A/N: What if, long after their days at Hogwarts, two old friends met up, but something just wasn't the same. And in this case, that may have meant it was time to let go.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

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Lamppost Woman

Not everyone may understand it, but that, at times, is exactly how it's meant to be understood.

The night was of it's own. Never before had London seen such frigid weather without a flake of snow. Damp and cloudy and dark was the night that fell on a day just the same.

The city slept for the first time in decades. Not a soul would brave the air on a night such as this. Not a soul but the woman at the lamppost around the corner from the palace; the lamppost woman with the dark cape pulled tight around her thin frame in a desperate attempt to keep in the warmth, and the dark cape pulled tight with the escaped strands of fire red that flew from its hood.

At exactly eleven thirteen, to just any eye, the woman would simply have disappeared, not that an eye were around to see it. But to one more knowing, the wild navy bus of three-story height would have come into view, and the unearthly screeches that came with it would sound deep into those eyes' matching ears.

Quick and light were her steps, sharp was the sound of her coins falling in the jar, and subtle was the seat she took next to a man dressed quite the same as herself. But from the hood of his dark cloak came no fleeting red. Instead only was the harsh angle of his long nose seen and hints perhaps of long dark hair, limp and greasy.

As if rehearsed, each member turned outward from the other; the woman in hiding her surprise, the man in hiding his. Perhaps they'd been lovers. Perhaps they'd been friends. Now, they could not be labeled.

When the woman turned back in, the man did the same, and each watched the other in silent communication. Communication may not have been necessary at all, had they known before they'd see one another that night.

From her coat came a thin pale hand that dove back in again when it reached the hood. And from the hood did the hand return, two chains attached. From one dangled a diamond J, from the other a silver heart. The first was slid lightly back to her neck, shamefully, the other, held out, and the hand reached to meet his. In recognition he slipped it from her hand, returning it to the pocket from which it came then, beneath the cape and robe.

The bus stopped again, but not any eye would know it. She stood in acceptance, turning back once to catch his gaze in her emerald eyes, not just any.

For a fleeting moment an old song danced through the air, or maybe just through the far folds of her mind.

I'm not sorry I met you.

I'm not sorry it's over.

I'm not sorry there's nothing to say.

She turned, stepping down again to the bitter winds and tired torn skies. In an afterthought his mouth opened, then stopped.

I'm not sorry there's nothing to say.

The lamppost woman with the dark cape pulled tight to keep out the chill disappeared into the night, but to just any eye, she could only just be seen.

~Fin~