all of Penelope’s hair out of her face.
Penelope turns around, all soft smiles and sweet blue eyes, hair falling back in front of her face. “Of course, love.”
Lakshmi tries not to shiver, and fails. This - all of this - is so new, so tender. Last year, Penelope and Percy had been dating, and Lakshmi and Oliver had been left to mope woefully on the sidelines. This year, Penelope had realised that whilst Percy was a perfectly decent bloke, he really wasn’t her type, and Lakshmi -
Well. Lakshmi was the epitome of it, the apple of her eye, or so Penelope had told her.
Unfortunately, the moping in their friendship group had not abated since they had started dating, but somehow doubled, quadrupled, thanks to some really not very attentive boys.
Percy has been doing her head in recently, honestly. He knew Oliver was gay - it wasn’t some secret - and if he would just fucking ask him out already, that fuckwit -
The whole ‘there’s a mass murderer on the loose and my little brother is best friend’s with his target!’ excuse was getting old, particularly given that Sirius Black was never ever technically convicted, so he may not even be a mass murderer, and well. Percy was grasping for straws at that point. Everyone was in mortal peril last year and he managed things with Penelope just fine, aside from the fact that they were in love with different people.
In love, Lakshmi thinks, suppressing a smile. Penelope Clearwater is in love with her, and isn’t that just delightful?
There is a hair tie pinching her wrist, one of Penelope’s, because her hair is much finer than Lakshmi’s thick, wavy hair. It had been an adjustment period, learning to braid Penelope’s hair after years of braiding Parvati’s, back in fourth year when Lakshmi was already halfway in love with her.
She sweeps back Penelope’s hair again. “Percy is doing my head in,” she mutters, starting to loop Penelope’s blonde locks into an intricate braid. “I’ll beg him to talk about the importance of cauldron thickness if I even hear a whiff about Oliver from him again.”
Penelope hums. “Well, I’m finally done with my Transfiguration project, so I should be taking the brunt of his rambling for now,” she says, “although Oliver is bound to stop moping about losing to Hufflepuff soon, then he’ll start again and he’s even worse, so I think you still get the short end of the stick.”
Lakshmi groans, deftly pulling out a strand, gently as she can. “I’ll just pass him off to Angelina, Merlin help her. Are you sure locking them in a closet together is still not an option?”
“Not when -”
“A mass murderer is on the loose, I get it,” Lakshmi says, rolling her eyes. “Alleged mass murderer, technically speaking, but the British have never cared for technicalities. I still think Snape is more of a threat to our safety than Black, his negligence is really quite outstanding -”
“The best part of taking my Potions OWL,” Penelope says, “was knowing that I would never have to see Snape again. How you and Percy still do it, I don’t understand.”
Even though Penelope is not facing her, Lakshmi knows her eyes are twinkling. “Terrible teaching -”
“Will not push me away from pursuing my dreams,” Penelope finishes, humming again.
Snape, Lakshmi is pretty sure, still doesn't know her name, even after seven years, because he's a racist incompetent twat. The way he treats Parvati - well. It is a good thing that Lakshmi is a Potions whizz.
“How’s your unofficial potions club going?”
“It’s going well,” Lakshmi says, brushing away a loose curl, “it would be great if Percy could come more, but between his duties and pining, he’s got little time to spare.”
“Indeed. I have tried to talk sense into him about Oliver - he’s just stubborn. And scared, I think.”
Lakshmi tilts Penelope’s head to the side, slowly, carefully. “Oliver worships the very ground he walks on. I think even Professor Lupin has cottoned on - he keeps on partnering them together.”
“They also sit together all the time and hang on to each other’s every word, it’s not particularly hard to figure out unless your name is Percy Weasley or Oliver Wood. I’m just glad we have a DADA professor who is competent the year a mass murderer is on the loose.” Penelope yawns. “Are you almost done?”
Lakshmi bites her lip. “Almost.” A few seconds pass as she ties off the braid, in a way that is a little wonky but will hold. She lets go. Then, without thinking: “I’ll stay over tonight.”
Ravenclaw seventh-years get their own private room, and isn’t that just delightful? Yet for all the handful of times that Lakshmi has slept in Penelope’s bed, it still feels so new, so sudden, to suggest it on an otherwise ordinary Thursday night.
“Please do,” Penelope says without hesitation, “it’s too late for you to go back to the dungeons, don’t you know there’s a mass murderer on the loose?”
“Might have heard something about it,” Lakshmi says with a half-smile. “The dementors roaming the ground gave it away. How’s your patronus going?”
Penelope groans. “It’s going,” she mutters, getting up, her hair swishing. “Come on, my room’s warmer.”
Lakshmi gets up to follow her, as she always will. She leans in, whispers: “Of course.”
Penelope yawns again. “Just to sleep, mind. I have a meeting with Professor McGonagall at eight, about Transfiguration,” she says, her drowsiness starting to show as she slips her hand into Lakshmi’s.
They climb the spiral staircase in comfortable silence, until they reach Penelope’s room and fall into bed, tangled together.
And with that, the night comes to a close.