brother/sister
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Summary: Amycus Carrow knows it's wrong, but he can't stop his feelings.
Rating: T
She knew. He knew she knew.
He could tell by the sidelong sneer of her mouth, like a scythe across her face, the way that she licked her lips until they were irresistibly akin to Eve's forbidden apple; she engaged in all of these miniature teasings because she knew.
Amycus could not explain what it was about his sister that made his body yearn for her as inexplicably as a baby yearning for his mother's bosom. Alecto was a collection of straight lines, a beautiful jumble of right angles. Her chin, gashed across with that delectable mouth, was held with the same arrogance that Mother had held her own ashen cheek, and resulted in a perfect elbow-like crook.
It was wrong. He knew it was wrong and felt the sharp pang of shame for wanting her so badly. But it was deeper than just a want; a want he could ignore, dismiss. Amycus Carrow had enough discipline to not need to give into his mere desires: this was a need. It burned inside him like a flickering candle that refused to die, despite repeated attempts to snuff it out. He wanted to shush the pounding shame in his ears, echoing what an incestuous idiot he was. Besides, it added, taunting him with how wrong this last thought was, She would never be interested in someone like you.
She knew. And she used it against him.
Her fingers would curl around her wand, kneading it suggestively between the straight lines of her knuckles. "Amycus," she would cackle, "Admire how shiny and polished my wand is. The wood feels so deliciously warm in my little hand. I do love a freshly polished wand." The vein in his forehead would pound as he ground his teeth together, his jaw hugging tightly together like a clamp.
"As do I, sister," he would reply tersely, feeling his jaw locked in an identical right angle to hers, a reminder of their kinship and how deliciously wrong this was.
Amycus wanted to sink into Alecto, let her hug him to her deflated bosom, which heaved with the effort of battle. Even amid angry raids, he still noticed how perfect she was. And how forbidden.
Brother, sister. It was a connection that should be simple and wasn't. It was a broken chair, piercing his inside so that he could hardly breathe, he couldn't even fill his lungs. It was a dark, dizzying mass of emotions, wrapping inside of him like eels which whispered in his ears, invading his mind. Wrong. Disgusting. Pig. Wrong. Sick. Sick sick sick.
It never went away.
She knew. He knew she knew.