The cottage was empty. Forgotten. Its windows were shattered, ivy curling through the cracks. The fireplace hadn't been lit in years, but tonight it burned low, casting warped shadows across the floor.
Vivienne waited.
She'd arrived first — as instructed. No wand. No protection. Just her heartbeat pulsing against her ribs like a warning.
The air shifted.
She turned, just as Bellatrix stepped out of the dark.
Cloaked in black, wand in hand, eyes wild — but not murderous.
At least not yet.
"Nice of you to come unarmed," Bellatrix said, her voice silk wrapped around a blade.
"Not stupid," Vivienne replied. "Just tired of pretending we don't want this."
Bellatrix smirked. "Want what?"
"The truth."
Bellatrix stepped closer. "I thought you were after redemption, not confessions."
"I'm not here to save you, Bella," Vivienne said coolly. "I'm here to find out what's left."
Bellatrix laughed — harsh and hollow. "Always the romantic."
"Always the coward," Vivienne snapped.
And that broke something.
Bellatrix's wand flew across the room, clattering uselessly to the floor. She stormed past Vivienne, grabbed a dusty bottle of Ogden's from the mantel, and uncorked it with her teeth.
She drank. Deep. Then tossed it to Vivienne.
"Drink if you're going to speak to me like that," she said.
Vivienne drank.
The fire crackled.
"I waited for you," Bellatrix muttered, eyes fixed on the flames. "You left without a word."
"I left a word," Vivienne said. "Goodbye."
"You should have stayed."
"You should have asked me to."
Silence.
The bottle passed between them again. The burn of firewhisky dulled nothing.
"You gave yourself to him," Vivienne said eventually. "Completely. You let him hollow you out."
Bellatrix's jaw clenched. "I gave myself to something greater."
"Don't lie to me."
Bellatrix turned slowly.
Something cracked in her face — not fury.
Grief.
"I didn't know how to love you without breaking."
Vivienne blinked.
And then Bellatrix was on her — fast, fierce, shoving her against the wall, mouths colliding in a kiss that was more battle than surrender.
Vivienne didn't pull away.
Hands tangled in hair. Coats pulled down. Years of silence burned away in seconds. The taste of firewhisky between their teeth, the echo of fury in every touch.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't soft.
It was them — unholy and electric.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless, foreheads touching, Vivienne whispered:
YOU ARE READING
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝘂𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗼𝗼𝗻
Romantizm"ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ʟᴇꜱꜱ." "ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ, ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ." "ʙᴇʟʟᴀ, ɪ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ." ʙᴇʟʟᴀᴛʀɪx ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴡʟᴡ)
