She hugged her cloak tightly around her body. It was only September, but the cold always came early in Scotland. Remembering trips north from her youth, she thought the cold just never left. The train was heated, but the frigid journey through the mountains was too much even for the enchanted windows, and blasts of icy air shot in through cracked seals and half-open compartments. Nearly there.
It was her fourth year and she felt a kind of comfortable confidence as she watched the throng of students swarming off the train. The pale, drawn faces of the first years, already looking smaller than she remembered herself such a short time ago, made her grin.
"Oy! Evans!" James Potter rushed up behind her and swatted at her hair. Lily's eyes narrowed. Bloody Potter. He skidded to a stop in front of her, turning neatly on his heel and blocking her path. "How was your summer? Do lots of Muggly things?"
"Sod off," she growled. As close as she could get to growling. Being fourteen left her at a terrible disadvantage for menace. James smirked, tugged her hair, and darted off to the cluster of boys waiting impatiently for him next to the carriages.
"Why bother, Potter?" The tallest, Lupin, was shifting his weight anxiously. "We've got important things to do and you waste time talking to that stupid girl."
I am not stupid, Lily thought angrily. I will hex you where you stand, Remus Lupin.
One of the other boys, slight, with coal-black hair against his pale cheek, looked at her and shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "She looks smart enough to me."
Lily sighed and went to retrieve her trunks.
Bloody Potter and his bloody friends. The attraction she'd felt for him last year had faded quickly, leaving only the things she had been attracted to—the arrogance, the casual self-assurance, the lack of regard for others that had been her first foray into the realm of bad boys.
She slammed the last of her luggage onto the trolley and searched for an open carriage. All of the girls in her house had already started off toward the castle, giggling and talking excitedly about their holidays. Lily thought of James, seething with contempt. If he hadn't stopped to bother her she could've sat with Alice. Even the Ravenclaws were gone. A brace of Slytherins turned their backs icily to her as she eyed an open seat next to them. She sighed. Have to sit with those bloody Hufflepuffs. They'll probably talk about their new jumpers the whole way. At least the Slytherin girls ignored her. The Hufflepuffs always went out of their way to include Lily in their conversation, and she had never been good at talking about knitting.
"My mum got some really lovely patterns from Mrs. Lampwick, she lives up the road," rambled one of them. Why did Hufflepuffs always have such round pink cheeks? They all looked like her mother's Hummel figurines. Lily stared blankly ahead, not registering anything they chatted on about. She didn't notice the carriage in front of them had suddenly stopped until her own slammed into it.
A chorus of shrieks from the Hufflepuffs, and judging by the high tones and outraged exclamations in front of them, Lily guessed they had run into the Slytherin girls who had snubbed her earlier. Grateful for the opportunity to get out of the carriage, to get away from purling and "tricky drops," Lily leapt to the ground and darted to the front of her carriage. Whatever pulled them—and she had heard it was indeed something pulling them, something invisible—had clearly gotten caught in the hardware on the back of the Slytherin coach. She fumbled blindly at the backboard, not having any idea what she was even trying to do, when a cool white hand pushed hers away roughly.
"Don't bother, girl."
Lily looked up, her mouth falling open. The command had come from a tall, black-haired Slytherin that Lily had only seen once or twice in her previous years. She was an older girl, Lily guessed even a seventh year, and with a furious blush Lily suddenly knew this was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. She jerked her hand back, cutting it on a piece of the carriage's ornamental silver molding.
"Look out, Bella!" one of the other Slytherins shrieked. "She'll get her filthy blood on you!"
It was too late. A small red drop had fallen on Bella's outstretched finger.
Both carriages fell silent. Not even a sniffle from the Hufflepuffs, who had been carrying on only moments before. Lily stared at Bella's face, fear curling in her stomach. She didn't know why she was so afraid, it was only blood, and even if she was Muggleborn, and this girl a Pureblood—Lily was sure she was, most of the Slytherins were or pretended to be—she hadn't done anything wrong. It had been an accident, the other girl's fault, even, although the fault had been the instant hot flush her look had sent spiraling through Lily's body.
Bella—Bellatrix, Lily suddenly remembered—stared into Lily's eyes. They were purple, she thought, no, just very dark blue, and they opened her up utterly. Lily was sure Bellatrix could see the reason for her blush, could see the thousand secret thoughts that had suddenly flooded her mind. A crush of images pushed down on Lily as Bellatrix stared at her, like scenes from a film, Bellatrix touching her, Bellatrix parting her lips, Bellatrix moving closer, Bellatrix kissing her. Lily trembled slightly, confused and excited by the montage. James had never done this to her, and he had certainly stared at her often enough. Her legs began to turn liquid, Lily was suddenly afraid she might fall, when Bellatrix broke the contact.
Her heavy, lucid eyes slid down to the ruby spot still staining her pale skin. Without a glance at the horrified Slytherins, she raised her finger to her lips, extended her tongue, and licked the blood away.
Lily fainted.
As she sank to the ground, she could hear the Hufflepuffs break into new shrieks behind her. "Bellatrix Black hexed her!" the pigtailed one cried, her voice fading into misty darkness. "Bellatrix Black hexed Lily!"
Bellatrix Black.
Bella.
When Lily awoke in the hospital wing, a flock of Hufflepuffs surrounded her. Madame Pomfrey pushed through them, and they fluttered aside.
"No hex, Miss Evans. No reason at all for you to have fainted. Though I hear Miss Black was involved"—there was a slight squeal of terror from one of the girls—"and I certainly don't blame you for getting anxious. Likely just nerves and exhaustion from the trip. You're perfectly fine, I've gotten your finger fixed up with no trouble, now off you go to the feast. Something to eat surely wouldn't hurt." She shooed the anxious, bustling Hufflepuffs away, and Lily sat up carefully. She was slightly dizzy, but as soon as she got her feet on the ground she felt much better.
"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey."
"You're welcome, dear. Oh, Miss Evans--" Madame Pomfrey lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper—"do your best to avoid Miss Black, won't you? I've had more than one student in here as a result of being on the wrong end of her wand."
Lily swallowed hard and nodded. Avoid Miss Black.
Good bloody luck.
As she walked back to the Great Hall, a group of boys she immediately recognized as Slytherins by their slick hair, sallow faces, and air of unearned authority stepped from a corridor in front of her.
"Evans, right?"
"You're a Mudblood, aren't you. I can smell it."
"Sure that's not just her cunt, Avery?"
The boys laughed coldly. There was no trace of real amusement in it, just a high, icy snigger. Lily felt her cheeks burning. The leader of the group, a tall, thin seventh year Sirius had often pointed to before drawing a finger across his throat, lifted his hand. The jeers stopped.
"Evans, my cousin Rabestan tells me you soiled one of ours this afternoon."
"I didn't do anything!" Lily spat. "It was an accident!"
"Getting your filthy blood all over Bellatrix? An accident? You know better than that," he said and drew his wand. Lily froze. She had heard about Lucius Malfoy's brutal punishments for offenses far less than the one he perceived she had committed. She steeled herself against what she was sure would be great pain, squeezing her eyes closed.
"Oh look at the little Mudblood, Lucius, you're scaring her!" Avery cackled.
Lucius pointed his wand at her, lips curling back over his polished, canine teeth, beginning to form what she was sure was a terrible word, when—
"Don't be so common, Lucius."
That voice. Bellatrix. Bella.
Lily's eyes flew open. She was there, she was, her black robes perfectly still around her feet. Lily hadn't heard her come, hadn't seen her, didn't know how she had arrived. Lucius dropped his wand quickly, his awe of her evident. "But Bella—" he protested.
She silenced him with a look. "This girl tells you it was an accident, and you punish her anyway. How . . . common." Her tone was withering.
"But Bella, please, her blood, it—touched you."
Bellatrix sighed impatiently. "Yes, it did." She held out her hand. "Do you see a mark? A burn? I'll admit her blood was cold and heavy and unpleasant, but Mudblood always is."
Lily had never imagined Bellatrix saying that word. She didn't know why; of course she would say it. The Blacks were Pureblood, the worst kind, Sirius always said. He had turned his back on his lineage and paid for it heavily, but he had decided early that he wouldn't be one of those Blacks. Lily knew Bellatrix was one of those Blacks, it was clear in the way Malfoy and his henchmen revered her. Yet hearing that foul word from that beautiful mouth . . . Lily felt her core shifting again. It hurt when the others said it. It cut at her when she thought about it. Mudblood. Dirt.
But from Bella's lips, in Bella's voice, it caused an intense, burning coal to flare in her stomach. Lower. She began to tremble.
"However, Lucius, as you can see I have taken care of the problem and am not injured, so I will ask you why you were going to hurt this girl when it is so obviously beneath you to do so?"
Lucius struggled for words. Lily stared openly at Bellatrix, not bothering to hide her awe.
"We must—it is our duty to—when pure blood is defiled by filth we are obligated--" he stammered.
"Yes, yes, but in this case, I think the girl knows her own transgression. Don't you, girl?"
And she was talking to Lily.
Lily nodded jerkily, trying not to faint again. Bellatrix was . . . defending her. Their eyes met again, the inky blue depths of Bellatrix's staring at her again, in that way, the way that caused the images. Lily suddenly realized this was right, that it was Bellatrix's stare causing them. Her breath hitched in her chest, the heat was swelling low in her belly, Bellatrix parting her lips, Bellatrix kissing her, Bellatrix biting her—
"Enough, Lucius. I'm sure you'll be missed at the feast." She turned abruptly. "Go."
Malfoy and his friends slinking away down the corridor. Bellatrix turning back to Lily, saying nothing.
"Th--" Lily stammered, unable to form the word. She was alone with Bellatrix. Alone with her.
Bellatrix was silent. Her face was impassive, only her eyes were alive and shining with something much darker than their indigo irises. Something dark and hot with malice, with cruelty, with things Lily had only halfway dreamed after long nights alone in her bed. Bellatrix lifted her hand gracefully, put her finger to her lips and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, slid it into her mouth and sucked away a phantom trace of blood.
Lily felt like she was dying. She could feel Bellatrix's lips, the heat of her mouth, the sucking sensastion as though it were on her own finger. Her eyes fluttered and closed.
When she opened them, Bellatrix was gone.