Sinful

By: Havana

Disclaimer: Seth Stiles, Vincent Aries, and the fanfiction "Sinful" is copyrighted by Havana; Harry Potter and everything that relates to the book series is copyrighted by J.K. Rowling. I am making no profit from this fic.

Chapter Three

He jolted up, startled, as he felt a loud thud on the desk he was laying his head upon. His gaping eyes looked up at Madam Pince, and winced at her stern expression. "The library is not for sleeping. Either work on something or leave," she ordered, walking away. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around. He sat there in an isolated table in the cent of the library while other people were chattering or reading, occasionally peeking over at him and giggling. Drowsily, he released a great yawn and looked down at a book that he had begun reading before he fell into a deep slumber. The past few days had been terrible -- Snape and McGonagall were giving him double -- no, triple -- the amount of homework he was usually assigned in hopes of getting him to improve in Potions and Transfiguration. Right now, he was trying to resist the lullaby of the text in his book.

                His next class was History of Magic, which did not help his drowsiness any.  Professor Binns was the only ghost professor in the school and his classes were always terribly monotonous. Even looking at the interior of the room was enough to render you asleep. As the professor droned on and on, Seth's eyelids just grew heavier and heavier … he was supposed to be taking notes but he was just doodling various little demon-like vermin all over the sides of his paper. They stirred into life and flew around on his paper, beating each other up. Seth chuckled, watching the little fight, but soon, it became horribly repetitive. A sharp tap struck his elbow from the side. A red-headed Ravenclaw had woken him up and gestured toward Professor Binns, who was crossing his arms. "Mr. Stiles, do pay attention. The rest of you better listen closely as well. As I was saying, I am assigning you into pairs to work on a project and I do not want to hear a groan from any of you." He coughed and lifted a piece of parchment , adjusting his glasses so he would read what he had previously written on there. "Ms. Knightlyn, you will be paired with Mr. Goyle."

                Knightlyn, the red-headed Ravenclaw who had woken Seth up form his slumber, looked at Goyle and they exchanged disgusted faces.

                "Mr. Royal, you will work with Mr. Morris. Mr. Richards and Ms. Bulstrode, you two will work together. Mr. Crabbe will be paired with Mr. Malfoy, and Mr. Stiles?"

                Seth sat up, hoping not to get --

                "You will work with Mr. Aries."

                Seth and Vincent looked at each other, sneering venomously like two serpents, ready to strike.

                …

                With his books scattered across his four-poster bed in the Slytherin dormitory, Seth cringed with revulsion as the thought of working with a partner crossed his mind. Another human being. He utterly detested having to work alongside another person. People were so terribly spiteful and malicious. People made him sick. Especially people like Vincent. However, he desperately needed a high mark on this assignment; he was failing History of Magic. Writing a research paper on the history of a few select renowned witches and wizards shouldn't be that complicated, after all. Oh, but if only he could work on this alone.

                After a while, he started to mindlessly stare at the wooden floor below, breathing heavier as the minutes passed by. As the sun crept gradually into the distant horizon, bathing his pale skin in a soft, orange glow, he wondered where his partner was. Fists clenched onto the dark green velvet blankets under his rear while one thought popped up in his  mind: he forgot. He forgot. Well. How could he not? No one remembered Seth, after all. He simply did not matter. He was just ... there. Neglected by his parents because he was different -- he was somehow endowed with wizard blood while his brothers remained ... Muggles? Then of course, he is neglected by the Hogwarts students and treated with extreme prejudice by because he was a Slytherin -- he flinched, remembering Harry Potter's fierce glare at him on a previous day -- and he was rejected by most of the Slytherins because he was Muggle-born. Shaking the painful thoughts out of his head, he bit down on his lip. I should focus on the project, he thought. Flustered and exhausted, I decided to get started on the damn assignment.

                Seth nearly dropped his quill when a boisterous laughter and loud, thumping footsteps entered the room. Looking up, he noticed it was Vincent. Faint, cluttered conversations were coming from down below. The other Slytherins must've been gathered in the commonroom. "W-what took you so long?"

                Vincent hesitated and looked confused for a moment. "Oh! Forgot all about the project," he answered, smirking mischievously. "So, did you start on it yet?"

                Seth twitched and lightly reddened from irritation. The least Vincent could have done was offer an apology. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he replied, "Actually, I have--"

                "Uh … is this all you have so far? You do know that the project is due tomorrow?" Vincent eyed the opened text books and scattered parchment across his bed. Apparently, Seth had managed only to fill up a page and a half with his rather sloppy handwriting. "Okay, you've got the dates wrong here … it's actually 1782  when he died, see."

                Hesitant, Seth crossed out the incomplete date and replaced it with "1782".

                "Oh, and you spelled her name wrong. It's two r's, not one." He pointed at the correct spelling of the witch's name in the textbook as Seth sighed and marked out his typo.

                The two of them began laboring over the project, thoroughly at first, but then it was quite clear that Vincent was trying to finish as quickly as he could. Quietly frustrated, Seth tried to quicken his pace as well. The light streaming from the windows were dimming as they progressed.

                "Stiles, watch it!" Seth had accidentally knocked over his bottle of ink onto the floor, spreading the black liquid as if it were bleeding. "Stiles!"

                "W-what? Oh." Without even knowing it, he was transfixed on the bleeding ink bottle.

                "Well? Clean it up, you idiot," the blonde-haired boy spat.

                Biting his lip again, he tapped the spill with his wand, only swelling it. His teeth bore deeper into his lip.

                "Oh, I'll do it myself!" Seth looked at him with fearful apprehension as Vincent tapped the spill, resulting in its repair. "See? It's not hard at all -- what … are you crying, Stiles?"

                "W-what?" He blinked away the little tears forming in his eyes. "I've just got s-something in my eye …"

                Obviously unconvinced, Vincent shook his head and smirked in amusement. They silently continued their assignment. Seth was seething inside. He felt so stupid and foolish, and his partner's malevolently amused grin was not helping. Finally, he had completed his share of the project while Seth was still struggling with his. Watching him toil over the piece of parchment and constantly looking back to refer to his textbooks was growing less and less entertaining for the blonde-headed boy. "Stiles, are you finished yet?"

                "Erm … no …" He blushed.

                "Well, finish it up! You better look over those dates, too. If I get a failing grade …"

                "… I'M TRYING."

                "You dare to raise your voice at me, Stiles? I'm the one who finished!"

                "W-Well, I would finish if y-you'd just stop yellin--"

                "What, can't even handle it? Look, Stiles, you've messed up the date again! It's 1780, not 1870!" Vincent rolled his eyes and gave a heavy, exasperated sigh. His eyes wandered off to the side, upon Seth's night table, and he picked up a framed photo, which pictured a bunch of dark haired people crammed up against each other, without the owner's consent. "This your Muggle family?" He examined it a bit, unaccustomed to the still photographs that originate from the Muggle world. There were about five or six boys with short dark hair -- some wore their hair very messy, others wore it slick and neat, and one of them, whose skin was the lightest out of the bundle, had black hair running down to their shoulders. "That you?"

                Seth lowered his eyelids slightly and nodded.

                He chuckled derisively. "Thought you had a little sister for a moment there."

                Seth twitched.

                A tall, skinny dark haired man stood in the picture as well, alongside a woman. "Your mother is unbelievably fat, Stiles." He laughed at his own comment and glanced at Seth, who was gritting his teeth. "Pathetic Muggles."

                Seth jolted up from his hunched position, knocking over the ink bottle again and sending a couple of pieces of parchment onto the floor. "Take that b-back," he muttered, locks of black, ruffled hair over his eyes.

                Vincent laughed again, only  a little louder and more offensive this time. "What're you going to do about it, Mudblood?"

                The poisonous word drilled into Seth's chest. "T-Take it back!" Tears were beginning to cultivate again.

"Awww, Mudblood's gonna cry. Going to send a letter to your dear, old, fat Mum? You'd better get back to your homework -- of course, I would imagine that a Mudblood like you could finish it as quickly as a pureblood like I can."

By now, Seth's anger was fizzing viciously. He felt the sudden need to clamp his hands onto his skull to stop the anger and aggression. Fire in his cheeks and ears burning, he felt a potent urge to makehimsuffermakehimsuffermakehimsuffer. He wanted him to suffer, his mother to suffer, his father to suffer, his sisters, his friends, his girlfriend, his teachers, everyone associated with him had to suffer.

                "Take it BACK!" In a swift movement, he reached for his wand and aimed it at him. "Crucio!"

                Vincent's sudden bewildered and traumatized reaction was stained on Seth's mind. Something seemed to be bubbling under Vincent's skin as she writhed in agony, collapsing onto the floor, clutching his sides and whining in pain. It seemed so surreal, to see Vincent, a renowned bully, to whimper and cry like this. He was shaking violently, uncontrollably, begging for it to stop. Something about his beseech brought a cruel pleasure to him …

                "Imperius!"

His eyes were shot open and his limbs lied by his side flaccidly, like a marionette puppet. The spell allowed him to control him with a flick of his wand; he still felt the need to makehimsuffermakehimsuffer because he had made him suffer for so long ... Seth felt like a superhero, vanquishing the evil supervillian. By his command, Vincent scoured over to his drawer beside his bed and hunted relentlessly for the pocketknife that his father gave him. "Pull out the blade ... pull it out," Seth whispered behind gritted teeth. "Pull it out ..."

                Vincent drew out the shining blade, his expression still blank. The dark-haired boy grinned. "Do it ... DO IT."

                The contradictory voices in Seth that pleaded him to stop this act or malice came to an abrupt stop as Vincent crammed the knife into his chest cavity, with a face of such intense terror and pain that it made him difficult to look at. He collapsed onto the floor with a deafening thud. Seth stared at him, eyes wide open in disbelief. Did he twitch? Did he look away? Did he break down in tears? Seth felt nothing. Nothing. The voices had abandoned him, as if they were running to evade being caught in the scene. Quietly, he stared at his pale, dead body on the floor, his eyes wide open and his mouth gaping like he tried to finish his last gasp of air. He could not hear anything nor smell anything, everything was focused on the sin he had committed. Did I really do this? Did I really get rid of him? No more taunting from him … no more suffering. Seth had madehimsuffermadehimsuffer, finally. Now he felt excited. He felt alive. He felt awakened.  A terrible but wonderful orgasmic euphoria swept across his body. Seth almost had to keep himself from laughing aloud.