The Silver Swan

Chapter 5

If this story were a Tale of Adventure, or a chronicle of What We Did in The War, I could leave out this next part. The summer after our fifth year, our mother took Parvati and me to America for a month. We invited Cho and Ginny. We stayed in a house by the sea and had a wonderful time. What else is there to say? But it's not that kind of story because it wasn't that kind of war. It was a month in which nothing happened: it was a month in which everything changed. When I remember that summer, and it is a bright memory that I cling to in dark times, I think of the sun and the sea, of days that merged seamlessly one into the next, of a time without crisis or fear, but mostly I think of three kisses.

Our mother had a summer fellowship at Harvard, in America, whether in her wizarding or her muggle persona, I never knew. She was in both worlds a historian of considerable repute. She jumped at the opportunity to get us, as well as herself, out of harm's way at least for a while. She offered to rent a house at the seashore if we would accompany her. Parvati was only too ready. When I seemed to hesitate, she sweetened the deal with a promise of access to the Harvard libraries if I wanted it. Of course I did, but I would have gone anyway. My hesitation was due to a different thought that had struck me just them.

"Mum ... could we possibly invite friends from school?"

"In reasonable quantity, I suppose. But we're going for a month, Padma. Will they want to be away from their families for so long? You all are already at school for most of the year."

"It's only one or two, and yes, I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

I sent a meaningful look over to my sister. I needed her help for this if it wasn't to be too obvious. I needn't have worried. For this sort of thing, her intelligence was quicker than mine. In any case, she and Ginny had become great friends over the course of that year, bonded by the broad streak of hidden mischief that they had discovered in each other - and also by the memory of a common misfortune. I never learned which of them it was, after the debacle of the Yule Ball, who came up with the idea of matching T-shirts emblazoned with a lightning bolt and the words I survived the Boy who Lived. They had offered one to Cho after the infamous Valentine's Day trip to Hogsmeade, but she hadn't found it funny.

My sister was also, I had good reason to know, an extremely devious witch. She understood at once what I wanted and returned my look with one of warning. I left matters to her, and sat back to watch the results.

"What a good idea! We could ask Lavender."

I knew perfectly well that Lavender Brown really was trapped with her family, who would no more agree to let her go to America than to the moon.

"Or if she can't come, maybe Ginny Weasley. She's a year behind us, but really nice. You'll like her, Mum."

"I'm sure that would be fine, dear. What about you Padma? Are you still friends with Cho? Would you like to ask her?"

I pretended to consider it for all of three seconds before agreeing with a grin. A warm feeling washed over me. Not only had my sister and I collaborated in an Act of Kindness for the ages - I had already had owls from Cho and knew exactly how bereft the two of them were feeling - but I had the distinct impression that our summer had just become considerably more interesting.

Our mother handled negotiations with the Changs. Ginny managed on her own.

Mother had secured a large house right on the beach in a place called Cape Ann, not far from the village of Rockport. There, she assured us, we would have privacy and could even use a bit of magic to make ourselves more comfortable, within reasonable limits, of course. Going to America, however, was not just a matter of apparating into the front room - even had we been licensed to do so. Oh no.

First we had to get a portkey to Gate double Z of Logan Airport, in Boston. There, we were met by a representative of the American Department of Magical Affairs who provided us with Muggle-standard immigration documents, in appearance at least. Then, we had to stand in line with everyone else to secure lawful admittance to the United States of America. And then we had to endure an absolutely harrowing ride in a totally non-magical automobile driven by one of my mother's new colleagues whose sole ambition in life seemed to be to eliminate as many of her fellow drivers as possible before one of them finally got her. Parvati and I had been through this sort of thing often enough before in London, but that was not the case for the other two - it was very possibly Cho's first time ever. When we finally arrived, both she and Ginny had the pale washed-out look that announces that death, or worse, is imminent. As they made their way slowly and somewhat unsteadily to the house, Ginny turned to me with a baleful glare.

"If that experience could be made into a curse, it would be the fourth unforgivable."

Soon enough, though, we all recovered both equilibrium and sense of humour. The house itself was lovely. We could see the ocean from the front porch and an ever-changing vista of tidal marsh and salt ponds from the back. Not only that, but we had it largely to ourselves. Our mother, it turned out, had the use of a flat in Boston and spent most nights there. She stayed with us long enough to see us settled in and take us on the mandatory visit to Salem - she was a historian after all; Parvati and I were used to this sort of thing. After that, though, she looked in on us just often enough to know that all was well. Indeed, it couldn't have been better.

Left on our own, we solemnly agreed to maintain high standards of decorum and self-discipline. To save us all from ourselves, we imposed a few simple rules. Mine was 'no books on the beach,' Parvati's 'no boys in the house.' Cho and Ginny were given a ten o'clock curfew - meaning that they weren't allowed to retire to the privacy of their bedroom until that hour of the evening. We all tested the boundaries, of course. One or two boys made it as far as the porch. I decided that magazines didn't count as books. We caught the turtledoves, on more than a few occasions, looking longingly in the direction of the bedroom door well before half past nine. But, on the whole, we were all very good.

In my own case, I soon realized that far more interesting than the books I had brought with me, or even than the delightfully low-brow American magazines we bought in town, was the unending spectacle provided by my sister and her ever-changing masculine entourage. She picked a new boy every day or two, and she knew how to choose. They were all prettier one than the next and, in her hands at least, perfect gentlemen - although I strongly suspect that many of them later regretted it and asked themselves why on Earth they hadn't tried harder. Poor dears, they didn't stand a chance. She was my sister and childhood jealousy was long forgotten. I glowed with pride for her.

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"The boys, of course! Parvati ... tell me you're not using magic"

"Ha! As if they needed it. Watch and learn, dear. It's all in the eyes."

She demonstrated, and it was true. There was the wide-eyed soulful look - we dubbed it the fuzzy bunny - that made even me want to pet her, or at least buy her ice cream. But then, ah yes and then, for those who got too close there was the Death-Dealing Cobra, a gaze of such predatory ferocity that it was guaranteed to freeze Gilderoy Lockhart himself to one spot until he suddenly thought of an urgent errand far down at the other end of the beach. She knew this, she told me, because she had tried it on him.

"You could do this when you were twelve ?!!!"

I was in awe. Parvati tossed her head disdainfully.

"Lockhart was easy."

A pensive, almost wistful look crossed her face.

"None of it worked on Harry, though."

At that, Ginny, who for once had been listening quietly, made a sound suspiciously like a suppressed giggle.

"That's because our Harry was a bit distracted at the time, wasn't he Miss Chang?"

Cho had the grace to blush. They went on bantering back and forth, but I tuned it out and sat gazing at my sister, as if I were seeing her for the first time.

"Parvati, have I ever told you that you're beautiful?"

"Silly Padma, so are you. We're identical, remember?"

And she kissed the tip of my nose.

*

* *

One morning, near the end of the second week, Parvati announced that she was tired. Too much sun, perhaps?

"Too much something, anyway."

"Shut up, Cho, you're a fine one to talk!"

Self-satisfied smirks all round, and then a vague regret.

"I was supposed to meet up with that boy Steve today. He has a sailboat, he said he'd take me out if the weather was nice."

Instinctively, we all looked out the window. The weather was glorious.

"Count me out on that one. No boats!"

As far as Cho was concerned, water and witches, or at least Chinese witches, didn't mix. She had gone sailing once, she claimed, but the only thing she would ever say about it was 'never again!'

"You weren't invited, miss smarty-pants Chang."

"And in case you've forgotten, your day is fully booked. We have an important sand castle to build"

Parvati looked at me appraisingly.

"You could go."

"He doesn't want me. He wants you."

"So be me ..."

Do all twins do this? We hadn't since we were ten years old, but in our pre-Hogwarts youth it was a favourite game - including at school. It occurs to me that this may well be one reason why the all-knowing sorting hat put us into different houses. But could I do it now? With a boy? Did I even want to? To my surprise, it dawned on me that I probably could, and rather did. I had seen Parvati in action often enough over the past weeks to know the procedure, and he'd only met her once. How hard could it be? She caught my dawning smile.

"Ha! I knew it! OK, here are the ground rules. This one doesn't have porch privileges, so you meet him on the beach. You pay for your own lunch, but he can get you drinks and ice cream in the afternoon. Kiss him if you want, and you can let him touch you over the T-shirt, but only if you really want him to. Do not take anything off."

I choked.

"Par-va-ti !!!"

"Hey dear, it's my reputation we're dealing with here. These things get around, so don't think you can go slumming."

And Ginny chimed in.

"I know you quiet bookish types. Just waiting for your chance ..."

I answered with a dignified silence and my best imitation of Parvati's death-dealing cobra look. Either it only worked on boys, or I couldn't pull it off. They just laughed. The turtledoves went off to build their sand castle. Parvati told me to behave myself and sent me on my way.

Honestly ... I can't remember a lovelier day. What did we do? Nothing in particular, and that was the glory of it.

As, it happened, we didn't go sailing. Something tedious was wrong with the boat. I was just as glad. I do not have Cho's problem but, given the choice, I'll pass up on pirate queen as a career choice, thanks all the same. So instead we walked around the harbour and looked in shops. In a shocking defiance of my sister's wise rules and stern admonishments, I spent all my money on a present for her and then let him buy me lunch. Afterward we walked down the beach. Eventually the T-shirt did come off, but only because we went for a swim - so there. On the way back, we found the sand castle architects. Their structure was indeed spectacular. Suspiciously so. Even Steve the friendly muggle stared at it oddly. It also looked strangely familiar. Some of us had spent a lot of time in a castle very much like that ... I cleared my throat sternly.

"Ahem ... that's a very ... unusual castle you're building there, you two."

Cho looked vaguely guilty and avoided my gaze: Ginny looked me straight in the eye.

Yes, isn't it? Pity the tide will wash it away soon.

And she shook her shovel at me warningly. A shovel with a very familiar looking handle. Incorrigible, that one. It was clearly time to take muggle-Steve and move along.

He bought me ice cream. We sat in the afternoon sun. He told me about his life, omitting no detail however small. I gave him carefully edited excerpts of ours. He walked me home and stopped on the steps in front of the house, clearly conscious of his boundaries - my sister knew how to train her men. I collected a chaste kiss on the cheek, and surprised him with one in return, brief but definite, and full on the lips.

"Thank you for a wonderful day."

Before he had a chance to recover, I turned and went up the steps into the house.

Ha!

*

* *

Cho wanted to go dancing. She had little trouble convincing us, since Parvati loved to dance, Ginny was ready for anything that smacked of adventure, and I seldom could refuse Our Girl anything at all. More impressively, she convinced our mother. In remarkably little time, it was agreed that we would ride the train into Boston, spend the day in the city, go to an appropriate venue for the evening, and then camp out in her flat that night. All that remained was to find the appropriate venue, bearing in mind that we had celebrated Ginny's fifteenth birthday only a few days previously, and that Cho had something specific in mind.

"We want to find a place that's fun. Somewhere comfortable ... somewhere ..."

"Somewhere you and Ginny can hold hands in public."

The twin thuds that followed this statement were my and Parvati's chins hitting the floor. Our mother shook her had and laughed at us.

"You don't really think I didn't know?"

Cho looked as if her birthday had come early. Ginny, as ever, was practical and direct.

That would be lovely, Professor Patil. Do you know a place?

And it transpired that she did - our mother! Looking back, I am certain that she had researched the subject ahead of time. We would have to fudge the ages a bit, but if we swore by all that was magical to behave ourselves, she could help us there too. The turtledoves broke into grins and semi-coherent thanks; Cho in particular made it clear that she now considered our mother as something between Father Christmas and her own personal fairly godmother. The Patil sisters had to sit down at this point in the proceedings.

Plans were duly made, and that Friday morning saw four likely looking young women boarding a muggle train called, for some inexplicable reason, the BM and heading for the bright lights of Boston. The trip proved considerably less taxing than the drive up. Even Cho liked trains. Our mother met us at the station and surprised us - again - with the announcement that if we were going out that evening we clearly needed to do some shopping first. We knew this, of course, and had vague plans along those lines, but no idea where to go. All we really hoped for was directions, and perhaps a modest loan, but she, it transpired, had taken the morning off and had every intention of taking charge. We were promptly bundled onto the local equivalent of the tube and, before we had a chance to catch our breath, found ourselves in a place called Newbury Street. It was shops, nothing but shops, and I'm fairly certain that we visited them all.

Halfway into that memorable morning, I found myself exchanging increasingly quizzical looks with my sister. Both of us were very obviously wondering the same thing. Who was this delightful creature who had transfigured herself into the likeness, but certainly not the personality, of our mother? Our mother was a serious and practical academic. It was true, we had to admit, that she owned some very nice clothes but we had never actually witnessed her in the act of shopping, let alone the frenzy of frivolous acquisitiveness that overtook her that day.

Finally, I had to ask. Taking advantage of a moment when the others were all off trying on various outfits, I pulled her aside.

"Mum ... why are you doing this?"

To my surprise and dismay, a veil of sadness seemed, momentarily, to fall over her eyes. But she recovered and answered briskly.

"We'd best take advantage of the good times when we can, hadn't we"

It was her only reference that summer to the shadow that hung over us all but, as she said it, I realized that she had very likely been thinking of little else. I found myself altogether at a loss for words, but took her hand and held it tightly for a moment. We understood each other perfectly.

In the end, Parvati organized an outfit for me as well as herself. We were identically dressed for the first time since age six except that her hair was bound up by a clip in the shape of a gilded flower whereas mine was held in place by a serpentine form that looked suspiciously like ... the death-dealing cobra. The prospect of my sister developing a sense of irony on the same day as our mother was revealed as a secret shopping fiend was too much to deal with. I decided not to think about it.

The shopping fiend in question, meanwhile, had taken charge of the other two, both of whom put themselves entirely in her hands. For Cho, who was perfectly capable of picking out her own clothes even in a strange muggle city, this was merely another aspect of her newfound role as my mother's devoted admirer and slave for life. Ginny, on the other hand, really was helpless and, I suddenly realized, very near panic. For the first time since I had known her, this force of nature was abruptly reduced to a fifteen-year-old girl of limited means who had lived all her life in the country and had not the first clue as to how to deal with her sudden affluence, or with the myriad of choices put before her. For one usually self-possessed so far beyond her years, this was oddly endearing.

By lunchtime, though, she was back to normal, which, for her, meant an evil sense of fun. Since they were dragging me out that evening, she decreed, it was up to me to choose an activity for the afternoon.

"Something you'll enjoy, Padma. Something educational."

Wicked, wicked child she was, but I could play this game too - and I too had done some advance research. I took them to see an exhibit of classical Indian sculpture at the Museum of Fine Arts and lectured them all to within an inch of their lives on the finer points of style and the legends surrounding the characters depicted. I took care to include details concerning the private life of the Goddess Parvati that made even Ginny blush. She had it coming.

I earned their forgiveness by taking them for coffee afterwards. We had what Americans call muffins and found that they came in flavours like apricot-raspberry-chocolate chip, which Cho found a bit much. Ginny and I approved wholeheartedly and speculated, while eating a second one each and ignoring the stern looks emanating from our companions, on the prospects of teaching the Hogwarts house elves how to make them.

We walked slowly back into the city and ended up in a lovely public garden surrounding a small still lake across which plied boats in the shape of swans. Cho was delighted with these and declared them the only boats in the entire world that she would ever ride willingly. So we rode them. Several times.

Following our mother's directions, we got back on the underground and rode across the river to Cambridge, where we walked around Harvard Square - more shops, but we had all had enough of that for one day - and then through the University. It was nice enough but rather plain, I thought; 'is that it?' was Ginny's uncharitable opinion. We ended up in a small upstairs restaurant where a very patient Greek waiter brought us lobsters. A rather challenging meal, this proved - I caught Ginny surreptitiously reaching for her wand - but delicious once he showed us how to break into them.

After dinner, we repaired to our mother's flat to change. Parvati supervised my transformation into a reflection of her frivolous self - at least this time she spared me turquoise - and I have to admit that if the skirt was somewhat shorter than I would have chosen of my own free will, the overall effect wasn't half bad. Ginny was turned out by our mother in modest elegance that added at least five years to her apparent age without being in the least inappropriate to who she really was. I was duly impressed. Cho dressed herself in the flat's tiny bathroom. It seemed to take her quite some time. When she finally came out, my heart stopped.

Her outfit was plain, almost severe, a black silk skirt and jacket over a bone white blouse. No jewellery. Her hair, altogether unadorned and unrestrained, fell over her shoulders like an ebony cascade. Whatever cosmetics she had applied were subtle to the point of invisibility, but her face had taken on an ageless quality; she could have bee thirty-five as easily as fifteen. She was hopelessly, unbearably, heartbreakingly, beautiful.

In the emotion of the moment, I was suddenly transported back to the Ravenclaw common room on the evening of my partnering, to the first vision of that mystic creature who was to be my older and my love. My reaction was the same as it had been that day; without conscious thought I found myself embracing her. But we were no longer eleven and twelve years old, and the kiss that followed was a claiming and a consummation, and, finally, a forsaking. It was I who gently pulled away. I took Cho by the hand and led her across the room to where Ginny waited patiently, with a look of expectant understanding. And then I too understood what it was that I was doing.

Ravenclaw brides, in a tradition as old as the House, are given away, not by their parents, but by an elder of their line. As I crossed the room with Cho, I realized that in that moment we had indeed exchanged roles in every meaningful way. I was her older now. It was my responsibility to care for her, and my place to give her away. Instinctively, Parvati had gone to stand by Ginny, although Gryffindor has no such custom. She gave her a brief hug, and then pushed her forward to meet us. Cho and Ginny took each other by the hand, and each said the other's name. This, we all understood, was a claiming from which there could be no forsaking. No further words were needed. The ceremony was complete. The Fair Flower of Ravenclaw was no more.

I have only fragmentary memories of the rest of that evening. When we were all able to breathe again, our mother - who was looking smug, but whose eyes were suspiciously bright - bundled us into a taxi. Her last present to us was a set of local muggle identification cards. These were clearly charmed, as the pictures on them matched our present appearance, while the dates of birth given reflected our intentions, rather than our ages. I was far beyond surprise by then.

The actual outing, as I recall it, was a success. We danced. We laughed. We were generally admired. For Parvati and myself, admiration took the form of endless invitations to dance, from men as well as women - our mother had chosen well, we might have been back in Ravenclaw. These were enthusiastically accepted from the first my sister and, as the night wore on, by me as well. For Cho and Ginny, it was different. All eyes were on them, but they were never approached. They spent the evening in a world of their own, as if a tangible barrier surrounded them to the exclusion of mere mortals.

We came home to find a note from our mother. She had gone to stay with a friend. The flat was ours for the night. By unspoken consent we all slept together in a nest of blankets on the floor. We were loath to end our companionship, and Cho and Ginny's intimacy no longer depended on such trivial things as closed doors.

End of Part One