Pansy had not expected to make friends with the Ravenclaw girl she often saw sitting next to her louder, more obnoxious Gryffindor twin. She had not expected to feel the storm inside her heart fade into the background the first time those cool obsidian eyes leveled themselves at her, holding a threat and a promise. She had not expected the ease of slipping into the space across her at her table in the library. Pansy had not expected the simplicity behind transfiguration when Padma was there to trace the words in her textbook and explain.
Pansy had not expected to fall in love with Padma Patil.
In their fifth year, the war was fast approaching and Pansy was no fool. But she ignored the demands of her parents and spent her afternoons watching Padma bury her nose in some book as she snacked on sour candy across from her. She wondered what Padma would taste if she were to reach over and press their lips together. She already knew she’d taste sugar and coconut from Padma’s lip scrub.
In their sixth year, the war gripped her ankles and nearly dragged her away from the only warmth left in her life. When everyone looked at her in disdain and mistrust, as they should have, Padma looked at her with an unreadable glint in her cool obsidian eyes and a smile that slowly became strained as the year passed. Pansy wondered what she would taste if she were to kiss her, now that Padma seemed to pull her hands away when Pansy reached out.
In their seventh year, the war’s hands gripped her ankles and wrists and the girl made of obsidian seemed to shatter in front of her eyes. The glint in her eyes turned into draggers, the warmth cradled inside her overflowed like molten lava. It scorched Pansy, left her trembling as the girl with obsidian eyes and obsidian hair spun on her heels and marched away, leaving a gaping hole in her. Pansy wondered what she’d taste if she were to press a desperate kiss to Padma’s lips, now that she was walking away. Angry tears and the sting of a harsh slap across the face? She didn’t wear her coconut and sugar lip scrub anymore.
In their eighth year, the war’s hands released her in disappointment and rage. She hid in her one bedroom apartment and folded herself into the darkness. She pulled her blankets tighter around her and pretended the warmth came from burning obsidian eyes. She tasted coconut and sugar in her dreams.
In the fallout of the war, she became a healer and a damn good one at that. She made friends that became family. Friends whose wariness turned to warmth somewhere along the way. But never did she manage to move on from obsidian eyes and obsidian hair.
In her late twenties, Pansy wandered into a bookstore. Dark eyes roamed bookshelves, until they froze on obsidian eyes set in brown skin. A whispered name left her in a breath but that was enough to call the attention of the lava filled eyes. There she stood, the girl made from obsidian and warmth. The girl tasting of coconut and sugar in her dreams. Padma’s hands clutched around a book, Pansy’s hands slack.
In her late twenties, apologies were frequent but this one would make or break everything.
In her late twenties, coffee dates and walks through the park became routine.
In her late twenties, subtle brushes of two hands and stolen glances made a reappearance.
In her late twenties, Pansy pulled those damned lips to hers and tasted a million colors, but most of all she tasted coconut and sugar.