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“Parvati, dear, would you be a love and help me carry these trays outside?” the Weasley matriarch asked, already levitating several platters laden with food behind her.
“Of course, Molly,” she readily agreed. Running late as usual, Parvati had been hiding in the Burrow’s kitchen after arriving, hastily chopping up the fruit she'd brought. She knew it was a paltry offering compared to the feast Molly put together, but she couldn't show up empty-handed.
Her wand was twisted into her thick dark hair, keeping it off her neck in the sticky heat, so Parvati carefully balanced a heavy tray in each hand, slowly making her way to the backdoor.
“A little help please?” she called out after a few attempts to hit the door handle with her hip, food tilting precariously as she shifted.
“I've got you.” A freckled arm pulled the screen door open, and she smiled when she realised who it was.
Percy. Her stomach fluttered when their fingers brushed as he relieved her of a tray and accompanied her to overflowing picnic tables.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Are you going back inside?” At her nod, he said, “I'll join you, I'm melting out here.”
Out of habit, Parvati fidgeted with the bangles on her left wrist, the ones she never took off. She didn't like to see her mark—the blurry grey FW that looked like a faded tattoo.
She hadn’t known Fred, not really. Parvati and Lavender had giggled under burgundy bedcovers about how fit and funny the Weasley twins were, but that was just surface level stuff. She'd never been interested in more and had been just as shocked as Padma when they both received soulmarks on the Weasley twins’ 18th birthday.
Back in the kitchen, she handed Percy a carton of strawberries which he dutifully began washing.
Parvati heard her sister's laugh and looked out the window to see George spinning her twin around and around until they collapsed together in a heap on the grass. It was strange to watch Padma and George together, to see how happy they were, how well they fit. Like a glimpse into a mirror universe where Fred had survived.
And yet… Parvati couldn't help but question if she and Fred would have clicked nearly so well. Like puzzle pieces that looked like they should slot together but just don't line up correctly. Padma and George worked because they balanced each other; she kept him grounded while he loosened her up. Maybe the girl Parvati had been before losing Lavender would've matched with Fred. Maybe the shape of her puzzle piece had changed.
Instead, she floated on the periphery of this ever-expanding family—the daughter-in-law-that-wasn’t, a war widow, despite never marrying.
“Do you ever think… think that if we pursue this—us—that we’re betraying his memory in some way?” Percy asked, breaking their companionable silence.
She glanced at him, his wrinkled brow as he studiously avoided her gaze, slicing strawberries with precision, and she felt a surge of fondness.
Placing her hand on his markless wrist, she encouraged him to stop and face her. “No. If anything, I think we owe it to him to find happiness where we can.”
He smiled down at her. “You're right.”
Carefully, hesitantly, Percy stepped closer to her and enfolded her in an embrace—their first—her head at the perfect height to lay against his shoulder.
Parvati finally knew where she fit.