FIC: MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S MAGIC (LAVENDER/PARVATI)
Title: Midsummer Night's Magic
Author: kiertorata
Pairing: Lavender Brown/Parvati Patil
Word Count: 3777
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, alcohol
Summary: An ancient midsummer night's rite doesn't work, or maybe it does. Obliviousness, magic, summer and wine, and Post-war vibes.
Notes: I had this idea ages ago and was going to write it by Summer Solstice, but what do you know, I only started writing it after Solstice and only got round to posting it now. So it's a little out of season, but it's still a cute little fic, and I hope you enjoy it. Thanks so much to lenapinewoods for the beta! The midsummer magic was inspired by the midsummer episodes of Moomins and Finnish folklore. And the ending was partially inspired by some Lavender/Parvati wedding fanart I did for femmefest this year. You can check that out here!
Also, note that even though it is only mentioned vaguely in one or two details in this fic, I like to write and draw a black Lavender. I'm completely fine with a white Lavender too, it's just something I like to write/draw because I feel that Lavender was one of the characters that was unfairly whitewashed in the films. Also, if you're wondering since it's not mentioned in the fic, I imagine Lavender as a Pisces, lol.
Midsummer Night's Magic
“Are you sure it was nine flowers, not seven?” Parvati says. “Seven seems like a more magical number if you ask me.”
She’s still not sure about the whole idea. During the eight years of their friendship they have done a lot of silly things, and doing some weird, ancient Nordic midsummer magic is right at the top of the list after that sketchy love potion they bought from Daphne Greengrass but never used, and that one time in second year when they tried to break into Professor Lockhart’s office.
Not to mention she’s nineteen years old and prancing about in a field collecting flowers feels a little bit stupid even though the bottle of cheap Merlot almost makes it excusable.
“Positive,” Lavender says. “I asked Professor Trelawney by owl so we have two sources now, if you’re still having doubts about whether this’ll work, you great sceptic. Who knows, maybe witches in Finland are weird and have a different kind of magical energy or something.”
And what if it does work? Parvati used to read her horoscope daily and scout the remains of her breakfast Earl Grey for signs of love, but now she’s not so sure she wants some reflection in the bottom of a well to tell her what she’s supposed to do with her life. Maybe she just wants to live. Maybe she wants it to be messy, and awkward and real. Parvati doesn’t know much about love but she has a hunch it may be a tad bit more complicated than seeing the love of your life in the water of a well and getting your happily ever after.
She takes a sip of the wine and enjoys the warm tingle that spreads inside her. The evening breeze feels refreshing in the setting sun, and despite how silly she may find the whole thing, Parvati feels grateful for this evening and the beauty of the meadow.
They are on their way towards an old stone well that Lavender found some weeks earlier which supposedly has the perfect magical aura for what they are about to do. The grass rustles beneath their feet as they walk.
“Give me some of that,” Lavender says, and grabs the bottle Parvati has been clutching and takes a large gulp. Parvati watches her eyes close as she drinks, her eyelashes glowing auburn in the golden sunlight.
She looks away before Lavender puts the bottle down.
It’s been like this for a while, little glimpses when she knows Lavender is not looking, and Parvati can’t quite explain it to herself. Perhaps it’s the scars, and how Parvati knows it makes Lavender uncomfortable when people stare. Perhaps it’s just that they made it out of the war alive, and it still feels a bit surreal, and sometimes she just needs to see it to make sure it’s all real.
“I don’t even know if there are nine different types of flowers in this field,” Parvati complains, when Lavender catches her eye again. “Or if I’ll be able to recognize them. You know how rubbish I am at Herbology. I can never tell plants apart.”
“Nonsense. Now shut up, we need to be quiet for this, or it won’t work,” Lavender says. “You may be an unromantic cynic, but I want to know who my future husband is very, very much.”
“Are you sure it’ll be a man,” Parvati says before she can stop herself. The cursed wine makes her speak before she can properly think. The fact that Lavender has kissed a lot of women is something they have never talked about and Parvati isn’t sure if a conversation about sexuality is exactly on the agenda now.
“I have a good feeling about it. Almost like a precognition,” Lavender says. “Ever since I was a child I’ve seen myself walk down that isle in my white princess dress on the arms of a man. I want that. I want the whole fairy tale deal.”
She passes the bottle back to Parvati and raises the hem of her flowy skirt to walk over a muddy patch of grass.
Parvati wonders vaguely why the whole fairy tale thing always needs to happen between a girl and her prince charming. It’s not like there’s a rulebook for fairy tales that says that every story must end in a heterosexual marriage. They should write more stories about women marrying women. If she was any better at writing, she would write one, Parvati thinks tipsily. Someone should, anyway.
“Do you think you’ll get Terry?” Lavender asks, giggling. Her laughter sends Parvati’s heart fluttering, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the way the skin around Lavender’s eyes crinkles every time she laughs and how the flowers in her hair makes her look ethereal, almost fairylike. It is the wine-definitely the wine, Parvati decides, and takes another large sip, finishing the little that is left.
“I don’t know. We’ve only been together for two months,” she says, and vanishes the empty bottle with her wand.
“What’s two months if it’s True Love?” Lavender says. Parvati can practically hear the capital letters in her voice. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Parvati. True Love is real, you know it is.”
Parvati still rolls her eyes, falling happily into the familiar banter that has formed between them throughout the years. Lavender has always been the romantic one, the one who is so sure about things like fate and soul mates and everything sorting itself out in the end. Parvati, meanwhile, is somewhere between anxious and hopeful, and the tiniest bit cynical, and wonders how her best friend can have such an unwavering belief in happy endings.
What is so marvelous about One True Love anyway? Parvati is sure that no matter how great the guy, no matter how handsome or caring he is, or whatever qualities he has that they used to fantasize about when they were thirteen, it could never measure up to True Friendship. The drinking hot chocolate and lying in bed and poring over the latest Witch Weekly advice column together, the fighting and crying about it for days and making up and being stronger for it, the laughter and the stupid ideas and the healing from a fucking war together kind of friendship. What Parvati has with Lavender is something infinitely more valuable than any boyfriend she has ever had, and she thinks she’d take doing a weird, ancient divination rite with her best friend over True Love any day.
“It may not be true love with me and Terry,” she says. “How are you supposed to know anyway?”
“Well, all the brilliant sex you’ve been having and the fact that he offered to do the washing up the first time he was over at our place for dinner are some pretty good signs,” Lavender joked. “No, seriously. Who do you want it to be?” Her expression turns into that all too familiar one that says, “no bullshit, I’ll see right through it”, and Parvati’s heart aches just a little bit, because in this case, she doesn’t think Lavender will.
I don’t know, she wants to answer. Everything has been so confusing lately. It’s been afternoons of picking unhelpful tarot cards and sighing into her tea. Nights when Terry fills up the void in her bed perfectly, and nights when he doesn’t. Days when she can’t meet Lavender’s eye, because Lavender brings her a cup of coffee into the living room and she’s wearing that magenta jumper she doesn’t remember is Parvati’s, and Parvati is afraid she’ll give something away. (Give what away? She doesn’t know.)
Every time Lavender rests her head against Parvati’s shoulder when they are reading before going to bed Parvati thinks she might burst from all the feelings, because this is what they have been fighting for, this simple life and this little flat with the orange kitchen counters that they both hate but can’t bother to repaint. There isn’t really room in the flat for Terry or anyone else because the space is filled with her and Lavender, and the peace and safety they have arduously built after everything that happened. And all of that is enough for her and somehow it also isn’t.
She had been careful at first, dating after the war. Although Lavender was very good at hiding it, Parvati had known that behind the jokes and the smiles and new hairstyle, she was broken. Parvati had seen from the way she stopped reading romance novels and how hesitantly she eyed the shimmery dresses in her wardrobe that the new, scarred Lavender was not so confident about love anymore.
It had been Parvati’s dating escapades that had brought a sense of normalcy to their friendship. It had made Lavender happy to analyze and dissect every detail of the boys Parvati was interested in, and it made Parvati happy to see Lavender happy.
“Terry,” Parvati says. “I do want it to be Terry.”
“I knew it,” Lavender says triumphantly. She does a little skip and the hem of her skirt bounces in the tall grass and flowers. It reminds Parvati of all the times Lavender has come to her with the latest bit of gossip at Hogwarts, something she had fished out before anyone else knew about it. Lavender is more excited about other people’s crushes and boyfriends than what is probably healthy.
The fact that Lavender is so easily delighted by the idea of her and Terry sends a whole new wave of feelings through her, unnerving and frustrating.
“Now let’s start collecting flowers,” Lavender says. “Remember, don’t say a word, not until midnight. And after you have your flowers, walk backwards towards the well.”
With another roll of her eyes Parvati obeys. She’ll go along with it if only for the sake of doing something stupid. The war is over, they are both alive and Lavender is more like herself than she has been for months after what happened with Greyback. It’s a beautiful summer night, with just a few stars disturbing the pinkish hue of the sky, and despite her doubts, Parvati feels excited. The meadow is bursting with flowers and it’s not difficult for Parvati to find nine different ones. She takes her time, picking the most beautiful and vibrant ones, while pausing every few moments to catch Lavender’s eye and stifle a giggle.
Once they are both holding a bouquet of bright, blooming flowers, they take one look at each other and begin to slowly walk backwards towards the well. Parvati almost trips on a patch of grass, but she manages to keep her composure. When the back of her feet brush against the stones of the well, she looks at Lavender again. She wants to laugh, but now that they are facing the moment of supposed truth, her heart beats wildly. It’s like they are teenagers again, glimpsing into that crystal ball for the first time in Trelawney’s class. There’s something momentous about it all.
Lavender stares back at her, eyes shining and cheeks flushed with excitement. She gives a little nod and they turn around to look into the well together. The water is further than they expected, and they peer into the darkness for a moment before their eyes settle on the dark surface of the water.
Parvati sees nothing but herself and Lavender reflected in the water. They stare at their distorted reflections for a moment, until Parvati places her bouquet on the stone edge.
“This is stupid,” she says. “There’s no-one there.”
“Parvati!” Lavender cries and clutches her flowers tighter against her chest. “If we had just waited for a moment longer something might have appeared. You ruined it by talking.”
“It didn’t work, Lav. I just saw you and me. It was our reflections.”
“But I felt something,” Lavender insisted. “When we turned around to look in the well. It was going to work.”
Parvati had felt something too. That buzz of magic, that tingle of something ancient and inexplicable and powerful had been all around them, and for a moment Parvati had been sure that there would be something in the water. It all feels like bit of an overreaction now.
"Maybe it didn't work because we're not actually north enough for the sun not to set," Parvati says. She’s rather proud of herself for thinking about it, considering her inebriated state. "In Scandinavia it would be completely light out tonight."
"Maybe it didn't work because you wouldn't stop talking," Lavender snaps. “Maybe we should have been completely quiet since we arrived on the meadow.”
"You didn’t shut up either,” Parvati says. She sits down on the edge of well besides her flowers. She swings her feet in the tall grass and watches it rustle. Even though the whole grand, mighty ancient ritual thing has turned out to be something of a letdown, it is still beautiful outside and Parvati lets the breeze brush over her, enjoying the peacefulness of it all.
Lavender seems annoyed, but after a minute of staring sternly into the horizon and ripping up her flowers, she sits down next to Parvati and sighs.
"It was just some silly old rite, not even proper magic," she says finally. "I just thought it would be fun."
“Yeah,” Parvati says. From the corner of her eye she observes her best friend - the adorable flush of anger on her brown cheeks, the frustration, and other emotions magnified by wine. She hesitates for a second, but before she can overthink it, reaches out and takes Lavender’s hand. As if it’s the simplest thing on earth, Lavender’s fingers curl around hers, and Parvati feels simultaneous exhilaration and relief.
"You know what this means," Parvati says and tries to adopt a serious look on her face. Lavender looks at her, not entirely unsuspicious. "We’re going to be spinsters."
“No!” Lavender says with exaggerated shock.
“You can’t argue with fate, Lav,” Parvati says seriously. She brings her other hand down to pat Lavender’s knee in what is supposed to be a comforting manner. “The well says it all. We’re fated to be old maids with a bunch of cats. You can’t escape from it.”
“Why does it always have to be cats?” Lavender groans. “I don’t even like cats.”
“I don’t know. That’s just how things are. Cats are a mandatory part of spinsterhood, or something,” Parvati says.
“Like being sad and lonely and unfulfilled?” Lavender says. She says this jokingly but Parvati can hear the edge of truth behind her words and it sends a ripple of annoyance through her.
“Fuck no,” Parvati says, clutching Lavender’s hand more tightly. “I refuse to be any of those things. Spinsterhood will be glorious. We’ll drink wine and eat chocolate and do each other’s nails every day. And we’ll be there to make sure neither of us ever gets lonely. And we’ll get a dog instead of cats. I’ve always wanted a dog.”
Lavender’s mouth twitches a little at this, and Parvati is pleased, because she knows she has won the little game she likes to play of making Lavender laugh. It is a game she has been playing since they were kids, but it seems much more important now in the tender uncertainty of their adulthood.
“And we’ll never have to worry about anyone leaving the toilet lid up,” Lavender says, snorting. “I’m sorry about Terry not being your One True Love and all, but if there’s one thing I can’t stand about him, it is his abominable bathroom habits.”
“Hey, watch it. I’m not dumping Terry just because ancient Nords didn’t know how to get their divination right,” Parvati says.
“It’s fate, Parvati,” Lavender says, mimicking her earlier seriousness. “You can’t escape from it.”
Lavender slides off the edge of the well and stretches her arms, exposing a strip of skin that was hidden by her shirt. She looks positively radiant, skin glowing in the setting sun.
"Let's Apparate home and drink more wine," she says. “I’ll make soup.”
“Soup? You want to make soup when you’re drunk?” Parvati says with a look of disbelief. Sometimes she can’t decide if Lavender is marvelous or utterly ridiculous, and somehow that makes her all the more magnetic. Parvati shakes her head disapprovingly while standing up. “You know, there are nice things in the world too, like chips and pizza.”
“I want soup, and therefore I’ll make soup,” Lavender says. “I don’t see why you should have a problem with that.”
“I don’t,” Parvati says and laughs. “Let’s go home and you can make soup.” She walks closer to Lavender for Side-Along Apparition, and softly leans her shoulder against Lavender’s.
Before they Apparate, Lavender quickly gathers up the pile of torn flowers from the beside the well.
"I'm going to keep the flowers, just out of spite,” she says.
Parvati never does marry Terry.
It's not Terry she looks at, standing in front of her friends and family in a beautiful, cream-colored, intricately patterned sari. Nor is it Neville, although things almost did get pretty serious with him. Once she had gotten over the fact that he was, well, Neville Longbottom, they had had a good few months of bad cooking, snuggling under covers and late night marathons of weird muggle films in front of the telly. Parvati still remembers their time together with fondness, even though Lavender never stops teasing her about all the houseplants Neville smuggled into their household that Parvati has subsequently managed to kill.
And Lavender is not with Ron or Seamus or, thank god, Pansy Parkinson that day. The last one - although Parvati has to admit was very illuminating in a way - put a serious strain on their friendship for a while. There’s only so much biting sass and nasal whining one can bear, and there can be only one Scorpio in their house and if she has any say in it, it’s going to be Parvati.
She glances into the audience, spotting her teary-eyed mother, and the serious face of her father. Her father has never been a particularly expressive man, but Parvati knows that under the stiff exterior he is proud of his daughter. Many of her fellow Gryffindors are also there, and Luna with an absurd, foot high flower arrangement in her hair. Professor Trelawney looks a little out of place sitting stiffly next to Hagrid, who is beaming widely in his suit and polka-dot tie. Parvati feels a small pang of grief at the empty spot where her grandparents should be - they never accepted her romantic involvement with another woman.
The fact that Padma agreed to wear the dress Parvati picked out for her for the occasion makes her relieved and laugh in hindsight. Honestly, how her twin can have such an awful sense of style that she almost wore the same pinstripe suit she wears to work to her wedding astonishes her. She shifts her gaze from her sister back to Lavender.
Lavender looks more radiant than ever in her classic off-white gown and jeweled tiara, but that is not why Parvati finds her beautiful. It is every curve and every blemish, so achingly familiar and infused with memories of their time together that makes her so beautiful. It is the way Lavender so bravely chose not to conceal her scars on her wedding day. It is the secret knowledge of all the joy and suffering Lavender has experienced that is written in every inch of her face, and that only Parvati can read.
When Parvati leans in to seal their vows with a kiss, it is with a fervent sense of homecoming and a plethora of other grand emotions. She thinks this moment may actually be the reason she has endured all the others, the one that makes everything else count.
"Do you remember Midsummer six years ago?" Lavender asks. They are in their hotel suite after the ceremony and long day of festivities. The room smells of jasmine and neroli, and all around them is the atmospheric glow of fairy lights. Lavender unzips Parvati’s dress and runs her fingers through her hair, letting the long curls loose.
"Of course I remember, silly," Parvati says softly. “It was when I first thought that I might be a little bit in love with you. Haven’t I told you plenty of times?”
“I just love hearing you say it,” Lavender says, her voice teasing. “I could have done with a little help, you know. I was completely oblivious. It took me years to figure out my feelings towards you. Even ancient Finnish witches knew before I did.”
“Do you think the rite worked then, after all?” Parvati asks. She pulls off her own dress first and carefully places it on the chair next to the ornate, vintage vanity. Then she starts working on the lacing of Lavender’s corset, enjoying the details of the garment.
“Maybe,” Lavender says. “Yes. I don’t know. It would be kind of romantic, wouldn’t it?”
“Hmm,” Parvati says, and sits onto the bed. The whole idea of some majestic fate being the reason Lavender wants her is still something that sends a ripple of insecurity through her. She turns her gaze away when Lavender slips out of her dress, and focuses instead on the scattered rose petals on the bed.
“I’m kidding, Parv,” Lavender says. She slides onto the bed next to Parvati and brings her lips close to Parvati’s neck. “You know what’s romantic?” she says, her breath infuriating and sensuous against Parvati’s skin. “Marrying your true love and not even caring about whether it’s True Love or destined to be, or a mystical message from the gods or whatever. Marrying her because you want to, and because you love her stupid face more than anything in the world.”
Parvati wants to say “I love you” at this, and to tell Lavender she’s a stupid git and also brilliant and kind of amazing, so she does the best thing to communicate all this and pulls Lavender into a deep, heart-stopping kiss.
Who knows, maybe this has all been predetermined by the location of Venus in relation to Jupiter when Parvati was born, or by the precise movement of a butterfly exactly fifteen feet away from a statue in Venice twelve and a half years ago. Perhaps their love is something that has been written into their fates far before they were born, or perhaps it isn’t.
Perhaps it doesn’t matter.
Because when Parvati is with Lavender, she feels that same magical, crackling energy between them as that night beside the well so many years ago. And that’s enough of a fairy tale for her.
Author: kiertorata
Pairing: Lavender Brown/Parvati Patil
Word Count: 3777
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, alcohol
Summary: An ancient midsummer night's rite doesn't work, or maybe it does. Obliviousness, magic, summer and wine, and Post-war vibes.
Notes: I had this idea ages ago and was going to write it by Summer Solstice, but what do you know, I only started writing it after Solstice and only got round to posting it now. So it's a little out of season, but it's still a cute little fic, and I hope you enjoy it. Thanks so much to lenapinewoods for the beta! The midsummer magic was inspired by the midsummer episodes of Moomins and Finnish folklore. And the ending was partially inspired by some Lavender/Parvati wedding fanart I did for femmefest this year. You can check that out here!
Also, note that even though it is only mentioned vaguely in one or two details in this fic, I like to write and draw a black Lavender. I'm completely fine with a white Lavender too, it's just something I like to write/draw because I feel that Lavender was one of the characters that was unfairly whitewashed in the films. Also, if you're wondering since it's not mentioned in the fic, I imagine Lavender as a Pisces, lol.
Midsummer Night's Magic
“Are you sure it was nine flowers, not seven?” Parvati says. “Seven seems like a more magical number if you ask me.”
She’s still not sure about the whole idea. During the eight years of their friendship they have done a lot of silly things, and doing some weird, ancient Nordic midsummer magic is right at the top of the list after that sketchy love potion they bought from Daphne Greengrass but never used, and that one time in second year when they tried to break into Professor Lockhart’s office.
Not to mention she’s nineteen years old and prancing about in a field collecting flowers feels a little bit stupid even though the bottle of cheap Merlot almost makes it excusable.
“Positive,” Lavender says. “I asked Professor Trelawney by owl so we have two sources now, if you’re still having doubts about whether this’ll work, you great sceptic. Who knows, maybe witches in Finland are weird and have a different kind of magical energy or something.”
And what if it does work? Parvati used to read her horoscope daily and scout the remains of her breakfast Earl Grey for signs of love, but now she’s not so sure she wants some reflection in the bottom of a well to tell her what she’s supposed to do with her life. Maybe she just wants to live. Maybe she wants it to be messy, and awkward and real. Parvati doesn’t know much about love but she has a hunch it may be a tad bit more complicated than seeing the love of your life in the water of a well and getting your happily ever after.
She takes a sip of the wine and enjoys the warm tingle that spreads inside her. The evening breeze feels refreshing in the setting sun, and despite how silly she may find the whole thing, Parvati feels grateful for this evening and the beauty of the meadow.
They are on their way towards an old stone well that Lavender found some weeks earlier which supposedly has the perfect magical aura for what they are about to do. The grass rustles beneath their feet as they walk.
“Give me some of that,” Lavender says, and grabs the bottle Parvati has been clutching and takes a large gulp. Parvati watches her eyes close as she drinks, her eyelashes glowing auburn in the golden sunlight.
She looks away before Lavender puts the bottle down.
It’s been like this for a while, little glimpses when she knows Lavender is not looking, and Parvati can’t quite explain it to herself. Perhaps it’s the scars, and how Parvati knows it makes Lavender uncomfortable when people stare. Perhaps it’s just that they made it out of the war alive, and it still feels a bit surreal, and sometimes she just needs to see it to make sure it’s all real.
“I don’t even know if there are nine different types of flowers in this field,” Parvati complains, when Lavender catches her eye again. “Or if I’ll be able to recognize them. You know how rubbish I am at Herbology. I can never tell plants apart.”
“Nonsense. Now shut up, we need to be quiet for this, or it won’t work,” Lavender says. “You may be an unromantic cynic, but I want to know who my future husband is very, very much.”
“Are you sure it’ll be a man,” Parvati says before she can stop herself. The cursed wine makes her speak before she can properly think. The fact that Lavender has kissed a lot of women is something they have never talked about and Parvati isn’t sure if a conversation about sexuality is exactly on the agenda now.
“I have a good feeling about it. Almost like a precognition,” Lavender says. “Ever since I was a child I’ve seen myself walk down that isle in my white princess dress on the arms of a man. I want that. I want the whole fairy tale deal.”
She passes the bottle back to Parvati and raises the hem of her flowy skirt to walk over a muddy patch of grass.
Parvati wonders vaguely why the whole fairy tale thing always needs to happen between a girl and her prince charming. It’s not like there’s a rulebook for fairy tales that says that every story must end in a heterosexual marriage. They should write more stories about women marrying women. If she was any better at writing, she would write one, Parvati thinks tipsily. Someone should, anyway.
“Do you think you’ll get Terry?” Lavender asks, giggling. Her laughter sends Parvati’s heart fluttering, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the way the skin around Lavender’s eyes crinkles every time she laughs and how the flowers in her hair makes her look ethereal, almost fairylike. It is the wine-definitely the wine, Parvati decides, and takes another large sip, finishing the little that is left.
“I don’t know. We’ve only been together for two months,” she says, and vanishes the empty bottle with her wand.
“What’s two months if it’s True Love?” Lavender says. Parvati can practically hear the capital letters in her voice. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Parvati. True Love is real, you know it is.”
Parvati still rolls her eyes, falling happily into the familiar banter that has formed between them throughout the years. Lavender has always been the romantic one, the one who is so sure about things like fate and soul mates and everything sorting itself out in the end. Parvati, meanwhile, is somewhere between anxious and hopeful, and the tiniest bit cynical, and wonders how her best friend can have such an unwavering belief in happy endings.
What is so marvelous about One True Love anyway? Parvati is sure that no matter how great the guy, no matter how handsome or caring he is, or whatever qualities he has that they used to fantasize about when they were thirteen, it could never measure up to True Friendship. The drinking hot chocolate and lying in bed and poring over the latest Witch Weekly advice column together, the fighting and crying about it for days and making up and being stronger for it, the laughter and the stupid ideas and the healing from a fucking war together kind of friendship. What Parvati has with Lavender is something infinitely more valuable than any boyfriend she has ever had, and she thinks she’d take doing a weird, ancient divination rite with her best friend over True Love any day.
“It may not be true love with me and Terry,” she says. “How are you supposed to know anyway?”
“Well, all the brilliant sex you’ve been having and the fact that he offered to do the washing up the first time he was over at our place for dinner are some pretty good signs,” Lavender joked. “No, seriously. Who do you want it to be?” Her expression turns into that all too familiar one that says, “no bullshit, I’ll see right through it”, and Parvati’s heart aches just a little bit, because in this case, she doesn’t think Lavender will.
I don’t know, she wants to answer. Everything has been so confusing lately. It’s been afternoons of picking unhelpful tarot cards and sighing into her tea. Nights when Terry fills up the void in her bed perfectly, and nights when he doesn’t. Days when she can’t meet Lavender’s eye, because Lavender brings her a cup of coffee into the living room and she’s wearing that magenta jumper she doesn’t remember is Parvati’s, and Parvati is afraid she’ll give something away. (Give what away? She doesn’t know.)
Every time Lavender rests her head against Parvati’s shoulder when they are reading before going to bed Parvati thinks she might burst from all the feelings, because this is what they have been fighting for, this simple life and this little flat with the orange kitchen counters that they both hate but can’t bother to repaint. There isn’t really room in the flat for Terry or anyone else because the space is filled with her and Lavender, and the peace and safety they have arduously built after everything that happened. And all of that is enough for her and somehow it also isn’t.
She had been careful at first, dating after the war. Although Lavender was very good at hiding it, Parvati had known that behind the jokes and the smiles and new hairstyle, she was broken. Parvati had seen from the way she stopped reading romance novels and how hesitantly she eyed the shimmery dresses in her wardrobe that the new, scarred Lavender was not so confident about love anymore.
It had been Parvati’s dating escapades that had brought a sense of normalcy to their friendship. It had made Lavender happy to analyze and dissect every detail of the boys Parvati was interested in, and it made Parvati happy to see Lavender happy.
“Terry,” Parvati says. “I do want it to be Terry.”
“I knew it,” Lavender says triumphantly. She does a little skip and the hem of her skirt bounces in the tall grass and flowers. It reminds Parvati of all the times Lavender has come to her with the latest bit of gossip at Hogwarts, something she had fished out before anyone else knew about it. Lavender is more excited about other people’s crushes and boyfriends than what is probably healthy.
The fact that Lavender is so easily delighted by the idea of her and Terry sends a whole new wave of feelings through her, unnerving and frustrating.
“Now let’s start collecting flowers,” Lavender says. “Remember, don’t say a word, not until midnight. And after you have your flowers, walk backwards towards the well.”
With another roll of her eyes Parvati obeys. She’ll go along with it if only for the sake of doing something stupid. The war is over, they are both alive and Lavender is more like herself than she has been for months after what happened with Greyback. It’s a beautiful summer night, with just a few stars disturbing the pinkish hue of the sky, and despite her doubts, Parvati feels excited. The meadow is bursting with flowers and it’s not difficult for Parvati to find nine different ones. She takes her time, picking the most beautiful and vibrant ones, while pausing every few moments to catch Lavender’s eye and stifle a giggle.
Once they are both holding a bouquet of bright, blooming flowers, they take one look at each other and begin to slowly walk backwards towards the well. Parvati almost trips on a patch of grass, but she manages to keep her composure. When the back of her feet brush against the stones of the well, she looks at Lavender again. She wants to laugh, but now that they are facing the moment of supposed truth, her heart beats wildly. It’s like they are teenagers again, glimpsing into that crystal ball for the first time in Trelawney’s class. There’s something momentous about it all.
Lavender stares back at her, eyes shining and cheeks flushed with excitement. She gives a little nod and they turn around to look into the well together. The water is further than they expected, and they peer into the darkness for a moment before their eyes settle on the dark surface of the water.
Parvati sees nothing but herself and Lavender reflected in the water. They stare at their distorted reflections for a moment, until Parvati places her bouquet on the stone edge.
“This is stupid,” she says. “There’s no-one there.”
“Parvati!” Lavender cries and clutches her flowers tighter against her chest. “If we had just waited for a moment longer something might have appeared. You ruined it by talking.”
“It didn’t work, Lav. I just saw you and me. It was our reflections.”
“But I felt something,” Lavender insisted. “When we turned around to look in the well. It was going to work.”
Parvati had felt something too. That buzz of magic, that tingle of something ancient and inexplicable and powerful had been all around them, and for a moment Parvati had been sure that there would be something in the water. It all feels like bit of an overreaction now.
"Maybe it didn't work because we're not actually north enough for the sun not to set," Parvati says. She’s rather proud of herself for thinking about it, considering her inebriated state. "In Scandinavia it would be completely light out tonight."
"Maybe it didn't work because you wouldn't stop talking," Lavender snaps. “Maybe we should have been completely quiet since we arrived on the meadow.”
"You didn’t shut up either,” Parvati says. She sits down on the edge of well besides her flowers. She swings her feet in the tall grass and watches it rustle. Even though the whole grand, mighty ancient ritual thing has turned out to be something of a letdown, it is still beautiful outside and Parvati lets the breeze brush over her, enjoying the peacefulness of it all.
Lavender seems annoyed, but after a minute of staring sternly into the horizon and ripping up her flowers, she sits down next to Parvati and sighs.
"It was just some silly old rite, not even proper magic," she says finally. "I just thought it would be fun."
“Yeah,” Parvati says. From the corner of her eye she observes her best friend - the adorable flush of anger on her brown cheeks, the frustration, and other emotions magnified by wine. She hesitates for a second, but before she can overthink it, reaches out and takes Lavender’s hand. As if it’s the simplest thing on earth, Lavender’s fingers curl around hers, and Parvati feels simultaneous exhilaration and relief.
"You know what this means," Parvati says and tries to adopt a serious look on her face. Lavender looks at her, not entirely unsuspicious. "We’re going to be spinsters."
“No!” Lavender says with exaggerated shock.
“You can’t argue with fate, Lav,” Parvati says seriously. She brings her other hand down to pat Lavender’s knee in what is supposed to be a comforting manner. “The well says it all. We’re fated to be old maids with a bunch of cats. You can’t escape from it.”
“Why does it always have to be cats?” Lavender groans. “I don’t even like cats.”
“I don’t know. That’s just how things are. Cats are a mandatory part of spinsterhood, or something,” Parvati says.
“Like being sad and lonely and unfulfilled?” Lavender says. She says this jokingly but Parvati can hear the edge of truth behind her words and it sends a ripple of annoyance through her.
“Fuck no,” Parvati says, clutching Lavender’s hand more tightly. “I refuse to be any of those things. Spinsterhood will be glorious. We’ll drink wine and eat chocolate and do each other’s nails every day. And we’ll be there to make sure neither of us ever gets lonely. And we’ll get a dog instead of cats. I’ve always wanted a dog.”
Lavender’s mouth twitches a little at this, and Parvati is pleased, because she knows she has won the little game she likes to play of making Lavender laugh. It is a game she has been playing since they were kids, but it seems much more important now in the tender uncertainty of their adulthood.
“And we’ll never have to worry about anyone leaving the toilet lid up,” Lavender says, snorting. “I’m sorry about Terry not being your One True Love and all, but if there’s one thing I can’t stand about him, it is his abominable bathroom habits.”
“Hey, watch it. I’m not dumping Terry just because ancient Nords didn’t know how to get their divination right,” Parvati says.
“It’s fate, Parvati,” Lavender says, mimicking her earlier seriousness. “You can’t escape from it.”
Lavender slides off the edge of the well and stretches her arms, exposing a strip of skin that was hidden by her shirt. She looks positively radiant, skin glowing in the setting sun.
"Let's Apparate home and drink more wine," she says. “I’ll make soup.”
“Soup? You want to make soup when you’re drunk?” Parvati says with a look of disbelief. Sometimes she can’t decide if Lavender is marvelous or utterly ridiculous, and somehow that makes her all the more magnetic. Parvati shakes her head disapprovingly while standing up. “You know, there are nice things in the world too, like chips and pizza.”
“I want soup, and therefore I’ll make soup,” Lavender says. “I don’t see why you should have a problem with that.”
“I don’t,” Parvati says and laughs. “Let’s go home and you can make soup.” She walks closer to Lavender for Side-Along Apparition, and softly leans her shoulder against Lavender’s.
Before they Apparate, Lavender quickly gathers up the pile of torn flowers from the beside the well.
"I'm going to keep the flowers, just out of spite,” she says.
Parvati never does marry Terry.
It's not Terry she looks at, standing in front of her friends and family in a beautiful, cream-colored, intricately patterned sari. Nor is it Neville, although things almost did get pretty serious with him. Once she had gotten over the fact that he was, well, Neville Longbottom, they had had a good few months of bad cooking, snuggling under covers and late night marathons of weird muggle films in front of the telly. Parvati still remembers their time together with fondness, even though Lavender never stops teasing her about all the houseplants Neville smuggled into their household that Parvati has subsequently managed to kill.
And Lavender is not with Ron or Seamus or, thank god, Pansy Parkinson that day. The last one - although Parvati has to admit was very illuminating in a way - put a serious strain on their friendship for a while. There’s only so much biting sass and nasal whining one can bear, and there can be only one Scorpio in their house and if she has any say in it, it’s going to be Parvati.
She glances into the audience, spotting her teary-eyed mother, and the serious face of her father. Her father has never been a particularly expressive man, but Parvati knows that under the stiff exterior he is proud of his daughter. Many of her fellow Gryffindors are also there, and Luna with an absurd, foot high flower arrangement in her hair. Professor Trelawney looks a little out of place sitting stiffly next to Hagrid, who is beaming widely in his suit and polka-dot tie. Parvati feels a small pang of grief at the empty spot where her grandparents should be - they never accepted her romantic involvement with another woman.
The fact that Padma agreed to wear the dress Parvati picked out for her for the occasion makes her relieved and laugh in hindsight. Honestly, how her twin can have such an awful sense of style that she almost wore the same pinstripe suit she wears to work to her wedding astonishes her. She shifts her gaze from her sister back to Lavender.
Lavender looks more radiant than ever in her classic off-white gown and jeweled tiara, but that is not why Parvati finds her beautiful. It is every curve and every blemish, so achingly familiar and infused with memories of their time together that makes her so beautiful. It is the way Lavender so bravely chose not to conceal her scars on her wedding day. It is the secret knowledge of all the joy and suffering Lavender has experienced that is written in every inch of her face, and that only Parvati can read.
When Parvati leans in to seal their vows with a kiss, it is with a fervent sense of homecoming and a plethora of other grand emotions. She thinks this moment may actually be the reason she has endured all the others, the one that makes everything else count.
"Do you remember Midsummer six years ago?" Lavender asks. They are in their hotel suite after the ceremony and long day of festivities. The room smells of jasmine and neroli, and all around them is the atmospheric glow of fairy lights. Lavender unzips Parvati’s dress and runs her fingers through her hair, letting the long curls loose.
"Of course I remember, silly," Parvati says softly. “It was when I first thought that I might be a little bit in love with you. Haven’t I told you plenty of times?”
“I just love hearing you say it,” Lavender says, her voice teasing. “I could have done with a little help, you know. I was completely oblivious. It took me years to figure out my feelings towards you. Even ancient Finnish witches knew before I did.”
“Do you think the rite worked then, after all?” Parvati asks. She pulls off her own dress first and carefully places it on the chair next to the ornate, vintage vanity. Then she starts working on the lacing of Lavender’s corset, enjoying the details of the garment.
“Maybe,” Lavender says. “Yes. I don’t know. It would be kind of romantic, wouldn’t it?”
“Hmm,” Parvati says, and sits onto the bed. The whole idea of some majestic fate being the reason Lavender wants her is still something that sends a ripple of insecurity through her. She turns her gaze away when Lavender slips out of her dress, and focuses instead on the scattered rose petals on the bed.
“I’m kidding, Parv,” Lavender says. She slides onto the bed next to Parvati and brings her lips close to Parvati’s neck. “You know what’s romantic?” she says, her breath infuriating and sensuous against Parvati’s skin. “Marrying your true love and not even caring about whether it’s True Love or destined to be, or a mystical message from the gods or whatever. Marrying her because you want to, and because you love her stupid face more than anything in the world.”
Parvati wants to say “I love you” at this, and to tell Lavender she’s a stupid git and also brilliant and kind of amazing, so she does the best thing to communicate all this and pulls Lavender into a deep, heart-stopping kiss.
Who knows, maybe this has all been predetermined by the location of Venus in relation to Jupiter when Parvati was born, or by the precise movement of a butterfly exactly fifteen feet away from a statue in Venice twelve and a half years ago. Perhaps their love is something that has been written into their fates far before they were born, or perhaps it isn’t.
Perhaps it doesn’t matter.
Because when Parvati is with Lavender, she feels that same magical, crackling energy between them as that night beside the well so many years ago. And that’s enough of a fairy tale for her.