Drag Her Down

In the light or lack of it, Padma seemed to melt into the black sheets, her deep brown, flawless skin doused in shadows, perfectly still. Only her eyes glowed, even as they sank deep into her, pulling everything down with them as she studied her captor dispassionately, clinically. Those eyes that made Parvati want to drag her down and hit her, hurt her, break her, touch her. Anything that would break her from that cold intellectual cloud away from them all and bring her down to the world of physicality and reality.

On the train in their first year they had known that they would be separated. Or, Parvati had and she assumed that Padma did because Padma knew everything, she was always one step ahead, always in the sky while Parvati was left running on the ground, determined one day to be the one above her sister in any way possible so that she could finally see where her mind was.

Padma's long, limber arms were pulled back behind her head and tied together with silken bonds that bit in ever so gently, not hurting her, only Parvati could do that, no bonds were allowed to have too much control over this body, it was all that Parvati had.

Wrists pinned together with the hands pulled into prayer shape was a common pose, as long as the twins were to be brought up away from the home country, they would be taught in the customs of their father. The dance instructor who would come once a week and adorn them in too much golden jewellery, show them positions and moves. Swaying and rolling languidly to look like snakes, or the wind, or a river, or the dances to mimic the gods. All were drilled into them until they could do nothing without the fluid grace of their ancestors. They moved identically, they looked identical, but neither dance looked like the teachers, or each other's. One was filled with passion and fire, dancing like a flame, ready to consume any obstacle and one dancing like the wind, never really there, slipping away from any reality.

This was what she had missed; looking at her sister while she was open and vulnerable, the body lain before her like an offering, to belong to her and to be the part of her sister that she could control. She was as perfect as ever, as identical to herself as ever. And yet somehow, it seemed like new territory, it may be her body, but it was a casing that surrounded another mind, it could never feel quite the same as her body did, and it was so long since she had last known this body so perfectly well.

Even though Parvati knew that they did not belong in the same house, that they would never be on the same level as each other, one always besting the other even when she did catch up, she was still sad with the knowledge; Padma was everything. Each second of her life was shared with her twin, she offered Padma everything she had, every experience was shared and every thought was relayed for dissection. When night fell Padma was always there for her, her human teddy bear, as distant and separate as always, but a body to cling onto, a form that she knew better than her own. The night before they had left, Parvati traced every curve and flat of the body in her arms, nothing of the shape was left unknown to her and with that she hoped to still belong to her sister when the holidays came round and they could be together again, that she would still have her to hold and to know. To be known by.

When she lowered herself to sit over the bound body there was no resistance, there was no movement in acknowledgement of the fact that she had moved, but that was old hat by now, Parvati knew that it would take more than that to get her sister to respond. Slowly and lightly she traced the body below her, revelling in how the taut skin would move under her hands, how, when she pushed down, the skin below would bend to the shape of her. It was everything that she could never truly have with her twin.

It had only ever been her sister's body that she knew, that she could lay claim to. Playing in the garden or children's rooms at their home together, when they were finally left alone, Parvati had always known that she was alone, Padma was always away on her cloud, thinking and knowing more than she could ever hope to understand. But she did not mind. As long as she had her sister's form, her presence, she could bear the lack of her mind, it was how they differed and she accepted that, it did not matter that they did not share that cloud so long as nobody else did either.

Finally reaching Padma's face in her search to have complete knowledge over her sister's physicality, Parvati leant forwards and stole a kiss, the soft lips below her opening obediently, but giving no other indication that she was even there. And still her tongue plundered forewords, relishing the sweet taste of her twin, the caramel sugariness that once again showed that their similarity ended underneath the skin. But she was not here to see their differences, they had already been forced upon her from birth, she was here to finally gain the power over her sister, to claim her back. She was here so she could finally sleep properly again, with her teddy back.

The first time she remembered seeing her sister grounded was when they were four, jealous of the attention her sister was getting, Parvati pushed her to the ground all the way from the high bench. Padma fell on gravel and the palms of her hands started bleeding, she began crying and looked up at her attacker with sorrow and pain and the shame of letting this weakness overcome her, of not understanding why she was pushed or why blood was coming out. Her hand moved up to her face to wipe the tears away and a streak of red was left below her eye. It did not matter after that, what happened to Parvati as a punishment, her parents had pulled her away and were saying something to her, but she could not hear them, she did not see them. Her head was filled with the image of those confused and accusing eyes, eyes for once filled with passion, and that line of red shining wetly on the tear streaked skin. The image stayed with her until the red was in the eyes and they were mixed together until all there was was angry passion, the moment when her sister was her true twin, when she became the fire that Parvati always was.

"Blood becomes you," Parvati whispered as she broke away from her sister, the news was received with an subtle darkening of her eyes, Padma was a smart girl, she understood exactly what was meant by the comment. Sitting back up, Parvati leant over her sister and dug her hand into the pile of clothes pushed to the bottom of the sealed four-posted bed. Her fingers hit it quite quickly; the smooth, cold metal was jarringly different to the soft robes it lay in. As it was pulled out and displayed to the bound girl, Parvati could have sworn that she saw a glimmer of fear in the girl's eyes. It was a nice feeling.

She was chosen for the house of the brave and courageous or, as it was known inside the house, the house for the good. A whole assortment of personalities, all of whom were classed as 'good', much like you were evil if you were in Slytherin, not simply cunning and out for yourself, but something truly malicious, if you were in Huffelpuff then you were stupid and cowardly, not loyal and not hardworking. Ravenclaws were intelligent, studious and nothing more. And that just was not Padma, she knew that she would be there the instant they were informed of the houses, she was always learning, always hoarding information. But Parvati had no idea what house she would be in, just, not Padma's house. She is never sure if it is right either, the moment she sat down at the Gryffindor table and someone told her that she was in the house of the good, the light warriors. She does not care about good or evil, she only cares about her sister, about having her.

It did not take long to get back over her twin, hovering above her, twirling the metal, watching her eyes for any change, any vulnerability and acceptance of the fact that she did not know what to do. She decides where to begin; there is so much smooth, clear skin, a blank canvass just waiting for the brush to draw out the lines of expression and fire. A memory floats once again into her head and the knife is rested gently on her cheekbone, she may as well begin there, for old time's sake, to see if she remembers, if she can use her wonderful brain to connect the puzzle, to work her out like one of her precious arithmacy problems. Resentment flares and the knife is pushed down into that dark skin deeply.

It was washed away the next time she saw Padma and that was more painful than the fact that they were not left alone with each other for a whole week afterwards. Parvati was not to be trusted so she sat to one side of the playroom with her crystal as she tried to make it move the way her mother could while Padma was sat on the other side of the room, in the ayah's arms as she read her book about a Kneazle that got lost in the Muggle world. The distance was all right, they were still allowed to be in the same room, she was still allowed to touch her, and they still shared a bed. But her cheek was clean, any trace of the moment when she fell off her cloud was gone and some nights Parvati had to reassure herself that it was not a dream, it could be done, her sister did not always know everything, she could not always control her emotions.

The small sound of pain that escaped Padma's lips was just as satisfying as the thin river of blood that began flowing out of the wound, the rich ruby shining as brightly as her eyes in the darkness, alighting them both with embers and for a moment she seemed warm. But it was not enough, the blood kept running but it was under her control again, it was all under her control, she knew spells to stop blood flow and the knowledge of them was enough to compose herself, even when she did not have her wand, even when she could not cast them, the knowledge was inside her. Parvati did not want her to have control, she wanted the control, she wanted passion in her sister's eyes, and she wanted to feel like a twin. She wanted to see more beautiful blood run over her sister's body, wanted it to pool in her belly button. Wanted it to run down her legs.

Parvati used to cut herself when she was thirteen, it was the one thing she went to the library and studied for, she did not want to leave any marks, luckily there was a spell for it that she found all by herself. The momentary success made her wonder if she should look up more fun or useful spells in the piles of possibly interesting books. She could learn new things in the library and discover whole new worlds, she could become a new person who understood what was going on, who knew a higher meaning, but then she saw Padma in the corner with a heavy tome and decided against it, there was no way that the two could exist on the same cloud.

Tearing her gaze away from her cheekbones, from her memories, she moved lower on the now shifting body, the dance had begun again but for once Padma had put a little feeling and emotion into it. Hips were swaying side to side as her chest arched up, not panicking but trying to loosen the bonds. Still a languid and peaceful movement it entranced her and drew her attention to her stomach's unmarred appearance. Once again the knife was poised and lowered slowly and gently onto her firm skin, at the touch Padma fell still and her eyes grew stony, but she did not mind, she would ignite soon enough, then she would move, then she would rage, then she might finally talk to her again. She pushed.

But when Parvati did make those deep cuts along her arm, watching the blood pour out and grinning at the experience of it, she was not trying to escape from anything, she was not looking for attention and it was not to make her in control. Locked inside the bathroom with the rest of the girls well trained enough not to knock or start making a fuss until at least twenty minutes had passed. She was looking in the mirror at her wounds, reaching out to touch her image and getting irritated when the image reached back to her, partially blocking her view, but she would never look down directly onto the cuts. In the mirror, it could be Padma.

Deep. Working up into a frenzy Parvati dragged the blade in a haphazard pattern as her sister arched and writhed beneath her, the sounds that she was making became her whole world, high keens that reverberated off the silencing spells and, best of all, low guttural moans as her free hand drifted lower and twisted synonymously with the knife, kneading skin beneath it. She finally saw those eyes just as she wanted them; open and exposed as the body they lay in, burning and raging, bright as the stars Parvati would gaze at as she wished for this moment, when her sister showed that she was human; she could be driven with passion and need.

Parvati used to hear her parents talking about her and Padma to guests and relatives, the endless supply of people that would come to parties, festivals, dinners and anything else that her mother could come up with as an excuse to put the girls to bed early and to act like she had never had real children, but that they were in a story that she knew off by heart. She could discuss them for hours but she was never very good with the idea of being in the same room as them for prolonged periods of time. They would always speak of her first, what a fun and lively child she was, what an entertaining and exhausting wife she would be. Then it would move on to her sister, 'so different', they would comment lightly, 'she has some of the gods in her' and then they would move on as if afraid of talking of her. They were right, as far as they could see she did not belong with them and so she was not, she had too much control over herself; she would always float off to them and leave the others behind until she could remind her that she was a human, one of them. One of her.

The blood made their bodies slick as she moved back up to her sister's face, the face that was now identical to hers, without the mask of intellectuality and dispassion. There was enough blood for a lifetime and it was thick and heavy in her mouth, leaning down to share the taste of pennies and fire she found a willing tongue and soon enough there was no metal left in her mouth. Grinding down onto the bound hips that were doing their best to thrust upwards as their strength was leaking away, Padma had already been worked up in the mess of metal and stimulation and the blood and reality was enough for Parvati. They both reached completion with a cry that could have reached up to the gods that knew one of them so well and that stole all their strength. Then, in silence, Parvati collapsed completely on top of Padma, pinning her securely and wrapping her in her arms once again. She was hers.

When they were six they were given separate beds in the same room, much to Parvati's disgust, it had been put off for a year by her tears and protestations, Padma was silent on the matter, which everyone assumed meant that she agreed, but it had to be done eventually. Parvati stopped talking to anyone but Padma and the first night of the separate beds she piled boxes up against the door and they slept together again. Eventually the two single beds were gone and a double bed took its place. The family never mentioned it.

Finally, fighting through her panting breaths, Parvati reached up and dragged her thumb across the first cut she made, now blotted up with congealed blood, inelegant below the softly fluttering eyelashes as her sister tried to stay conscious.

The little child, crying silently at the pain that she did not understand. The body that was always so submissive as her sister claimed her.

"That was when I fell in love with you."