All around her were mementos of a happy life. On the walls, carefully curated photos. Vacation, friends, reunions. In the living room, a large wedding portrait. Both Lavender and Parvati wore traditional Indian saris, red and gold, glittering with crystals, dripping with jewelry. As one, they looked off-camera and laughed. A guest cracking a joke, Hermione guessed. The photographer gestured for their attention, and they gave it. Smiling. Kissing. The love they shared was painfully obvious, a friendship that had grown into far more over time. The trust between them was equally brutal. Ample evidence suggested that they had married willingly, excitedly, decades ago, and that their relationship remained strong. The two women had withstood the trials and vagaries of a shared life; they deserved each other.