The crimson light of professor Trelawney’s -- or Sybill, as her professor had asked her to call her now -- was one of the places that still brought her peace at Hogwarts. Most of the others had been spoiled by memories of things that had been, both good and bad, but that place was still squeaky clean of bad memories. Even those of Lavender and her had not grown sour there; how, Parvati did not know, but it was there that her mourning felt a little less heavy.
Parvati found herself wishing to escape to that little chamber in the North Tower more and more, craving familiarity as most things felt strange and warped and wrong. Her escapes could never last forever, though. She was leaving the small classroom, though, trading it for the greyish stone and talking paintings of the Hogwarts corridors. It was like being sobered up --- a bucket of cold water hitting her drunk face --- every time she left that place, as if she was being thrown back into the world that had so drastically changed over the past years.
It was only logical that Parvati felt a little off balance.
With her bag swung over her shoulder and her head still with her private session with her favourite teacher, she paid little attention to where she was going. She wasn’t usually clumsy, really, but she had grown absent-minded as of late, which explained why her bag crashed against one of the suits of armor. Her bag hadn’t been in the best state before --she had wanted to buy a new one in the summer, but had kept postponing it for reasons unknown to her -- and it ripped, its insides spilling and rolling over the stone floor of the corridor.
“Morgana’s saggy t---,” she started, swallowing her swear before she could fully speak it. Parvati bit the inside of her cheek, frustrated with herself as she crouched down to gather her things.