Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Rating: R

Pairing: Katie Bell/Marcus Flint

Spoilers: General spoilers through PoA

Summary: Katie Bell's been addicted to something for a very long time and finally decides it's time to break the habit. But it's not soon enough to save her from a broken heart.

Author's Note: This is the first fic I have written in a very long time, due to some major writer's block. I don't know exactly where this came from, but I've been reading some Katie/Marcus stories lately, and when I sat down at the computer this is what came out. I've never written the pairing before so they might be OOC. If they are, I apologize in advance. Hope you like it! Feedback is always welcome.

Fallen Angel


Anessa Ramsey

Long honey blond hair spilled across the pillow in burnished waves, gleaming in the early morning light that seeped in through the window. Sunlight bathed the room in gold, sweeping over the figures in the bed, giving them an innocent glow, even though what they were doing was far from innocent. Soft moans spilled from the lips of the woman, her head tipped back as long tanned fingers and a soft pink tongue skillfully played over her body. She looked like an angel, surrounded in a halo of gold and if she was an angel, then the man over her, driving her body wild with pleasure, was certainly the devil. With wild black hair and ebony eyes, his darkly tanned skin gleamed in the sun, even as it tried to banish him back into the darkness.

Of course, the woman was no longer an angel, though her friends believed her to be the picture of innocence. Once upon a time it may have been true. But she fell, long and hard, tempted from the heavens by the dark creature. Golden legs were wrapped around a lean, muscular waist, gripping the man tight as if she never wanted to let go. Their bodies moved together, striving for that moment, that one moment where pleasure and pain melded into one, tightening their bodies until they screamed out their ecstasy. And when it came they clung to each other, the only anchors they had as the world spun out of control.

Even as their breathing evened out, no longer harsh and panting, they moved apart, as if they had not just made love like they were the only two people on Earth. She knew it couldn't continue. Not any longer. She'd been addicted to him for far too long. It was time to be strong, to fight this compulsion she had to be with him. They weren't good for each other, not really. Every time they met she got dragged a little further into the darkness that was his life, a little further away from the light and away from her friends. She sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, contemplating what to say. His fingers skimmed down her spine causing her head to spin slightly with arousal and she closed her eyes tight, forcing herself not to react.

"Same time Friday night?" she heard him ask as he rose from the bed and began to dress.

It took every ounce of courage for her to speak, to say the word that would put an end to this crazy addiction she had to him. "No," she whispered, praying that he heard her, so she wouldn't have to say it louder.

His eyebrows lifted in surprise as he pulled on his boxers, but he pressed on. "Saturday then?"

Her chest was tight and it was hard to breathe, even as she forced the words out of her mouth. "No, Marcus. Not Saturday. Not ever again." She stood, grabbing her robe and slipping it on, wrapping it tightly around herself as if to stave off the cold that was beginning to chill her heart. She couldn't believe she'd done something so monumentally insane. She'd fallen in love with Marcus Flint. She strolled slowly to the window; the halo of light making her shine so bright he thought her beauty would blind him.

His hands were frozen on the button of his trousers, as if her words had turned him into a statue. 'Not ever again.' The words repeated over and over in his head and he tried to process them, but it was almost impossible to do. He never thought she'd turn him away. Not after three years.

He could still remember the looking on her face when he had turned up to repeat his seventh year at Hogwarts. He'd been hit by a bludger playing Quidditch over the summer and as a result had come back to the school with a brand new, perfectly straight white smile and hair that he had grown out into soft black waves, much like Zabini's. And she had gaped at him as if she'd never seen him before. It had been fun at first, to taunt her, to make her flustered, blushing with arousal and attraction. She'd been nothing more than a challenge to him, another conquest, one he thought he'd never attain, until that year. Katie Bell was the most innocent girl in school, prim and proper, never looking at other guys, what with her enormous crush on Oliver Wood, the Quidditch tyrant who never noticed that she was a girl and not just a chaser. He'd been pleasantly surprised that he had been the only other guy on the receiving end of looks similar to those she cast at Wood.

He seduced her of course, slowly, carefully, as if she were a unicorn that would bolt at any wrong move. After their first time together had been the only other time she'd ever told him no. Back then it had been a game to make her give in to him, again and again. Now, though, he was frozen with the fear that he would never get to touch her again.

"Katie," he began, only to be cut off.

"No Marcus. I can't do this anymore." Her voice was nothing but a whisper and she had her arms crossed around her body as if she was just trying to hold everything inside her. She still wasn't looking at him, but gazing out the window instead. "I can't keep hiding from my friends and lying about where I'm going or who I'm with. It's too hard. We aren't good for each other. Not really. It's not as if we could ever be anything beyond what we are in this room and I want that. I want someone to go out in public with, someone I can introduce to my friends, someone who wants the same things I do. And you can't give that to me." 'Or won't,' she though quietly, ignoring the pain that gripped her heart with that thought.

He was silent, aching to touch her, but knowing that it was the last thing she wanted. She looked like fallen angel, standing there in the warm spring light, her body clothed in a white robe, her shoulder's slumped in defeat and shaking slightly. He knew she was crying. She was too good for him, too pure, despite the fact that he'd dragged her out of the light, away from the peaceful world she once knew. He'd never planned on this though. He never thought he'd end up loving her. He did though and that thought was what forced him to move, to continue putting on his clothes and black robes, ignoring the way she refused to turn and look at him. The words that he uttered next were the hardest he'd ever had to say. He stood, his back to her, hand on the door. "If that's the way you want it Bell, it's fine with me. We both know that you won't be able to stay away forever. Just know that when you come crawling back to me on hands and knees I might not be willing to take you back. Plenty of other girls out there are willing to spread their knees for me. Maybe I'll seduce your little friend, Johnson. She always was a hot one. See you around, Bell." With an aching heart and shaking hands, he walked out of the room, out of the apartment and out of her life; fully aware of the heartbroken angel he'd left behind. He wondered briefly if fallen angels ever got to go back to heaven. Somehow he didn't think so.