Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is absolutely not mine and no profit is being made because of my poor writing abilities.

Note: This story is dedicated to my friends, who support me through and through and don’t run away in fear when I say, “Oh, I have an idea!” This is also for you, kind reader, Sirius Black-lover and generally Potter-maniac: we’ll meet in the same Mental Hygiene Institute, one day or the other.

Another note: With this chapter I’m beginning the process of editing this fic and I’d really love you if you left a review saying what you did like, what you didn’t, whether I made some mistakes, etc. I’ll only ask you not to be too offensive. And, as in for who accused me of purple prose, well, I have to say that I am guilty: I like to be picky with words, since every single one has a specific, special meaning.

Prologue.

Twirl, twirl, twirl; twirl again and again. Pirouette into numbness, pirouette into tears; a pirouette to feel the emptiness, another one to scare away your fears. Keep spinning, keep spinning; don’t stop. Make this dream last forever, shut off reality and it will keep on going all eternity and a day. Keep spinning, keep spinning; turn faster. Act as you were the only light in the darkness, the only sound echoing in the silence. Dance as you were the only heat in this cold cold world.

It’s night outside this room. Inside? I don’t know anymore. I can’t tell day from night, light from darkness, hot from cold, love from hate, white from black. Sadness from joy, laughter from tears, rain from sun, Good from Evil, truth from lies, trust from fear. I can’t, not anymore. I’d really love to wash it all away, forget about the world. Just pick a glass of who-knows-what and drown in it, whole. Drink it all away, knock me off my mind just to have one, only one, blissful night of sleep. Nightmare-free, peaceful sleep.

Is it just me who finds it funny? Me, myself in person, searching for shelter and maybe for some comfort, too, in an alcoholic beverage. It’s the irony of Destiny, maybe more like the malice of Fate, but who really cares? It still remains a bittersweet taste on my tongue. Bittersweet; like that shot, my first ever, of Firewhiskey. You dared me to drink it all: I was never one to step back dares. I am a Gryffindor, after all: brave and stupidly reckless. And you were a Gryffindor too. Only a little less innocent, more charming, more confident; less clumsy, less shy, more good-looking. You and I were the same, deep inside: two much alike teen-aging fools.

But I liked that side of us.

Twirl, twirl, twirl; twirl again and again. A pirouette for insensibility, another one to forget about the happy cheers; a pirouette for what you lost of your youth, another one for what was never given back of your happiest years. Keep spinning, keep spinning; don’t stop. Make this end fast, make the skies fall all over us. Keep spinning, keep spinning; don’t stop. Just one more. Pretend you are the only good one left in this spoiled, polluted world; pretend to be the only beauty among all these ugly faces. Dance, dance, dance as you could really save them all.

It’s freezing tonight. The window is open, the wind creeps in, drifting the curtains aside. My breath looks like I’m smoking, an involuntary shiver shakes down my spine. The sky is heavy, stars are not showing: they’re blind. I smile; you blindfolded them all, one night. That night. You didn’t want them to see you at your best, but how can I forget the first guy who brought me roses? I said it was sweet, you thought better and pulled the ultimate prank on me. As they say, «Once a Marauder, always a Marauder». I told you I loved you, you couldn’t verbalize your response. Speechless, speechless, speechless. I left you speechless.

I loved you for the first time in that silence.

Twirl, twirl, twirl; twirl again and again. So I lied, ballerina: it wasn’t really the last. But pirouette for the hateful ones, pirouette for somebody you like; pirouette for the actions you regret, turn again for the ones who died. Keep spinning, keep spinning; don’t stop. One more in the name of anger, a pirouette for the ones you left behind; another for the fate you escaped, a pirouette for the people who keep acting blind. Dream as everything you wished for could come true; dream, dream, dream. And then dance, dance, dance; dance like there was nothing more real in the whole wide world than this wild, endless, psychotic, obsessive ballet.

Turn again, ballerina, because the last one, the last one… is for Love.

Did I really know what Love was and keeps being? The world thinks I didn’t, but I beg to differ. I knew, I KNEW, you just don’t remember the times when I was smiling softly to myself, like nothing could ever, ever go wrong again. Was I a fool in love? Yes, your honour, I proclaim myself guilty. Do I regret it? No, not for a nanosecond, not in the most minuscule molecule of my body: I don’t. I’m still in love, I’m still a fool, but I don’t really care of what everyone thinks. I gave you all the best that I had, I gave it for you to keep it with yourself and I’m not going to take back what has been a gift willingly given. Do try to keep my soul clean and healthy.

And then hear the applause, the audience in delirium. Can you really feel them in your ears, cheering, clapping their hands and whistling in joy for your art? Oh no, you don’t, you really don’t. You fake a smile, wave a thank you and run away, as fast as you can. The words still echo in your head endlessly, inexorably. You can’t stop them, the voices. You can’t and you don’t want to. Are you going mental? Bah. Insanity is just a different point of view on things.

Still the applause, once again; you have to go back, bow from the stage and then run, run, run, until you reach the end of the long tunnel you are dwelling in. What is there on the other side? You manage to savour the feeling of darkness on your skin. But the voices scream again, your past calls and it keeps you prisoner of your memories. And you can’t help but follow it back. Back to what? It’s not the same.

Applause. Smile, smile, smile. Run. Tears. Home, home, home, please. Pillow. Night. Tears, tears, tears.

Darkness.

The last one, the last one is for love.

And you always said that dancing was cheesy.