Roses
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J K Rowling does. I'm just playing with her toys.
Summary: I didn't know what to make of this little dribble so I put it up just like this. Brief Bellatrix/Sirius, if that disturbs you, just don't read it!
I heard familiar laughter coming from down the other end of the corridor, and then came a familiar voice.
"I'll see you later," she said with that oh, so dangerously pleasing, thrilling voice. A voice as soft as a breeze of spring, yet as boisterous as a thunderstorm in midsummer. The only voice capable of making the hair on my neck stand up.
I could hear her steps coming closer. She walked quickly, determinedly. Angrily. As if she was walking through a corridor full of enemies, as if there were challengers lurking in every shadow. I backed away around a corner, because even though it was dark, she might still have been able to see me, and then there'd have been a fight. Like always. Whenever we met, we crossed blades. Sometimes we fought with our tongues, sometimes with our wands. It didn't matter which, we were equal in both, and it seemed to be an eternal war. But I didn't want to fight tonight. I merely wanted to watch her. Admire her intriguingly horrendous beauty...
There she came into sight... Her breasts moved up and down so smoothly as she breathed, and her hair aflare around her shoulders, ebony waves bouncing up and down with every step she took. As usual her dressing was way out of line. The skirt of her robe ended above her knees, exposing beautifully shaped, rounded legs. One of the robe's arms had been ripped open so it hung down on her upper arm, leaving the honeycoloured glimmering shoulder naked.
There was nothing dirty about it. I wasn't perving; I just wanted to watch her. She was so breathtakingly beautiful.
She walked on and for a second she stopped right in front of me. She looked straight at me, but she didn't seem to see me. It was very dark, middle of the night. How natural that me and her were the only black sheep still up and about. After all, the recklessness runs in our family.
She sweeped by me and a string of her hair swished less than an inch from my face. I inhaled, and a subtle, yet vivid and arousing, smell of roses reached me. Roses! Her hair smelled of roses, just like the bloodred roses in her mother's garden. Even though I had not been there for years, I still remembered.
When she was so near to disappear around the far corner, I couldn't help myself. I never were one to resist temptations, and anyway, nor was she.
"Bella..." I called. She turned around, and looked in every direction for the source of the call. When she saw me, she smiled.