The Glimmer in His Mother’s Eyes
Disclaimer: I own nothing
He was the moody type.
He liked being undefined and to have people not being quite sure where to place him - he was wonderful, dark, mysterious, rougish. He was a lot of things and most of them I did not know.
His father he claimed he hated.
I never knew about that; he had cried at the funeral. Maybe it had just been playing for the gallery but somehow I could not believe that. He wasn’t honest and I was sure he had lied to me many times in the years we had known one another. But I just could not fathom that a boy like him; a lost boy like him could be so deceivable. And still, he might have loved his father - I am not saying that he didn’t, but he did: he said that he hated his father. I believed him and hated him for making me believe him.
He was alright and he loved me - so he claimed as well, maybe I should have believed him. It would have changed a lot of things if I had, all of it wouldn’t have been so damn awkward and dangerous. Life could have been different. But it wasn't.
His eyes were his mother’s - as he feared.
I know, that if he were given the chance he would have gotten a new pair of eyes: anything to rid him of the connection to his mother. He walked like her, though, and breathed and talked like her. He hated me for saying this but it remained the truth nonetheless. He would laugh his bark like laughter and he would smirk along with it, the smirk thrown casually into the pool of emotions he liked to fool around with.
The grey swirls would swirl even faster and his cognac-breath would dizzy me and make me giggle into his puppy eyes. He would not shave and there would be traceable stubbles strewn all across his jaw. I would sit in his lap and try to count them, giggling to myself.
His warm hands were rough upon my skin. As I would kiss him they would glide along my thighs lustfully. I would love his caresses and he would love to teach me more and more. The teaching became a tradition and the traditions became something less than a memory.
I didn’t mind the lies.
I loved the truths but he avoided truths, so our world was lies and we did not know who we were. We had each other which seemed to be the only thing that mattered. He liked that; just being there with us: it was enough for him. Me in his lap with a whisky or just some random booze in his hand, James on his right, Lupin on his left and Pete somewhere behind us.Life was simple to him and he did not try to complicate it. There was good and bad, love and hate, him and I, James and Bellatrix, his mum and his dad.
We would spend our days, loving, laughing boozing around in open bliss to life. He would snag and snore at night under open sky and I would try and count the stars to see if I could at least figure out the way they would move. In the end when I closed my eyes I would dream of stars.
It was a simple life and it was the happiest I had ever been; he made me happier than any other time in my life. It was the happiest I have ever been to this date.
He made me forget my past and made me believe that I could be exactly person I wanted to be. He helped me become that person with him. I don't think I changed, really. I just played around a bit because as soon as he left, just as soon I changed back to my normal self. I believe he changed. He changed for the better. And it was all because of me.
He would absently stroke the skin on my arm and pull me into his warmth, and I would try and breathe normally - like I was supposed to and try to not think of his mother. He liked my smell, he said. He would snuggle into me, running warm fingers along my spine, trailing along it and tingling along.
His black hair was like his father's and I would focus on that; the innocent hair that fell into the betraying eyes he possessed. He was born a betrayer and he could do nothing about it. He knew and I knew, and we knew in joined knowing and what did it matter? To him it appeared it didn’t - but I knew better.
His eyes also betrayed himself. It was always the betraying eyes: his mother’s eyes. I would love the eyes and then remember the deceit and lies hidden behind soft long lashes and grey subtle pleading eyes. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault but who cared whose fault it was? He still had her eyes.
He never mentioned tomorrow or even the next year. He was undefined as he wished for it to be and so people left him alone: he loved it. He was granted with the only thing he wanted: to be separated by others. He couldn't push me away and he was never separated by me, even if he had wished for it to be so. We still rode his motorcycle together and I still held on just as tightly as I had before. He still kissed me just as passionately as before and we still made love every night. But they didn’t get him and he loved it, loved scaring them; loved scaring me.
He was arrogant, proud and ignorant - ignorant enough to once have believed he could change the world. The world didn’t change - instead the world changed him. He was bitter, dark and looming, the grey, miserable person amongst the crowd, and yet he was the highlight of the day, of my day, and he would never cry, never not smile. But his eyes would cry, sob to me, beg for me to come and save him. What he didn’t realize was that I was never meant to save him; he was meant to save me.
He never told me he loved me.
He was close many times, but it never slipped past his tongue. I am glad he never got around to it. I prefer not being lied to.
But I was deeply and hopelessly in love with Sirius Black. He made me feel whole and because of him I was never sad, never weary, because with him by my side it all came together.
He was born for greatness. You could see it in his posture; there was something broken inside of him even though he tried to hide it, it was evident. He had lost some big part of him, he had lost it the moment he left home - perhaps even sooner, as he had entered Hogwarts, as the Hat had placed him, showed his colours, red and gold. As he had realised there was another truth than the one his parents saw.
I was the other truth and he never forgave me for that.
He loved his mother, loved her more than his dad. He treasured her, watched her with the always observant eye. The warmth in his eyes shone bright and startling even as she sneered at him and as he sneered back.
He never loved me.
I found the days getting darker, his presence wavering, he smelled of women’s perfume, and desperately I tried not to notice, to ignore it.
And the shades turned to the right colours and everything became clearer; I was
a Slytherin, I was
the essence of his past, his present and future, the package he always brought. I
hadn’t changed. But I loved him, I loved him as he would never love me.
He had wanted me to change. He had wanted me to be the glimmer in his eyes. I guess that was what I became; the glimmer in his mother’s eyes, the part of him no one else ever noticed. We didn’t last, as I knew we wouldn’t. It never fizzled out or died somehow. He left and that was the end.
In that way he could pretend that I never got to him, pretend that he was mystified, no one got him. Except me. But I was the glimmer in his eyes, the past that lay behind the lashes, the ever-changing ever-growing love that I never let go.
I saved him.
He was meant to save me but he failed, he had wanted to save me, to succeed in ridding me of all that was wrong but instead I showed him the other side of himself. I was the mirror that told the truth. I told him what he was and what he wasn’t. He hated me and treasured - not me, but the fact that he was finally being honest. He never forgave me for doing this and I was okay with that. Sirius Black was many things but most importantly he was also a Black. He had needed someone to remind him of that. And that someone had been me.
He was the one to walk away.
I was left behind. He won and I lost. He was able
to walk away: the truth of him ate me. I knew him unlike any other - and he wasn’t special, he was just my own little case, others never realised that he could be a case - but then again no one ever looks beyond the surface. He chewed me thouroughly before spitting me back out. And I willingly let him do it because I loved him beyond words and I wished only the best for him - even if I were a Slytherin.
And now? Now I’m sitting on the porch, drinking his cup of booze. The sugar in his cup is sweet and the liquid is warm, the wind is cold. Summer has turned to winter and he has been shipped away. October is dying out and the sun is fading into the night sky, warming my skin. And as the last day of October ebbs away, the sky lights up, showing all of its colours; red, white, blue, black
in all its brilliance, it shines brightly, shines startling, before turning dark, turning Black.