Loving him is like driving a new Maserati down a dead-end street

Faster than the wind, passionate as sin, ending so suddenly

Loving him is like trying to change your mind once you're already flying through the free fall

Malory's POV

I drove the car down the street, knowing that soon we would have to stop and turn around. There was no other way out of the street. The wind whistled in our ears, the windows rolled down all the way. I stole a glance at Neville, who was clutching the seat like a life preserver.

"Maybe I change my mind!" he called above the roar. "I mean, it's been fun to see all your parent's Muggle stuff but, I think I might die," he said, his face serious.

I laughed loudly at his solemn face. "There's no changing your mind now Neville! Unless you want to walk back seven miles!" He shook his head, disappointed. "We'll stop at the end of the roar for a bit of fresh air!"

We'd spent the day at my parent's house, the Muggle farm where I'd grown up before I went to Hogwarts and met Neville. We weren't dating or even acknowledged the feelings I hoped were real, but I was still closer to him than anyone else, both of us knowing what it's like to have parents who were driven mad. My mom died when I was born and my father came back from the war with post-traumatic stress disorder. He was never himself again. Neville was the only person who understood me. So it only felt right to show him my home, the very place where I'd become the thrill-seeking, adventurous woman I was today. But thrill-seeking wasn't exactly Neville's style.

Like the colors in Autumn, so bright just before they lose it all

Neville's POV

The color of her hair matched the bright red of the falling leaves that crunched beneath us. We were sprawled out on the leaf-covered grass, the Muggle car parked behind us. Above us, the sky was blue like her eyes, the eyes from which a tear fell.

"What's wrong?" I asked her, propping myself up on one elbow and peering down at her cream-colored face. I silently wondered what it would feel like to kiss her soft skin and run my fingers through her hair, as I had wondered many times before.

"I'm just afraid that one day I won't matter anymore," she said and I pulled myself away from thoughts of cream colored skin and freckles and red hair. "It sounds kind of stupid now that I say it," she said and I shook my head to ensure her it didn't.

I understood her completely. She was like the colors of autumn, so fierce and bright. And she feared that one day, her color would fade.

I leaned down hesitantly and kissed the lips that I had only ever tasted in my dreams. In that kiss, I told her that to me, she would always be a bright, shining red.

Losing him was blue like I'd never known

Neville's POV

"I swear I'll come back for you!" I cried over her.

She lay on the ground in the closet I had hidden her in to protect her from the death eater's outside. The battle wore on and I knew I had to go back to fight. But there lay Malory, still and bleeding but still alive, even if barely. I'd found her like that, Fenrir Greyback's hairy form retreating across the room.

I meant it when I said I'd come back for her. I meant it when I swore I would see her blue eyes once more.

Missing him was dark grey all alone

Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you've never met

Malory's POV

He'd been gone for six days. Six days without him was like six days without food or water. He'd become something essential for me. I couldn't live without him. And yet I had to for six days. Maybe now that I had scars on my face and there was still the possibility of lycanthropy, looming like a dark grey cloud, he didn't want me anymore. Maybe he couldn't love a scarred werewolf, no matter how much he had loved me before.

Perhaps it would be better if I just forgot about him. Just forget him and the days we spent together. Forget that the only person who could get me through this time was the same person who abandoned me for it. Forget that without him, I was incomplete.

But loving him was red

Loving him was red

Neville's POV

I couldn't forget the look on her face when she opened the gift I'd worked so hard on for six days. I couldn't forget the way that she looked up at me from her hospital bed, her blue eyes the only recognizable part of her now scarred face. Even her red hair had been shaved off.

"What is it?" she asked.

I didn't answer right away but instead made her open it first, flip through the pages. I watched as she saw the red autumn leaves taped to the page, the licence plate of the Maserati. Pages and pages filled with the places we'd been and the things we'd done, all of them showing that bright red color that to me, represented everything she stood for.

"It's us."