A/N: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters
This is for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
word count: 483
Warning: death, grieving
Her hand on his,
her fingers curling around his,
leading him from the graveyard,
leading him from the stone with her name
carved into the white and black swirled marble.
White and black,
black and white,
the colors that had always seemed to define
her world,
his world,
until the very end.
White and black,
black and white,
not a smidge of color
until soulmates touch.
He lived in black and white,
she lived in black and white,
arranged marriages
arranged everything.
A perfect son,
something to love,
but still no colors,
still nothing save black and white.
Neither questioned it,
neither ever dreamed,
ever wondered,
it couldn't be true,
there couldn't be colors,
not for them.
War broke out,
and it wasn't a choice of sides,
their name, their world had influence
and that influence
brought the end.
Black and white,
they were right.
They had to be right.
Slowly grey grew,
slowly questions started,
only to be squelched down,
pushed aside as the son
was targeted,
was used.
She spoke for him,
spoke to save him
and for that,
her life was taken.
There was no more white,
only black that lasted and lasted.
The prisoners screamed below
in the basement and he listened,
wishing he could be one of them,
wishing he could just scream his anger,
his grief.
She was sitting by the window,
watching the sky.
He knew it was blue,
at least someone said it was.
Black and white,
his world was destined to be
black and white.
He stepped into her cell,
reached out and touched her.
He wanted to,
he didn't know what,
but he was drawn to her,
having heard her singing,
she didn't care that the world
was colorless,
she was bright, she was the sun.
She sang herself happy birthday,
seventeen in her cell,
no one came to save her.
The war was won by his side,
only he wasn't sure it was his side anymore.
His fingers reached out,
brushed against the grey jumper
that hung limp on her frail frame.
The world lit up so brightly he had to cover his eyes.
Colors!
They were so bright, painful.
She turned to him,
her smile brighter than the blue sky,
brighter than the red of her lips.
There was no black and white,
there were no shades of grey
as he led her out of the cell,
and they escaped from the place he
once called home,
the world that had turned against him.
Together, they formed something new,
something powerful,
but he never forgot his wife,
it was arranged,
it wasn't true,
but his heart was still heavy
with her loss.
Luna understood,
she helped him create a memory
a stone to visit when he wanted
to remember,
a stone to tell the world
that she had been here,
that she had been loved in the only way
Lucius could.