a/n: Just a little thing I'm working on in between chapters of some other projects. The idea hit me while I was riding the train and became fascinated with the colors of the rail lights. New style. Please leave a review to let me know if it interests you! Much love.

disclaimer: Teddy would like to say that I do not own Harry Potter, and if I made any money off of this story it would dishonor his parents memories. We would not want that, would we?

White is purity.

Her hair was white when she was born. A soft off-white that matched the color of her ever delicate skin - pink - cheeks and blotches of a newborn still evident on that July day. A summer child with summer hair and blue eyes that sparkled like the traitorous moon. White laughter bubbled in her young stomach.

This was my very first memory.

I saw her round face and bright smile and that is the only thing I remember from that day. Her. But I swear to Merlin that I was there. The pictures cannot hide the truth after all. At least, not in this case.

They say my hair was that same creamy white for a week after she was born, that I told my grandmother about the "soft, white, tiny girl was an angel" and "I want to be an angel too". I do not know why I forgot that part.

The dress she wore for her fifth birthday was white. She was a gorgeous swan that day, and I just a careful observer. Watching as her laughs rang like bells and filled up the room, wiping away any trace of fear of sorrow or sadness from the faces of her friends and family. I was only seven, but I still knew how I felt. I was in love.

(To my knowledge, she only owned four white dresses. The third one I saw her wear was the one that I adored the most. It was also the one I accidentally tore the buttons off of the same night she wore it. I have never been a patient man.)

The sand on the beach when we rode around on broomsticks was white. I was always jealous that she was so close to the sea with its white foam and sea shells.

The snow that blanketed the ground of our school on the day we kissed was white. A small flake that landed on her lips was the reason why our mouths connected. I took it as a sign. I sometimes wonder if I still would have kissed her if there was not snow that day. I wonder if she knew that was why I made a move.

White were her teeth nipping at my neck, at times soft and loving, at others harsh and needy. White was her innocence that she gave to me to keep and protect forever. I think I always took that for granted. Always assumed that we had more time.

And white were the flowers on our wedding day, but the flowers that I placed on her grave were white too. What does that mean?

White was the hue of her lips when they lost all life. White were the blinding dots blocking out my vision when I found out and the clouds I could barely see in the sky as I wondered "Is she up there now? Watching me? Hating me for what I did?"

I guess I was right in the end, even if I do not recall saying it; Victoire was an angel.

The most beautiful angel I have ever seen.

But white was her smile and white was her hair and white is how I wear my own hair now. That silvery and creamy off-white that I love and miss so much.

White was the color of her youth, her adulthood, and her death. And that is perhaps the purest life I have ever come to know.