I remember the one and only time I ever danced with you.
The wedding of James Potter and Lily Evans brought everybody in the Wizarding world together. The purebloods and the muggleborns – the good and the…to this day I can not call you evil. As many people told me resolutely that you were, I never believed it.
You were my friend. One of my first friends; and you always looked out for me. You knew exactly what everybody thought of you and so you did everything in your power to protect my reputation, even if your own was rotting.
To my mind, you were perfect. Why you singled me out I don't know and I don't think I ever will: you work in mysterious ways.
How anybody could think you were a Death Eater…you were far too good for them. I thought you were perfect. I know in my heart of hearts that you were not, nobody is, but I liked to think you were. It comforted me when James and Peter and Sirius would shout their opinions at passing girls; I thought of you, and that not one of these girls that my friends so lusted over would ever be quite as lovely.
That wedding though…you were in attendance because James' parents wanted to flash the cash around and even then, you were a name worth having around, for publicity.
In retrospect I don't think either of the happy couple actually expected you to show up, you may well have done it just to annoy them. Still, you were civil to them, quite a feat the way I knew they had slandered you name in the past.
When I asked you to dance, you agreed. I knew you'd dance but I thought for a moment that you would pretend not to know me. That day, you were resplendent; if I had been anybody else I'd have been focussed upon Lily, or her beautiful bridesmaid.
You were wearing THAT red dress. The red dress that I'd seen in Madam Malkins and tried to imagine you in. The red dress that had a long slit up your tanned leg and had the straps that looked as though they were made from rose petals. When you waked over towards me I desperately wanted to see if they'd break as easily as I thought they would.
I remember the sensation of my hand in yours and my other on your silken waist. I tried to draw my eyes away from your face but found it impossible, you didn't wear glasses then and so your dazzlingly blue eyes shone through. I remember your lips the most, the same crushed velvet colour as your dress. I always did think you were beautiful.
The song washed over us, it was some melody that I can't quite remember; it wasn't really important. I remember that you whispered the words as we danced; if your lips formed the words they must have been important.
Once the song had finished you dragged me outside and the first thing I did was wield to temptation – I think kissing you was where it all went wrong. I hadn't bargained on you kissing me back. I took another look in your eyes and saw the same pent-up lust of years reflected from my own. We both knew what was going to happen.
I had expected to have to find a room for us but you pulled me towards a bank by a lake. The moon was up, the stars were out, it was a beautiful summer night, such an unlikely couple could not have asked for such a romantic setting.
I remember distinctly that you kisses tasted of fire. I had never known what fire tasted like but I would recommend it to anyone. Of course they'd have to find another you, which is impossible.
We lay on the bank for so long just kissing until you pulled my hands towards your zip. I must have moved with an excruciating slowness because you moaned into my mouth and that was the split-second that I was gone. Clothes were quickly discarded and I once again cursed any of the fools who had called you ugly.
To me you were everything and you were everywhere. You were all around me and we created our own union, not just in body, but in soul. We both knew that this wasn't the beginning of a great love affair that would end in marriage and I suspected, even then that this would be a one-time affair.
But we were soul mates. We still are. And you are not evil. I'd swear it with my life.
You haven't really changed that much, not truly, not to me. You have glasses now and you wear considerably more make-up, I never asked why; the curls that once framed your soft features are rigid and your face is harder. The face of a woman challenged everyday, but who refuses to let them see the truth.
The war raged on, Sirius died. Everybody evacuated Grimmauld Place, a new headquarters for a new Order. And I was left behind, everyday wondering through the home of Death Eaters, this is evil and this is how I knew you were not.
And one day, you came to me. The door opened and you were wearing THAT red dress. Your make-up was gone and your hair loose. You have not changed at all. The new Rita Skeeter had gone and was replaced with the woman I had loved.
You kissed me again and it was sealed.
The war raged on but we never left the house again. To protect us from the Death Eaters we knew someday would desecrate Grimmauld Place we knew we should have left, but we did the stupid thing. We stayed together, never leaving the house; we had a world of our own and everything was right with this world.
Then the Death Eaters broke down the door.