Purple
Every time he called her a Mudblood, she wanted to prove to him that she was more than blood, that she was made of flesh and bone and soul.
Every time she rose to new strengths, he wanted to knock her back down again, remind her of her place, remind her that she was not strong.
The only words they had for each other were in shades of reds and blacks, passionate anger, dangerous conviction, a hatred beyond logic, or reason, or rhyme.
They learned not to speak in each other's company. They learned the silent dances of midnight, how to shine like stars, how to tangle like vines, how to moan like the wind and burn like the sun. The sounds that passed their lips in the night were purple, caught between the serenity of blue and the romance of pink, heightened by the passion of red. Always, they knew the passion of red.
The line between love and hate is thin as a knife edge, and sooner or later, all those who walk it fall off, landing on one side or the other. These two danced on a rooftop in spring, hidden from the eyes of all but the sky, and she stumbled. Their entwined hands brought him down with her. That was when the danger became too much.
Lily left. Regulus never asked why.
Written for:
Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge: Priscilla Dupont—Write about a love-hate relationship
If You Dare Challenge: 519. Hidden Desires
Words: 227