In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present. [Non-epilogue compliant, slash, WAFF]
Note: My first foray into the HP fandom. I really have no idea how I came up with this but it was late at night and I wanted to write something to get over my creative block. Enjoy!
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Light is meaningful only in relation to darkness, and truth presupposes error. It is these mingled opposites which people our life, which make it pungent, intoxicating. We only exist in terms of this conflict, in the zone where black and white clash. - Louis Aragon
Hope, Be My Dusk
They say darkness is evil. That darkness is dangerous. That darkness captures you and drags you down to the epitome of wrong. That you should fight it at all costs.
They say the light is good. That light is safe. That light is what should buoy you up to be just and right. That it is worth sacrificing for it to prevail.
Yet the light can be suspicious, corrupt, tainted.
And the darkness can be trustworthy, honest, pure.
Who am I?
My name is of no importance. To know what they christened me with would bias those of the light as well as the dark. The light has always see me as the tainted one, unfit to associate with those of the 'just'. The dark has always been wary of me, if not for my strengths then for my weaknesses. So it is inconsequential for me to be named.
It's better for you to be kept in the dark. Well that's contradictory of me. More like unaware, so to be neutral.
If you can't know my name then,
What am I?
A wanderer of the shades and tints that are so often forgotten when the light and darkness are discussed.
The area of separation between opposites is a harsh mistress. Harsh because those of light and dark are so focused on extremes that they unknowingly walk her paths.
Did you know I tried so hard to stick as close to the light as defined to me when I was young? Did you know that my childhood light was everyone else's darkness? See I told you we all walk the colourless road.
As I matured and concluded what my personal description of light was, continuing my way of near-light, they already deemed me steeped in shadows and unable to change. Such a bunch of hypocritical fools. They were so blinded by their precious light that they forget that areas of light can only be defined by darkness. And those of us, who walk in neither black nor white, choose grey.
Have I told you I was once titled a dark prince, despite my clinging to a classification of light? That he was labelled a beacon of light, even though I could see the currents of shadows he so valiantly hid from the masses?
Well you know that he was my rival, light versus dark. What stupid gits influenced our generation to live in extremes?
Has my contempt for this infinitely debatable topic been conveyed yet?
I sometimes question if it was my habit to state truths at inappropriate times and lies at convenience that made them dub me black. Two can play at that game, for he did too. Those who consider themselves of the light don't like their faults pointed out when it doesn't suit them, nor do those of the dark. Can they truly not see how similar they are, that they tread the separation together?
My thoughts seem to have strayed. Even this piece of enlightenment likes to wander near the dark side.
So what has all this has to do with the theme; good and evil, light and dark, right and wrong, white and black, hope and despair or whatever other pair of extremes you can come up with?
The heart of the matter lies in the shades of her paths, the tints of her revelations; that we all travel the same colour. The hearsay which is the relationship between an idol of the light and a coward from the darkness.
Can I remind you of him? My rival? My opposite? The one who wants to walk beside me in the silver?
Yes, him. We met once again after the war in a place that doesn't allow those who like extremes, just those of us in grey. I found him lurking near the shadows after I was shunted from the sun. Told you my reputation precedes me. I had no energy for sniping at him like everyone would believe of me, not after he flew with me grasping his torso.
He was not surprised to be in the shade. Actually he'd been avoiding the light because they were so overbearingly bright to him. He was more taken aback at how different I was to what the rumours and news articles post me as. He should have known better than to believe second-hand drivel. We spoke for a short length, then I Disapparated. He's told me since, that I had left him confused yet bewildering happier.
Shall I tell you we met again? I was being showered in twilight for my project, which they grudgingly acknowledged to not be dark. Potion-making is as debatable as the colours of spells and loyalties. He didn't mind being seen in public talking to one such as me and was genuinely interested in my work. I've long thanked him for those actions, they made me content.
I've been told that if two people meet by accident thrice, they were meant to be. Honestly I think that's light dreams. But you've probably guessed by now that for a third time, through no initiation of our own, he found me. Only this time I was pushed away from an area I already understood was semi-dark. We decided that we liked these meetings and made time for more of them.
The small circle of friends left to me after the war encouraged the budding friendship with him, not for reputable motives but for my own happiness. They are true companions who join me in the grey. As for his friends, they held onto prejudices for a long time and it took him all of his persuasiveness and resolve for them to accept me in the very least. I shouldn't be thinking this but I could almost swear that his friends are more tainted shadows than mine are, though we're all no less guilty.
Within five months our tentative friendship grew to the point where he trusted me to know his doubts and past black acts. It took me another three months to fully reciprocate faith with him, not bad since it could have been years or not at all. We came to a stage where we weren't best of friends - those two people of his have always taken that title - but something close to, for we enjoyed making the other do things we wanted to do.
You're wondering why I'm not ranting about dark and light so much anymore, aren't you. He says I'm easily distracted and I can't dispute him too greatly on that, though he does like to divert my attention to himself more often than not.
I haven't yet mentioned the aspiration he developed from one of our conversations, which prompts this paragraph. He's turning the old manor that was left to him into a magical orphanage since he doesn't live there anymore. Many things about the manor are categorised as black but his plan is for it to become a place of safety, once it's been fixed and cleaned. It's been seven weeks since he initiated his plan and we've been living in a large flat we bought jointly not too far from there.
Anything we do together really does not seem normal to other people, as some have informed me. I didn't care for their opinions then, nor do I care now; I liked flitting around the murkiness with him. I won't say we fell in love and have that fairy-tale ending, after being guided past our misconceptions of each other; I won't because I don't believe in such radiant brainwashing. Oh I accept love in all its forms, don't get me wrong there, and -
"What are you writing?"
I jump when his voice sounds right behind me. Why didn't I notice when he entered the study? Normally I am very attentive to his presence. This must be taking more concentration than I thought I would give to it. I don't need to bother turning from the desk to know there's a grin highlighting his entire face.
Callused fingers caress my opposite shoulder as a chin rests on my right. The smile at his affectionate gesture turns into a smirk when he whispers warm nothings into my ear. His arms snake around the chair to rest about my waist, hands running down my sides.
"I had a flash of inspiration."
I am not afraid of him trying to see what is being written; he wouldn't read my journal so his eyes are most likely focused on my hands. Apparently they're at the top of his list of my most attractive features, he say's he likes their slenderness and dexterity.
"Must have been good to keep you in here without me."
I laugh lightly at his jest. He knows the cosy study with my books is my favourite room of the flat, second only to our bedroom.
"I've made your favourite."
My mouth almost waters at the mention of the dish I like so much, he's gotten much better at cooking over the months.
"Give me five minutes to finish and I'll be out."
"You always want five more" he playfully retorts, removing his body from my personal space.
I just send him a mischievous grin over my shoulder with a flirtatious wink. His lips land a gentle kiss on my forehead before he exits the study in a sway of hips. I recognise that walk; he will leave me be for my requested minutes then be back to distract me again.
- I won't be insincere by saying I don't love him. Our relationship has evolved beyond friendship, but I'm not in love with him. Not yet, but I know that potential is there, that I can be in love with him given time.
You know we've actually had a lengthy discussion on good, evil and every shade in between. We had it right after we moved in together and become a couple. He declared that I was his brilliant fallen angel of reason. How he came to that conclusion I have no idea. I couldn't reply in mirror - even if he was an angel to be near me after what I did - because this type of thing fell in with black and white and of course I still believe in grey.
However I asked him that if I was his twilight then could he be my dusk. No way was I going to have an imbalance. To the world he is a saviour and I'm just a dark servant but to each other we'll be contradictory to the world. He's my dark prince and I'm his beacon of light. We've always been rivals, clashing; it's what makes us fit as one in all those unconventional places.
Feedback is appreciated.