Pulling Me
AN: Read and review. Yes, I know it's twisted.
Warning: Weasley twin/Bellatrix Lestrange. It doesn't really matter which twin.
Of the three Black sisters, Bellatrix would have to be the most beautiful. Oh, Narcissa was pretty, but it was the kind of pretty that was gained by getting up at three o'clock in the morning to have her hair styled and her make-up applied by experts who cost more to hire per hour than our house would if we ever sold it.
And Andromeda was pretty, too, the shy kind of pretty that caught your eye in Diagon Alley or Hogwarts.
But Bellatrix was beautiful, and nothing could change that. She had the true Black beauty that combined bearing and statuesque features with attitude. Mum, only a very distant relative, had never got the hang of that, and had never wanted to. Ginny had the bearing and the attitude, but not the features: her small, turned-up nose and happy smile came from Dad's side of the family.
Bellatrix Lestrange also had the kind of heavy beauty that made you dizzy after a very short time, and no painter could ever capture that. It was only there in Wizarding photographs, where Bellatrix would give you the look that was scornful and yet seductive at the same time.
It was a very dark beauty, and yet-
And yet it was pulling me in, towards this convicted and now escaped Death Eater.
For the first time in my life, I didn't know what to do.
Throughout my whole life, I had treated any problem with the Black attitude, or followed my master's orders. That had always made life so much easier.
But now, I was enchanted by a boy I had dreamed about, who probably didn't even exist.
He had red hair and blue eyes and freckles – a most un-Black-like attribute. Un-Lestrange-like, too. And he seemed to have a twin, not quite identical to my practised eye – when your niece is a Metamorphagus you gain an eye for these things.
He also had freckles, and a tendency to bite his bottom lip. And, later on in my dreams, to bite my bottom lip.
I had a strong urge to find out whether he existed – this fantastic Weasley – freckles and red hair were a definite Weasley thing – and the urge only grew with time.
It was pulling me out of Azkaban, this urge, towards a blood traitor and a boy who surely hadn't left Hogwarts yet.