Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or anything related to the topic. All rights are... etc., etc.

Now that that is done, on with the writing!

I watch the colors as they fade away. Purple, blue, black, grey. How simple they seem, though in all matters, each night brings a more complex matter. People drift into my palms, pressing forth the knowledge of their outcome. The lights dim, and yet I keep working. But for some reason, I remember each color. It's my only way to stay stable, my only way to keep the job processing. Purples, blues, and blacks touch my heart. And no matter where I go, there is grey. Grey for the hearts, grey for the lines. And I remember it. I remember it all.

Mostly, I remember her. I recall the exact moment our paths crossed, the day she first witnessed me. That day brought forth a spilling palette of green, with a tiny dot of yellow placed across her forehead. Sweat. Nausea. But the sky... The sky was a mixture of night, a dark mixture of blues and blacks, speckled with the reminder of hope. Stars. Yet her eyes drew me back, back to the dying figure at her feet. She had killed, for the first time. And however much I pitied the murdered being, I looked at the girl, with her mess of black, and felt a small smile climb up my ethereal being.

She somehow knew I was there. She felt it, that girl. Each aching breath fell past chapped lips, and it ushered itself into my damp face. As I remember, I feel her face, each breath. She was a piece of music, crescendoing into the height of life. Although waxy, her song-like features whispered truth, the pale caress of yellow mixing with dark splotches of grey.

She was grey.

Her hair shone with the dark recess of her mind, mixing in with a small portion of grey. Grey for knowledge. Grey for feeling. And yet, I know her ending. I recall the last moments, and how she was certain success was hers. But now, with her small ideas, her loss of hope, it is hard to think of what she would become.

I softly lifted out the soul of the deceased man, watching as his body fell silently to sleep. It was an empty shell, no more, and as I looked into the depths of the male's eyes, I pressed him silently along my shoulders. The beginning of an era was to come, and more would rest upon my body, but now there was one. There was enough time to stop luxuriously, to watch the child.

She whispered towards the air, pressing words passed her teeth. "I'm sorry! I didn't want you to... To..."

It never got out. She could not voice the words, and as she whispered, I slowly faded backwards, stealing a small glance at Bellatrix Black. Did she actually mean them?

I could not figure out, until moments later, when her sister swept out, a mass of golden locks, though paler. "Bella," came the gasping sound, one that I assumed was her voice. "Bella."

This one could not see me. This one did not know. I disappeared, the Earth swallowing me upwards, dragging me into my own domain. I would not see her until two years later, when the next victim's corpse rolled onto the ground, a less considerate glance being tossed upon it. She would be eleven. She would belong to nobody.

"He was touching me, Cissy. He tried to touch me."

That was what she told me, when our paths met for the final time. That was how she explained it. And her sister would have none of that, shoving away her elder sibling, just to see into the face of the culprit. The murderer sighed, quiet trickles of ice becoming tears, the swept feelings of rage and depression becoming an overwhelming whirlwind.

"Cissy, please! He was trying to..."

The words wouldn't come out. Narcissa simply stared, and pushed away the body; one of many. They simply sat, bricks in the soft clearing, blankly watching a shell.

"Mother sent me to collect you," came a quiet voice, the third of the daughters forcing her way into the green sea. "It's time to go, Cissy, Bella."

But the request came upon deaf ears, and naught was replied, not until Andromeda forced her way past the hunched bodies, her gaze landing upon a pair of sightless eyes. Gasping for breath, the youngest tore her small mind from the item, staring at her sisters for a lie, one of an endless sleep. Anything but truth.

Nothing came. Nothing was uttered. It took forty minutes to gather themselves from something akin to me.

I saw the child again. Plenty of times. And each time, the sky was different, paints melting together to end in grey.

"I belong to nobody."

Four syllables struck the air, pushing back the cruel boy leaning over a pale child, their faces reflecting against the ice of a lake. The sky was grey, speckled with a lavender tone, and before long, I would be memorizing the colors as I collected the spirit of the boy.

But this time, it was not her fault.

"Come on, Bella," he whispered, brushing away the black tendrils of her locks. "You won't belong to him. You'll just..."

She would indeed belong to him. That man, the one who made my job never ending, all because he required the world. But the meeting was not only about belonging to Tom Riddle. It was about belonging with the boy, staying with him forever. Perhaps, if he had lived, she might have married a man she loved, and one with the same ideals. Perhaps, if he had not struck next, there might have been a happy ending.

If only her best friend had fallen into the lake as well.

But he did not.

I slowly think upon the reds I saw that moment, that second when the world nearly exploded. I think how many things could have affected the outcome. Had they not fought. Had he not loved her. Had Riddle not made a mistake. But it happened. Indeed, everything happened.

Their words connected with flesh, and she bruised him beyond recognition. His face was scratched with blood, the blood of her hissed insults. Her own face was marred with the love for him, and the things she thought herself. And before anything could happen, before more words could have been spoken, there was Inferi. There were trolls.

There was me.

The bodies of the dead maneuvered their way towards the pair, picking the bones off those who passed. They wanted the lake, to simply state. They wanted the water. I do not know how she survived, seeing as the things desired her safe haven. I might speak the minds of the Dead, I might be Dead, but I could never understand why they chose to gorge themselves upon the boy.

Both children froze, and so did I. Already had I appeared, placing the bodies along my shoulders, the children in my arms, but the next second changed my thoughts.

He pushed her, shoved her, forced her toward the lake. The boy thought he could save her.

The sky was grim, speckled with orange and red, somehow causing the blank factor of innocence to remain. I sighed, and he sighed, and all was gone. Slowly, my fingers picked up the child's spirit, and I found myself turning towards the girl's face, her gaunt features speckled with fear.

He loved her.

And she belonged to nobody.

For some reason, our paths met again that year, though I could never guess why. It simply made no sense, for we had no reason to make acquaintance with one another, save for the simple fact that I refuse to give. But I must, and I feel that she will think less of me in the outcome, though her spirit has left to meet that of a young boy she loved.

She had tried to kill herself.

The potion took four days to make, and as she pressed the vial towards her lips, the young girl closed her eyes, aching for life to be easier, promising the world that everything would be better without her. Sadly, she was correct in that assumption. If only it had worked, or if the boy had never died. If only her heart did not ache.

There are too many 'If only' statements in her life, and as I recall this past, I think upon the short lived moment that she could not pass by.

Slowly, like fire tasting the water, liquid tipped closer towards her chapped lips, and I finally felt the tug of her soul, the one I had met twice. Her face was blank, like the parchment towards her right, and as my hands enfolded her body, the poison connected with her tongue, had fallen past her throat. Like a thrown doll, she collapsed, her body arching inward to touch the ground, to feel the soft carpet.

My fingers reached inside her chest, feeling around for the soul, tugging on the soft feel of her life. But nothing came, as if the girl was slowly ebbing away. Her heart was silencing itself, and for the first time, I had entered the realm to early. She was not quite dead.

Slowly, I sat next to her, and placed my fingers next to her own, watching as the light faded from her dark eyes. I felt things, for the second time. I felt pity when the boy died. When she died, I felt relief. Hope. Her life could continue as it should have, with her hands in his, though neither of them lived past thirteen. But fate had a different opinion of her life. Fate felt something different.

A small figure rushed inward, throwing back an oak door, displaying a shocked look upon pale features. The sister, the one who was ushering in to wish her sibling a 'Merry Christmas'. The sister, the one who instantly ran down the steps, searching for a parent who would come in time to save the child.

She didn't want to live. She belonged to nobody, and nobody was her savior.

Within moments, fingers were scratching at her skin, blood tugging at the girl's veins. A wand jabbed her throat, a bezoar searched for. And yet, the time could have finished. My own hands were back within her chest, gently removing the soul. She was nearly in my arms.

The sky was a dark grey, red and blue flickering in and out. The room was dimmed, and with the little light, I could make out black. Grey. Purples. Every dark color was evident in the absence of life, and as the child shuddered lightly towards life, I felt my pull along her spirit flicker. She was fighting the will to survive, pressing closer towards my hand. I obliged; they tugged her back.

Her lips parted towards the sky, heavy breaths falling slowly. Her chest shrugged, her head nodded. The light seemed to grow, aching towards her heart. Blue melted, turning to purple, which changed into black. Black was her thought, and I, un-content and irritable, fading into the dark. But not before she saw me.

The girl seemed to greet my face equally, bowing her head in shame. And when we last spoke, the night she truly came towards me, I remember the words.

"I knew you, once. You hated me. You refused to take me. Why couldn't you?"

I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to. But I couldn't. She was forced back towards life, just as my fingers would have sent her home. After all, she belonged to nobody. Nobody.

And as it was spoken towards her, I utter it myself. Merry Christmas, Bellatrix Black. Merry Christmas to you.

Well, now that I got all of this down on paper... This will be a three-shot, if that's what you call it. Three chapters. That's all.

Swatting all the Nargles,

Shadow