Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, Elton John owns his gorgeous music and the lyrics used here.
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And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world
- Elton John, Your Song
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She is beautiful, and she always will be. Even many years into the future and years spent in the filth and decadence of Azkaban, she will retain that mysterious, dark beauty that makes so many fall at her feet.
He is one of the ones that falls at her feet.
She doesn't love those that fall at her feet. She doesn't love them; she pities them.
Except she loves him. She's always loved him. It's a love that goes beneath the common family love and she falls head-over-heels in love with him.
It scares her a little.
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It doesn't start as love. At first, they are indifferent towards each other, but then they form a common bond over something- they both forget what.
Then they become friends, around the time they're ten years old. It's summertime and they sat in the shade of the old oak tree in her yard and they just talk. The sun is hot and beats down on their dark heads and her lively, deep blue eyes dance around. They stay out talking until the sky becomes an inky black color and her mother screams at them that it's dinnertime and that Bellatrix had better not have grass stains on her new dress.
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She's beautiful and wild and untamable and he loves that about her.
But she can be cruel, and he knows this well. Sometimes she casts aside his feelings like an old dress and sometimes she stomps on them and it hurts.
But she epitomizes love so well, because love is beautiful and wild and sometimes cruel.
But sometimes, after she's cast aside his feelings and trod on them carelessly, she comes to him and she takes his hand in both of hers and strokes it and she kisses him, the same way mothers kiss bruises and cuts, even though this is a different kind of hurt entirely, and apologizes profusely and he can't help but love her for it.
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They start Hogwarts at the same time and sit on the train together. She's a little nervous, but feels better because he's there and she'll at least have one friend. He's calm and casual, but still glad that she's there.
She feels that he's betrayed her a bit when he becomes a Gryffindor.
She sits in the oversized armchair reading when he comes in. Her long, wild black hair is pulled back into a messy knot at the back of her head and she wears an emerald green tank top and a black skirt.
She's always beautiful.
He comes up behind her and kisses her shoulder and she ignores him. She's in one of her cruel moods again.
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She's afraid of being hurt, which is why she doesn't want to love him so much. She doesn't want to put herself out there so much. It could mean great happiness but make her so vulnerable, and she doesn't want to be vulnerable.
The love also hurts. She hurts when he isn't around, which is why she can be cruel.
She doesn't want this hurt, but she wants the love. The love, where she knows that he'll never hurt her and he doesn't care if she's vulnerable, because she has him to protect her and he'll take care of her.
She deals with the hurt, the dull ache in her heart when he's away, because when she sees him, the pain is healed threefold.
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He handles her gently as he carries her around in the yard surrounding her home. She tosses back her head and her long, black hair falls back and dangles in the air and she laughs, and her laughter floats up into the air and wraps itself around him, even though he tells her to be quiet, or they'll be found out.
It's midnight and pitch-black outside, except for the light from the stars and moon, but the light in her eyes is all that he needs.
They lie in the soft grass for a while, hair mingling and he holds her hand. His are rough and calloused and brown, and hers and slim and white and soft. After a while, he stands and takes her hands in his and lifts her up and leads her to a rose bush, where he plucks one and gives it to her.
Her dark eyes, sometimes cruel and often hard and unforgiving, soften and she takes it.
It's the simple things that she loves.
She flings her arms around his neck and pulls him close, and he can smell her perfume and the roses and grass and he buries his face in her long, soft hair.
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She can't sleep and she tosses and turns in her huge, soft bed with the goose feather pillows and green down comforter. Eventually, she tosses back the blankets and walks out her door and down the hall.
She pauses for a moment at his door, before finally turning the knob and she walks to his bed.
He's not asleep either, she can tell, even though his eyes are closed, so she pulls down the blankets and snuggles up next to him.
He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close and she rests her head on his shoulder.
She knows that he loves her, during these moments.
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le fin