For Padma's Sake

Padma perches on a chair in her room, unmoving but for the rising and falling of her chest. She wishes she were unseeing. Wishes she were unhearing. Wishes she could stop time. Anything. Anything to keep the scene before her from proceeding, anything to keep it from being real.

She cannot watch, but she cannot walk away. Padma remains seated, transfixed. Stillness, contrast and counterbalance to Parvati's motion.

Parvati. Parvati is on her stomach, body draped across her bed, clenching the edges of her pillow with either hand as she sobs and screams. She is constant motion. Paravti is aching, crying, screaming, fighting. Padma cannot watch, but neither can she look away. Because of Parvati.

It is December of her fourth year. Padma sits with Lisa and Laura in the Ravenclaw common room. It is the third week of the diet they began together soon after the Yule Ball was announced. Lisa and Laura have already given up, but Padma is still going strong. She flashes a smile at the other girls as they compliment her, praising her discipline and her trim figure. She glows at their praises -- no one has ever admired her or praised her this much before.

Padma values cleverness -- she is a Ravenclaw, after all. If she were fair to herself, she would realize that she does fairly well in school. But Padma sees only that she will never be as smart Hermione Granger or even Terry Boot. In Ravenclaw, doing well is merely expected. She loves her House, but she has never stood out or been admired.

Over the last three years Padma has watched her world crack and fall around her. But she has always had an anchor, a constant, a strength beside her. Padma has never broken.

For months, ever since the carriage took them away from Hogwarts, Parvati has been strong. For Padma's sake. She has confided in no one but Lavender, with whom she exchanges letters twice every week. Parvati has lived the image her sister believes her -- and needs her -- to be. But it has cost her. She has been crying since she departed Hogwarts, but she hadn't shed a tear until today.

Now Parvati is crying. Crying desperately. Crying achingly. Crying as never before. Padma watches, unmoving. She does not know what she wants. She does not know what to feel. So she remains still, seeing and unseeing, breathing in and breathing out. Existing. Because of Parvati.

Padma has just returned home with Parvati for the spring holidays. It is their first visit home all year, since they both remained at Hogwarts over Christmas for the Yule Ball. Padma is still on her diet.

She watches her mother's eyes as they examine the twins, no curve or blemish unnoticed. They are scrutinized in aspect, from the bottom corners of their trunks to the neat piles of marked essays under their arms to the drape of their robes across their stomachs.

Padma watches anxiously, wishing she possessed half Parvati's indifference. But for once, her mother smiles at her. Padma smiles weakly back, knowing that the smiles will vanish when her Potions' marks are revealed, unable to enjoy the knowledge that for the moment at least, her parents are satisfied.

But now Parvati is lying on her stomach, the entirety of her body heaving as she sobs and screams, an image so different from her apparent happiness two hours ago. She received an owl from Lavender earlier this morning saying that Hogwarts would be reopening in the fall. Hiding her desperation behind forced hope, Parvati asked their parents if they could return in September.

Their parents refused and proceeded to firmly rebuke their daughter for her disregard for her own and her sister's safety. Padma accepted their edict as she did everything: with resignation. Parvati did not, could not. Parvati knows she cannot continue indefinitely as she has done this summer. She cannot always be strong. Parvati sustained herself with dreams of Hogwarts, dreams of returning to Lavender, Seamus, and Dean. With Hogwarts denied her, Parvati can no longer maintain the facade of strength.

Parvati crumbles, and Padma does not know what to do. She is paralyzed by disbelief. Unable to feel and unable to stop feeling. Because of Parvati.

It is September of Padma's fifth year, and she is still dieting. She loves it. She loves the strength she feels when she sits at the table and does not eat, loves the freedom of refusal.

But she hates it too. She hates looking in the mirror, looking and seeing every pound, every ounce that has not come off. The body she has yet to conquer.

Parvati is crying, crying out months of hidden frustration and clandestine pain. Padma is staring, suspended in unreality. It has been years since she last saw her sister cry. She believes in a sister who is the embodiment of strength and resolve -- a sister who does not truly exist.

The last foundation of Padma's world is crumbling, proving no different than anything else she has held on to. Like everything she has ever clung to, it is built of illusion.

Padma has lived years in this illusionary world, supported by illusions -- illusions which have, one by one, been stripped away. But she has made it this far. Because of Parvati.

It is May, and Padma decides to stop dieting, just for one day, to assure herself of her control. She discovers that she cannot stop. Cannot. And she is spiraling. Spiraling.

Spiraling in the realization that her diet, her control, is just like everything else. Her control is only illusion.

Their mother's voice shouts from the kitchen, announcing that lunch is ready. The thrice-daily call to battle.

Padma leans forward slowly, begins to lever herself up from her chair, all the while transfixed by the sobbing form of her sister. She straightens, takes a single step towards the door. And stops. She turns around. Looks again at her sister.

Padma cannot continue.

She shatters.