Broken

You kept everything inside and even though I tried, it all fell apart
What it meant to me will eventually be a memory of a time when I tried so hard
And got so far
But in the end
It doesn't even matter

Because it was in his very nature-breaking things.

It had all started with a small red train, his first ever gift. He remembered the sparkling adoration in his father's eyes as he had handed him the train on his 4th birthday, the pride on the archery of his father's lips was still embedded in his mind. It was probably the first time his father had shown him any feelings but it was the very last time. He had taken the train away from his father's hand, eyed it carefully and then right there in front of his father, he had broken the train into two clean pieces. No, he did not really like making a mess and hell yes, every fucking kid could break things but for him breaking was an art to be cherished and carefully handled. The brittle bodies vulnerable in the very palm of his hand, the power he had over them, the right timing for the most damage, the very process of breaking things was breathtaking for him.

After that red train, there were many more toys, but he had lost count after the first few times, because beauty can never be measured and breaking things was so damn beautiful.

As he had reached the tender age of eleven, he had moved on to bigger things. Breaking materials was no longer satisfying, it was too mundane for him, now he decided it was time to break some tradition, shatter some expectations.

He got his first ever chance with the sorting hat and by Merlin, he had grasped it. Being a Black he was naturally expected to be a Slytherin, a vile, cunning and ambitious Slytherin, so then he had decided to shatter that expectation. He remembered clearly asking the sorting hat to put him into Gryffindor and the hat had pretty much obliged. Was it because of the demand in his voice, the finality in his tone or was it because the hat actually deemed him a natural Gryffindor, were the questions he never really managed to answer. Anyway, he always was a little reckless and wasn't recklessness an extended form of courage?

He had shrugged the thought away.

Weren't all the pure blood Slytherin houses supposed to be cold, classic and refined and so he was warm, contemporary and boorish.

When they had stood with their cold masking smiles and clean, prim and poised clothes, he had sat down, legs propped up on a table with his messy mane, unbuttoned shirt and a large arrogant smirk on his face.

When they had walked, he had run.

And oh the looks full of disdain that he had gotten from them, he had revelled in them.

Then the final stroke was when he had sided with a Muggle born. He smiled, he had broken so many customs, traditions and that unwritten code of ethics.

Off course, side by side he was breaking the school rules being a part of the major prankster group- the Marauders, and breaking many detention records.

In later years, he also broke his brother's trust, not that he was planning on keeping it. (Never, ever)

To be fair, he did try to deter Regulus from going down the dark path, he did try to protect Regulus but apparently not hard enough.

Then he had ran away from home, ran far- far away to the Potters, breaking his mother's heart, that is if she had any.

He remembered breaking his best friend's trust when he had led Snape to the Whopping Willow on one of those nights. His intention was good but he had inadvertently caused a lot of damage to Remus and James. That was probably the first time, he had regretted breaking something but not the very last.

James had hated him and he had cursed himself. In those moments, breaking was no longer an art, it was a curse, a black mark for him.

But they forgave him in only a matter of time and he decided never, ever to break their trust, to break their friendship , or to break them. But he didn't have to worry much until very late, James Potter was like a glue holding them together.

Then he had turned his attention to girls. Breaking them, was probably the easiest and easily the most fulfilling. No, they weren't mere things for him. But they were delicate and breakable and breaking them in every possible way carried a different kind of attraction for him. He started with breaking their hymen and then their hearts, and it felt good, so bloody good!

Now don't dismiss him as a cold playboy bastard, he did regret breaking their hearts and he did silently brood for them every night at the astronomy tower. But he couldn't help it, breaking was in his very nature.

-X-

He had met her on the train during his second year journey. She was beautiful he had concluded, with her short shoulder length curls, her small nose and full lips, her tiny chin and those large aqua blue eyes. But he didn't really 'see' her until the sixth year.

He was sitting on the astronomy tower, brooding another one of the heart breaks when the door was thrown open. Harsh scuffing of heels came towards him as she had propped herself besides him following a series of curses under her breath.

"Black" she had acknowledged him with a curt nod, then had turned her attention back to the landscape. He had noticed that she like him was one of the few people who liked gazing at the landscape rather than the stars. Unlike stars, landscapes could be touched, broken if necessary. Stars made him feel mundane, but land gave him power and strength.

"Why such a colourful vocabulary, Lydia? " he had asked her with a slight raise of his eyebrows and a touch of smirk playing on his lips.

"Why so interested, Sirius?" she had retorted, mimicking him.

Sirius answered with a non-committal shrug and a little tousling of his messy hair.

Lydia Carlot rolled her eyes with a slight defeated smile gracing her lips.

"Its bloody Durman. Just because I broke up with him, he's been spreading vile rumours about me".

Sirius grimaced, " He spread those rumours? They were fucking bad".

"Tell me about it." She had responded with a small smile.

At that precious moment, Sirius had seen her. He now saw the raw pride in that fine nose, a delicate firmness in those lips, stubbornness in that small chin and depth, piercing innocent depth in those aqua blue eyes. And he had fallen hard, so damn hard. He wanted her, demanded her, needed her but it wasn't easy. He had to pursue her, woo her, exert his full charisma on her and then after weeks of denial, she finally became his. She managed to enchant him, bewitch him and well he, he fell harder and faster. The knot of their relationship had become tighter and tighter each day.

Together, people contemplated they were perfect.

But he knew he was getting too deeply involved, each day he would promise himself to break it off, break her off but he could not really bring himself to do that. Not to her, never to her.

She was different to him, special for him. He really ,really liked her, maybe even loved, if the existence of that emotion was in fact true.

The memory of that day was still clear in his mind, the wound still bled and the pain still hurt.( oh so bad!)

As Sirius Black fell down in the realms of darkness after that deathly blow from Bellatrix, he reminisced the memory of her telling him that it was over, that they fucking didn't work, that she had to break up with him. He smiled at the stubbornness that she had possessed then. Even at that time, when he had hated her so damn badly, she still managed to enthral him, she was still so bloody beautiful.

A final image of James Lily, Remus Tongs, him Lydia and Harry etched itself in front of his drooping eyes.

Because he was good at breaking things but she was good at breaking him.

XXXXXX