A/N: I was experimenting a bit with point of view and ambiguity. And stream of consciousness. Also, Bella is actually about 8 years older than Frank and the Marauders. Read and Review, please.
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It's an interesting yearning, that for skin, for touch and sweat and heavy breathing. It doesn't seem normal, does it, to crave uncomfortable heat and soreness and bruises in all the wrong places? But that's the way it is for me. I need to be violated and to violate for fear of losing myself in the mundane of the everyday, of trips to the grocery store and annual meals with people I'm supposed to be related to but can't recall ever meeting before, or in a Hell like the one my parents call happiness. Whatever. That's life. Bruises heal. It's a different kind of violation, though. It isn't like the way my parents act, their fucked up view on the universe, their dream of the reign of "purity." Purity my ass. There is nothing darker, danker, more violated than those purebloods. There is nothing less pure than an elitist family of inbreeds too proud to share a drop of their blood with anyone who's been "tainted" by actual love. No wonder they're all bloody Slytherins. I've never been happier than the moment the scruffy old saint of a hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" It's like he knew it too, the hat. He knew I wasn't like all those ugly prats I call relatives. He knew I was like James and the Prewitts and all the other people my parents and their creepy siblings and aunts and uncles who all look way too much alike detest. He knows, and everyone knows, that we are the real pure ones. We understand how archaic and cruel ideals of our relatives are. We might be considered freaks by our ancestors, but we're just the opposite. We're the brave, the just, the GRYFFINDORS and HUFFLEPUFFS and RAVENCLAWS and a couple Slytherins who only cheer for the serpent for fear of being eaten alive by our parents. But every family has a black sheep, eh? There's got to be someone to blame and punish for every little thing, right? Those bruises don't heal. They fuel.
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Her hair was messy, his tie around her neck, one of her socks pushed down to her ankle while the other remained tight around her calf. His shirt was unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled haphazardly above his elbows, his grin growing as he took in her scent. Her smile was pressed into his cheek and his became too wide to contain. They sighed together, into each other, and laughed simultaneous feeble laughs. He wished he could make out more than the outline of her girlish form, wished he could see the color he felt rise in her cheeks during these meetings. She wished she didn't have to sit on buckets and constantly worry about being impaled by a mop twice a day. But it was for the better and these broom closet affairs were better than nothing, better than longing with no satiation.
"Transfiguration's about to start and we're clear across campus," he forced himself to say and they separated a little, reluctantly.
"Who needs Transfiguration anyway? What's the use? Let's just skip again, eh?" Her offer was only half-hearted as she knew it would never happen.
"It'll be the fourth lesson this week we've both missed, Bella," he said without really needing to. She knew. "People might notice…I'm not saying I mind or anything." Here it comes again, she thought, the speech she's been getting almost daily lately. "You're the one who wants to keep this a big secret. You're the one who's too embarrassed to be seen with ol' Frankie here." He mock pouts, though he knows she can't see it. She hits him only half-playfully.
"You know that's not true. I'm doing this to protect you. Do you know what my parents would do, what my whole family would do? I can't let them find out about you. You're one of the last good things I have left and I don't want to give you up. You're handsome and kind and smart and perfect and-"
"And a decent shag, eh? Bella, I know, I know, I know. We can't be seen together; we can't pass notes; we can't, can't, can't. I know it's all impossible, but that doesn't mean a bloke can't try, right?" He wraps his arms around her tightly and kisses what he hopes is her nose before letting go, stretching a little, and attempting to flatten his hair. "Now, off to Transfiguration! Shall I go first or would you like to?"
"You go ahead," she sighs resignedly while standing slowly so as to avoid knocking over the brooms and mops leaning chaotically against the walls. "I have to run to the loo anyway to fix my make up." She takes off the Gryffindor tie and stands on her toes, wrapping it around the tall boy's neck and holding the ends as she stretches to kiss him lightly on the cheek. He opens the door slowly to check the corridor for students, letting a bar of light sever the darkness. "All clear?" she asks, cheerier than she means to be.
"All clear. I'll see you in a bit." He runs a hand through her hair affectionately and steps out of the closet with an air of mock nonchalance, smoothing his pants as his eyes adjust to the brightness of midday.
She pulls the door shut and darkness overtakes her once again. Her breathing is slow and calm and she closes her eyes, further enveloping her senses in blackness, wishing she never had to leave the cramped closet. In the dark she can be whatever she wants, can deny her blood and her house and her parents, but as soon as she steps into the light of reality she must put on her Slytherin robes and cruel demeanor and live the life her parents have made mandatory for her: constant fear, constant worry, constant lying to herself and everyone around her.
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Stag leads the way. Not for long. He looks noble, powerful, strong. Dog's laugh is in his eyes, always. Doesn't bark. Not yet. Wolf if far beyond, already in the woods, killing squirrels, rabbits, anything that crosses his path. They never had a chance. Rat is behind, miles behind, still in the Shack, no doubt. Almost time. Almost. Almost there. Not yet. Wait. Wait. Wait. The Forbidden Forest lies before the odd pack. Never forbidden to us. Dog speeds up, sprinting now, faster than ever before. He flies, almost. Passes Stag. Passes power. Gains power. Takes all. All but one. Wolf howls. Dog replies. Stag stops, turns to look for Rat, waves his heavy head from side to side. Moves on. Wolf howls again, kills something. Innocence. Dog searches, sniffs the air, catches the scent of the vicious, merciless wolf. Runs. Run Dog Run. Spots his prey. His tongue hangs out. He smiles the only way a dog can, with his eyes and his tongue. Wolf senses predator. It's all in the game. It's all in fun. It's all I need. Wolf attacks. He can't hurt me. Can't hurt a dog. Can't hurt him ever. Bites and scratches full of Love. Lust. Anger. Fear. Dog whines. Foam from Wolf's mouth, teeth are bared, blood is crimson. Drips. Burns. Aches. Love. Lust. Anger. Fear. Stag approaches. Solemn. Understands. Backs away. Waits for Rat. Rat shivers. Cold from a puddle. Cold from fear. Cold from lying and betraying. Pathetic. Shrinks. Wolf cries. Howls. Dog yelps, growls, yearns. More. More. More. Can't stop the biting, scratching, loving. Animals. Only Animals. Killing. Fighting. Loving. All the same. Love. Lust. Anger. Fear. Love. Lust. Anger. Fear. Like I said, I crave the sweat and bruises.
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"Did you hear about Frank and Alice?"
"What about 'em?"
"They've finally hooked up, so that nosy Hufflepuff fifth year says. She's a cow, she is, but always has the hottest gossip."
"She just wants attention. I pity her a bit. Sad girl. So, Frank and Alice, eh? How'd it happen?"
"Well, apparently Alice has fancied him for months, since they danced at the holiday ball, you know, and she just couldn't wait for him to be a man and ask her to join him at Hogsmeade, so she asked him over breakfast."
"No! She asked him? That was brave. I don't believe it though."
"Oh don't you? I saw them myself just five minutes ago on the way up from Potions. She was giggling and all and he was blushing a bit. It's about time that boy got some; I heard he hasn't had a girlfriend in over a year."
"Now that I believe. He's always alone, rushing from class to class. I suspected he was seeing someone secretly for a while, but he wouldn't start dating Alice if he had another girl, would he?"
"Nah, he's a sweet boy, good-looking too. I'm a bit sad I didn't snatch him up for myself now that I think of it."
"Ha. You just want him 'cause he's taken. It's always like that with you."
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"How could you?" She shook feebly on the floor of a dark closet on the third floor. Her jaw began to tighten, a ball built up in her throat, and she could do nothing more than wrap her arms around her knees and rock back and forth on the cold stone.
"What was I supposed to do, Bella? It's not like I could tell her I have a girlfriend, if that's what you'd call these closet quickies. It's not like I could tell the truth for once!" He was angrier than she had ever seen him and she curled up tighter to protect herself from his words. "God, Bella! I can't take this anymore! The sneaking around, the lying, the looking like a complete prat who isn't man enough to ask a girl out. Bella, I love you!" He looked exhausted. "I really, really love you and I know that you love me, but if you want me to keep on loving you then we can't do this anymore, this secret love. If I'm going to love you and we're going to be together then the whole world is going to know about it because what I want more than anything is to shout from the rooftops that I love Bellatrix Black!" The volume of his voice had increased dramatically, but he didn't seem to realize this. Bella, however, had, and her response seemed shockingly quiet.
"I know," she squeaked from her place on the floor. The tears began silently rolling down her cheeks and she tried to take a deep breath, to stop the tensing of her muscles and the aching of her neck and the wetness of her eyes as she sobbed into her knees, knowing very well how this conversation would end but grasping onto the smallest bit of hope she could. He was looking down at her, but she knew his eyes were shut as well; she could sense his hand on his face, rubbing his eyelids in frustration and deliberation. She breathed deep again, steadying her voice, looking up at the outline of the boy standing so close above her yet soaring miles away. Again, a weak "I know" was all she could muster. They both knew.
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It changes you, losing your first love. And it changes some people more than others. For me, well, I haven't lost my first love yet. Not that I would really call it love anyway. It's some screwed up thing. It's Lust. It's Anger. It's Fear. It's every emotion I've ever felt rolled up together in a ball of inevitable disaster. I won't lose it though, because I don't really have it, do I? No. No love for me. But for her, that was Love. Since the moment she left the darkness of that final broom closet she has never been the same. Since she let the blinding light of our family's wrath overtake her one place of solace she has become that girl she once detested, the girl she hid from with the boy who made everything all right. She wasn't strong like us. She let hatred fill the void that lost love created. And now look at her. She could have been different, but love changes people, and the weak will take whatever life throws at them first to replace a lost love. Of course, I can't really call myself strong, can I? I'm just as weak. In a different way. She at least took a chance on love. But I still have time. It's never too late. Not for long. Not yet. They never had a chance. Not yet. Wait. Wait. Wait. Never forbidden to us. All but one. Innocence. It's all I need.He can't hurt me. Can't hurt a dog. More. More. More.All the same. Love. Lust. Anger. Fear. Like I said, I crave the sweat and bruises.