Disclaimer: I don't own Parvati Patil (and other Harry Potter characters)

This is a story about Parvati Patil, school teacher, unmarried, heavy smoker, disillusioned.

1. Years Later

It's sort of a rainy day. I would have liked had it been a torrent, but the weather was eking out raindrops like a petulant teenager, unsure of what she would be wearing for a date. Uncertain weather or not to do a charm, I fidget a while feeling the mist soak away all the warmth I had gathered within the Leaky Cauldron, and I give up making a choice and jolts myself out into the streets.

Wizards and witches live on the fringe of society. Hermione once said that for a society so fraught with beings of extradordinary powers, the wizarding world showed alarming signs of failure to thrive. I never caught on to what she was talking about back in school, but Hermione had always been more precocious than what Lavender and I fancied ourselves to be. Nowadays, you can't go by a day without reading about Hermione in the papers: The Secretary of this or that, the Representative of some vaguely familiar yet powerful body of government, the mover and shaker of the Minsitry of Magic. I think I last talked to her during our reunion dinner, and only briefly at that. She and I have always shared a vague neutrality that was inevitable for girls who shared the same room for seven years and not much else.

To my inquisitive relatives I am constantly bombarded by questions about the "Trio", the "Trinity", the "First Family" of the wizarding world. What was Harry Potter like when he was at school? I've run out of variations on how to relate the few hours Harry and I were "an item" at the Yule Ball back in '94. I'm not bitter that I was stood up by the "Boy Who Lived", and I wish him all the best. A morbid part of me anxiously wonders when he would start to loose his cool and descend into obscurity or crash into infamy, but that is a very, very small and shameful part that I immediately tuck away into dark corners. You can't live life like that, being just a side note in history.

I enter Flourish and Blotts, usually quiet at this time of year, the silence before the storm, the few weeks facing the beginning of the semester. Fay Dunbar is stacking books that some of the professors had marked up as the next year's text books. Fay used to be an Auror, something she was incessantly blabbering about all through her years at Hogwarts, but the less than apt Aurors that filled the ranks following the wizarding war was less glamorous and more taxing than someone attracted to its aspect of... "swashbuckling?" would deem. A lot of the young Aurors immediately dropped out and found other things to occupy their time with. Fay was one of the first of the diaspora, roaming from here to there with no particular interest catching her heart, eventually settling down like the dust on these text books she sold.

Fay Dunbar was a dull sort of girl in school, with damp and bored eyes. She would day dream endlessly about life outside the world. Mouthing her daydreams was what got her into trouble. She resembled her younger self now, with the same unkempt hair and an old maid's careless overalls with thick mittens to protect her from the paper cuts.

She notices my entrance, wipes her hands of the dust and climbs down the ladder. She has taken on some weight, but not much of a family. A lot of young folk died during those terrible years of the wizarding war. That's the part that not a lot of people read about in the histories. She was always very impressionable as a girl, and I never thought she'd end up selling books to youngsters. Then again, I didn't expect where I'd be as well.

"Parvati Patil," Fay sounds uncertain whether she wishes to be apprehensive or excited.

I flash a false smile that seems to reassure her as she drops her pretense and rushes over to hug me. Bad choice, Parvati, I tell myself, now you'll have to suffer through a bored old maid walk through memory lane. I watch the clock tick a few seconds too much as Fay releases me and pulls me down to a makeshift tea table of stacked books.

"How've you been?" she squeals, "I've been wondering where you've been."

I let her lie pass over and return a warm smile.

"Here and there," I shrug.

"Last I heard," Fay is hesitant, "you broke up with Blaise Zabini."

I roll my eyes.

"Everyone seems to have been associated with Blaise Zabini at some point," I don't deny it, but the denial comes naturally with practice, "He's like the go-to-guy to match up with lonely girls."

Fay chortles out loud at this, spilling a bit of tea she was pouring on my skirt. I let it pass, despite the sting, as she seems to be oblivious of her mistake.

"At some point they even say he was an item with Ginny Weasley!" Fay adds her own gossip. Ginny Weasley is always on Fay's mind. If people think Hermione Granger as the unassailable paragon of excellence of our years, someone you could never hold a candle to, Ginny Weasley was the ultimate target of envy and jealousy. A seemingly down to earth girl, she was successful on her own, married well, and lives in opulence. The wet dream of any Hogwarts girl with low self esteem.

But, knowing Blaise, he would have liked it. He always had a thing for his damaged ego, and his pride would have swelled had people really thought that he had once been the possible man for a woman like Ginny.

"Anyway," I shrug, trying to end the conversation. I am at once terribly uncomfortable about bad mouthing an ex of mine with someone I barely talked to in school just for nostalgic gossip. I hand her my parchment I had prepared while drowning out the Ale at the Leaky Cauldron.

"What's this?" Fay accepts the scroll, tentatively, with apprehension of someone who's received too many unwelcome notices than the nerve could bare.

"Books I'll be needing," I try to smooth it over.

"'Elementary Charms'?" Fay mouths out loud.

It takes a while for Fay to sort it out.

It actually takes more than that, and I decide to supply her with the correct answer, as I didn't want to look like a show off.

"It's just a temporary position." I explain.

Fay's face is indeterminate, but soon settles for 'show of ecstatic joy for an old friend'. "By Merlin!"

I smile back, politely.

"Parvati Patil, Professor of Charms!" Fay tries to think of more things to say. If she had known me well enough back in the day, she would have said something that would likely be befitting. But all she could do was move her mouth about as if she were ecstatically overjoyed, while alternately repeating conflicting terms of "who would have known" and "I knew you'd make it".

"Professor Sprout contacted me just a few weeks ago," I explain, "Professor Flitwick was retiring, and he had gone through a list of names, before he recommended me."

That was an understatement. Naturally, Flitwick had to go through a couple of scrolls of names before he came up with mine. But Charms was one of the major academic fields, and those who naturally excelled in Charms excelled everywhere else. hence, most of those names on the top of the list were up in the world with more important things than teaching children.

"I had to go through a lot of names," the Professor had confessed as he looked at me up and down with his goblin like eyes.

"I know," I smiled back meekly, not wanting to hear the truth. I had been working as a lecturer at the Wizarding University, just to I could prepare for a real job with some added academic credentials. It was a tough job market in the wizarding world.

"And I mean A LOT!" the Professor had grown a bit cranky in his twilight years.

"I suppose so," my smile maintains the meek submissiveness of someone who can barely support herself and her cat.

"When your name came up, well..."

I wanted to pierce his beady little eyes with my fork, but the rent was coming up, and Hogwarts Professors had the best pension plan in the world.

"Let's just say that," Flitwick had savored my discomfort with such relish, the little Monster, "I thought P Patil was Padma."

No, despite what people thought, Padma wasn't the bright star of our family. Well, not always, and, more importantly, not in this particular instance for this particular subject - which was all that mattered at the time.

"I heard Sprout was recruiting Neville Longbottom from the Aurors," Fay whispered, sotto voce, as though we were in for some conspiracy.

"It was in the papers," I reply glumly, reflecting on how quickly the topic of conversation sped from Me to Neville in less than sixty seconds. "'Star Auror steps down to pursue the passion of his life.'"

"I thought the passion of his life was Luna Lovegood," Fay giggles uncontrollably.

I see where this is going. Endless gossip of everyone until we're out of names to talk about. Should we get chummy over our nostalgia, she'll take me out for a drink, I'll overstep my self imposed limits, and I'll wake up on the floor of some stranger, again.

"Oh, my!" I look at the clock in surprise, despite having stared for it for the past few minutes. "Look at the time! Have to go, Fay."

Fay tries to say something, but I'm already out the door. A few more bookstores to visit before I visit Lavender and get my measurements. I want to be presentable. This may be something big! I try to quell the butterflies in my stomach. At least Lavender would have some memory actually tangible to share with.

Madame Lavender's faces into the main avenue of the string of shops that form Diagon Alley. The backside of Lavender's shop is the second hand robe shop run by her cousin, Kelly, and faces into Knockturn Alley. Lavender is one of our more successful alumni, other then the "Holy Trinity", and her shop rivals the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. But while the WWW simply thrived too much until their primary rival Zonko withered out of existence, there were rumors that Lavender had expanded with quite a bit of aggression to take over Madame Malkin's business.

Lavender usually doesn't tell me much about these things. And since I went back to school she has drifted away, but still she remains my Bestie. I stub out my cigarette on the cobbled street and head into the shop.

It's amusing how Lav Lav and Ron Ron have shops facing each other. I don't think either of them have done it on purpose. It was just the best bit of realty on Diagon Alley. There was a brief rumor that Ron Weasley was secretly seeing Lavender behind his bossy wife's back, but that was rubbish. I doubt Lavender was as forgiving of men, as much as I doubt that anything of that magnitude would pass the scrutiny of Hermione's watchful eye. Then again, the rumors died a bit too quickly.

A wily elfin thing greets me at the door, looking me up and down, sizing me up.

I used to be proud of how I looked once, but the years have put on some weight and blemished the skin, and now I am nervous under the younger woman's stare, more aggravatingly curious how she would size me up than annoyed.

"May I help you, Madame?" the strumpet finally asks with a fake french accent. At least she doesn't chase me out in the rain, but I've been called a 'Madame', and I'm not sure if that is a vernacular of Madame Lavender's for "old woman" or "married woman", neither which is pleasing. The girl is still eyeing me through her heavy mascara, up and down, up and down, her slender wrist waving with slight impatience.

"I'm here to see Lavender," I return, haughtily.

"Yes," the girl smiles, but her eyes are humorless, "welcome to Madam Lavender's. I am Giselle. May I help you?"

'May I help you' sounds more impatient now.

"I'm a friend," I explain.

"Of course you are," Giselle's smile is still frozen and forbidding. A customer in the aisle waves her over and Giselle is gone before I know it.

I enter anyway. It's been a while since I've been to such a nice boutique. Once I used to hoard the Young Witch like crazy. Now I prefer very very loosely fitting robes. The customers here are generally more of the wealthier sort than young. Lavender has a young witches's shop down the alley where the more youthful now hang out. She has also taken over the actual magazine "Young Witches" as well.

Giselle is ignoring me too well to notice I'm making my way upstairs to the familiar rooms where Lavender started out as a designer for Madame Malkin's. I pass a barrier charm that still seems to work for me, Merlin bless dear Lavender. The corridors are more prohibiting, aptly for a busy workplace. I hear shouting and arguing from up ahead. No, not arguing, just shouting. It's Lavender's voice, and whoever she's shouting to doesn't respond in kind.

It would be impertinent to intrude. Looking back, maybe I should have rushed in. For the moment all I can say is that I was too overwhelmed by overachieving peers to dare lose the one single person who had been a true friend over the seven years at Hogwarts by trespassing on her good will.

"And now you bring me this rubbish?" Lavender was shrieking. "This outdated piece of rag? Ho, ho, you are so full of yourself. Did you think you could just traipse in here and ask a favor like that, just because we knew each other at Hogwarts?"

I cringed at that. I felt I was in that someone's shoes, being berated by Lavender Brown. Perhaps that's what those creme de la creme of Hogwarts looked down on us lowly wand wavers. I wondered if I should leave. Or perhaps I should have brought something, a present, a gift, anything to show my good will.

I fumble about my pocket, but all I find is my packet of cigarettes which I crave right now.

"Get out!" she screams. "Giselle!"

I hear Giselle's footsteps rushing up rapidly in the stairs.

"Giselle!"

I am stuck between Lavender and her lackey. I wish I could just shrivel up and die for the shame. If Giselle finds me here...

Giselle has already reached the top of the stairs. She gives me a foul glare, upturns her nose and marches past.

I remember when we were young, Lav. Tentatively stepping into the small dormitory that was Griffindor Tower. You looked over us, Hermione and me, and you chose me to be your best friend, instinctively.

I remember how we would huddle up together and read the Young Witches, cutting out pictures and making scrap books. I remember how you scorned Hermione and asked me to join in. Sometimes I wonder what I would have been had I been more of Hermione's friend than yours. But then both you and Hermione went up in the world, walking your own separate paths. Where, now, is the brave Gryffindor Lion who was so proud she wore crimson than blue. Here I sulk about your doorway.

I will miss you.

Screaming.

It all happens so fast. Giselle, her short bangs fluttering, screams as she runs out of the room. Alarms ring about the building and the draperies that hang about the corridors slam down to form an iron curtain.

"Call the Aurors!" Giselle screams. "Call the Aurors!"

I try to move forward, anxious. The room is surprisingly breezy, and the wet cold wind flutters into the room. On the floor I see Lavender, beautiful and tall as ever, with a wisp of red hair dyed into her bleached blond. Her lips are red and continues to change hue with the light, and her lithe figure is draped by an exquisite Hypogriff feathered robe.

Why is she on the floor? I rush over, fear clutching my heart.

"Lav?"