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Five Fragments of an Obsidian Heart
By : bitterfig
Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male
Views: 1266 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. - Chapter List
Five Fragments of an Obsidian Heart
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter--bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."
-Stephen Crane1. Sirius Black
There was never a first time with Sirius. We had been in love for years before we ventured far enough away from the comfort of each other to learn that it was wrong. That boys were not supposed to love boys, that brothers were not supposed to love brothers.
Sirius found out first, of course. He was older than me, and braver. He was always willing to venture beyond the boundaries mother laid. He wasn’t afraid of her because he was the heir. In the end, he knew he mattered more than she did. That her importance was as the woman who had given birth to him. When she beat him, he knew she would stop short of killing him. I was the second son. I could never be sure.
Once, when I was six, I spilled a glass of wine and she hit me in the head with the silver goblet until my brains came loose. I was in St. Mungo’s for six weeks. When I woke up, I could see into other people’s minds while mine was closed to them. Later, I learned that this was called Legilimency and Occlumency.
Sirius was a talented wizard; magic came to him like breathing. Transformations, charms, and spells that others had to work at for days and weeks came to him with ease. I could have been a poor to mediocre wizard if I’d worked hard, which I didn’t. Legilimency and Occlumency were the only fields in which I shone. It suited me. It was the art of knowing the secrets of others while protecting my own.
There was never a first time with Sirius, but there was a first time that he knew it was wrong. Being older, being braver, he talked to other boys. He learned from them that it was strange that we kissed and when he crawled into my bed. He learned this but he never told me. I saw it in his thoughts that he knew and that he had chosen not to tell me because he wanted me more than he wanted to be good or right or clean.
He went away to school when I was nine. He learned things there that he came back wanting to try with me. That was the first time I saw the gold-eyed boy in his mind—the gold-eyed, brown-haired boy with scars on his cheeks who stood still as if he were afraid when Sirius touched him, but let him just the same. Sirius never mentioned that boy, but I knew he was my rival. I knew that to keep Sirius I would have to do much more than just stand there and let him.
It’s easy to please someone when you know what they want, what they’re afraid to say out loud but are longing for, what they wish you’d do. Whether it was an adult woman or an eleven-year-old boy, it was easy for me to be the best lover a person had ever had. Sirius taught me that. He never could get enough of me. Even when he stopped loving me, when he said he hated the sight of me, he still wanted me. My hands, my mouth, my ass, my legs wrapped around him, the words I whispered at the perfect time, my fingers inside him always knowing how much pleasure, how much pain.
I knew he didn’t love me. I knew he had stopped loving me a long time ago. He had to stop loving me. He needed me too much. Burned for me too strongly. Freedom was what mattered to him. He sacrificed his desire for me to his desire to be free. After that, he’d still fuck me, but it was nothing to him. I was nothing to him.
I never stopped loving him. Even when he treated me like a whore he couldn’t bother to pay, I never tried to punish him. I never tried to make him beg. When he wanted to take, I gave. It was the only way he’d have anything to do with me. I missed my brother. I missed him loving me. I missed him most when he was inside me, those times when he would forget himself and, out of habit, moan the words he used to mean. “I’m dying Reggie, you’re killing me. I love you so much, Reggie. I love you so much.”
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