The dead of night is the best time to do anything. Steal your neighbors' newspapers. Read by candlelight. Have a midnight feast. Get raving drunk with friends.

It's something about the moon, shining like a beacon to all who dare to look up at it. Something about the night, the silence that cannot be broken, the whispers and secrets told only in the blackness. Something about the aroma of love, the suppressed feelings that come out to play.


There is a world, a round, spinning Earth that is ever-changing, yet so constant.

There is a continent, inside that world, a big one by the name of Europe.

There is a country, inside that continent, inside that world, a one where people drink tea and it rains and all is just normal.

There is a school, a magic school inside that country, inside that continent, inside that world, where dreams come true and the impossible is possible.

There is a House, a House inside of the magic school, inside of that country, inside of that continent, inside of that world, bathed in red and gold and lions and laughter as people play their tricks, as a Valentine's Day party commences.

There is a couple, sitting in the bathroom, away from the party, inside that House, inside that school, inside that country, inside that continent, inside that world.

There is a girl, one with beautiful red tresses and the greenest eyes you'll ever see. There is a boy, with rumpled hair, sleepy eyes, too many scars to count. There is a couple, a secret couple, sitting in the bathroom in silence as outside shouts fill the air and no one can stop their drunken laughter.

There is a longing, inside this couple, inside that party, inside that House, inside that school, inside that country, inside that continent, inside that world. There is a longing to be together forever. There is a longing to go public, to let the world know of their love.

And there are boundaries, even inside that longing. Boundaries of space, friendship, image, even boundaries of love.

"Be realistic," the girl says, a realist.

"Be optimistic," the boy corrects; a pessimist, but willing to convert for her.

"We won't ever work out." Her voice is matter-of-fact. "You love James; I love James. We can't be together if I'm with James."

"Then why are you with James?" he asks, hates to ask, because this is the side in him that only she can bring out. The jealous, selfish side, the so-in-love side.

"Because I love James!" she says, her voice heated. "Of course I love James! I could never be without James, and you could never hurt him that way!"

She has him pin-pointed exactly. His loyalty to his friends is more important, even, than their love.

"It's going to be hard," she tells him.

"Yeah," he says. "Awkward."

"No," she says, firmly, her red hair gathering around her shoulders and her eyes flashing angrily. "Promise me you won't be awkward. We never went very far. It doesn't matter. I'm in love with James; I love you. There's nothing else to say. We're friends, from now on."

He smiles, weakly, and bows his head, that horrible smile pasted on his face. He pictures his friend, his best friend, the James he loves, he is jealous of. "I understand. If I were you, I'd choose him."

She loses her temper in the way she always does. She leans forward, pulls up his chin. "This isn't my choice! It's not a conscious thought! We, as a couple, cannot hurt James Potter. You, as a person, can't hurt him! You're his best fucking friend!" She takes a deep breath, and when she speaks next, her voice is soft, guilty. "I'm his nearly-girlfriend. We're going to have a future together, me and James. You and me…we were just a fantasy, like trying to grab smoke and seeing it slip through your fingers."

He looks at her, studies her every feature. Slowly, ever so slowly, he kisses her – for the last time, a long, sweet kiss. And then he falls hard against the bathroom wall, his shoulders shaking but his eyes dry.

She looks away, her face reddening, her cheeks moist. We can't do this, she thinks, her eyes shut against the onslaught of feelings, of horrible emotions and this love that she can't fucking get rid of.

She opens her eyes, looks up at him, tries to smile. "I love you. You know that, right?"

He laughs a bitter laugh. "Isn't Valentine's Day supposed to be happy bunnies and chocolate and confessions of love?"

She rolls her eyes. "Are we really that kind of couple? Have we ever been?"

He shakes his head, drops it to his chest. "I love you too. Just not the way you want me to."

She takes his hand and squeezes it tightly. "Just friends, okay? None of this happened." And she hates that he looks at her, one more time, his eyes dark and stormy and filling slowly.

"You leave first," he says in a broken voice, one reminiscent of secrets that have lost their charm, of ruined love and once-mended hearts. They used to sneak out, carefully, with giggles and kisses and promises of tomorrow.

Now the promises are broken, and, like smoke, they must let them float away.


There is a world, a big world.

There is a continent, a regular old continent.

There is a country, a fine country.

There is a school, a beautiful school.

There is a House, a proud House.

There is a party, a drunken party.

There is a bathroom, a forgotten bathroom.

There is a couple, a wrecked couple.

There are two hearts beating, just barely, broken hearts.

And life will go on, inside those hearts, inside that couple, inside that bathroom, inside that party, inside that House, inside that school, inside that country, inside that continent, inside that world.

Life, and love, will go on.


AN: For the Valentine's Day challenge at the HPFC, nice and angsty. :D In case it was unclear to anyone, this was hardcore Remus/Lily. Very awesome couple. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! Hugs & kisses & boxes of chocolate to you all! (Yeah, I spend my Valentine's posting fanfiction…)