Why must the dramatic fall on rainy nights?
Heaven spat out little icy droplets as an omen, a sign that night. It must be just that. Her luck completely. Her and her solitary thoughts, high upon the astronomy tower at unfathomable hours of the night. But the bitter wind was numbing and the cold skies didn't judge. So this is where she'd stay, at least until the shivers gave her up. Her breathing was slow, meaningless tears washed away by the elements. Her breath smoked in tendrils about her face. And with stiff fingered deftness, she pulled her hair behind her ear. Time to move on, to forget. The world still spun. Rain still fell. Her life wasn't over, nothing of any real significance had occurred.
It was just the way he'd said it.
"Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in the world, capible of fooling anyone into beliveing the obsessive, repulsive infactuation refered to as love. A powerful lie."
Damn him.
It was the way his voice rose from its monotonous drone, how quickly he fell silent directly afterward. He looked at her, out of the corner of his eye. Just for a moment, as if she wouldn't notice. She had said nothing, not to Severus, not to the snickering Sirius or jeering James. She had nothing to say.
What would she say? After all, Lily was but a 'filthy mudblood'.
But it was those damned sharp edges of his shattered feelings cutting at her again. She didn't know what to think of him, how to feel when he was in the room. James. Was James any better? She had told herself it, as almost a self motivator, a reason not to be fully horrified at the bloody loss of her oldest companion. But up on the Astronomy tower, at unfathomable hours of the storm drenched night, she couldn't believe it.
She was content without either of them, she reminded herself.
Lily was all Lily needed.
Damn him.
She ran a hand threw rain ruined curls, makeup running down her cheeks in dark streaks. Her chest ached, shoulders heavy, a most uncharacteristic slouch tugging at her shoulders. She shuddered, cursing the damned wind and the damned rain and the damned cold weather in general.
It wasn't fair.
With every heeled step she took down the abandoned open-air hall, she reminded herself of how much she absolutely hated everything at the moment. She hated him, herself, the world, how must her ribs her when she was crying.
She knew it was for the best, she knew deep down it was. He meant nothing in the world by it, likely hadn't the slightest he'd even done something in the least bit offensive. She'd get over this. And everything would return to normal. She was fooling herself, thinking this way. Girlish and stupid. They were quite obviously perfect matches. Perfect pedigree, perfect credentials, looks, grades and friends. They were equal in every conceivable way. Bella thought he was boring. But Bella thought everyone was boring. She took no notice. She understood he was in a foul mood, she understood that. But that day was supposed to be perfect. She took an hour dressing up and down, giggling and preening and rouging and re-rouging her lips. She gossiped with her sister slytherins, going on about how divine the two of them were, how perfect they'd be, what their children would look like. How pretty Narcissa Malfoy sounded when it rolled off the tongue.
He, when she approached, unflinchingly said he had far more important things on his mind then going to Hogsmede.
Bella laughed.
Cissy, poker face plastered on, turned to leave.
She hadn't come back yet.
At the moment, she thought she never would.
The mutual 'what the hell are you doing here's were followed by mutual immediate attempts at hiding the mutual tears.
Silence.
The two were speechless, guards down, defenses lowered by all the pent up unpleasentries that plagued them. They were without words, without reason, left with nothing but the breathless accusations of each others presence.
Mudblood Griffyntwat vs. Pureblood Slytherbitch.
Cissy Black had no mind to really speak, her seized up lungs incapable of making real the thoughts in her head.
Lily Evans had no will to fight, her wit and bite replaced with the swollen numb of half an hour's tears.
They stood there for fifty years worth of five minutes.
"Why?" Cissy's voice lacking the poison it was meant to deal.
"Boys." Lily's tone was flat. "Why?"
"Boys."
The two once again fell silent, eyes locked.
Despite preconceived notions, the wind on this night was strong enough to blow the two of them closer.
Rain-splattered hands brushed.
"I don't know you." Narcissa's tones were clipped, breathless.
"You wouldn't."
"You never will."
"If you insist."
"Who?"
"You wouldn't like him. Yourself?"
"The same."
Chill knees mingled.
"I was never here."
"Never where?"
"I don't think I like you."
"It could be mutual, if you'd prefer."
"Perhaps I would."
"Maybe you should."
"Really?"
"Truly."
Lily watched with mild fascination as the smoke of their breath twisted in the crisp night air. "Why?"
"He deserved it."
"You too?"
Narcissa narrowed her eyes. "I'm cold."
"It is raining."
"Shut up."
Thunderclap.
"Do you really want me to?"
Her breath caught in her throat as Lily realized just how cold Narcissa's fingertips were.
"Perhaps."
Her lips spelled out each syllable without sound.
As the night air became increasingly cutting, mutual shivers insured.
Howling breezes covered up rapid breath intakes, the shudders that continued to occur.
"We never meet."
"Agreed."
"I don't know you." Sticky eyes sealed shut, rolling back in her skull.
"...So be it..." She said under her breath, widening her stance for comfort's sake.
"..."
"..."
They cut one another off, reveling in the bitter taste of joint depression.
Funny. Lily's hair smelled of flowers.
Electric morning hazed over as soon as it came.
And it was with a mutual silence that the two polar women gathered their things and fled, sobering their minds with a solemn determination to sleep the night away with a fresh day.
They never spoke again.
With the death of James and Lily Potter and the life of their only child, the Dark Lord was overthrown, much to the distress and paranoia of her husband.
Their son, the Boy Who Lived, was about her Draco's age.
Funny.
And without rhyme or reason that night, at the side of her beloved husband, Narcissa Malfoy cried herself to sleep.
Lucius would never learn as to why.
She never learned herself.
"Is Draco alive?"
"Yes."
Her head spun, heart continuing to hurl itself at her ribcage's edges. Draco. Her Draco was alive, alive. Bloody lipped mess of a boy, the Boy Who Lived once more. She no longer had quarrel with him. The Dark Lord mattered not. Draco, darling Draco was alive. Her gaze once more fell upon the body of Harry Potter, breathless was the small nod she gave him.
Thank you, Lily.
I never forgot.