Paint it Black

PAINT IT BLACK

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colours anymore I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

Outside, in the vast countryside, the wind whistled through the trees, lightning flashed and thunder roared across the black sky. Yet within the depths of the large house, none of this was heard. Rain battered against the dark, stained-glass windows, the glass rattling in its frames, threatening to give way, but the only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock that stood in the hallway of the gloomy house.

Susan Bones sat in a charcoal black armchair, scanning the Daily Prophet with distant, dark brown eyes. The knowledge the reporters printed for all to see lay heavy on her black clad shoulders. She would never forget. She could never forget. The news that had affected her entire life would be yesterday's soon enough; and the sombre headline would be replaced by another. Everyone would read it, gasp dutifully - perhaps murmur "Shocking..." under their breath - before moving on to the next page. But she could never forget.

Susan folded the paper neatly in half and placed it on the coffee table beside her. Switching off the dim lamp beside her, she picked up her wand and slowly stood. Muttering 'Lumos' quietly, she stepped over a shattered glass on the black wooden floor and walked over to the window. Her rage had long since died down, but the evidence was still scattered about the house like the after-effects of a storm. Susan regarded the writhing trees through the windows with vague interest, fingering the soft muslin curtains absently. Once again, her thoughts drifted back to the same dark place. She wasn't going to ask why - she knew already. She wasn't going to ask whom - she'd rather not know. What Susan wanted to understand was how. How could anyone be so cruel as to pour water on her fire?

With what could have been interpreted as a smile, Susan released the curtain and walked silently to the CD player that stood guiltily in the corner. On the shelf beneath hundreds of CDs were stacked in perfect piles, the labels facing outward for easy access. Not that that was necessary anymore. She brushed the mounting layer of dust off of the black surface of the muggle music player and crouched down to look through the collection of various artists and their albums. All of them non-magical, she hadn't heard of a single one of them, but her eyes settled on a single album. Her lover had always loved this one in particular. Susan blinked, and a flash of red covered her vision. Coughing lightly she stood up and left the room.

Her wand providing just enough light, she walked down the otherwise pitch-black corridor until she found the staircase. Susan stared up the large, curving steps and, suddenly feeling too daunted to make it up to the bedroom - her and her lover's most intimate place - she rushed back down the hall. As she ran, she knocked slightly into the hat stand. It rattled for a few seconds before crashing to the ground, ripping harshly through the heavy silence. Susan jumped about a foot in the air at the sudden noise and continued running until she reached the other end of the house. She pushed open the door that stood in front of her, and walked slowly into the study. A heap of old letters littered her desk; the black walls making the already small room seem even tinier. She held her wand over the first piece of parchment, reading it for what must have been the 50^th time. Her face remained stony in the soft light as she read:

Dearest Susan,

Though I am having a lovely time with my brothers, I can't help but think how much better it would be with you here. Mum keeps trying to stop me going on my walks to the Muggle village, claiming it's too dangerous at 'grim times like this', but at the age of 20, I don't think she can stop me! Just three more days until we'll be together again. Think of that, my love - just three days! You know I love you...

Hugs and kisses,

The signature was smudged beyond recognition, but it didn't matter. Susan knew whom it was from. She could never forget.

That night was yet another without sleep. Hours and hours just sitting. Sitting and thinking about everything and nothing, and the person who plagued her mind day in, day out. The rings under her eyes grew (another?) shade darker and her face a shade paler. Still she thought about her lost lover and the rain continued to pound upon the world outside.

The morning was grey - possibly only a tone lighter than the night - and Susan made her way outside to get the day's paper, just as she had that day. She closed her eyes, standing out in the cold morning air and remembered the reason she was like this, the reason she lived in a black and dismal world....

She had been so overcome with rage and despair, so afraid to be alone. Susan had made a decision that day - and with the simple words 'Ater Atra Atrum' and the flick of her wand, she had cast an unliftable blackness over her house. The rest of the world might forget her love but she never would. And as every single piece of furniture, scrap of wall and even down to the last spell-book was painted black; Susan prepared herself for a life of mourning. She would never forget. She could never forget.

She could never forget how she had walked out in the rain, the crumpled Daily Prophet sat on the hard stone path, soggy from the rain. On the front was printed the words that Susan already knew inside, but never wanted to see - both shocking and expected, the words VIRGINIA WEASLEY FOUND DEAD lay in bold print, screaming the death of her first and only love to the dark sky.

I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and it has been painted black
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts
It's not easy facin' up when your whole world is black