kharmalibhatia-blog

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

raghdakatrina:

Sonam Kapoor for Khush Wedding Magazine April 2017

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

vntonin:

Oh, how he adored memorizing new faces. And oh what a plethora of new faces the ritual of Quidditch practice offered; it seemed as if the sport, here, came with an immediate following, as if sport made them Gods. Antonin was already quite content to be a commodity, to be the object of desire and curiosity, but climbing swiftly to the forefront of the revered Slytherin Quidditch team had made him more obvious a deity than before. Had Hogwarts not realized it before - though the whispers, the palpable fear, the reverent energy which followed his every breath - they knew it now; the warbling adorers in the stands, watching their emerald-clad heroes fly about the pitch, were the basest evidence of that. 

But, of course, being followed about by souls bound in adoration and reverence was nothing new. It was simply better with the rich taste of victory upon his tongue. 

Before him now, however, was a visage unimpressed. It did nothing to falter the cyanide smirk upon his face, however, for it took much more than a roll of intelligent eyes and a downward turn of studious lips to deter him. Much more than a lamb’s opinion to falter the stride of a wolf; and what were they all, if not lambs waiting at the mouth of the den of the biggest and baddest? Even as she - nameless, but with a sharp face he’d not forget - stood before him with attention obviously elsewhere, he knew he’d not be deterred. She had bumped into him, after all; the idea that she was not immediately enthralled only meant that they’d crossed paths - or bumped shoulders - for a reason. Antonin liked challenges. 

He shifted, puffing unashamedly half-bare chest with pride and tipping chin downward to observe her more squarely, more acutely. His only wish was to put a name to the face; the empty pages of his little black book keened with curiosity. “Many would beg to differ,” one brow raised, lips quirked venomously upward, Antonin took a half-step forward, reaching to tip her book downward with one strong finger. “You prefer this to Quidditch?” he wondered, finger tapping atop the hard cover, “Perhaps you should - what is it? - ‘loosen up’.” But it was clear at first glance that this was not the sort of girl to loosen up under any circumstance - anyone who came to the pitch after dark to be alone with a textbook and not a lover was someone who’d never known loose in their lives. 

The irksome feeling of a lack of instant gratification - then that of a game. 

“No warm welcome for the Seeker of a rival team?” Antonin gave a nod to her colors, which starkly contrasted his own, “That would be a worthy use of time, would it not?” His voice dripped with suggestion, though it most always did; he stood close enough now to smell the binding of her massive book, upon which his finger still rested. A predator, he was; it seemed that his prey was not the sort to cower, and for this he was grateful. Antonin had always appreciated a challenge. And the mere fact that she’d rolled her eyes was challenge enough. 

They were all the same those Quidditch boys- their egos fed by the abundance of adoration which filled the halls every time they walked by- their peers utterly enamored with the sheer possibility of mingling with their glory. There was little glory for the people like Kharmali- those doomed to a quiet, albeit stable life. She had learned to find satisfaction in the smaller aspects of each day- getting full marks on an essay, brewing a new potion to perfection. Every extra moment she spent studying now was an investment in her future and she dared not let a minute go to waste. Her hard work had paid off the moment she had been named Head Girl- a true validation that her hard work had garnered success.

Kharmali had never been the subject of envy- she had barely a penny to her name and perhaps not a single friend, yet the moment she pinned the shiny, new badge to her chest and marched though the halls, she had felt the burning intensity of the green eyed monsters following her every move.

It truly was a strange, yet oddly empowering sensation.

She had been quite prepared to turn on her heel proudly and not given the presumptuous encounter a second thought but the moment he placed a finger on her book insinuating she was uptight, she became fully aware the conversation was far from over. For of course she was uptight, it came with the nature of responsibility and a dedication to success, but surely this stranger had no right to comment on her demeanor. He did not know a thing about her. “I think it’s been well established that I do not fall in the category of ‘many’,” she countered firmly, “and my preferences for my work and studies are what have brought me this far. Eminence and merit are never earned by ‘loosing up’ as you so put it.” Why she felt the innate need to defend herself, she had but not a clue. Taking a defensive stance had become a natural habit- perhaps it had become that she knew of not another way.

Her deep brown orbs were drawn to his finger, still pressed firmly against the pages. “And how would that be worthy use of my time?” she posed, as she pushed his finger off the page of her sacred textbook, as if he was an unholy figure which dared tarnish the item she coveted the most. “Better yet, how would my warm welcome be of benefit to you? I’m sure there plenty others to offer you the friendliness you appear to seek, especially those of my own house.” Kharmali was well aware of the ways of her house- their cheery, genial voices always pleased to make a new acquaintance. Kharmali was kind to those in need and loyal to those who warranted such, but an inherit sense of conviviality was a foreign taste on lips. Perhaps in another house her strictness and severity may have been respected, but among her Hufflepuff peers, it simply alienated her.

She took a step forward in the direction of the man, snapping her book shut, as she did so, the sharp sound echoing through the otherwise silent air. “So, Mr. Slytherin Seeker, what is it you really want?”

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

vntonin:

DATE: 11 September, 1944 LOCATION: The Grounds / The Quidditch Pitch AVAILABILITY: Open to all.

 He had always been quite addicted to the feeling of adrenaline - in all its forms, it was a drug of which he could not get enough. Of course he was indulgent in all things decadent, but there was nothing more so than the feeling of blood pumping, heart racing, head spinning; the thrill of the chase gave him cause - and if not the chase of the hunt, then that of the greatest sport known to wizard-kind. One would not look upon Antonin Dolohov and think of Quidditch, but his father had put him on a broom before he knew to walk - or so he liked to claim. His skill had been apparent upon arriving at Hogwarts; there had never been a question in his mind that he’d be handed a position on the team, nor had there been a question that he would excel. Antonin excelled in all things - his proficiency at the sport was no exception. 

A braggart by nature, he could not help but hold his head a bit higher, shoulders a bit straighter, chest a bit stronger as he emerged from (yet another) successful practice, hair wet and tousled from a quick shower and robes hanging half-undone upon unashamed musculature. The high was something akin to sex - satisfaction tasted quite similar when it was as good as it was with he (and it was always good with Antonin). If ever there was superiority personified, it was here, now, slinging a leather pack over his shoulder and emerging from the Slytherin locker room with smirk upon his face. Each step was propelled by an adrenaline high; the cool fall air did nothing to dampen the flame beneath his ribs, but rather stoked the embers and made him strong. 

All he’d need to complete the trifecta of thrill, adrenaline, and violence would be to hit something, he thought, with the smug satisfaction of assured victory. Were he a Beater, there would be no Gryffindors left come Sunday; perhaps he’d hit something else. 

But, of course, the search for such bloody thrill had been what had damned him to begin with. Conscience, however, had never been his guide. 

His shoulder bumped another as he stepped full into the night air, abandoning the quiet darkness of the locker room, for his mind remained upon the pitch; eyes wheeled, self-indulgent smirk turned to a toothy snarl of a smile. “Come for another show?” he snapped, at present not caring to whom he spoke, “If you wanted to touch, all you had to do was ask.” His tone toed the line between confrontation and seduction, as it so often did - it would take just the slightest touch to give a push.

God she hated Quidditch. Perhaps the Head Girl was always doomed to dislike the sport for there was but not another extracurricular which so shamelessly inspired such a series of unnecessary hallway brawls which fell under her duty to ‘manage’. The curses and hexes which flew past the ancient stone walls spurred by rivalry and pride warranted the strictest of discipline and to have lost so much of her precious time to such an inconsequential matter as a sports game had irked her to no end. Despite her intense dislike of the game, she would be damned if the empty Quidditch pitch wasn’t the perfect place to study late at night.

The Quidditch pitch was always well-lit, illuminated by bright lanterns occasionally accompanied by a tantalizing sliver of the autumn moonlight, thus if she timed her study session right, she typically had the entire pitch to herself. At first glance, one might have taken her for an indoors woman, but to the few who knew her, the Head Girl did in fact prefer a late-night study session outdoors- no doubt a consequence of growing up among luscious greenery which India had offered her as a child. The chilly England air played a frigid reminder that she was far, very far away from home- the wind chilling her bones as her cheeks became dusted with a light pink tint (the temperature still undeniably better than the sticky humidity offered by India’s nights).

A single book in her arms, Kharmali gave little regard to her surroundings, deeply engrossed in the matters inscribed within the worn pages of her potions textbook. Her intense concentration was obviously unnecessary for the reading she had been assigned just days ago, but books were her chosen poison- the only drug she knew could get her ahead. All her books were old and second-hand, but clawmarks which ravaged each cover belonged to none other than the current owner- one desperate to climb to the top despite the stakes. There would be no excuses for anything less than excellence, thus she only knew how to meet disadvantage with hardwork.

As her shoulder collided with another’s a quick apology was already prepared to fall from her lips, yet the boy’s words slipped out first- sharp, twisted, and most definitely unapologetic. (Suddenly, her instinctual urge to apologize dissipating into the air as quick as it had appeared.) It would be a lie to paint her as anything other than mildly frazzled but as she opted for an eye roll and an irritated scoff, she supposed it would enough to cover for her moment of uncertainty. She dared not play mouse in a serpent’s den.

“I’d like to believe I have far better things to do than touch you...take studying, for example...a prime use of my time,” she bit back not a moment before returning her attention to her potions textbook, as if to emphasize her point. 

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

khalilahshafiq:

Khalilah stared out the glass panes in the library, the weather looking bright but the threads of clouds obscured the sunlight. A sigh fell gracefully from her lips as she shut her books and shoved them into her school bag. She missed the everlasting sun in Oman, the rays kissing her skin as she lay near the pool that stretched far, waterlilies scattered across the glass surface. 

Kitty walked out the library, school bag swinging from her shoulder in rhythmic motion with her ponytail. Her eyes glared as she walked through the corridors, set on returning to the Ravenclaw tower to get ready for her class later today. It was her first potions class, and she was just in the library preparing for what was to come. Slughorn always praised the best, lathered them in kisses of admiration. Kitty enjoyed the spotlight but it was not until recent that Tom Riddle had shined and became his pupil, the star of the Slug Club. 

As she weaved through the main hall, crowded than ever, not wanting to have bodies pressed against her, hot breath and sticky fingers from sugar quills. Once Kitty turned the corner, shoes clicking against the stone and echoing off the knights’ armor allowed her a moment to breathe and signal to her that she was alone - or so she thought. 

It was Kharmali’s voice that carried over the noise, poised with a smile. Her voice soft and kind, a Hufflepuff commodity. Good morning, Khalilah. The Head Girl, Kitty’s desired position for her last year of Hogwarts, if only she could take the title in her sixth year. “Hello Bhatia.” Kitty stopped metres ahead of the older Hufflepuff, a smile much less kind on her lips. “Classes have been - decent.” 

It was an understatement, perhaps. The two classes of yesterday had been as dull as the days that followed the disasters of opening night. “Congratulations on being Head Girl, what an accomplishment.” Her hazel eyes were fierce, dazzling with a hint of jealousy, a taste of greed. 

She easily noted the hints of bitterness lining the other girl’s features. Having something others wanted was a sensation Kharmali had never quite experienced before. She had earned the position of Prefect and gained a certain distaste from her peers and thus found no shock in the mixed reception she had received upon being chosen for Head Girl, but she had been incredibly surprised that the jealousy of others had accompanied the position.

Kharmali never believed herself to warrant envy- she was far from popular, had few, if any friends, and when it came to matters of wealth, the nicest thing she owned was a new chessboard (a purchase she had only been able to make after years of saving up). Yet for the first time in her life, she had something others wanted.

“That’s good to hear,” she responded, cordially, “I rather did enjoy my sixth year classes- especially charms and potions.”

Though Kitty’s next words were congratulatory and Kharmali could detect no hints of sarcasm in Kitty’s tone, she doubted the genuine nature of her compliment and in turn, she was unsure how to respond, deciding on a simple ‘thanks’ as the best response.

The “thank you” fell from her lips in a single breath before she added a quick, “I’m sure you will be in great consideration for the position next year. It’s truly been very rewarding and eye-opening, thus far.”

She genuinely wondered who would take the positions of head boy and girl in the following year, though by then such matters would no longer be important to her. By then she would be taking the path of a healer- perhaps not a glamorous job like the one Kitty sought- but stable and reliable one (with good benefits, Kharmali might add).

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

abraxasmlfoy:

“If you’re the one offering, then it would be amiss to say no to anything, Head Girl. Don’t want points taken off for refusing.” 

He offered her a playful smile, before his gaze slipped from hers. Abraxas had no reservations about Bhatia and her position. From all accounts, she was calm and capable– things Abraxas noted, but did not particularly care for. He couldn’t recollect a single time they had truly interacted, the only thing that stood out when he thought of her was a memory all to his own. 

When the news had broken how Tom was Head Boy, Abraxas had shook his head in mock despair. That poor Head Girl, he had said in between bites at the dinner table, his fingers turning bone white around his silverware, what a terrible way to spend your last year. 

(She did not look so ‘poor’ now. She seemed well-adjusted and regal and fair. She did not appear to be perturbed by all that happened. Not like him. How did she do it?)

 He banished the thought from his mind and tilted his head, staring at the chessboard imperceptibly. It seemed like he stood there, half-hunched over, for an impossibly long moment, but before anyone could say anything his head snapped upwards and he resumed his wolfish grin.

“I do love a game of chess,” he said congenially, “Though you will have to forgive me, I’m a bit out of practice. I’m afraid you mustn’t be too cruel if you win.”

It was a lie, of course. 

 Abraxas loved the game. At home, he had custom-made boards of crystal that shattered once the pieces were taken. He had first met Ariadne on opposite sides of the chessboard. He had played with every person that he had ever considered a friend, used the strategy to find out how deep or shallow their loyalty ran.  It was an intensely personal thing.  He played to know- if someone was a threat, if he could trust them, if they were good under pressure or if they crumbled. It was a tool. An assessment.

He had never really thought of Kharmali before, but, now, looking into her placid face and thinking of her invitation, he was so curious about it all. He wanted to see how she treated her Queen, how her King would rule, if her bishops would be fair or temperamental.

If nothing else, he conceded, it would be a reprieve. 

“For me— White or Black?” he sat down, ran his hand through his perfectly coiffed hair, wondered what color she would paint him in.

“I would not abuse my powers, as such,” she felt compelled to say, despite his playful smile which hinted he was likely not serious. She had long been accustomed to defending herself against the true insults and teases with often followed around girls like herself- and defense had simply become habit. 

Though much could be said about her (and much had been said) the attacks she most unwarranted were those which labelled her unjust. She adhered to the rules in a manner unrivaled by most but not once had the grip of power coerced her to instate bias or violate a code of impartiality. 

She was perhaps the strictest kind of warden, but a fair one.

"I, as well. I’ve loved the game since I was a child,” she admitted as he expressed his love for the game, “Though I’ll admit I may not be particularly sharp myself. It has been a while since I last played.”

(He need not know of the hours of her summer she spent playing against any opponent she could find, namely her grandfather who had been the one to teach her the game as a young girl). Chess had come to be remission for her- an institution for sanity in an otherwise stressful world. Much of her life was marked by competing and clawing for every accomplishment on an uneven playing field and it was incredibly refreshing to play a game where true equality manifested.

They all began with the same pieces (save the difference in color) but in the end it was skill and strategy which won out, not money nor power. She was an intensely cerebral player, competitive and unattached, perhaps not all to different than she was in the real world and she always found herself enchanted by the endless possibilities of chess. Each move entered players into an entirely different game- and within the pieces lined along the shiny, checkered board she had found a fascination.

He had posed a question which surprised her- she herself had little preference for either color as both held merit- but she was surprised that he had given her the choice. She paused to think- weighing each option in her mind- perhaps she had already been asked to make her first move before the game had even begun.

“White...” she finally stated, adjusting the board. With the unfamiliar opponent locked in her gaze she could not contain her burning curiosity to watch his reaction as she handed him the first move. She could not deny the Malfoy boy had already intrigued her and the sooner she could begin to excavate answers and reveal what lay beneath the surface, the better.

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

vestalee:

               UNLIKE KHARMALI, VESTA HAD NEVER thought too hard about their friendship. It had felt to her like a natural mechanism of their proximity, their predilection, their shared planned trajectory. She had taken up literal and proverbial space beside the other girl as though it were natural to do so and had not stopped to consider the implications of competition inherent in their mutual ambition until long after the fact; long after she had unconsciously, unintentionally edged in past one girl’s wary guards.

   Their head girl may be cool and seemingly-disaffected but Vesta speaks a stoic’s language with the fluency of one for whom it is family’s native language. Sharp eyes do not necessarily mean a hard heart and Vesta likes Kharmali’s straightforward stare, like her dusky hands smudged with the ink of someone who words hard and often.

   So when the Hufflepuff emerged from the Library just as Vesta’s making circuit past it’s massive double doors she slowed to a halt almost instinctual, hovers in anticipation of a greeting and is not disappointed. It has been a while, she’s right, and the answering smile Vesta gives is ’hello’ and ’happy to see you’ and ’how have you been’ rolled up into the quiet warm upturn of her mouth’s edges.

   At home she forgets, sometimes, the pleasure of the relationships she’s build here. Not the reality of them of course, but the feeling. The way it’s hard to recall summer sunshine in the dead of winter. Kharmali moved closer and Vesta reached out, fingers tips skimming a lock of DARK hair that had fallen across the other girl’s forehead and brushed it back. Tiny involuntary minutia of affection. Her smile brightens a touch at the invitation.

                        “ Yes please. ”   Books in hand shifted, back between both palms as her fingers drop away from her friend’s forehead.   “ How are you? “

She was not the slightest bit surprised by the warm smile which radiated off from the other girl, though she did find herself mildly surprised by how much she had missed it. The summer had not been an easy one and it quickly taught her how much she had truly come to rely on the comfort of one Vesta Lee. There was not doubt she would keep such thoughts to herself, but she would be amiss if it wasn’t obvious that she had missed the other girl.

As she stepped in stride with her friend (the term still one foreign and unfamiliar in her mind), she pondered the questioned posed: How are you? 

It was a simple enough question- one that she had been asked on plenty a occasion. It would have been easy enough to respond with a simple ‘I’m fine’, but it did not seem appropriate. Much had changed since her last year at Hogwarts- she was one year closer to achieving her dreams, not to mention she had a rather special new badge pinned to her chest.

Excited. Nervous. Terrified. All words which came to her mind to describe her current emotional state, but in the end she settled for, “I’m a little tired. My body still hasn’t fully adjusted to Britain's time but other than that, I’m just relieved to be back at school. Even with the chaos of the first days it’s still much calmer than my situation back home.”

“And you?” she quickly added, not so much as an after thought but rather as words with of burning curiosity and interest. “I hope you’ve been well.”

It’s a genuine hope.

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

ariadnegreengrass:

    Though neither girl noticed, or would readily admit it, they shared several similar traits, even down to the history of their behavioral records. Ariadne was known for her grace, kindness, and her stoic face that never quite seemed to break into smile. Her academia was excellent, and though it may seem as if she floated above the rest and would turn her nose up to anyone not on her level of blood purity, it was quite the opposite. 

       However, this year was different, and Ariadne had felt it in her bones before the castle had even gone under attack. Now she was not only a Greengrass, but soon to be a Malfoy, the news of their engagement spreading in whispers like a wildfire. Students needed something to gossip about that was much lighter than the wreckage reaped in the past few days, and it seemed to have often fell to the unsurprisingly arrangement between the Greengrass dynasty and the Malfoy lineage. Everyone had an opinion, and Ariadne was alert to the sudden microscope that had been placed above her - everyone was curious. 

      It was true, what the whispers said. She had been spending much more time with the Slytherin’s. She did speak more, and a smile or two had been caught gracing her lips. Was she changing? Opening up? Ariadne wouldn’t say her feelings on the arrangement, but to an unknowing eye, she seemed happier.

 Of course, the castle going under attack changed that. The few, fleeting hours of the new Ariadne had vanished, and she was again piled under books and papers, nose stuck in a wrinkled spine and hand scribbling down notes. Somehow, even the Ravenclaw made it seem so glamorous, decked in her standard cloak and tie yet still holding her head so high. Appearances seemed to be everything when it came to her, despite the ocean of more than met the eye under her porcelain skin. 

   Now, she sat in the library, awaiting her partner. They’d practically grown up together, but like so many others in Hogwarts, Ariadne was mostly unfamiliar with Kharmali. They would wave and could recall each other by both name and face, yet the friendship ended there. 

     “Oh, lovely, you made it,” Ariadne greeted warmly, though her face remained the same, no smile spent on the other. Something seemed off, though it may go unnoticed, yet a distracted glassy glaze rested over her eyes. “Herbology project already, it’s as if we are finally truly home, yes?”

Kharmali never understood the fuss over pureblood politics. She could care less about the glamour or money which adorned their names like royalty- marking them as kings and queens among men- but to Kharmali, they were nothing more than fellow witches and wizards. She would have to work twice as hard to make half they marks they could make on the basis of their names, but she had long learned life was far from fair.

She never resented a pureblood on the basis of their blood status for that would be hypocritical but she kept her distance, never quite entangling herself among them.

It was a place not meant for her. (On more than one account).

Perhaps bejeweled goblets, illustrious jewelry, and wedding gowns were not in her future, but she could not help but wonder how the pressure of such a union was affecting the other girl. Kharmali was not entirely opposed to working with Ariadne but there existed a certain unfamiliarity with the other girl which unnerved her. Perhaps the distractions of her upcoming wedding plagued the other woman’s mind and with her features revealing very little, there was no true way to tell. 

Working with a new partner was always uncomfortable for Kharmali- she found reprieve in routine and the creature of habit she was, was content with avoiding major changes. As head girl, she had already found that adjustment to changes was a necessity- take Tom Riddle whom was to be her equal and partner in maintaining the school...her school. Perhaps her position as head girl had been a push in the right direction- a push towards the acceptance of change- it would be a slow acceptance but Kharmali had earned a newfound will to work on it.

As she took a seat next to her partner, a light smile ghosted her features, “A true reminder that we have returned, indeed, though I must admit, I would have it no other way.” It was truth which left her lips, an honest evaluation of her feelings. Every opportunity to prove herself would be taken a blessing rather than a curse (though the work could often get painful and tedious). “I had jotted down a few ideas we could use for our project if you’d like to look...” she offered, handing her a slightly worn piece of parchment.

It was her final year and Kharmali was determined to prove herself. By this time next year, she would already be working with the chance to achieve her dreams of success in the healing world. Perhaps her goals were not as attractive as the ones of her peers, but she was content with them- content with being able to provide herself and her family a better life. 

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

❁ 24

“Freedom lies in being bold.”

Here!

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

DATE : September 5th 1944 LOCATION : Hallway TIME : whatever time? morningish? STATUS : Closed to @khalilahshafiq

“Freedom lies in being bold.”

Kharmali blinked in front of the mirror as she brushed her ever-growing hair. She tutted at the splitting strands - she was due for a trim. Over the years, her fellow Hufflepuffs always cooed over her hair in slight envy - Kharmali had noticed that short hair was much more common in Britain but they claimed her long hair gave her a more 'exotic' beauty. Kharmali had scoffed at their words and wondered what they would think should she chop it off completely (her mother would surely have a heart attack).

It was her seventh year and still at times Kharmali felt like a foreigner. Save for the few others like her, most of the Hogwarts students were England natives. Her longings for home were always interrupted by the memories of rioting and protests.

She wondered if the others ever felt the same way. She was rather positive that homesickness was inescapable even for the likes of students who called England their home.

So as she walked the halls a noticed a familiar face- a Ravenclaw prefect- rather than walking by as she typically would, she stopped and smiled.

“Good morning, Khalilah,” she offered, the soft smile still pulling at her lips, “I hope the first few classes of the year have been treating you well.”

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

44

“Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos.”

Here!

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

DATE : September 8th 1944 LOCATION : Library TIME : 6:07 AM STATUS : Closed to @ariadnegreengrass

“Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos.”

Going back to India had been pure hell in Kharmali's eyes. She longed to take refuge among the ancient stone walls where magic whispered into her ears. The only good thing about the summer break had been her job at a magical supply shop at home helping an elderly wizard who ran a small shop that sold rare potion ingredients. It was tedious work but she appreciated every minute that she wasn't stuck in the rioting streets so she endured the smiling at customers and feigned cheerfulness. The shop had also paid rather well and she was delighted at the prospect of not taking charity this year (the very thought of taking someone else’s money had frustrated her, but she took it as a necessary evil). She was becoming quite good at business too - knowing what ingredients were the most sought after as well as how to convince the everyday wizard to buy that extra scoop.

But nonetheless, she had been all too happy to return to the castle and begin classes again and when she was assigned her first potions assignment of the year, she could not have been more pleased.

As she went to seek out her assigned partner for the project, none other than Ariadne Greengrass, she found herself pausing to quick braid her long dark hair. She didn't look happy, per se, but rather resigned as she stifled her sighs, a certain fatigue lacing her movements. Nevertheless, she carried on with her search.

When she finally spotted Ariadne- she offered her a wordless nod. It was no matter - they hadn't exchanged a word in over ten months (other than the occasional hallway acknowledgment) - she had no intention of changing that- they would focus on the assignment and that was all. Kharmali would not get caught up in seeking friendship or comradery - the Greengrass girl would likely not be interested in such matters either.

They never were.

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

❁ 47

“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”

Here!

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

DATE : September 8th 1944 LOCATION : Misc. Hallway Table TIME : 4:03 PM STATUS : Closed to @abraxasmlfoy

“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” 

"Can you look over my essay? I swear Slughorn's a slave driver!" one of the first years cried out exasperatedly in the common room. The last few days had flown by and it was nearing the middle of the month. The other students were starting to get lazy because the excitement of the beginning of the year had worn off - unfortunately, the professors had no such issue as they continued to give out work. Kharmali had become long used to the monotony - and now in her final year, the first-year assignments were horrifically easy for her. 

Making a few marks on the first year’s paper before handing it back with the smallest quirk of her lips, she stood, gathered her books and chessboard, making a great effort not to reveal the true extent of their weight and smiled wanly as she ventured up the steps to leave the common room. She never truly felt comfortable in the common room and much preferred the places which called for less interaction.

Not interested in making her way all the way to the library seeing as she nothing more to study, she unceremoniously dumped her books on the floor and took a seat at nearest chair she could find. On the empty table she setup her magical board- it was gorgeous thing, perhaps the only glossy and pristine she had to her name. It was not a gift she had been given but rather a prize she had saved up for. She had purchased it on one of her few trips to Hogsmade and carried it around with the same pride she held for the Prefect and Head Girl badges pinned to her chest.

Looking around for any sign of a potential opponent, Kharmali bit her lip before noticing man- one whom she could not be more different than her- a Malfoy. Regardless of her what she had heard about him, Kharmali had little opinion of him. In truth, she had little opinion on anybody.

“Do you play?” she finally asked, her words cutting through the silent air life a freshly sharpened knife as she motioned to the board in front of her.

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

❁ + 74

“You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts.”

Here!

[kharmalibhatia-blog]

DATE : September 6th 1944 LOCATION : The Halls TIME : 7:20 PM STATUS : Closed to @vestalee  

“You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts.”

Kharmali supposed that there were worse things than spending a majority of her time at the Hogwarts library — a rendezvous with the Giant Squid at the Black Lake certainly still took first place —and her first week appeared to be going rather smoothly (save the initial chaos). 

She found that being in Hogwarts allowed her to believe her façade — that she actually believed that insanity which wrecked the hall of her home country was all but nonexistent. She hadn’t seen Vesta very often despite the fact that they both found comfort within the walls of the library and wondered if her heart had already begun to long for company. Perhaps it was simply that there was much on her mind and she had few people she could truly speak to. She longed for release.

Back home, she had always found it easier to spend time alone since all her female cousins ever wanted to do was to discuss makeup and, of course, boys. It wasn't that Kharmali didn't enjoy girl talk but she did prefer substantial conversation over mere vapid gossip. Vesta, however, was different— they both were passionate about learning and shared a common goal and interests, both harboring a penchant for Charms while simultaneously excelling at Potions. 

It had also helped that she never questioned her too deeply about her past, respecting each other’s privacy even though she knew that Vesta did want to know more about her. 

She knew that it probably wasn't wise to enter the friendships as freely as she had but she couldn't help it — she was lonely. So as she stepped out of the library and spotted the girl, it felt anything but unnatural to approach her.

“It’s been a while,” she offered with the slightest of smiles. “Care to walk with me?”

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