Disclaimer: Not mine, but JK Rowling's.
Author's Note: Exactly 501 words, not including disclaimer, title, and notes. Because 500 is too even and perfect for me.
Years Ago
And then he whispered to me in the cold of night.
And I answered.
On some nights, the whole length of the school's upper level is dabbled in moonlight. Sharp, geometrical designs cascade the wooden floor, drastically shifting the change between shadow and light. A cat or two roam the halls and no else. The very halloween nature of this scene is enough to frighten or intimidate a Hufflepuff or two. With the wailing noise and the outlines of haunting trees outside, only the very foolish would dare to even look outside of their room.
Every night thus far, there has been something different lurking in the halls. Every night thus far, there has been creaking coming from the stairs and the rooftop. Every night thus far, there has been whispers.
Two shadows perched in the moon's eyesight, above the floors of Hogwarts, on the callous stone of the roof. Her silver hair spun into the wind, creating a chilling effect of ripples in midnight water. You could tell he was staring, but said nothing.
Most nights were like this: two strangers finding solace and sadness in the death of night. Stars looked so different with watery eyes.
"Do you believe in love?" Her voice thrummed romantically from her lips.
He smirked condescendingly.
"Do you believe in hate?"
She was probably staring, but even so, it was night and he probably wasn't meant to see anyway.
It could be blasphemous to ask for light to see her features, a request that bordered on selfishness. Illicit affairs were always bordered on selfishness, and James, being a Gryffindor, hoped naively that he could break the cycle.
"Then do you believe in life?" Her voice was strong and unwavering; it always was. Even the wind around them and the moonlit lake below them couldn't stop the words. The thoughts. Her voice.
He leaned closer, the softness of her lips on his wind-chapped ones.
"Do you believe in death?"
They kissed.
And as authors might agree, There are no words sufficient enough to create the wonderful, terrible, fleeting desires and passing thoughts of a simple act, much less kissing.
And kissing in the dark, well, that's something else all together.
Years later, when everyone and everything is doomed, this is the only thing that will come to mind when Tom Riddle shows up at his door uninvited. This is the among the only things she will think of when she packs to France, realizing that it's too late for her to leave and allows herself the undeserved release from a life full of sin.
But for right now, the unrelenting night called to them.
The roof, uncomfortable and too sharp in places, imprinted onto her thigh, and she stopped, just once, to look at him.
"Do you believe in my marriage?"
He smiled, solemnly, since he could not see.
"Do you believe in us?"
And he held her hand, callused and rough in places, and Narcissa thought she saw a shooting star.
There were none.