Before the Fall

-Roxanne-

.o0o

"Her heart belonged to two boys, identical in all ways but one.

One was bitten by wolf, but the other bore his brother's scars."

-Draco's Memoirs, The Price for our Sins

.o0o.

She kisses him in sunlight, with the warm breeze of summer tickling her skin.

He's sweet, of course he is, bright and cheery – and her fingers glide across his cheek as she leans into him, his hand falling to cradle the small of her back. The grounds of Hogwarts are deserted, the exams so close that most choose to spend their days with their noses buried in books, but he's planned a lovely picnic in an isolated cove, and there's no way for her to say no.

She laughs at his jokes, blushes at his shyness and coy appeal, and teases him into licking the chocolate of her fingers when she accidently grazes the tart. In some ways, it's the date that every girl, herself included, dreams of having. In others, she finds herself craving a little more.


She kisses him in moonlight, with the chill wind of winter biting her skin.

He's wild, nipping at her lip, and leaving her cheeks flush with desire. The Quidditch Pitch is empty, of course it is, at this time of the night, and she feels a certain thrill at being out so late past curfew. The school sleeps, or most of it does at any rate, she thinks as she catches sight of the owls gliding through the sky, and yet the thought of her bed is the furthest thing from her mind.

He's plotted this daring midnight flight and the latent Gryffindor in her screams at the opportunity he's provided, so she's come, for there simply is no way to say no.

She smirks at his risqué wit, her cheeks burning red at every inappropriate remark and forward gesture, and it takes but the slightest of mentions for him to open a bottle of Firewhisky, and drizzle it down her throat only to suckle it off before it disappears down her cleavage.

It's a date like no other, wild and untamed, and yet she finds herself yearning for the feeling of safety, and just a little bit of control.


He fumbles, inexperienced, trying to unclasp her bra whilst pressing his lips to hers. It's fun, to be honest, and she finds herself admiring his lithe body as she writhes beneath him, giggling into his ear as his fingers tickle her skin.

He doesn't last long and is spent all too soon, slipping off her to the side, gasping for breath as she decides to take control. Not giving him the chance to recover, she rolls onto him and guides his hands back down, nipping at his lower lip as he grins right back at her, and sets to work.

"Lysander," she murmurs, and he pecks her on the nose.


He slams her against the wall, jeans bundled around his ankles, and instinctively, she hooks her legs around his waist, letting him support her weight. He's rough – it's obvious he's done this before – and she pants, his muscles flush against her skin as he thrusts with wanton abandon.

They're at it so long that she's sure they'll be caught, that at any moment the doors will fly open and a prefect or professor doing the rounds will find them tangled together against a wall in the Prefect's Bathroom, and he's not giving her the chance to catch her breath between rounds.

It's harsh and rough and all that she desires in her most depraved dreams, and she melts as he smirks at her, raising his eyebrows for a second before leaning in to leave a hickey on her throat.

"Lorcan," she cries out, as she feels his teeth graze her skin.


She sighs. How can she help the way she feels? With Lorcan, there's a fiery passion, a roughness that she craves, and with Lysander, there's a gentleness that she needs. It's the butterfly kiss against the bruising make-out session, the iron gauntlet versus the silk glove. On mornings like these, as she looks at herself in the mirror, she wonders if what she's doing is wrong.

How long can she go before being forced to choose one over the other, or will the day ever arrive when the choice is made for her? She hopes for the latter - she doesn't think herself able to decide between the twins. Each of them represent what she needs, and only together does she get the perfect balance.

Isn't that what twins are, though, she reasons, if only to try and alleviate her guilt. One person split into two, and then, does it not make sense for her to love the qualities they each possess . . . It's silly, she thinks, for her to think in such a manner, but it's the only way she can rationalize it. It's not her fault but neither is it theirs, for the fault lies with all three of them and their fickle hearts.

So, troubled as she is, she wipes away her tears and fixes her mascara. She will face the day and she will get through it, as she always does, because the simple truth of the matter is that her heart wants what it wants, and despite the selfishness of it all, she can never deny it.

So, for her, it's alright to love them both . . . it has to be.

.o0o.

"Often, an excess of love can be as devastating as an excess of hate.

For her, loving them both was suicide."

-Draco's Memoirs, The Price for our Sins