Disclaimer: I do not own rights to Harry Potter. All characters and related material belong to J.K. Rowling. This is for entertainment purposes only, no money is being made.
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Sky
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spectrosilver
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"I suppose," the girl with the long black hair stood up, "we should head back now." The boy remained seated and the girl eyed him. "It's getting late." Swiftly, his cold, pale hand grabbed her tiny arm and pulled her to the ground. The spring ground was cold and wet and brown as she came tumbling upon it.
"Not yet," he said, though barely more than a whisper or thought. And she said nothing. He looked into her pale blue eyes, really looked into them, and she looked away. "The sun hasn't even set yet," he said simply, relaxing more against the tree, letting her do the same. She shook her arm in its newly found freedom. "Wait at least until the sun sets, Parkinson." She nodded in silence and they sat and watched the ripples in the lake and the swaying of the grass. They watched the seconds of the evening melt like ice cream in the summer heat. And following its daily routine, the sun collided with the horizon violently. Vivid battle wounds of crimson and tangerine stained the sky until the sun fell further and further away. The world became black.
The girl stood up again, ready to retreat to homework and sleep. Once again, she felt a cold, clammy hand grasp her loose robe. She stumbled and fell, looking back into his eyes. His grey eyes filled with nothing more than emptiness. And she looked back at the ground. "Stay, Parkinson," he told her, strictly an order. "Stay until the stars come out and then you can leave." And she nodded silently and he relaxed, letting her slip next to him and against the tree. The old, gloomy, limp tree under which they always sat. Soon enough, an invisible artist began to spot and speckle the sky with his quill, placing the stars in all the right places. The air was silent, and even the wind had stopped its bluster. The calm before the storm. And they both sat against the old tree. In the still, silent world they just sat and looked at black sky and let their minds wander as the stars hung over them.
She awkwardly stood up, looking back at him when he made no attempt to pull her back. "You can go if you'd like, Parkinson. But you're welcome to sit through the night with me." And she nodded in response and dropped back onto the ground.
She fell asleep next to him that night, against him. He shrugged her limp body off and pulled his cloak around his body tighter. Surely Filch or someone would have seen them by now if they were to get into trouble. His mind raced with thoughts about the trouble they could get into, the detention he had served first year, that stupid saintly Potter who had accompanied him. And Potter brought his mind back to his father and to his short visit to Azkaban and to revenge. And the night was calm around him.
He shook her awake when the sun began to rise up from the ground. Not from where it had fallen, but from a new side. A new attack on the sky. Orange and red and pink swirled about under the sun took over. The sun claimed the sky for itself with an easy victory, pushing the night away. And then it was time for the boy to stand up, to take her hand, and to sneak back inside. His head was inflated with pride. Because even if they were down, they could always rise back up. It seemed to him that the brighter side always won the battle.
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