Random future Drabble
Parvati Patil is a twenty-four year old grown woman, with a successful job as a section editor at Witch Weekly, and even gets to travel the world sometimes. She is hardly a child — probably has not been a child since her sixth year at Hogwarts when everything began to go to hell.
Why is it, then, that she lays outside in her backyard at night, just staring up at the stars like she is still seven years old? There is no Padma around to drag out with her and listen to the stories she makes up, no mother to yell at her to come inside, though. Just her, the blanket beneath her, the sky above her, and the slight chill in the night air.
Maybe she is not a child physically, maybe she even grew up at some point, but there is still a young, child Parvati who lives inside her and comes out at times like this. Other times, too, in the excited and full-of-wonder looks which are like a second nature, or when she chases her niece, Shonali, around Padma’s house, full of giggles.
Parvati lives in the countryside, surrounded by the Pennines, not terribly far from where she grew up. It is much quieter here than in the city, though. Most people are surprised she makes her home there, instead of in the exciting hustle and bustle of London or elsewhere. She likes the quiet nights, especially for times like this.
“What on earth are you doing?” asks a familiar, amused voice — her boyfriend. This is their ritual; he comes outside and finds here laying out, as if he doesn’t know, and she grins up at him like a third year Hogwarts student on their first trip to Honeydukes or Zonko’s. She pulls him down onto the blanket, and they both sit up, shoulders touching. They are waiting while the full moon hangs low in the sky, watching them, watching the world. He asks her about a constellation, Andromeda, and so she indulges him.
“Once there was a king, Cepheus, who ruled over a kingdom by the sea. His wife was very beautiful, but very vain — Queen Cassieopeia,” she says, voice lazy and dreamy as she points them out in the sky. “Their daughter, Andromeda, was even more so, and the Queen was as proud as she was vain. So she once boasted that her beloved daughter was more beautiful and appealing than even the Nereids. The sea nymphs were offended, and complained to Poseidon, god of the sea, who saw fit to punish the queen for her arrogance.”
“Oh really now?” he asks with eyebrows quirked, biting back a smile. He knows the story well, for she’s told him half a dozen times.
“Yes, really — which is why he sent a terrible sea monster to ravage the kingdom. Cepheus, desperate, consulted the Oracle of the god Apollo, who told him the only way to appease Posiden was to sacrifice his daughter to the monster. He loved Andromeda, but he had to save his kingdom, so Andromeda was stripped naked and chained to a rock.”
“A whole new meaning to bondage, I suppose.”
“Oh shush!” she chastises him, though it is playful. “Perseus, on his way home after killing Medusa, caught sight of Andromeda, chained to the rock, and thought her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He decided to save her, killing the sea monster, and he said to her—”
“These are not the chains you deserve to wear, but rather those that link fond lovers together,” her boyfriend supplies, wrapping an arm around her. Parvati is about to add how Perseus and Andromeda get married, but a low howl sounds in the distance - it is what they have been waiting for. There is a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she reaches up to cup a hand round her mouth. Throwing her head back, without a care in the world, she imitates the howl, baying at the lonely moon.
He joins in, and soon they chase each other around the yard, laughing and howling like a pair of children. The two of them collapse on the ground, breathless. He leans over like Parvati knows he will, placing kisses along her jaw and then on her mouth. The last part of the ritual, you see, is where they make like werewolves under the stars even though it is so terribly cliche.
See? There are perks to having no neighbours.