Fading
By: the I.M.P.
Rating: PG
Summary: She was graceful and beautiful and pure. She was so sure of herself, until she met Harry.
One, two, three
She was dressed in a white slip, pure as snow, vibrant red hair hanging in soft curls around her face.
One, two, three
He, as good as we was, could never, would never wear white. From the time he was little, he wore only black. She said it suited him and his unkempt dark hair.
One, two, three
They did not start or end together, but found each other somewhere in the middle. And in those few, short moments of bliss that they shared, they shared hopes and dreams, questions and fears.
One, two, three
For her, it started on a chill September morning, she saw him boarding a train in his untidy black suit, and her slip blossomed into a gown. He helped her grow, until she was bedecked in all sorts of finery and love.
One, two, three
It was the opposite for him. A perfect April evening down by the lake, he heard her laugh. And in that moment he saw how he touched her, how every breath he took added to her loveliness. And his suit began to unravel.
One, two, three
She was scared he would never join her, waltzing without a care.
One, two, three
She found him in the snow, that Christmas morn. There, in the snow, they danced, and laughed, and found in each other a soul they could love. That was the first time they danced, but not the last.
One, two, three
They danced through rain and sun, sometimes dancing with others, but always finding there way back home.
One, two, three
But before he even began, his legs were already giving out. He bore too much weight, and could never be free. She did what she could to help ease his burden. Kissed his lips, touched his hair, dried his silver tears. Because, in the end, that's all he was, silver, and green, and black. Red and gold would never suit him again. Her attempts to bring him to life were like a gardener who could not make things grow. And she gave up, and left to find a new partner.
One, two, three
He did love her, or thought he did. Every time there eyes locked, he felt a connection. Every time she touched him, his skin flamed with desire. But in the end, the fire burned and left him barely alive. He was no longer dressed in an ebony tuxedo, it was dirty, gray, thin, raggedy material that left him shivering with doubt.
One, two, three
They danced apart for a time, never stopping, never meeting. The tempos changed. They could no longer meet in perfect harmony, only cause blatant discord. But they both danced on.
One, two, three
Have you ever met someone, who, upon seeing pure, innocent beauty, wishes only to destroy it? They don't let the dancing continue, they disrupt it any way they can, throwing tables, and stopping the music before it is time.
One, two, three
That person saw him, and could not love him. Knew him, and knew he must die.
One, two, three
When she found out, she did not cry. She couldn't, she had no more tears left to shed. Her face was already streaked with them, her makeup smearing a coarse trail down her face. Her legs, which had begun to hurt, became numb. There is only so much pain a human being can bear. And after seeing so much death, her eyes could see no more.
One, two, three
She is like a doll, played with, but not loved, used, but not taken care of. Her dress, no longer white, is dusty and black, is stained crimson with the blood of a thousand innocents. Her hair, once so brilliant, is growing gray before its time
One, two, three
She used to enjoy the dance, revel in its simple rhythm. Now, she's just going through the motions. She's dancing with a ghost.
Her hand is cupped with his; she's resting her head with a smile on his shoulder. But she looks away and he is gone like mist, vanished into thin air.
One, two, three
The band is tiring, when it should not; a half-lived battery is growing weak. She can barely drag herself on.
One, two, three
She has given up, cannot go on any longer. One perfect April evening, or a cold December morning, you will find her laying there, finished dancing at last. Laying beside the lake, the clear water and her blood, mixing, becoming a diluted form of what it once was, much like herself. And in her mind, she dances with him again,
On,
One, two, three
And on,
One, two, three,
And on…
Wow, how I thought of this was special, thought it might amuse you, so I wrote it down. I was reading this short story called "Howl" (beautiful greatness) by Alan Durant, which is about werewolves, and I started thinking (I know it's scary) about... (get ready and picture this)... dancing werewolves, and I thought greatness! Actually, I thought, this is kinda stupid, so I wrote it down. As you can see it morphed a bit from werewolves, but that's my next project after Half-Blood Prince, 7th book, sequel to 7th book, and other 2 I'm writing. Ehh... What can I say? Anyway, that's all I've got so, Nos vemos. (Spanish for see ya later)
I.M.P. Review! The dancing werewolves are poor and need something to eat!