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To be or not to be (in love with Bellatrix Black), that is the question, leastways in Lily Evans' mind. She finds herself staring at Bellatrix across the Great Hall every morning during breakfast, and really, she's irritating herself now, but she just can't help it. She remembers-- half imagines now-- how the other girl had been, had tasted, and she wants more of that.
But she's been to the Astronomy Tower every night for a week, and Bellatrix has not met her. It feels strange, empty; sad, almost, and Lily finds herself glowering across the hall more often than not these days.
She's upset, of course she is, and she can't help but stab violently at her sausage as she chews her eggs.
“Alright, Evans?” James Potter says, and it's all Lily can do to keep from turning her ire on him at his next words, “did the snakes do something to offend you? Other than exist, I mean.”
“No, they haven't!” she says sharply, and the words are like acid as she continues, “In fact, if you must know, it's you who's soured my mood now, and I'm suddenly full.”
With a huff, she hefts her bag over her shoulder and marches off, leaving her half-eaten plate and a stunned, smarmy Potter behind. She moves so quickly that she doesn't notice a dark-haired witch following her.
The early spring chill sinks into her bones as the mist of the highlands twines around her ankles, and her stomach curls with an unfamiliar ache, and she's wondering what would have happened if she'd refused Bellatrix, refused to play, refused to kiss her, but it's not like she hadn't wanted to, and the notion frustrates her more than usual, that Bellatrix has such a hold over her. She shakes her hair out of its sloppy braid and marches her way down to the lakeside, kicking spare stones along the path as she goes. It makes her want to scream into the fog, the mist muffling the ache in her throat, but she doesn't. Instead, she flops down against a rock she'd claimed with the other firsties so long ago, and pulls out her Charms text.
She doesn't get very far before she hears someone. Turning, she sees Bellatrix's hair, curly and wild and black, bouncing as she jogs down the path. Hope and something new, something daringly like attraction blooms in her chest, presses her heart to her ribs where it thumps loudly in the echoing silence between them. Bellatrix grins loosely, as though they're the best of friends, as though she hadn't avoided Lily for the better part of a week, and Lily frowns at the notion that she's grinning as though she's pleased.
“Evans, you've been staring at me all week, you know? Stare any more and they'll think we're mortal enemies,” she giggles and Lily's heart flutters a bit. Her own frown scrunches her brow, “or are we enemies after all?”
“You kissed me. I kissed you, and then you just left me there, and you hadn't come back, and of course I'm mad at you. I obviously did something wrong--” Lily's cut off by a soft fingertip pressed to her lips, and her eyes widen at the way Bellatrix pinkens under her critical gaze.
“I didn't leave, or I did, but I didn't mean to-- we kissed, yes, and it was nice, and it was lovely. And it shouldn't have happened.” Bellatrix says quietly, dropping her hand and staring out onto the fog-covered lake, “None of this should have.”
“This?” Lily says, daring and gentle and quiet in the mist and Bellatrix looks at her, dark eyes open and wanting and needy and everything Lily hadn't expected.
“Yes, this. This stupid feeling.”
“What feeling?” Lily dares, and her heart is pounding and there's a lump in her throat and she swallows because her mouth is dry suddenly, and Bellatrix laughs coldly, and it fades in the mist that surrounds them in their own little space.
“The feeling I get when I look at you, like I can't breathe, like I could--” Bellatrix huffs, a soft shudder in her breath the only indication of nerves, “Like I could kiss you for the rest of my life. But I can't, because I'm me and you're you. And I'm already betrothed, you know, have been since I was two and you're not him and I want you to be, and I--”
Bellatrix stops, red flushing her neck and cheeks, and Lily swallows against the words that want to shatter the careful quiet, this moment between them.
“Maybe,” Lily starts after a moment, her eyes trained on the distant ripple of the Black Lake, where the Giant Squid is surely enjoying itself, “Maybe this could be it, here, us. Maybe we could have this.”
It's a foolish notion, full of lies and folly, but in this moment, Lily wants to believe in it. So does Bellatrix, she thinks, because she's close now, so close, close enough that her breath is warm on Lily's lips, and Bellatrix moves first.
“Maybe,” the dark-haired witch mutters before their lips meet.
And so this is theirs, this moment and this kiss and these feelings. Tomorrow, they'll go back to pretending to hate each other for the sake of their houses, but for now, for now, their lips are touching sweetly, and Lily's hand is bunched into Bellatrix's hair, and her heart is thudding away and her world is right and she decides then that she can be, just for this moment here and now, in love with Bellatrix Black.