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They took her shoes.
It was a strange thing for her mind to stick itself to, but it was the only thought she could muster as she followed the guard down the hallway, the chill of the old stone biting into the soles of her feet.
She was a monster, a marked demon, a purveyor of death, death herself, and in the eyes of the law, she no longer deserved freedom — or her long-loved Mary Janes.
The reasons she was walking down the darkened corridor toward the room where she’d live out the rest of her days didn’t matter.
Bellatrix had done what she had done — snapped, broke along with the last fickle string of hope she’d clung to the day she saw his screaming face splashed across the front page of the Prophet, but the reasons were merely an excuse. She’d set off down this path the day she took a walk down a different sort of aisle, and she’d known then that there was no going back.
Kill or be killed.
Torture, or pay.
Survive.
Perhaps some part of her relished the power, the strength she felt every time she turned her wand to an innocent.
Perhaps, she was merely acting out an elaborate, ever-intensifying string of calls for attention that never came — for his attention, though she’d known it was a worthless cause.
But now she was here, and here, she would stay, with her back pressed against stone and her bare feet pressed firmly to the floor so that she could feel every bit of the chill she’d earned as she wrapped her arms around her waist and began to sob — openly, freely, for likely the first time in her life, because there was nobody around to tell her she couldn’t.
“Tears are unbefitting of a Lady,” she murmured, then laughed, shaking her head.
“It’s a good thing I’m no lady,” a disembodied, slightly muffled voice rang out. Bellatrix stiffened, glancing around to try to suss out the source of the noise, and then he spoke again — then he spoke again.
“That’s what you said. To your mother, the night of your sixteenth.”
“Cousin,” Bellatrix smirked to herself as she turned and placed a hand against the wall.
Of course.
Of course, this would be her fate. Doomed to spend eternity with him, yet apart, a thick wall of stone separating them until they met the kiss of death.
“You weren’t supposed to end up here,” he responded.
“Neither were you,” she retorted as she twisted her body to lie on her stomach, her cheek pressed to freezing stone as she ran a finger along the seam where the wall met the floor.
“Guess we both fucked up.”
“Yeah, well, speak for yourself,” she spat, cold and venomous, despite the smile on her face.
“Oh? Denying whatever you’ve done to end up here, are you?”
“Nope. I’m just saying that I’m not the one who fucked up. I’m merely keeping your word,” Bellatrix paused, a wave of emotion tearing its way through her gut. Her voice cracked as she added, “You never came for me. So I came for you.”
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“They said I have to marry him,” Bellatrix said with an indignant sniff as she twirled her wand between her fingers, staring down at her patent-leather Mary Janes to avoid the look she knew would be written all over his face.
“The hell you will,” Sirius scoffed. “You can’t — they won’t sell you off like cattle.”
“Well, I’m of age now. Finished school an entire year ago, so I’m a spinster in their eyes. And not exactly the type of girl men want to marry. I should only be grateful that I am to be matched with someone younger, good-looking. Thaddeus Nott was the top contender until Rodolphus stepped in, and his last three wives…”
“Fucking gods, Bella, listen to yourself.” He grabbed her roughly by the chin, and she tried to pull away, but her efforts merely resulted in her being caged between his chest and the wall. She narrowed her eyes, projecting venom through her glare as she looked up at him defiantly.
“What am I to do? They won’t let me go, Sirius. You could have — it doesn’t even matter now. Vous avez fait votre choix, n'est-ce pas?”
“Foolish girl,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. “You think my leaving the family and fighting with the Order is a slight against you?”
“I know that you chose them, and you left me behind. You hardly have the right to make promises, nor do you get to dictate how I feel,” she said coolly.
“Fille stupide,” he murmured as he skated his hand up her thigh, delving beneath her skirts. She felt the snap of his fingers against her leg as he vanished her knickers, and then her breath bled out of her lungs on a low whimper as two rough fingers found their way home.
Dirty. Quick, with no preamble, as he pressed her against the stone wall of the alleyway, he began to move his hand, determined to give her the release only he could bring.
“Sirius,” she breathed, digging her nails into his shoulders as she braced herself against the onslaught of pleasure. He knew — had always known exactly how to break her apart with the slightest touch, how to keep her boneless and pliant with a curl of the finger and a brush of the lips, and she knew there was no point in stopping him.
There was no point in pretending she hadn’t craved his touch like a drug in the months that had passed with the absence of his light.
“You belong to me. Le sang de mon sang. No man will put a ring on that pretty little finger, fuck his heirs into this body, except for me. Tell me you know that. Say you swear,” he commanded, stretching the words out between breaks for air as he devoured her neck and twisted his wrist, driving her to the brink in an instant.
“Yours,” she sighed against the side of his head, drawing in a deep breath to commit his scent to memory — a parting gift, a reminder of their final lies to one another. She smirked at the thought and pulled back to meet his eyes, running a hand through his hair as she whispered, “ Toujours Pur.”
His eyes lowered, tightening into angry slits — she knew, too, how to wind him up, how to break him apart, and she’d always relished the dance they performed together. Reminders of their family's stance, of what he himself represented, no matter how hard he worked to distance himself from it all, it always unravelled him.
He bit into her neck, seeking blood, and she came screaming his name.
“You won’t marry him,” he vowed against her lips as he withdrew his hands from her skirts. “I just need a little more time. I’ll come for you.”
“I’ll wait for you,” she whispered back as the tears began to fall.
“Oh, ma pauvre petite étoile.” He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her lips like the sweetest promise before he dragged his tongue along her jaw to collect the salty essence of her anguish. “So fucking pretty when you cry, Bells. But these tears are a waste. I’ll get you out of this. I swear it.”
“Okay.” A lie for a lie, as was their routine — she added, “I trust you, Sirius. I’ll never belong to anyone but you.”
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“Fuck,” he groaned. She could almost see him, in her mind’s eye, undoubtedly running a hand through the hair hers had spent so much time tangled in — his tell, his tic, the biggest indicator that the usually peppy man who hid so much of his insecurity under layers of humour and slutty bravado was feeling the weight.
“Don’t think that’s quite possible, given our current predicament,” Bellatrix retorted, still running her finger along the base of the wall.
“I was going to come for you. I… before all of this shit, I was going to come for you as soon as they were safe.”
“Ah, yes. The great James Potter and his apparently-prophetic spawn,” she spat back.
“Don’t,” Sirius snapped. “Don’t you dare. I know you’re angry, but that’s for me. Not them.”
It’s always for you, she thought.
“Whatever,” she huffed. “So, when do you get out? It’s obvious to anyone who knew you, knew that you would never rat out your dear, precious Jamie, so they should have this all cleared up in no time, yeah?”
“Don’t do that,” he ordered again. “James was my best friend. You know what he meant to me. And you know what he meant to her. I made several promises, Bells, and yes, I broke… fuck, all of them, I suppose. But I tried to do the right thing.”
“You and your right thing. ” She rolled her eyes. “As for her, she’ll fare well. Up in that big manor with that oblivious cuck of a husband. Cissy will hardly suffer the loss of James Potter.”
“I doubt that.”
He grew silent, then. She wasn’t sure how much time passed — there was no way to track the hours, save for a small window several metres above her head, but the light bled into the dark, and then light again. She paced her cell, tried to sleep, tore the skirt of her threadbare prison gown to fashion a tie to keep her curls out of her face whilst she made a poor attempt at a push-up, then rolled to her back, breathless and pissed off, all before she heard him again.
“I was going to come for you.”
“But you didn’t,” Bellatrix sighed, pressing a hand to her sternum. “You never told me when you expect to get out of here.”
“I won’t. Dumbledore…” he trailed off, but his silence spoke volumes, and she found herself nodding, even though he wouldn’t see the motion. She turned her head, gazing up out of the window as night began to darken the sky.
She could see the stars.
Small miracles, simple comforts.
“Do you have a window?” she asked suddenly.
“Barely,” he replied with a laugh.
“We’re not even really here.” Bellatrix twirled a lock of hair around her finger, chewing the inside of her cheek as she gazed at the starry night through the only window to the world she’d ever look through again.
“We’re up there,” he replied. He remembered.
“Is this what you meant? That world where it was only us?” she teased. “You know, you could have shot for better accommodations when you were throwing wishes over the edge of the astronomy tower.”
Sirius laughed — deep and booming, nearly maniacal, and she felt tears begin to pool in her eyes. She would have given anything in that moment to watch the way the corners of his eyes crinkle, but she only had the stars for company now.
And his voice. A bittersweet, bitch of a thing, that.
“Yeah, ma petite étoile. You caught me. This was exactly what I meant. You and me, all day, every day.”
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“You know, I could write you up for being up here,” Bellatrix teased as she stepped up beside him. She propped an elbow on the railing of the astronomy tower and reached over to pluck the cigarette from his lips, bringing it to her own mouth as she raised an eyebrow and added, “And for smoking on the school grounds.”
“Ah, the big bad prefect. So diligent, Miss Black,” he teased, flashing her a smirk. His eyes twinkled with the action, deep pools of silver reflecting a million unsaid words back at her, and she couldn’t resist pressing the cigarette back to his lips.
He took a drag as she held it, then reached up to tangle a hand in her curls, and she reacted exactly as she knew she should, parting her lips and breathing in the smoke as he shotgunned it back to her.
He finished with a kiss, then abruptly pulled away, draping his arms back over the railing as they looked up at the stars.
“We’re wrong, here,” Bellatrix spoke quietly after a few, drawn-out minutes suspended in silence.
“We’re never wrong.” He reached over, squeezing her hand briefly before he dropped it and ran his fingers through his hair, nudging her with his shoulder. “We’re not even really here, petite étoile. We’re up there, with all the pretty stars.”
“You’re a cad.” Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “All your pretty, flowery words don’t change the facts. You left. For them .”
“For me,” he corrected, then nodded. “For them. For you, someday, because we won’t always have the protection of this castle to keep us from the reality of the world our family has pledged their allegiance to. I left to do the right thing, Bells. So that I can build something and get you out.”
“Floral,” she huffed, rolling her eyes.
“And true, all the same.” He turned to face her, tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. “You’re still my girl, aren’t you? Even if we’re apart right now, you know that it won’t last. I’m doing the good thing. The right thing. And I’m going to make it happen for us, yeah?”
He turned back, jutting his chin up toward the sky.
“There’s a world out there, where it’s you and me, all day every day. Am I so wrong for wanting to stand up for what I believe in, if it means I might have a chance to keep my friends safe in the process? If it means I can go find that world for us and come back for you?”
“And what am I to do in the meantime, Sirius? Surely you know of the pressures on me, as a woman in this world.”
“You wait for me,” he said simply. “Because I need you, just as you need me.”
“Wait for you,” she echoed. “Some days it feels like that’s all I’ve ever done.”
“I know.” Sirius swallowed, voice thickened with the depth of his emotion as he added, “Just a little longer, étoile.”
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Time moved on. It flew and crawled, and warped around them until the air was thick with the taste of a world forgotten.
His hair was longer now. Shaggy, dishevelled.
He could feel the rot in his teeth as sure as he could smell it on his breath.
She’d left him, his étoile.
Her body still resided in the cell next to his, but her mind had been gone for years. The weight of the guilt hung impossibly heavy on his shoulders.
He’d had the out, the advantage that she never did. He and Padfoot morphed and contorted until they were one until the shift from human to animagus was an instinctual reaction every time his emotions got the better of him.
Bella didn’t have the luxury of escaping her body or her mind.
She was more a prisoner than he, confined to experience every bit of their shared torment.
He tried to keep his head above the surface for her. He sang to her in English and French, lay on the floor of his cell with his face nearly pressed against the wall as he told her fantastical stories about the life they’d lead together when they finally escaped.
He wished, more than anything in the world, that he could hold her, even just one more time.
The nights were the worst; he would lie awake, trying his best to soothe her as she screamed and cackled, but he was powerless to stop it.
Over time, after he was emaciated enough that Padfoot could fit through the bars of his enclosure, he would sneak out into the hall and into her cell, and he would shift back and hold her, curling around her body as he whispered promises and praise with his lips pressed to her temple.
They were together again, in every way, in those stolen moments, and when he sank inside of her familiar warmth, he moved with a careful precision they’d never had time for before.
It felt as if now, finally, they had all the time in the world. But the inevitable truth was ineluctable.
Her mind had been bending, a slow decline over the years, and someday, it would snap, and she’d be gone, regardless of whether or not her body remained on the other side of the thick, stone wall.
And when that day came, he went to her one last time.
At first, he hadn’t meant to escape — not entirely, but when he’d slipped out of his cell and into hers and she’d tried to attack him, he knew there was no saving her now. He shifted back one last time and took her against the frigid stone. When they’d finished, she had a brief moment of clarity. He’d seen it in her eyes when they met his. Grey on grey, they stood suspended in time, in space, in all the years lost between them, and then she’d kissed him, a delicate, featherlight little peck before she whispered against his lips, “Go.”
And he’d known. Recognised the command for what it was. He shook his head, tried to protest, but her mind was gone again in a flash. He shifted back into the big, black dog that would be his escape and took one last look at her — now hanging her head upside down off of her shoddy prison cot, toying with a loose stone she’d picked out of the floor as she sang about flooding the streets with blood, he knew their story was over.
He never came for her.
At the end of it all, the last thing that flashed through his mind as he stumbled back through the veil, as he saw a single tear streak down her cheek, was the image of her wiping away her tears in a dirty alleyway as she gave him a tight-lipped smile.
‘I’ll wait for you.’
It was his turn to wait, now, until she joined him on the other side.
He could only hope that she would be truer to her word than he had been.
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