Disclaimer: Alas, the dream I had in which Rowling turned over the soul of the Potterverse to me was simply that . . . a dream.
Author's Notes: Contains dark!Sirius. I've been obsessed with that lately.
Self-Defense
"Then you must speak of one who loved, not wisely, but too well." -Shakespeare
I wanted him to hurt for me. I wanted him to break. He was so fucking happy and I was so ... so ... what the hell was I? He had Lily. He had a girlfriend now and suddenly ... he didn't want to remember those kisses. He didn't want to remember what he referred to as 'experimentation' and 'games'.
He broke me the first time he kissed her, the first time he yelled at me, the first time he pushed me away.
I didn't mean to do what I did. I didn't for it to go so far. But now they look at me as if I were the enemy. Can't they see? I did what I had to. He never would have been happy with her. She was too sweet.
James swore and drank and smoked and even did weed a couple times with me and Remus. He wasn't sweet. He was an idiot.
He was a bastard.
It wasn't rape, don't you see? It was self-defense. It was the only way to save him. Pushing him down on that matress and ravishing him ... long fluid strokes once again ... his breath as I took him ... slipped inside.
It was beautiful.
Then, he spoke. "I hate you."
Then, I spoke. I love you, James. Avada Kedavra."
And he looked beautiful. Even in death.