Cry

As I looked at her face, it all came back to me. Her gorgeous, dark hair, tumbling down her back, shaking when she threw her head back in laughter, slipping through my fingers when I held her close to me; her deep eyes, now containing empty arrogance but once filled with remarkable wit, and rarely, with something like vulnerability; and those lips, full and dark, now twisted in a disgusting smirk, but once they covered mine... and I can no longer think of it.

Loving Bellatrix was an easy thing to do, forgetting it was the hard part.

I see a little first-year-- a spunky girl with impossibly long black hair-- with her hands on her hips and an expression telling me she is not one to be reckoned with. I am laughing with my friends and pointing, saying, "That one's a Slytherin, I can tell already."

She whips her head towards me, smirks, and says, "You bet I am."

I remember my fifth year, when my fascination started and I couldn't get my mind off of her. Those eyes held my attention from across the Great Hall. When our eyes met it was like a conversation:

"You're watching me again," her eyes say.

"I can't deny it. Who are you?" mine reply.

"I'm your worst nightmare. Forget about it, you don't know what you're getting into."

Sometimes she looked away then, but sometimes I was surprised, and we locked gazes, challenging the other to back down. There was something intriguing about her that I could never let go.

How could I have known that she would prove herself to be right?

I finally break one night. After our eyes meet at dinner, I can't take it any longer. This little girl, barely a teenager, hijacks my thoughts, dreams and even my sight, so that I think of nothing but figuring her out.

I storm from the Great Hall, through the corridors until I find a spot remote enough to allow me to gather my thoughts. I put my head in my hands, and let out a ragged breath.

"You Gryffindors," a teasing voice says to me, "so bloody predictable."

I hear her voice and my heart stops. It takes roughly a century for my eyes to make their way up from her black boots to her face, shaded completely in the dark hallway, but I could never mistake that voice.

She sits down beside me, and her face is clearly in view. Those eyes are so close I find it difficult to breathe.

"Why are you watching me?" she asks.

"Because I need to know you," I say, sounding stupid even to myself.

She laughs, and I am simultaneously enchanted and mortified.

"I'm Bella," she says. "now you know me, and you can leave me alone."

"No, I need to know you," I say, "everything about you."

"Be careful what you wish for," she whispers. I watch her leave, and I feel colder than I have ever felt in my life.

I remember it all so vividly-- the next few years were something of a dream.

Our eyes met from across the hall every day, and when they would tell me she wanted me, I'd go.

We're in the corridor, kissing in the dark, and I am not able to close my eyes because I'm afraid she will disappear. Something about her is frightening, she is unstable, she is cool and uncaring, and yet, now, she is pulling me against her in a way that screams "You are mine," and her lips capture mine over and over again, her eyes closed and for a moment, a sense of desperation, but then she is in control again. Her tongue meets mine, and I relinquish all control, losing myself in her scent, her touch, those lips. She moves my hands to the places she wants me to touch, and I almost pass out when she maneuvers them to cup her from behind, and she wraps her legs around me. We hear footsteps, and hastily whisper our goodbyes, but we know we will be back there the next night, or the next.

We rarely talk, but I know, oh, how I know, when something is wrong. Her eyes are darker, and though they keep their cool nonchalance, she can't hide them from me, as much as she tries. They are much darker these days, and I want to ask why, but I know that she'll never tell me.

Sometimes I meet her by accident. She, like me, is no stranger to the hallways after curfew. Sometimes she'd be singing softly to herself, just loudly enough that I can hear a melody, but not enough for me to make out the words. Looking back, I see now it suits us perfectly: something true and lovely, always just barely out of reach.

She laughs often, but it is usually flat, sardonic laughter that is so cold it is almost inhuman, like the way she laughs when I tell her I love her. Then there is a different laugh. When she laughs with me, the few times she truly laughs, it is a mesmerizing sound, and it feels as intimate as making love.

This brings on a different picture, entirely.

We made love for the first time my last day at Hogwarts. I remember it with startling clarity.

I was about to go into the real world, and I knew I would probably never see her again. Our passion had no place in the real world. Our magic didn't have a place even in the wizarding world, it was something that transcended the concrete world, and could only be acted out as if in a dream.

We are in our hallway again, and her fragile body is pressed closer to mine than I thought possible. She is kissing me frantically, scaring me with her enthusiasm, but I will not complain. I pick her up and push her against the cold stone wall. After a second, she pushes me away, and I am desperate to pull her back against me, to regain the warmth of her body now that mine is exposed to the drafty air, but I don't. I'm afraid she will run away. Instead I look at her. I am breathing heavily; my heart is beating so loud I'm sure someone will catch us soon. That would be no good, no one knows about us. Not her friends. Not even mine.

"Follow me," She says, grabbing my hand.

I do, of course, follow her.

She leads me to a hallway I don't remember, and she paces back and forth. I am about to ask her what's wrong, but a door suddenly appears in the wall. She laughs at my shock, and pulls me in.

It's a bedroom, with a huge, very old and very expensive-looking bed. The sheets look silk, but that's only a guess. They are crimson, like her lips, like the blood that seeped from my lips but is now drying. They are covered with a black bedspread that match the black bedposts and canopy. How fitting, I think, looking at the girl beside me. The room is lit by candles, and there must be a hundred of them, sitting on the floor and high shelves and a wardrobe in the corner.

"Whose room is this?" I ask finally, afraid of breaking the silence and making it all disappear.

"Ours," she smiles, and leads me to the bed.

"Lay down," she says, and I obey. I could never disobey this goddess that stands before me. Of course, I know that's a lie. If she told me to forget her, to stop loving her, like she often does, I could never do it. Never.

She lies down next to me and pulls the comforter to cover us both. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know what this means, what we're about to do.

She pulls me in and kisses me softly, more softly than she's ever kissed me before.

"Have you gotten your wish yet?" she asks.

"No," I say, catching her hair with my hand. "I want to know more."

She smirks. I can no longer pretend. I kiss her with everything I feel, everything she means to me, everything I'm so afraid of but want so badly.

She does not shy away. We kiss at tantalizing pace, long, slow, sweet kisses followed by something harsher and more rapid, only to slow down again. Her lips are masters of the art, and our tongues meet and slide together, over and over again. I am touching her everywhere my hands will reach. When one hand is on her thigh, my thumb dangerously close to somewhere I have never touched, and the other is caressing her cheek, she pulls away. With each flicker of the surrounding candles, part of her face is revealed and another part obscured. I see her unbutton her robes. There is nothing under them. She whispers something under her breath, I don't hear what, but we are both naked. I can't tear my eyes away from her. She lowers herself on top of me, skin against skin. I want to cry from the beauty of it, but I know she would laugh at me, call me a ponce.

We kiss again, something deeper this time. She is in control again, her hands on mine, moving them where she wants them. I cup a breast, feeling a nipple between my fingers. She sighs, and I once again lose all sense of reality and everything blurs but the feel of her touch, grabbing at my back to pull me closer, toying with my hair, her lips on my neck, and her breath in my ear. My hand moves up her thigh slowly, of its own accord. I don't realize this until my thumb touches the tiny hairs between her legs. My breath catches and my eyes fly open to meet hers, and it is one of those rare moments of vulnerability. She does not stop me, and she looks into my eyes, through them, and I'm sure she can see my every thought, my every flaw. I shift my hand to lightly brush the folds beneath, and when she does not move or tell me to stop, I allow myself to breathe. She moans lightly, almost inaudibly, and my only goal in the world is to hear that sound again.

I slip one finger in, slowly, and it is all I can do to keep from crying out at how intense the moment is, how heavy the air is all of a sudden. She moves against me. Just when I think I will lose control, I stop. I catch her eyes in mine, and see more than she intended. Her guard flies back up.

"Don't be scared, Bella, I won't hurt you," I say.

"Nothing scares me," she says, "and you couldn't hurt me if you tried."

But I know she's lying.

I enter her slowly, and it is pure bliss. I see her, really see her, and it's as if the secret of life and happiness and how the universe stays together have all been explained to me. We move together, silently, keeping eye contact. I'm quickly losing control, but I can't look away, I can't hold it back, it's too perfect. She is close too, I can feel it.

Then she says my name in a whisper. It is the first and only time I hear her say my name. I fight the irrepressible urge to close my eyes as I lose my thread of control, and we end together, a jumble of limbs, her hair splayed across my body.

No words are needed. I gather her in my arms. Most of the candles have flickered out now. I mutter a simple spell and it is dark. I hold her as tightly as I am able, and sleep overtakes me.

I woke up alone that morning. I remember how everything came crashing back to reality. I knew she didn't love me, I knew she wouldn't stay, but I had hoped anyway. She wouldn't meet my eyes at breakfast. I left Hogwarts that day. I wrote her a few owls that were never returned. I started an entry-level job at the ministry, hoping that someday I'd be able to work my way up the ladder. I certainly didn't forget Bella, and our last meeting filled my dreams and made my days more bearable. More than a year passed, and I heard nothing from her. I even dated a woman for a couple of weeks, but my heart wasn't in it. I accepted the fact that I couldn't have Bella, but that I didn't want anyone else. I figured I'd just die alone.

Then I started to hear rumors about some of the Hogwarts students. When someone mentioned Bella's name in passing, I nearly had a heart attack. She was one of the mentioned, one who was delving into the dark arts. I knew Bella was a bit dark herself, but she'd never hurt anyone. The rumors told me otherwise. One said she had used an especially bloody curse on one of her classmates. Others said she and some friends were becoming obsessed with dark spells, even that some of the seventh-years had joined the ranks of Voldemort. I didn't believe it, not my Bella. She was different. Sure, she wasn't especially compassionate, but she also had a conscience.

I went to Hogwarts that week on the pretense of speaking with Professor McGonagall about a recommendation.

I knew exactly where I'd find Bella.

Our corridor is lighted by a full moon, and she is staring out the window with her arms folded on the sill. She doesn't hear me come in. Two years has changed her. She is no longer the girl I made love to, she is a full grown woman. I wonder for a moment how many lovers she's had since me, but the thought stirs something in my stomach and I push it away quickly. Her face is obscured by strands of her hair. She has cut it, to my dismay, but it is still long. For a second I see the little first-year, but then the second is gone and the strange woman stands in front of me.

"Bella," I say.

She whips around in shock to face me, and I nearly stumble backwards.

The indifference in her eyes has changed to something else entirely. It is pain, hatred, and maybe a little despair. Then it is cold and guarded again. She turns back to the window.

"Yes?" she mumbles.

This is not the kind of reaction I had hoped for.

"Bella," I start, "there have been rumors."

She is silent.

"Bella, tell me it's not true."

She does not.

Everything is quiet for a moment, and she keeps her head hidden from me. I move closer to her. She turns to face me. I recognize the look in her eyes. It is the same look she used when she told me I could never hurt her.

"Of course it's true, you git."

"But why--" I start.

"Why, oh why Bella," she says mockingly. Then her voice shakes with what she would have me believe is anger, "Because I wanted to. Because that's who I am, it's what I do."

"You never did before," I say.

"Of course I did. I knew the Dark Arts before even you were at Hogwarts."

"It's not you, Bella," I say, almost in a whisper. We stand inches apart.

"You get your wish," she says. I wish she'd get that look out of her eyes. It makes me want to take her and shake her hard, and scream at her for being such an idiot.

I am silent, questioning. I look at her carefully. She looks scared for a moment, under my gaze. Then that grotesque look returns.

"You get your wish!" she shouts. "You know me now, this is me, so you can leave!"

I say nothing.

She gives me a sultry look, and I am nauseous.

"What's the matter," she says, "don't you like what you see?"

"It's not you. I know you. I loved you. Hell, Bella, I still love you," I say, my voice shaking.

Then I know this is not going to turn out well.

"You don't know me, you idiot," she says. Her smile is disgusting to me. "We played a fun little game. I serve a new master now."

Despite my efforts, my eyes fill with tears. I turn her hard to face me. I look at her desperately, searching for some semblance of the girl I love, but she remains unshaken. It's then I finally realize I don't have a chance. I have to let her go. My Bella is dead.

"Well, then, I guess that's that. I wanted to love you. I wanted to make you happy, God, how I wanted you. Goodbye, Bella," I say. I turn and walk away.

I turn around one more time, for one last glance. I think I see a tear run down her face, but I can't be sure. I tell myself that I am just imagining it, probably because I know that's what she would want.

That was the last time I saw her, until I opened up the Daily Prophet to see her face staring back at me. She was arrested for a heinous crime involving two Aurors. Only I know that this isn't Bellatrix. Only I know that this is an imposter. I lay down the paper gingerly on my coffee table, and I weep for everything that is lost, for a beautiful young woman who lives no more.

I never knew much about her family, or her friends. I wonder fleetingly if any of them cared. My Bella is dead, but no one knows, no one noticed, and no one will cry for the murderous girl. No one ever mourned for her, so I do.