A/N: Thanks to GringottsVault711 for her help with the summary.





Parvati does not want to be here, sitting in the dining room facing her twin. She wants to be sitting in the Great Hall, chattering with Lavender and surrounded by a hundred voices. She wants to be sitting two tables away from Padma, far enough away that she doesn't feel responsible.

Parvati didn't want to leave. She wants to go back. She has been home for two days. She's ready to scream. But she can't. For Padma's sake.

Parvati and Padma ride home on the Hogwarts Express after their first year. A quickly diminishing pile of Cauldron Cakes lies on the seat between them. They are trying to see who can eat more. In the end Padma wins, and the two girls sit side by side nursing their stomachaches and laughing at their own foolishness.

Parvati is halfway through her meal, a delicious lunch prepared by their mother. Padma has eaten three spoonfuls of rice. Parvati wants to scream at her sister, scream at her and force her to eat. But she does not. Their father did that. It did nothing. She wants to plead with her sister, plead with her and beg her to eat. But she does not. Their mother did that. It did nothing. She knows she must tread carefully, knows she must not ask. She cannot ask. For Padma's sake.

The twins sit in a compartment with Lavender Brown and Lisa Turpin as the countryside whizzes by and they leave their third year behind them. They whisper about Sirius Black, sharing their fears. They cower together, comforting each other. Two sisters and two best friends, taking support and giving it in return.

Parvati wheedles. “Are you sure that's enough food?� And her sister smiles and explains that she ate too much pudding the night before. Parvati smiles as her chest tightens and a lump forms in her throat. She has heard this story too many times.

And it's back to the old game. The old exchange of empty smiles, the old charade. Parvati exclaims over the curry, telling Padma she should try it even though she's already full. Maybe it's the sincerity reflected in her sister's eyes, maybe it's only because she doesn't want to fight. Padma takes one dainty spoonful of the curry.

Parvati has won her battle. But victory is bittersweet. It is not enough. She tells herself she's done something, tells herself she's made a difference. She has to believe it. At the same time, she worries that she has gone too far, pushed too hard. She cannot risk being pushed away. She's the only one left. She cannot risk it. For Padma's sake.

The train is quieter than usual this year. The end of Triwizard Tournament has left the twins stunned. Padma does not let herself cry. She has to control it, control herself. She has to control something in the uncontrollable world. The Ravenclaw girl sits quietly, hands clasped in her lap. Parvati wants to cry and scream. She cried with Lavender earlier, cried with her friend over the crush they had shared, a crush who was now dead. Parvati cried about Cedric with Lavender. But Padma is struggling. Parvati can feel it. With Padma beside her, Parvati cannot say Cedric's name. Her sister needs her to be strong.

Parvati watches her sister from across the table. She sees the hollowness in her twin's eyes, is horrified by the way her sister's elbows bulge out from her skeletal arms. They are not beautiful. They are not graceful. But Padma does not see them as they are. She sees thick arms, thicker than Parvati's. The body Padma sees does not exist; it is no more real than the pudding she never ate.

Parvati wants to cry for what her sister has become. She wants to cry for all the words left unsaid. But she must be strong. She must not cry in front of Padma. She must not. For Padma's sake.

The girls sit quietly as the carriage draws away from Hogwarts. Parvati does not cry. She cried throughout the night, but she does not cry now. She spent the night next to Lavender, holding her hand. Hugging and being hugged in return. Crying and being cried upon. They soaked a pillow each. They forgave each other for giggling about Dumbledore's odd speeches and crooked nose. They confessed that they had always admired his half-moon spectacles. They were together.

Now Parvati cannot cry. She cannot scream. She cannot hurt where Padma can see. Parvati wants to reach out, to hold someone tight. She does not want to think about Dumbledore alone. But she cannot bring herself to take Padma's hand; she doesn't dare. Her own sweat would betray her. She does not dare put her arm around her sister. Her own shaking would betray her. Parvati watches her sister, loves her sister. But Padma has become untouchable. Padma is glass. Parvati cannot hold her for fear of breaking her. She cannot talk to her for fear of knocking her upside down.

Parvati wants to scream. She doesn't want to be here. She doesn't want to face this. She wants Lavender. She wants the Great Hall. She wants Padma back. She wants the Padma she can cry with, the Padma who can be strong for her. She wants the Padma whose world won't shatter if she, Parvati, is angry or sad. She wants someone she can share with, someone she can scream with. She wants to be able to be sad, be able to be angry; she wants to speak unguarded. But she cannot. She has to be strong. She has to be calm. She has to be happy. All for Padma's sake.

A/N: Many, many thanks to all the people who encouraged me to write this. I didn’t originally intend on a sequel, but at some point I realized that there was room for one. Much love to my betas, GringrottsVault711 and Ennalee, for their encouragement and helpful questions, to everyone who reviewed the original story, and to my darling SPEWers for their support.


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Padma perches on a chair in her room, unmoving but for the rising and falling of her chest. She wishes she were unseeing. Wishes she were unhearing. Wishes she could stop time. Anything. Anything to keep the scene before her from proceeding, anything to keep it from being real.

She cannot watch, but she cannot walk away. Padma remains seated, transfixed. Stillness, contrast and counterbalance to Parvati's motion.

Parvati. Parvati is on her stomach, body draped across her bed, clenching the edges of her pillow with either hand as she sobs and screams. She is constant motion. Paravti is aching, crying, screaming, fighting. Padma cannot watch, but neither can she look away. Because of Parvati.

It is December of her fourth year. Padma sits with Lisa and Laura in the Ravenclaw common room. It is the third week of the diet they began together soon after the Yule Ball was announced. Lisa and Laura have already given up, but Padma is still going strong. She flashes a smile at the other girls as they compliment her, praising her discipline and her trim figure. She glows at their praises –– no one has ever admired her or praised her this much before.

Padma values cleverness –– she is a Ravenclaw, after all. If she were fair to herself, she would realize that she does fairly well in school. But Padma sees only that she will never be as smart Hermione Granger or even Terry Boot. In Ravenclaw, doing well is merely expected. She loves her House, but she has never stood out or been admired.

Over the last three years Padma has watched her world crack and fall around her. But she has always had an anchor, a constant, a strength beside her. Padma has never broken.

For months, ever since the carriage took them away from Hogwarts, Parvati has been strong. For Padma's sake. She has confided in no one but Lavender, with whom she exchanges letters twice every week. Parvati has lived the image her sister believes her –– and needs her –– to be. But it has cost her. She has been crying since she departed Hogwarts, but she hadn't shed a tear until today.

Now Parvati is crying. Crying desperately. Crying achingly. Crying as never before. Padma watches, unmoving. She does not know what she wants. She does not know what to feel. So she remains still, seeing and unseeing, breathing in and breathing out. Existing. Because of Parvati.

Padma has just returned home with Parvati for the spring holidays. It is their first visit home all year, since they both remained at Hogwarts over Christmas for the Yule Ball. Padma is still on her diet.

She watches her mother’s eyes as they examine the twins, no curve or blemish unnoticed. They are scrutinized in every aspect, from the bottom corners of their trunks to the neat piles of marked essays under their arms to the drape of their robes across their stomachs.

Padma watches anxiously, wishing she possessed half Parvati’s indifference. But for once, her mother smiles at her. Padma smiles weakly back, knowing that the smiles will vanish when her Potions’ marks are revealed, unable to enjoy the knowledge that for the moment at least, her parents are satisfied.

But now Parvati is lying on her stomach, the entirety of her body heaving as she sobs and screams, an image so different from her apparent happiness two hours ago. She received an owl from Lavender earlier this morning saying that Hogwarts would be reopening in the fall. Hiding her desperation behind forced hope, Parvati asked their parents if they could return in September.

Their parents refused and proceeded to firmly rebuke their daughter for her disregard for her own and her sister's safety. Padma accepted their edict as she did everything: with resignation. Parvati did not, could not. Parvati knows she cannot continue indefinitely as she has done this summer. She cannot always be strong. Parvati sustained herself with dreams of Hogwarts, dreams of returning to Lavender, Seamus, and Dean. With Hogwarts denied her, Parvati can no longer maintain the facade of strength.

Parvati crumbles, and Padma does not know what to do. She is paralyzed by disbelief. Unable to feel and unable to stop feeling. Because of Parvati.

It is September of Padma’s fifth year, and she is still dieting. She loves it. She loves the strength she feels when she sits at the table and does not eat, loves the freedom of refusal.

But she hates it too. She hates looking in the mirror, looking and seeing every pound, every ounce that has not come off. The body she has yet to conquer.

Parvati is crying, crying out months of hidden frustration and clandestine pain. Padma is staring, suspended in unreality. It has been years since she last saw her sister cry. She believes in a sister who is the embodiment of strength and resolve –– a sister who does not truly exist.

The last foundation of Padma's world is crumbling, proving no different than anything else she has held on to. Like everything she has ever clung to, it is built of illusion.

Padma has lived years in this illusionary world, supported by illusions –– illusions which have, one by one, been stripped away. But she has made it this far. Because of Parvati.

It is May, and Padma decides to stop dieting, just for one day, to assure herself of her control. She discovers that she cannot stop. Cannot. And she is spiraling. Spiraling.

Spiraling in the realization that her diet, her control, is just like everything else. Her control is only illusion.

Their mother's voice shouts from the kitchen, announcing that lunch is ready. The thrice-daily call to battle.

Padma leans forward slowly, begins to lever herself up from her chair, all the while transfixed by the sobbing form of her sister. She straightens, takes a single step towards the door. And stops. She turns around. Looks again at her sister.

Padma cannot continue.

She shatters.