The halls of Hogwarts were cold at this time of night. She knew this, but continued her journey. At these dark times all she had left was her midnight walks.
Her footsteps wandered down the hallways. The harsh corridors reflected none of the light. Any glow her wand produced was absorbed, never to be seen again.
In the darkness, all that remains between two people is light.
She couldn't remember when she had heard that. Or from whom. It was an eternity ago. Back when it mattered to her what people said what.
Now all that mattered was Him.
And these walks. Maybe these cold, echoing footsteps were all that kept her sane. She wouldn't be surprised. Very little surprised her now.
She felt jaded. Distanced from all of this. Hogwarts was routine. No one seemed to notice that she was on auto-pilot.
Those friends of hers were no longer friends. They laughed and joked and tried to ignore that there were only twelve new students this year. She noticed. Everything was blazingly apparent.
And all she had left was Him.
Love.
If that was what it was. Was Love this draining force that took away her energy? That forced her back into His arms. Over and over.
How her brothers would gape in astonishment if they knew. They would know by now, if they cared. But they didn't.
Distractions were the only things they had left. As numbers dwindled, they divulged in pranks, and women, and school. Even Ron listened to classes now. Because classes were all they had left.
And she – she had these midnight walks, with the looming shadows, and Him. His arms to wrap around her. And that was all.
In the darkness, all that remains between two people is light.
Maybe He had told her.
Maybe his master had told her. There were so many people above her in the food chain that she had lost track. He controlled her. His father controlled him. And their master controlled His father.
And the master believed God spoke through him.
Her feet took their own course. By now they knew the familiar route. Out of the portrait, up the stairs, wait for Filch to pass, continue on.
Up and up to the Astronomy Tower.
Up and up to where he was waiting for her.
"You're late," he tells her.
"I know," she replies. She has no excuse. There was no excuse. She no longer bothers.
"Do you have it?" His voice is eager. Is this Love? There is a distant memory of her friends laughing with her. Love, they told each other, I always wanted to be in love.
"Yes," she replies.
The small ball in her pocket glows at her touch. It is so delicate. Made of glass. So sweet. So small. Too breakable to be touched. To be handed over.
But she does.
His warm hand closes over hers. She allows herself a moment of comfort. His touch. And then it is gone, as he takes what he wanted, and turns to the large window to examine it in the moonlight.
In the darkness, all that remains between two people is light.
The three are alarmed by it's absence.
"Where is it?" They flutter like birds. Birds of small means. He is a predator. She must protect herself. He tells her this.
Later, after he has what he wants.
Is this Love?
The Old Man is worried. He does not want it to show, but it blazes from his eyes like a beacon. She can tell. These things come naturally to her.
"Don't worry, don't worry," they sooth her. Can't they tell she is not worried? Don't they understand that her blank looks are those of understanding, not confusion?
But they will never know.
He knows. He has always known.
"You did well," he tells her.
"I know," she replies. His eyes are like ice. Frost.
"You are my rose," he tells her. She knows this. But He does not like her replying to his compliments.
"Thank you," she tells him. "My frost."
He does not like this name. He tells her this. The pain melts like butter. Her heart has hurt far too long to be broken by words or pain.
This must be Love.
She tells herself this. Love, Love, Love, a chant in her mind. Her consciousness hums with the words.
In the darkness, all that remains between two people is light.
"You will help me?" he asks her. He does not need to ask. He knows she will do anything for him. That is what Love is.
"Of course," she tells him.
And he tells her what she must do.
The cold of pain floods her system. She knows now that Blood no longer runs in her veins. She lives on pain. On Love.
"Of course," she tells him.
This is Love, she tells herself.
"My rose," he whispers.
Rose. Love. Frost.
She waits for the perfect time. He has told her what she must do. Now she must do it. These are the things He has told her.
Her brother doesn't notice. He never does. They are like birds. Just before the cat pounces, they bird with flutter. But before that, they know nothing.
She has become a cat in a cage of birds. It is dangerous, but He will love her for it.
Love.
Pain flowing through her system.
Tonight, she will take him with her on her midnight walk.
Show him the Astronomy Tower. He will never see the flash of light. He will never feel pain, or betrayal.
No, she feels the pain.
"Come with me, Ron," she asks him. He smiles. Everyone else is asleep. They will never know. The cat still has her feathers.
"Sure, Gin," he replies. She hates this endearment. She is a rose. She is a cat. She is not liquor. But he does not know this. He never will.
"Come," she tells him.
They walk slowly. The walls draw in the light. They take away the warmth. Tonight, his footsteps echo down the corridors.
Tonight, his blood with fill the goblet.
Not hers.
He is worried now.
"It's getting late," he tells her.
"I know," she replies, and pulls him faster. He thinks she wants to show him the stars. He doesn't know the stars are the last things he will see.
The stairs to the tower. She lets him go first. Up and up, until he can touch the sky. Until the darkness is all he sees.
In the darkness, all that remains between two people is light.
The cold steps surround her. Soon she will see the stars. Soon she will be rid of her kin. But Love is all that matters now. Love has not abandoned her like Life has.
They are too early.
Ahead of her there is a cry and a crunch. Too light to be a body. She floats into the dark room. The moonlight spills on two figures locked in combat. She can affect who wins.
Who will win?
She wastes precious moments.
Her frost or her brother? The choice is not one she should make. But she lives on pain. Is this what Love is?
Love is pain.
The reed of maple feels light in her hands. Surely a thing of destruction should be heavier than this.
Irrational thoughts.
The words echo in her head like footsteps until they emerge from her lips, half-whispered but fully formed.
A flash, and then it is over. Such a little green glow causing such a reaction. The reed slips from her fingers to clatter on the stones. The moonlight is pure after the green of death.
Green is the color of life.
Green is the color of death.
He stands before her, a small rivulet of blood flowing around his eyes, watered down by sweat. The cold eyes hold remnants of emerald.
"Very good," he tells her.
"I know," she whispers. Her voice trembles.
"My rose," he whispers. My frost, she thinks. But does not say. She has learned her lesson.
The red hair is curling around his ears. She reaches up to tuck a similar strand away from her nose. Such little things would not have bothered her before. Death changes everything.
He does not hold her. The crystal goblet in his hands, formed of the little ball, fills crimson with blood. The gold dagger lays beside him on the stone. Just as cold as His eyes. Just as hard.
As he stands, a drop tips over the edge. They watch silently as it splashes on the stone. A bit lands on her slipper, but she does not brush it away. Blood has already been spilled.
With a hard smile, he slips past her, down the steps to the echoing halls. He will come back for the body. For her brother.
She sits next to it, the bloody dagger resting in her lap, spilling a new color over her robe. She doesn't mind. Death is green, not red.
In the darkness, all that remains between two people is light.
Light. Love.
The same thing?
Perhaps, she thinks.
Her eyes are tired. She rests them for a moment, and reaches up to brush away the stray eyelash. Liquid spreads across her brow. She freezes.
Blood of my blood.
The dagger looks up at her, the gold hilt glittering at her. Smiling. My friend, it whispers. She knows the dagger well. Its scars trace her back.
Pain and Love.
She is not strong enough. She thought she could hold it in. She thought that the pain that flooded her veins would withstand her months of betrayal. But it has proven too weak.
The glassy eyes look at her with reproach.
What an awful sister you've been, they tell her.
"I know," she whispers. Even whispers echo in the moonlight.
The curled hair looks as if it is a single strand. The mulberry hair and mulberry blood blend together.
In the darkness, all that remains between two people is light.
But there is no light left in him. She brushes his lids close, leaving red imprints over the lively blue orbs. Windows to the soul, it is said.
As she stands the dagger clatters to the ground. It's point buries into the mortar between the stones. The jeweled hilt wavers in the moonlight. Sapphires and rubies and marks of power.
He will come back for the dagger, if not the body. Her brother. Her brother's body.
From the window, the ground looks so far away. The roses clustering the base of the tower are covered with a sheen of dew. She lets go a drop of her brother's blood, and it falls slowly to the petals. The colors are so similar.
Green in the color of death.
But red is the color of pain.
The open window lets in a cool breeze that rose hackles even on the stone. She does not feel the cold. Her dark curls are lifted by the wind, and tangle around her face.
The white robe pools at her feet, and underneath the ivory nightgown clings to her body. The bottom swirls with the breeze.
It was a gift from Him.
As she falls the silk forms a soft cloud. The curls cover her eyes, but as she comes closer she can see the moon and the stars reflected in the dew. In the roses. She will joins the roses.
In the darkness, all that remains between two people is light.
Light.
Love.
Finis
WELL!
Okay, it's completely depressing and I know this, but still, you have to think POSITIVELY!
Well, it's not really positive either.
But hey, who cares?
THANKS TO: EverVengeful for allowing me use of her Frost/Rose analogy. Kingdom of Heaven for their darkness:people:light thingy, and my guardian angel/muse Fred.
Toodles.