After reading yet ANOTHER clichéd Lily/James story in which Sirius and Remus both fall madly in love with two of Lily's best friends, I decided to write this. While watching Tristan and Isolde. I mean, come on, you've gotta watch something sad while writing something sad! JK Rowling and I look nothing alike, nor do we really have anything in common except for the fact that we both love Harry, so I would have to say that I probably don't own Harry Potter, but if I do, would someone please inform me? That'd be awfully nice!

.x. Tainted Black .x.

Black. Black was the color of the sky that night. Even the air seemed to hold its breath; the entire world seemed to be encompassed by a stillness neither of the two had ever encountered. No cars whizzed by the usually-bustling London street. No people walked past them in noisy heels or hulky business shoes that splashed in the puddles. Not even an insect buzzed or chirped. The air was humid, and pools of what had been cool rainwater had gathered around the cobblestones.

He looked at her.

Black. Black was the color of her dress that night. Knee-length, with a sweetheart neckline and thin straps—she looked like something out of one of those old movies that Remus' mother loved to watch. She was gorgeous, with her brown hair falling down around her glowing skin in soft waves. Her blue eyes, however, were nothing so angelic. They didn't shine and twinkle as they had before this moment; now there was terror laced delicately throughout her irises.

He looked away.

Black. Black was the color of his prospects. It was the same with every woman, really, but her… There was something about her. She was the Lily to his James. The way that she shook her hair out of her eyes, the scent of her perfume that enticed him whenever she got close enough, the softness of her pale skin—all of this drove him crazy in ways he could never have imagined. But even she couldn't understand.

"You're a Black?"

Black. Black was the color of his family's reputation. They were supporters of the Dark Lords. Slytherins. The scum of the Earth. And somehow, even though he had been sorted into Gryffindor, and even though he had joined the Order of the Phoenix, he was still one of them. He was still the waste on the bottom of any respectable wizard's shoe. Despite all of his best efforts, he was still a Black, and she couldn't forgive him for that.

She backed away from him.

Black. Black was the color of the fissures in his heart. The crack widened every time the sound of her stilettos on pavement broke the uneasy silence. She slipped into the Leaky Cauldron and he stared at the battered door, praying for her to come out again. There was a sudden emptiness. The sudden realization that it was the end—she wasn't coming back. His everything was lying around him in fragments and he couldn't even open his mouth to stop it; to call after her. All of this because of a name… He gave the door a second glance, and considered charging in afterwards. He barely even heard the clanging of the bell above the joint as he dashed into the bar.

She was already gone.