In Order To Make History
Title: In Order To Make History
Author: scarysnapey
Word Count: 401
Rating: PG
Summary: When it came to justifying following their hearts, these two women did it best.
Warnings: Slight angst.
January 17, 1981:
Her slender wrist nearly slips away.
“Ann,” Bellatrix hisses, tightening her grip. Andromeda’s arm stiffens beneath her touch.
“What do you want, Bella?” Andromeda’s eyes are blinking back tears, no matter how she swears that it doesn’t matter. Her other hand hoists the bag of clothes over her shoulder. The two women stand at a stalemate, eyeing each other warily in the hesitant darkness of the house. They can practically hear the dust settle around them.
Three creaking floorboards to the left, and Bellatrix might not have woken. Three squeaking slats to the left, and Andromeda would be gone. Forever.
“You’re going?” Bellatrix says nonchalantly, but her irrationally tight hold on Andromeda’s wrist makes it hard to believe that she doesn’t care.
Andromeda snorts and inclines her head toward the burn on the tapestry. “I suppose that I am.”
“You know that you’re breaking all the rules, don’t you?” Bellatrix hisses, and the two waver in the night, voices hushed. Andromeda has always been able to hold her own against her sister.
“You said it best yourself, Bella. ‘A well behaved woman seldom makes history’.” And then she’s gone, leaving Bellatrix’s hand painfully empty. The front door slams and heels click against the stones outside.
“So long, bitch,” Bellatrix whispers with the barest hint of sorrow, and finds her way back to bed.
June 24, 1995:
It burns. Her hand finds her own wrist and squeezes, wiping away, with hesitant and halting shock, the the filthy crust that lingers there.
She almost expects to see it gone, but it burns bright and black even against the residual dusting of dirt. It winds and twists against her skin and she has never been so happy to see it burn. Her heels dig into the cold stone floor, and she shrieks out her joy.
Her lips find the gentle raising of the skin, which writhes and slithers now against the kiss. Her tongue snakes out, testing, and she laughs uproariously at the lingering burn.
He’s back. and, oh, she’s missed Him.
Then, breaking through her euphoria, her mind flicks abruptly to her sister, and her cackles fill the dank solitude of her cell in Azkaban.
That night in the hallway, well, she didn’t know the meaning of misbehavior.
“Oh, Ann,” she moans into the darkness as her Master calls her home. “You have to do so much worse than that.”
Author: scarysnapey
Word Count: 401
Rating: PG
Summary: When it came to justifying following their hearts, these two women did it best.
Warnings: Slight angst.
January 17, 1981:
Her slender wrist nearly slips away.
“Ann,” Bellatrix hisses, tightening her grip. Andromeda’s arm stiffens beneath her touch.
“What do you want, Bella?” Andromeda’s eyes are blinking back tears, no matter how she swears that it doesn’t matter. Her other hand hoists the bag of clothes over her shoulder. The two women stand at a stalemate, eyeing each other warily in the hesitant darkness of the house. They can practically hear the dust settle around them.
Three creaking floorboards to the left, and Bellatrix might not have woken. Three squeaking slats to the left, and Andromeda would be gone. Forever.
“You’re going?” Bellatrix says nonchalantly, but her irrationally tight hold on Andromeda’s wrist makes it hard to believe that she doesn’t care.
Andromeda snorts and inclines her head toward the burn on the tapestry. “I suppose that I am.”
“You know that you’re breaking all the rules, don’t you?” Bellatrix hisses, and the two waver in the night, voices hushed. Andromeda has always been able to hold her own against her sister.
“You said it best yourself, Bella. ‘A well behaved woman seldom makes history’.” And then she’s gone, leaving Bellatrix’s hand painfully empty. The front door slams and heels click against the stones outside.
“So long, bitch,” Bellatrix whispers with the barest hint of sorrow, and finds her way back to bed.
June 24, 1995:
It burns. Her hand finds her own wrist and squeezes, wiping away, with hesitant and halting shock, the the filthy crust that lingers there.
She almost expects to see it gone, but it burns bright and black even against the residual dusting of dirt. It winds and twists against her skin and she has never been so happy to see it burn. Her heels dig into the cold stone floor, and she shrieks out her joy.
Her lips find the gentle raising of the skin, which writhes and slithers now against the kiss. Her tongue snakes out, testing, and she laughs uproariously at the lingering burn.
He’s back. and, oh, she’s missed Him.
Then, breaking through her euphoria, her mind flicks abruptly to her sister, and her cackles fill the dank solitude of her cell in Azkaban.
That night in the hallway, well, she didn’t know the meaning of misbehavior.
“Oh, Ann,” she moans into the darkness as her Master calls her home. “You have to do so much worse than that.”