BLOODlight (3/?) - Harry Potter/Twilight
Story Title: BLOODlight
Chapter Title: Meet The Cullens
Fandoms: Twilight/Harry Potter
Characters/pairings: Bellatrix Black will be the main player, along with Edward, of course, Charlie, and all those other sparkly bastards and irritating tropes from Twilight WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M BIASED? Oh, and Isabella Swan later on. May have some Bellatrix/Edward, but only in a manipulative-bitch sort of way.
Warnings: Violence, violence, VIOLENCE VIOLENCE VIOLENCE YAY! BLOOD! DEATH! MURDER! SWEARING! FUN THINGS LIKE THAT! butnotyet.
Disclaimers: Twilight is the property of SMeyer, who's quite welcome to it. Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, who deserves it. So neither of them are mine. I'm only responsible for mashing them together in a bloody, unprofitable, and above all lolsome way.
Summary: LOLOL IZ A BELLA AND A BELLA DO U SEE WHUT I DID THAR?
...ahem...
Bella Black and Bella Swan - one's a sadistic seventh-year Slytherin, the other's a 'normal' and adorably clumsy teenage hormone-heap. What happens when they suddenly swap lives? Well, a bloodbath in Forks, to start with... Violent, bloody fun, which is TOTALLY SERIOUS in its respect for both canons!
Meet The Cullens
I sat through the lesson consumed by boredom, and utterly uninterested either by whatever it was Mr Mason was droning on about. Once or twice, I glanced at the reading list he had given me. Unsurprisingly, none of the names on it were at all familiar to me. A couple I had heard in passing before - Shakespeare was one, Chaucer another - but altogether, as uncultured and unfamiliar as I had expected. Well, I hardly intended to be around long enough to read what was on this list, after all. What did it matter?
After that, I turned my attention away from the lesson altogether, toying with a strand of my coarse, mud-coloured hair, which had escaped from its plait, and contemplating all the ways in which I would avenge myself upon everyone and anyone responsible for my current miserable state. Most of my classmates were staring at me, which was oddly comforting; I might not be my usual aristocratic self, but it didn't hurt to be the centre of attention, anyway. In fact, I could probably use it to my advantage, if I just...
My thoughts were rudely interrupted by some awful buzzing klaxon, which set my teeth on edge, but apparently signalled the end of the class, as the heaving masses around me started to gather their things together and stand up. I noticed, with a little smirk, that one of the boys who had been among the most shameless gawpers was now being upbraided by someone I could only assume was his girlfriend. Good to know that, even ugly, I still had my charisma.
"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" One of the gawpers, a skinny boy with terrible acne and greasy black hair, leant across the aisle between our desks, and I looked away from the arguing couple with a faint, distracted smile.
"Bella," I corrected him, looking down my nose a little. I couldn't imagine this was one of the big names of this school; he looked altogether too over-eager and desperate for that. Less Malfoy and more Snape, I thought, with a little smirk. No need to exhaust myself keeping him on my side. Still, people were watching. Best to keep up appearances. I was a grating, sickening, nice American Mudblood. And if I could keep that in mind, everything would go without a hitch. Even if the thought of it made my skin crawl.
"Where's your next class?"
I was beginning to think I'd made a mistake in not telling him just how little I cared for hangers-on like him. If I wasn't careful, this idiot would cling to me for the rest of the day, making it impossible to start building connections with the people who might actually make a difference in this school. Still, no sense in turning back now; that would only make me seem more unpredictable, and people liked predictability. I had to get their trust. Otherwise, I could find myself in real trouble. So I just pulled out my timetable, barely glancing at it - no need; I had already memorised the first few lessons.
"Government, with Professor Jefferson, in building six."
"I'm headed towards building four, I can show you the way. I'm Eric," he added.
Merlin, I thought, what a witless sycophant. But all I said out loud, with my most charming smile, was "And I'm fine. But thank you for offering, Eric. It was nice to meet you." And with that, I swept my bag over one shoulder and headed for the door without a backwards glance. Hopefully, he would get the message.
He didn't. His type never do. No sooner was I outside, with the rain blattering heavily on the pavement, than Eric was coming up beside me again.
"So, this must be a lot different to Phoenix, huh?"
For a split second, I had to bite back an angry retort. What would it take to make this pathetic Mudblood leave me alone? But I just smiled at him, showing my teeth, and asked lightly, "Phoenix?"
"Well, that's where you come from, isn't it?" He sounded momentarily uncertain, but for my part, I was suddenly glad that the idiot had decided to fixate on me. After all, that was one more nugget of information about this Isabella. Perhaps, if he continued blathering on, I might find out more about who I supposedly was.
For now, though, damage control. Sheepish wasn't an emotion I was used to, but I tried to channel Cissa and make my laugh just as sheepishly charming as I could. "Oh, of course. Sorry, I was miles away. Yes, I suppose it is."
"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"
"No," I hazarded, as confidently as possible. "It's very sunny. Quite different to here."
He frowned slightly. I ran back over what I had said in my mind, and mentally cursed myself. I'd forgotten that hideous American accent! What a stupid mistake to make. I would have to listen to the way people talked around here, and, however painful it was, incorporate that into my own speech, or a few strange looks would be the least of my worries.
Thankfully, it didn't seem to enter his empty head to question it for more than a moment. Instead, he just picked up the conversation again, with a suitably banal observation; "You don't look very tan."
"I stay inside a lot," I improvised. "Otherwise, I get terrible sunburn."
"Woah." He made a face, which made him look even more ridiculous. "That must suck. I mean, sunburn in Arizona... that's a bummer."
Woah. Suck. Bummer. Merlin, this place was going to take more getting used to than I had anticipated. It was as if he was speaking a different language - one which he clearly expected me to be fluent in, as well. I shrugged noncommitally, and allowed his conversation to wash over me, making little replies where they seemed demanded, until we reached building six. Eric led me right up to the door, and, as I put my hand on the handle, wished me luck. I just smiled at him.
"I don't believe in luck," I told him, opening the door and folding up my umbrella.
"Well, maybe we'll have more classes together..." He sounded hopeful. I didn't dignify it with a response, though; just closed the door on him, not without some relief.
The morning continued in much the same vein; a few lessons, punctuated by introductions and otherwise just as boring as the first, spent now with one ear on the teacher speaking in an attempt to glean more of that strange accent I was expected to have. The classes were by turns baffling and boringly easy - Spanish seemed the only one with any merit to it, while Trigonometry was something Father had taught me long before I even entered Hogwarts - laughably simple. I whiled the way the time in conversation with the curious few who dared to ask me questions. Misdirection was easy; what interested me was their reactions to my accent. From their dead-eyed incuriosity about it - and the number of them who swallowed my "watching British television" excuse - I no longer doubted my ability to pull this off by the time lunch came.
I walked to lunch with a girl - Jessica, I thought her name was - who prattled inconsequentially the entire time, giving me plenty of scope to turn most of my mind to the task ahead. I followed her into the 'cafeteria' (as they called the dining area), scanning the room as we entered. It seemed wildly chaotic - no long oak tables here, or clear divisions between Houses. Instead, several smaller tables, scattered around the room, some full, some almost empty. The steady hum of conversation was the only similarity with the Great Hall I was used to. I followed her lead in fetching my own lunch - honestly, didn't these Muggles have anything to take the place of house-elves? - my eyes still roving over the students, taking scope of the place. They all seemed the same; all sloppily dressed and without any kind of grace to their bearing, all unbearably common and unbearably Muggle. All except...
I cleared my throat, catching Jessica's attention, as we got our lunch. "Who are they?" I asked under my breath, indicating the students who had caught my eye.
They were sitting in the corner of the room, a good distance from where we stood. There were five of them gathered around the cheap table, three girls and two boys, all sitting there in a rare oasis of silence. Each of them had a tray in front of them, like the one I was carrying, but none of them were eating. Nor were they staring, as most of the school seemed to be. I might be insulted, were it not for one thing; the five students around that table were the only people in that entire room who seemed remotely my calibre of company.
They looked nothing alike in most respects; varying builds, haircuts, clothing. But, for all that, there was an eerie similarity to them. They all had very pale skin - not sallow, like that of the girl whose body I was trapped in, but the elegant ivory-white of my own family's complexion - and dark shadows under their eyes, as though they were tired or sick. And all of them, even by my exacting standards, were beautiful. Utterly, inhumanly beautiful. My bloodline had been bred in part to produce beauty, to produce perfection, and yet even I - a pure Black and a beautiful one at that - would have looked dowdy beside them.
As I watched, the smaller of the two girls - fine-boned and svelte, with messily-cropped black hair which somehow made her look no less feminine - stood, moving with an easy grace I would have been hard-pressed to match, and emptied her untouched food into a nearby rubbish bin, darting out of the room.
"Who are they?" I repeated to Jessica, more curious than ever. That girl could almost have been a Black - the ideal Black.
"Those are Edward and Emmett Cullen, and those are Jasper and Rosalie Hale." She spoke under her breath, as though they could hear her from the far corner. "The girl who just left was Alice Cullen. They all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife, but..."
I was no longer listening. Frankly, that was all I felt any need to know. That, and that this strange family seemed the closest thing to good company in this wretched school. I recognised Slytherins when I saw them, even if they were Muggles who had never seen the Sorting Hat in their lives. And, above all, I recognised good company.
I made my excuses swiftly and without regret, and left Jessica gawking after me as if I were some kind of exotic new animal. Oh, well. In all fairness, she had been looking at me like that for most of the morning, so I was hardly surprised. As I approached the table in the corner, one of the boys - the one with bronze-coloured hair who Jessica had conveniently identified to me as Edward Cullen - looked over his shoulder at me. His stare had a different quality to the others I had been subjected to today - a more subtle equinamity, as though some expectation of his had gone unmet. He looked me up and down for a moment, then turned away again, lips moving almost invisibly as he talked inaudibly with the others. Then, as I drew close to their table, they stood up, as one, and moved away.
Anger boiled in my gut, mixed with an unfamiliar feeling - embarrassment. How dare they? The snub was obvious, and it smarted. I had never been brushed aside so carelessly, or so disdainfully. I had never - never - been rejected like that. I was a Black, for Salazar's sake! Whether they knew it or not, I was from a better bloodline than they could dream of, the filthy Muggle scum! They should be privileged to have me among their company, since I was clearly the only student here on a par with them in grace or breeding! How dare they?
My temper, which had almost begun to lift on seeing them, was now thoroughly soured. I struggled to keep myself under control, all but slamming my tray down on the empty table, and glaring fiercely at my baked potato as I sliced into it. All my effort was dedicated to not showing my anger to the hordes of students now staring at me in earnest. After all, they had no idea of how much right I had to be angry, and I didn't want to get myself a reputation for petulance before my first day was over.
Still, I was fuming, and I went on fuming even as I made polite conversation with the curious onlookers who came to join me. I excused myself as soon as I had finished my meal, returning my tray as I had seen the others do, and headed outside to explore the campus. I didn't need any more friendly help in finding my next lesson, thank you so very much.
I found the building where my next lesson was almost at once, but when that hideous klaxon sounded again to signal the end of lunch, I was at the other end of the school, still wondering at the apparent colourblindness of the architect. By the time I got back to my Biology classroom, my temper was finally under control again, and I felt able to make my entrance with some panache.
I was one of the last students there. As I came into the room, my head held high and my composure fully restored, the last of my classmates, a tall girl with light brown hair, took her seat. There was only one seat left, and, as I saw who was sitting directly beside it, my temper began to rise again. There was no mistaking that messy red-brown hair, or that implausibly perfect face. Cullen.
Swallowing my irritation - irritation was all it was; there were much worse things than having to share a desk with someone who, if rude, was at least less common than most of the students here - I headed down the aisle towards the professor's desk, to introduce myself and get my slip signed. I watched Cullen out of the corner of my eye, wondering whether he had noticed me or the desk situation, gauging his reaction. If he had, it wasn't until I passed him that he reacted, tensing suddenly in his seat and giving me a glare that would have put Grandfather Arcturus to shame.
Fortunately, among the things I had inherited from Grandfather Arcturus was his infamous Black glare, and I returned Cullen's scowl with a look of equal venom. That, at least, was something no amount of misfortune could lessen; I was still ferociously angry over my humiliation at lunchtime - all the more so since he seemed to think I was the rude one in the equation - and he was going to know about it, or my name wasn't Bellatrix Elladora Black.
I looked away first, but only to collect my textbook and signed slip from Professor Banner. Then, with all the frigid grace learnt from sixteen years as the most eligible witch in Britain, I glided to the seat next to Cullen, setting my textbook down on the table and sitting down with my knees tucked elegantly together. From the corner of my eye, I saw him tense still further, leaning away from me with his head turned as though I smelt bad. I didn't bother to check whether that was true; I knew it wasn't.
This lesson turned out to be one of the baffling ones. I had never come across anything like this before - something to do with plants, cells, and something called 'mitosis', which I had never heard of. It wasn't long before I gave up listening entirely, resolving to read the textbook later and see what I could puzzle out from that - it never hurt to have an intellectual edge over one's fellow students. For the time being, though, I applied myself to the rather more pressing mystery.
Cullen.
He was still sitting stiffly, barely seeming to breathe, his fist clenched. For several minutes, I watched him, curious to see whether he would react - to me, to his classmates, to the lecture. He didn't. His face was turned away from me, and he had shifted to the very edge of his chair, putting as much distance between the two of us as was humanly possible.
"Cullen?" I asked, under my breath. Then, very slightly louder, when he didn't respond, "Edward Cullen." Still, no reply. I went on anyway, my eyes darting to the professor to make sure I hadn't caught his attention, then back to Cullen. My anger was building up again. Still, let him play it his way. I turned away again, my own fist clenching around my pen, and glowered at the blank notebook in front of me. Keep a handle on yourself, Bellatrix, I ordered myself sharply, my fingers tapping an irritable tattoo on the black worktop of my desk. At home, I might be able to get away with giving in to anger, but this was a long, long way from home.
I sat there, raging silently, my eyes on the desk, not quite daring to look up at Cullen for fear of my anger boiling over at last. It felt like a very long time before that insufferable klaxon went off at last. Then, at last, I looked up at him - and found him glaring back down at me, those black eyes filled with contempt. Well, two could play at that game.
This time, he broke away first, almost as soon as I turned my head, and was out of the door before I could blink.
For a moment, I sat there, frozen with sheer rage. If my wand had made the trip with me, I would have been sorely tempted to send a Killing Curse after him, repercussions be damned. As it was, though, all I could do was sit there, my fists clenched until I felt the nails bite into my palms, and swear to myself that there would be vengeance. Soon, there would be vengeance.
"Aren't you Isabella Swan?"
I had to take a few deep, steadying breaths before I dared to look up, let alone answer. The speaker was a boy with spiked blonde hair and a childish face, whose friendly smile faded when he saw the look in my eyes. He took a step backwards, which I doubted he even noticed.
"I, uh... I'm Mike." He sounded thoroughly thrown. I wasn't surprised. A Black in a temper is a formidable thing.
With an effort, I forced the anger down again, trying to slide back into my Isabella persona. "Sorry... hi, Mike. I'm Bella."
"Are you okay?" He seemed genuinely, even pathetically concerned. "You looked kind of upset."
"Don't worry about me." I even managed a smile, albeit not one of my most dazzling. "I'm fine."
"Oh, good." The relief in his voice was almost funny. He cleared his throat. "Do you need any help finding your next class?"
I shook my head. The anger was still there, although I thought I probably had control of it by now, and I could really do without company to exacerbate it. "I'll be okay," I answered, carefully. "I already went exploring. I think I can find my way to the gym all right."
"Hey, that's my next class, too!" He sounded far too enthused by the idea. Inwardly, I groaned. Fantastic. Another hanger-on, when I was sick and tired of the company at this school already. Still, there weren't many ways to turn him down politely, and while some class would be nice, if I couldn't get the Cullens and the Hales on my side, I needed all the support I could get. So I let him blather on at me all the way to the gym, half-listening, mostly concentrating on forcing down my anger and humiliation.
As we were entering the gym, he asked, almost casually, "So, what's the deal with you and Edward Cullen? I swear, if looks could kill, they'd've had two bodies to clear up. What did you do to each other? I've never seen him act like that before."
All that time spent supressing my anger, for nothing. It came rushing back, and I struggled not to show it more than absolutely necessary. "I don't know," I said, coldly. "He doesn't seem to like me much. I couldn't tell you why."
"He's a weird guy." Perhaps that was meant to be comforting. "I don't see why he wouldn't like you. He's lucky to be sitting next to you."
I forced a smile with absolutely no real feeling behind it. "Thank you, Mike," I said, as sweetly as I could manage, and followed the other girls into the changing room, leaving him at the door.
The professor found me a uniform - finally! A uniform, in this mess of a school! - but told me I could sit on the sidelines for today. I watched the Muggles play some kind of crude game involving punching a ball over a net, but my mind was elsewhere. Again, my fingertips were drumming out that rhythm, expressing my irritation when I wouldn't allow it to show on my face.
At last, the lesson, and the day, finished, and I escaped into the driving wind outside. The rain had stopped, but it was colder than it had been, and the rising gale caught my hair. I was glad I had decided to plait it. I sauntered towards the reception building, seeing no reason to hurry - after all, if I spent long enough in the relative shelter of the school, the wind might drop and make getting home less of a chore.
Coming in from the cold, the office seemed more overheated than ever. But that wasn't what made my mood darken further than ever.
Edward Cullen was standing there, his back to me, arguing with the receptionist in a low, angry voice. Craning to listen, I made out the gist of the conversation. He was asking to be transferred out of sixth-period Biology to another class. The subtext was clear; for whatever reason, one lesson was one lesson too many for him. He wanted to be as far away from me as possible.
How dare he?
At that moment, the door opened again, and the wind gusted through the room, apparently catching his attention. Cullen tensed, turning his head. I met his glare evenly, for the third time that day, my arms folding. But, despite myself, I was unnerved. There was hate in his eyes - genuine hate, hardly unfamiliar to me, but from somebody I had never hurt and hardly even talked to, it was... disconcerting.
He turned away after an instant, hastily making his excuses to the receptionist, and swept past me, out into the driving wind. I was left standing there, white with anger and a little shaken, certain of only two things.
Firstly, Cullen was dangerous.
And secondly, I needed him on my side.
Chapter Title: Meet The Cullens
Fandoms: Twilight/Harry Potter
Characters/pairings: Bellatrix Black will be the main player, along with Edward, of course, Charlie, and all those other sparkly bastards and irritating tropes from Twilight WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M BIASED? Oh, and Isabella Swan later on. May have some Bellatrix/Edward, but only in a manipulative-bitch sort of way.
Warnings: Violence, violence, VIOLENCE VIOLENCE VIOLENCE YAY! BLOOD! DEATH! MURDER! SWEARING! FUN THINGS LIKE THAT! butnotyet.
Disclaimers: Twilight is the property of SMeyer, who's quite welcome to it. Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, who deserves it. So neither of them are mine. I'm only responsible for mashing them together in a bloody, unprofitable, and above all lolsome way.
Summary: LOLOL IZ A BELLA AND A BELLA DO U SEE WHUT I DID THAR?
...ahem...
Bella Black and Bella Swan - one's a sadistic seventh-year Slytherin, the other's a 'normal' and adorably clumsy teenage hormone-heap. What happens when they suddenly swap lives? Well, a bloodbath in Forks, to start with... Violent, bloody fun, which is TOTALLY SERIOUS in its respect for both canons!
Meet The Cullens
I sat through the lesson consumed by boredom, and utterly uninterested either by whatever it was Mr Mason was droning on about. Once or twice, I glanced at the reading list he had given me. Unsurprisingly, none of the names on it were at all familiar to me. A couple I had heard in passing before - Shakespeare was one, Chaucer another - but altogether, as uncultured and unfamiliar as I had expected. Well, I hardly intended to be around long enough to read what was on this list, after all. What did it matter?
After that, I turned my attention away from the lesson altogether, toying with a strand of my coarse, mud-coloured hair, which had escaped from its plait, and contemplating all the ways in which I would avenge myself upon everyone and anyone responsible for my current miserable state. Most of my classmates were staring at me, which was oddly comforting; I might not be my usual aristocratic self, but it didn't hurt to be the centre of attention, anyway. In fact, I could probably use it to my advantage, if I just...
My thoughts were rudely interrupted by some awful buzzing klaxon, which set my teeth on edge, but apparently signalled the end of the class, as the heaving masses around me started to gather their things together and stand up. I noticed, with a little smirk, that one of the boys who had been among the most shameless gawpers was now being upbraided by someone I could only assume was his girlfriend. Good to know that, even ugly, I still had my charisma.
"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?" One of the gawpers, a skinny boy with terrible acne and greasy black hair, leant across the aisle between our desks, and I looked away from the arguing couple with a faint, distracted smile.
"Bella," I corrected him, looking down my nose a little. I couldn't imagine this was one of the big names of this school; he looked altogether too over-eager and desperate for that. Less Malfoy and more Snape, I thought, with a little smirk. No need to exhaust myself keeping him on my side. Still, people were watching. Best to keep up appearances. I was a grating, sickening, nice American Mudblood. And if I could keep that in mind, everything would go without a hitch. Even if the thought of it made my skin crawl.
"Where's your next class?"
I was beginning to think I'd made a mistake in not telling him just how little I cared for hangers-on like him. If I wasn't careful, this idiot would cling to me for the rest of the day, making it impossible to start building connections with the people who might actually make a difference in this school. Still, no sense in turning back now; that would only make me seem more unpredictable, and people liked predictability. I had to get their trust. Otherwise, I could find myself in real trouble. So I just pulled out my timetable, barely glancing at it - no need; I had already memorised the first few lessons.
"Government, with Professor Jefferson, in building six."
"I'm headed towards building four, I can show you the way. I'm Eric," he added.
Merlin, I thought, what a witless sycophant. But all I said out loud, with my most charming smile, was "And I'm fine. But thank you for offering, Eric. It was nice to meet you." And with that, I swept my bag over one shoulder and headed for the door without a backwards glance. Hopefully, he would get the message.
He didn't. His type never do. No sooner was I outside, with the rain blattering heavily on the pavement, than Eric was coming up beside me again.
"So, this must be a lot different to Phoenix, huh?"
For a split second, I had to bite back an angry retort. What would it take to make this pathetic Mudblood leave me alone? But I just smiled at him, showing my teeth, and asked lightly, "Phoenix?"
"Well, that's where you come from, isn't it?" He sounded momentarily uncertain, but for my part, I was suddenly glad that the idiot had decided to fixate on me. After all, that was one more nugget of information about this Isabella. Perhaps, if he continued blathering on, I might find out more about who I supposedly was.
For now, though, damage control. Sheepish wasn't an emotion I was used to, but I tried to channel Cissa and make my laugh just as sheepishly charming as I could. "Oh, of course. Sorry, I was miles away. Yes, I suppose it is."
"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"
"No," I hazarded, as confidently as possible. "It's very sunny. Quite different to here."
He frowned slightly. I ran back over what I had said in my mind, and mentally cursed myself. I'd forgotten that hideous American accent! What a stupid mistake to make. I would have to listen to the way people talked around here, and, however painful it was, incorporate that into my own speech, or a few strange looks would be the least of my worries.
Thankfully, it didn't seem to enter his empty head to question it for more than a moment. Instead, he just picked up the conversation again, with a suitably banal observation; "You don't look very tan."
"I stay inside a lot," I improvised. "Otherwise, I get terrible sunburn."
"Woah." He made a face, which made him look even more ridiculous. "That must suck. I mean, sunburn in Arizona... that's a bummer."
Woah. Suck. Bummer. Merlin, this place was going to take more getting used to than I had anticipated. It was as if he was speaking a different language - one which he clearly expected me to be fluent in, as well. I shrugged noncommitally, and allowed his conversation to wash over me, making little replies where they seemed demanded, until we reached building six. Eric led me right up to the door, and, as I put my hand on the handle, wished me luck. I just smiled at him.
"I don't believe in luck," I told him, opening the door and folding up my umbrella.
"Well, maybe we'll have more classes together..." He sounded hopeful. I didn't dignify it with a response, though; just closed the door on him, not without some relief.
The morning continued in much the same vein; a few lessons, punctuated by introductions and otherwise just as boring as the first, spent now with one ear on the teacher speaking in an attempt to glean more of that strange accent I was expected to have. The classes were by turns baffling and boringly easy - Spanish seemed the only one with any merit to it, while Trigonometry was something Father had taught me long before I even entered Hogwarts - laughably simple. I whiled the way the time in conversation with the curious few who dared to ask me questions. Misdirection was easy; what interested me was their reactions to my accent. From their dead-eyed incuriosity about it - and the number of them who swallowed my "watching British television" excuse - I no longer doubted my ability to pull this off by the time lunch came.
I walked to lunch with a girl - Jessica, I thought her name was - who prattled inconsequentially the entire time, giving me plenty of scope to turn most of my mind to the task ahead. I followed her into the 'cafeteria' (as they called the dining area), scanning the room as we entered. It seemed wildly chaotic - no long oak tables here, or clear divisions between Houses. Instead, several smaller tables, scattered around the room, some full, some almost empty. The steady hum of conversation was the only similarity with the Great Hall I was used to. I followed her lead in fetching my own lunch - honestly, didn't these Muggles have anything to take the place of house-elves? - my eyes still roving over the students, taking scope of the place. They all seemed the same; all sloppily dressed and without any kind of grace to their bearing, all unbearably common and unbearably Muggle. All except...
I cleared my throat, catching Jessica's attention, as we got our lunch. "Who are they?" I asked under my breath, indicating the students who had caught my eye.
They were sitting in the corner of the room, a good distance from where we stood. There were five of them gathered around the cheap table, three girls and two boys, all sitting there in a rare oasis of silence. Each of them had a tray in front of them, like the one I was carrying, but none of them were eating. Nor were they staring, as most of the school seemed to be. I might be insulted, were it not for one thing; the five students around that table were the only people in that entire room who seemed remotely my calibre of company.
They looked nothing alike in most respects; varying builds, haircuts, clothing. But, for all that, there was an eerie similarity to them. They all had very pale skin - not sallow, like that of the girl whose body I was trapped in, but the elegant ivory-white of my own family's complexion - and dark shadows under their eyes, as though they were tired or sick. And all of them, even by my exacting standards, were beautiful. Utterly, inhumanly beautiful. My bloodline had been bred in part to produce beauty, to produce perfection, and yet even I - a pure Black and a beautiful one at that - would have looked dowdy beside them.
As I watched, the smaller of the two girls - fine-boned and svelte, with messily-cropped black hair which somehow made her look no less feminine - stood, moving with an easy grace I would have been hard-pressed to match, and emptied her untouched food into a nearby rubbish bin, darting out of the room.
"Who are they?" I repeated to Jessica, more curious than ever. That girl could almost have been a Black - the ideal Black.
"Those are Edward and Emmett Cullen, and those are Jasper and Rosalie Hale." She spoke under her breath, as though they could hear her from the far corner. "The girl who just left was Alice Cullen. They all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife, but..."
I was no longer listening. Frankly, that was all I felt any need to know. That, and that this strange family seemed the closest thing to good company in this wretched school. I recognised Slytherins when I saw them, even if they were Muggles who had never seen the Sorting Hat in their lives. And, above all, I recognised good company.
I made my excuses swiftly and without regret, and left Jessica gawking after me as if I were some kind of exotic new animal. Oh, well. In all fairness, she had been looking at me like that for most of the morning, so I was hardly surprised. As I approached the table in the corner, one of the boys - the one with bronze-coloured hair who Jessica had conveniently identified to me as Edward Cullen - looked over his shoulder at me. His stare had a different quality to the others I had been subjected to today - a more subtle equinamity, as though some expectation of his had gone unmet. He looked me up and down for a moment, then turned away again, lips moving almost invisibly as he talked inaudibly with the others. Then, as I drew close to their table, they stood up, as one, and moved away.
Anger boiled in my gut, mixed with an unfamiliar feeling - embarrassment. How dare they? The snub was obvious, and it smarted. I had never been brushed aside so carelessly, or so disdainfully. I had never - never - been rejected like that. I was a Black, for Salazar's sake! Whether they knew it or not, I was from a better bloodline than they could dream of, the filthy Muggle scum! They should be privileged to have me among their company, since I was clearly the only student here on a par with them in grace or breeding! How dare they?
My temper, which had almost begun to lift on seeing them, was now thoroughly soured. I struggled to keep myself under control, all but slamming my tray down on the empty table, and glaring fiercely at my baked potato as I sliced into it. All my effort was dedicated to not showing my anger to the hordes of students now staring at me in earnest. After all, they had no idea of how much right I had to be angry, and I didn't want to get myself a reputation for petulance before my first day was over.
Still, I was fuming, and I went on fuming even as I made polite conversation with the curious onlookers who came to join me. I excused myself as soon as I had finished my meal, returning my tray as I had seen the others do, and headed outside to explore the campus. I didn't need any more friendly help in finding my next lesson, thank you so very much.
I found the building where my next lesson was almost at once, but when that hideous klaxon sounded again to signal the end of lunch, I was at the other end of the school, still wondering at the apparent colourblindness of the architect. By the time I got back to my Biology classroom, my temper was finally under control again, and I felt able to make my entrance with some panache.
I was one of the last students there. As I came into the room, my head held high and my composure fully restored, the last of my classmates, a tall girl with light brown hair, took her seat. There was only one seat left, and, as I saw who was sitting directly beside it, my temper began to rise again. There was no mistaking that messy red-brown hair, or that implausibly perfect face. Cullen.
Swallowing my irritation - irritation was all it was; there were much worse things than having to share a desk with someone who, if rude, was at least less common than most of the students here - I headed down the aisle towards the professor's desk, to introduce myself and get my slip signed. I watched Cullen out of the corner of my eye, wondering whether he had noticed me or the desk situation, gauging his reaction. If he had, it wasn't until I passed him that he reacted, tensing suddenly in his seat and giving me a glare that would have put Grandfather Arcturus to shame.
Fortunately, among the things I had inherited from Grandfather Arcturus was his infamous Black glare, and I returned Cullen's scowl with a look of equal venom. That, at least, was something no amount of misfortune could lessen; I was still ferociously angry over my humiliation at lunchtime - all the more so since he seemed to think I was the rude one in the equation - and he was going to know about it, or my name wasn't Bellatrix Elladora Black.
I looked away first, but only to collect my textbook and signed slip from Professor Banner. Then, with all the frigid grace learnt from sixteen years as the most eligible witch in Britain, I glided to the seat next to Cullen, setting my textbook down on the table and sitting down with my knees tucked elegantly together. From the corner of my eye, I saw him tense still further, leaning away from me with his head turned as though I smelt bad. I didn't bother to check whether that was true; I knew it wasn't.
This lesson turned out to be one of the baffling ones. I had never come across anything like this before - something to do with plants, cells, and something called 'mitosis', which I had never heard of. It wasn't long before I gave up listening entirely, resolving to read the textbook later and see what I could puzzle out from that - it never hurt to have an intellectual edge over one's fellow students. For the time being, though, I applied myself to the rather more pressing mystery.
Cullen.
He was still sitting stiffly, barely seeming to breathe, his fist clenched. For several minutes, I watched him, curious to see whether he would react - to me, to his classmates, to the lecture. He didn't. His face was turned away from me, and he had shifted to the very edge of his chair, putting as much distance between the two of us as was humanly possible.
"Cullen?" I asked, under my breath. Then, very slightly louder, when he didn't respond, "Edward Cullen." Still, no reply. I went on anyway, my eyes darting to the professor to make sure I hadn't caught his attention, then back to Cullen. My anger was building up again. Still, let him play it his way. I turned away again, my own fist clenching around my pen, and glowered at the blank notebook in front of me. Keep a handle on yourself, Bellatrix, I ordered myself sharply, my fingers tapping an irritable tattoo on the black worktop of my desk. At home, I might be able to get away with giving in to anger, but this was a long, long way from home.
I sat there, raging silently, my eyes on the desk, not quite daring to look up at Cullen for fear of my anger boiling over at last. It felt like a very long time before that insufferable klaxon went off at last. Then, at last, I looked up at him - and found him glaring back down at me, those black eyes filled with contempt. Well, two could play at that game.
This time, he broke away first, almost as soon as I turned my head, and was out of the door before I could blink.
For a moment, I sat there, frozen with sheer rage. If my wand had made the trip with me, I would have been sorely tempted to send a Killing Curse after him, repercussions be damned. As it was, though, all I could do was sit there, my fists clenched until I felt the nails bite into my palms, and swear to myself that there would be vengeance. Soon, there would be vengeance.
"Aren't you Isabella Swan?"
I had to take a few deep, steadying breaths before I dared to look up, let alone answer. The speaker was a boy with spiked blonde hair and a childish face, whose friendly smile faded when he saw the look in my eyes. He took a step backwards, which I doubted he even noticed.
"I, uh... I'm Mike." He sounded thoroughly thrown. I wasn't surprised. A Black in a temper is a formidable thing.
With an effort, I forced the anger down again, trying to slide back into my Isabella persona. "Sorry... hi, Mike. I'm Bella."
"Are you okay?" He seemed genuinely, even pathetically concerned. "You looked kind of upset."
"Don't worry about me." I even managed a smile, albeit not one of my most dazzling. "I'm fine."
"Oh, good." The relief in his voice was almost funny. He cleared his throat. "Do you need any help finding your next class?"
I shook my head. The anger was still there, although I thought I probably had control of it by now, and I could really do without company to exacerbate it. "I'll be okay," I answered, carefully. "I already went exploring. I think I can find my way to the gym all right."
"Hey, that's my next class, too!" He sounded far too enthused by the idea. Inwardly, I groaned. Fantastic. Another hanger-on, when I was sick and tired of the company at this school already. Still, there weren't many ways to turn him down politely, and while some class would be nice, if I couldn't get the Cullens and the Hales on my side, I needed all the support I could get. So I let him blather on at me all the way to the gym, half-listening, mostly concentrating on forcing down my anger and humiliation.
As we were entering the gym, he asked, almost casually, "So, what's the deal with you and Edward Cullen? I swear, if looks could kill, they'd've had two bodies to clear up. What did you do to each other? I've never seen him act like that before."
All that time spent supressing my anger, for nothing. It came rushing back, and I struggled not to show it more than absolutely necessary. "I don't know," I said, coldly. "He doesn't seem to like me much. I couldn't tell you why."
"He's a weird guy." Perhaps that was meant to be comforting. "I don't see why he wouldn't like you. He's lucky to be sitting next to you."
I forced a smile with absolutely no real feeling behind it. "Thank you, Mike," I said, as sweetly as I could manage, and followed the other girls into the changing room, leaving him at the door.
The professor found me a uniform - finally! A uniform, in this mess of a school! - but told me I could sit on the sidelines for today. I watched the Muggles play some kind of crude game involving punching a ball over a net, but my mind was elsewhere. Again, my fingertips were drumming out that rhythm, expressing my irritation when I wouldn't allow it to show on my face.
At last, the lesson, and the day, finished, and I escaped into the driving wind outside. The rain had stopped, but it was colder than it had been, and the rising gale caught my hair. I was glad I had decided to plait it. I sauntered towards the reception building, seeing no reason to hurry - after all, if I spent long enough in the relative shelter of the school, the wind might drop and make getting home less of a chore.
Coming in from the cold, the office seemed more overheated than ever. But that wasn't what made my mood darken further than ever.
Edward Cullen was standing there, his back to me, arguing with the receptionist in a low, angry voice. Craning to listen, I made out the gist of the conversation. He was asking to be transferred out of sixth-period Biology to another class. The subtext was clear; for whatever reason, one lesson was one lesson too many for him. He wanted to be as far away from me as possible.
How dare he?
At that moment, the door opened again, and the wind gusted through the room, apparently catching his attention. Cullen tensed, turning his head. I met his glare evenly, for the third time that day, my arms folding. But, despite myself, I was unnerved. There was hate in his eyes - genuine hate, hardly unfamiliar to me, but from somebody I had never hurt and hardly even talked to, it was... disconcerting.
He turned away after an instant, hastily making his excuses to the receptionist, and swept past me, out into the driving wind. I was left standing there, white with anger and a little shaken, certain of only two things.
Firstly, Cullen was dangerous.
And secondly, I needed him on my side.