They move in silent circles around each other. It becomes their dance; like a tango, they side step and stride away from one another before their paths cross. The silence is prickly and suffocating as strings of useless apologies float wordlessly between them.
But, Parvati muses, it isn’t as though there’s really anything to say sorry for. Sometimes she wishes there was; at times she feels like crying because she knows there is nothing she can do to fix this without an apology, and she still doesn’t know what to apologise for. Worse yet, she isn’t sure she would even apologise if she knew.
Who would have thought that a friendship could end in a moment of tears and sudden sparks and hot skin against skin? A moment that made Parvati feel so alive?
Lavender sat on the edge of her bed, her cheeks damp with tears. Parvati felt a sudden, inexplicable emptiness within her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, though part of her wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the reply.
Lavender’s lower lip twitched. “My mum,” she answered thickly. “She’s been caught.” Her body began to heave with loud, choking sobs. Parvati felt as though her own heart was breaking as she watched Lavender cry, spilling more sorrow than tears. She moved to sit beside her friend, placing a reassuring arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.
It happened quite suddenly. Parvati tilted her head down to speak soft words of reassurance at the same moment that Lavender lifted her head. Her lips found Lavender’s, and before Parvati realised what was happening she was kissing Lavender. Their lips moved in a rhythmic unison, a dance too passionate to be called a waltz.
When Lavender pulled away, Parvati found her own cheeks were soaked with tears. Whether they were Lavender’s or hers, she could not say.
Her heart beats faster and her breath is shorter as the memory resurfaces. She knows it meant something. No one else has made her lips quiver from the mere thought of another kiss. She has never felt so empty being away from someone, never felt the drumbeat pitter patter of her heart so strong.
When she was young, Parvati pictured falling in love with a handsome, dark-haired French boy ” she had always had a soft spot for foreign accents. She likes boys, though they can be a bit stupid at times. But snogging the boy from Beauxbatons hadn’t made her feel like this. The recollection of his lips on hers doesn’t make the back of Parvati’s throat hum with desire.
Love, she thinks, is not the right word to use with Lavender. At the moment, Parvati is quite sure that Lavender doesn’t even like her anymore. They don’t giggle anymore at Eloise Midgen’s tucked-in robes or gossip over what a bitch Seamus’s new girlfriend is. Instead they spend their time skirting around each other until they are in opposite corners, because they both know that the closer they are to one another the more likely they are to make fools of themselves.
Perhaps they have not talked to each other since the incident, but every so often Parvati is sure she can feel Lavender’s blue eyes following her. It is times like these that send warm goose bumps down her neck; she is reminded that she is not the only one battling with feelings that shouldn’t exist. It takes two to dance this tango.
She tells herself this every time she sees Lavender flirting blatantly with Seamus. Parvati is sure that her own scowl is just as large as Seamus’s girlfriend’s, and the thought makes her feel hollow inside. It’s harmless, but the way Lavender moves her hair and bats her eyes in an overly feminine manner catches attention. And Parvati knows that she shouldn’t feel her brain buzz or her stomach twist in yearning because her mum would probably disown her if she knew that a girl is making Parvati feel this way. But perhaps that is what is so intoxicating about this: her mum tells her no and her conscience tells her no but for Lavender, Parvati seems to have formed a mind of her own.
D.A. meetings have become individual battles. Especially on days like today, when Lavender comes in late has to take a seat that is a little closer to Parvati than usual.
“Sorry,” she says, and for the slightest of moments her gaze rests on Parvati. “McGonagall wanted to see me after class.”
Neville waves her excuse away with his hand. “We were just discussing minor demonstrations…graffiti and the like.”
Lavender nods, smoothing her skirt over her knees as she listens to Neville continue on with the meeting. But she isn’t really listening, not when Parvati is so close she can hear the steady rise and fall of her breathing, staring so determinedly away from her. And then, Parvati slides her teeth over her bottom lip and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and Lavender wants so badly to look away but her eyes won’t cooperate.
For the last time, Lavender thinks to herself angrily, It was an accident. It means nothing at all. People do the strangest things in times of grief. She remembers when her grandfather died two years ago, her dad spent days in his room locked up with the Sunday crossword puzzle as though his own life depended on solving every single clue. Perhaps Parvati is simply her puzzle, something to distract her mind from more thoughts of sorrow.
But then, of course, she isn’t entirely sure if this is true. The memory of soft skin on skin and a kiss that seems to have left scorch marks on her lips makes her think that perhaps this is not just a silly game to occupy her time with. She hasn’t felt this before, this raw and wild passion that seems to control her every move. And she loves it because for the first time in so long she isn’t concerned with doubts and what ifs, but she just wishes it wasn’t Parvati who makes her feel this way. She is not that kind of girl who wears no make-up and crops her hair short and is completely uninterested in boys.
Not that Lavender has anything against those girls. Her father’s sister has a girlfriend and they are probably her favourite aunts even though they constantly smell of smoke. But Lavender isn’t one of them. She’s had boyfriends that made her smile and laugh and wear pretty clothes to catch their attention. She’s had her heart broken by a boy and cried over him and she was jealous as hell when Seamus found himself a girlfriend this year even though she hadn’t thought of dating him since fourth year. So why is it that her thoughts of them appear to be mere shadows compared to the haunting thoughts of Parvati that refuse to leave her mind?
Lavender nearly jumps out of her skin when a hand touches her shoulder. She stands suddenly, and turns her head with searching wide eyes, but it’s only Neville. His eyebrows rise at her violent reaction.
“Are you all right?” he asks. “Everyone else has left, and I didn’t feel like leaving you sitting there.”
Lavender frowns and looks around because she hadn’t realised she was the only one sitting on the small couch and hopes that Neville is only exaggerating when he says everyone. But he isn’t, and she chastises herself for falling so deeply into her thoughts.
“Are you okay?” Neville repeats, looking concerned.
She blanches and wonders if he can read her mind. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” She doesn’t mean to be snappy, but she is praying that he hasn’t noticed the stiff, cold, curtain of silence that hangs between Parvati and her.
“I heard about your mum,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh,” she answers, exhaling a shaky breath. Her mum. Of course that’s what everyone attributed her sudden solemnity to. “Thank you,” she adds lamely.
“She’ll be all right,” he tells her. “But if you ever, you know, need anyone to talk to…”
“Thank you so much, Neville,” Lavender says softly, touched. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He gives her a small smile before he leaves, and she feels a pang of guilt. She knows that talking to Neville is out of the question, because the only thing she needs to talk about has nothing to do with her mother.
Parvati marvels at how much quieter Divination is without Lavender to talk to. No matter how long she stares into the crystal ball, she cannot see anything within its foggy depths. Now more than ever she wishes she could see the future, as Professor Trelawney could. She is tired of being uncertain and a bit frightened for the future.
“Remember, class! Dream journals are due a week from today. Twenty entries minimum!” Professor Trelawney says loudly, though her voice doesn’t rise over the shuffling of books and papers as the students leave the classroom at mad speed.
Dream journals. Parvati had completely forgotten. She closes her eyes tightly as the professor leaves the room. Her dream the previous night had been about Lavender ” but lately, that seems to be the subject of most of them. She was wearing a short red dress and small black dance shoes, caressing the stem of a rose between her teeth. Her feet moved gracefully ” quick quick slow, in the tempo of a tango. Her eyes, flirtatiously downcast, invited Parvati to dance…
“Parvati?” It is Lavender’s voice, quiet but clear, that slices through her thoughts. For a moment she sits there, her eyes still closed, quite dumbfounded that Lavender is speaking to her after so many days of silence.
“I was just thinking,” she says finally, answering Lavender’s silent question. She expects her friend to leave, but Lavender simply pulls up a chair and sits beside her.
“I’ve been doing a lot of that too, recently,” Lavender admits. Parvati’s face reddens and she turns away; she can feel the heat of the memory between them and suddenly it’s so tense it’s almost suffocating. She wonders if Lavender remembers who it was that initiated the kiss and all of a sudden her heart is pounding and her palms are sweaty; she wishes she were anywhere else but in a room alone with Lavender with the weight of the memory between them.
“I’m sorry about your mum,” Parvati blurts out, in an attempt to distance herself from the sudden awkwardness.
Lavender looks surprised, a frown marring her cold composure, but it passes quickly and her features soon smooth into a tiny smile. “I actually haven’t thought much about her in the past few days," she says, averting her eyes from Parvati’s. "Or, at least I've been trying not to. It hurts too much to think about it."
“I’m sure she’s all right,” Parvati says mechanically.
“I think she is.” Lavender looks down at her folded hands and sighs.
With a rapid, overwhelming force, Parvati becomes quite aware that Lavender is very, very close and her neck is sprayed with some sort of perfume that tickles Parvati’s nose. Parvati raises her head and it’s as though Lavender has the same idea because her lips are only inches away. And suddenly her mouth is pressed against Lavender’s lips, so deliciously soft and warm and beckoning. Lavender’s lips coax Parvati’s open while her fingers slide subtly along her thighs. Parvati’s own hands press against Lavender’s smooth cheeks and encircle her slim waist, pulling her closer and closer as though every inch of space between them is painful to bear.
The pattering footsteps on the staircase break them apart abruptly. Lavender stands and collects her books without bothering to fix her hair. On her way out the door she passes Professor Trelawney who looks at Parvati with her enormous eyes as though she’s some kind of cosmic phenomenon. It takes Parvati a few moments to slow her rapid breathing and grab her bag with a quick, murmured excuse to the professor.
“Can we talk?”
Lavender looks up from the bathroom mirror and sees Parvati behind her. She nods and splashes cool water on her face as Parvati retreats to the dormitories.
What happened? She thought she had control in the Divination classroom as she decided to approach Parvati with the intent of re-establishing their broken friendship. But then, the tidal wave of emotions crashed, and now she stands in front of the mirror with a bitten, swollen lip and flaming red cheeks.
She wipes the last of the icy drips from her face and leaves the bathroom. Parvati is sitting cross-legged on the floor in the small space between their beds. Suddenly, Lavender is nervous, and she realises that this will no longer be about hungry wants and desires but about feelings and isn’t quite sure she wants to confront how she feels about Parvati. Somehow, though, her feet walk her towards Parvati, and she sits stiffly beside her.
“I don’t like this either,” Parvati admits, reading Lavender’s expression. “But it’s better than not talking at all.”
Lavender nods, her mouth dry. She clears her throat, though her voice still sounds scratchy when she speaks. “Listen…I didn’t think it would be like that. With us, I mean.”
“I didn’t either,” Parvati says quietly. Her eyes avert from Lavender’s. “But I can’t say I mind.”
“I do,” Lavender whispers. She tries to pretend that the hurt look that passes across Parvati’s face is a mere illusion. “I want to grow up, and I want to get married and have a husband and children and…and not worry all the time about people staring at me on the streets and judging me because of who I’m with.”
“People do that anyway,” Parvati retorts.
“I just don’t want them to judge me more than they would normally.” She knows it’s a weak argument, but it doesn’t stop her from pressing on. “Look, Parvati…” Her professional tone wavers as her eyes meet Parvati’s and suddenly she can’t remember what she was going to say. “I like kissing you,” she says, flushing. “I like feeling as though this isn’t in my control…like kissing you is an inevitable part of being together. But I don’t want it in the long run.”
“Maybe you do,” Parvati tells her, her voice almost a plea. “How do you know within the next ten years you’ll stop wanting this?”
I don’t, Lavender wants to reply. In truth, she can’t imagine the thought of their first kiss ever fully leaving her mind. “I just don’t want to become that girl,” she says quietly. “I don’t want to change.”
She feels her eyes begin to burn and she tries to blink them away frantically. It’s not as though she hasn’t cried in front of Parvati before, but she doesn’t want to let her tears spill ” not now, not when she has just laid her emotions out in front of her and maybe decided that her attraction to Parvati isn’t entirely physical, a fact that she isn’t quite ready to confront. But the tears don’t dissolve with the quick bat bat bat of her eyelids and soon they are spilling down her cheeks and her nose begins to sniffle just a little and she turns away out of embarrassment. She doesn’t want Parvati to know that she cares enough to spill her feelings in the form of tears.
Lavender sees a movement beside her and feels a tight grip around her shoulders, which seem to miss the days when being hugged was a daily occurrence. She feels the heat of Parvati drawing nearer and nearer and she turns her head slightly to find the soft, hesitant lips she knows are waiting for her.
There are no open mouths, no fast, heated passion this time. There are only lips ” Parvati’s strawberry-glossed and Lavender’s a little chapped ” and closed eyes and tears as they try to convey everything they cannot put into words through this simple, slow kiss. There is no frenzied movement or lust but Lavender can feel, really feel and it feels nice, almost natural.
And Lavender thinks that maybe she doesn’t have to be that girl and Parvati doesn’t have to be that girl to kiss the way they kiss and feel the way they feel. They can simply be Parvati and Lavender, caught in the quick quick slow beat of their tango together.