La vérité de l'Amour.
A petite figure sat hunched over a blank piece of parchment, staring out the window. Outside lay a cold, gray street. The leaves tumbled over themselves, shrivelled and wandering.
A slender arm reached out, and long fingers grasped hold of a quill. The hand, shaking, returned to the paper and began to write.
The last time I saw him was one of the most wonderful moments in my life. Afterwards, however, it became one of the worst.
The hand paused, as its owner took a long, drawn-out breath. Once the woman had regained her composure, the hand began moving again.
I have not seen him since that day. I have not spoken about him, and I have not been spoken to about him. Some days, more than anything, I wish he were still here. Others, I wish I had gone with him.
The room was small and dark, the shelves crowded with scrolls of parchment, bottles of ink, quills, and small glass objects. Hidden away in the left corner of the highest shelf, there was a gold ring, with a small diamond set on the band.
It has been what seems like years since that day. In truth, it has been but a few months. Auror Caradoc Dearborn disappeared four months ago. His body was never found, and he is presumed dead. I loved him, more than anything in the world.
The sun was just starting to rise. Thin rays of soft morning light crept into the room. The woman's messy hair became slowly visible, and could be seen outside. But there was nobody outside to see it. She turned her head, looking out the window. Green eyes narrowed as the woman's spare hand shielded them from the sunlight.
She got up and closed the window, and drew the curtains. The woman returned to her parchment, and began writing again. This time, though, her hand moved faster, as if she had been inspired by something.
During the third week of my seventh and final year at school, I met Caradoc. I had seen him around before, but never talked to him. After all, we were in different houses; I in Gryffindor, and he in Hufflepuff. The sun was shining, the water was cool, and it seemed as though the world had frozen in a perfect state the first time I saw him…
The laughter of a group of seventh year females could be heard within twenty metres of the Black Lake. They sat in a circle, talking rapidly about everything and anything, laughing and smiling and grinning. One, a Gryffindor called Marlene McKinnon, looked over at the four boys known as the Marauders.
She smiled at the boy with sandy-coloured hair and shabby clothes. He smiled back, and they both blushed furiously. The other girls laughed, smiling.
"Marlene and Remus!" cried one Rose Williams.
Marlene blushed even more.
"You really should ask him out, you know," said Dorcas Meadowes, a little more seriously.
More blushing. Poor Marlene was bright red. Although, she was secretly enjoying this.
"Yeah… you should," muttered Mary MacDonald, rather half-heartedly.
Nessa Averill wasn't paying much attention to the conversation. Her green eyes were looking across the lake at a boy from Hufflepuff. Caradoc Deaborn was his name; a handsome young man, he was quite poetic, too.
Another of the girls noticed Nessa's slightly dreamy stare at Caradoc. Bertha Jorkins smiled.
"Ness likes Caradoc!"
Nessa jerked her head around sharply, looking in surprise at Bertha.
"What?" she asked questioningly.
Bertha giggled, grinning. "You like him!"
"No I don't…" she began, blushing.
Bertha's giggle turned into a laugh. "Yes, you do!"
Nessa ignored the last remark, and turned back to the group.