A/N- I don't own Harry Potter world, I do however, own this story so keep your mitts off.
Hope
this explains the first chapter a little more. I mean't it to be
intruiging, so hope it wasn't annoying. All feed back welcome, so
let me know if you like or not..
Chapter Two
He stared dumbly at the dirt, then the wall, then the ceiling. Eventually even rock and dirt began to resemble her face. The sweep of her brow. Her firm set mouth. Her. Just the thought of her was painful, like a hard kick in the stomach.
He'd avoided thinking of her these last twelve years in Azkaban. The torment in his own brain was enough without being amplified by the Dementors. And then upon escape he had had to steel himself.
'Think only of Harry.' Had been the constant voice in the back of his brain. 'Get to Peter and Harry.'
Except that late at night, when he struggled to sleep, he couldn't stop the image of her face. The sound of her voice. The smell of her hair. The touch of her skin…
So he changed to snuffles. It didn't hurt as much when he was Padfoot. It was just a dull throb in his chest rather than an ache which threatened to engulf him entirely.
He had looked out for her name in all the papers he had stolen, read every single page from top to bottom. But there was no mention of her. Her older brother was there in large amounts. Still the same sneering face, haughty gaze and arrogant posturing.
But she wasn't. He didn't dare think that maybe she was dead. That was not possible. He would know. He was sure of it. No, she was alive; he still felt the familiar tug of her. When that was gone he would know she was too.
But now. Now he was free. He laughed out loud.
Free! He doubted he would ever be a free man again now Peter had fled for the second time. But he was free from the torment, Dumbledore knew the truth. And most importantly Harry knew.
Harry who was so much like James. Harry who thought he was abroad, sending back exotic birds, as if they were caught from some Caribbean island, not aviaries and bird sanctuaries from around the country. If Harry knew he was camping out in a cave, trying to muster up enough courage to go and see a woman...
Yes, he Sirius Black, needed courage. Courage! About a woman!
But he was terrified. Terrified she would kill him the moment he got to her doorstep. Terrified she, who was now the only living person who had known him best; had believed him capable of the crime he was imprisoned for. That she had not known him after all. That she had not loved him as much as he had loved her. So desperately. So completely. He felt half a person.
Or worse. That she had given him no more thought. Forgotten him, moved on. Married. Children? While he thought of nothing but her face for twelve years.
888
She had been beautiful. In a cold, remote way. The same way his mother had been beautiful. Her eyes like two pieces of frost. Her hair a sheet of shimmering silver. Dead straight. Her skin had been flawlessly pale. Never a blemish or even a flush.
She had walked like any other pureblood. Head high, surveying people with a haughty gaze. It was instinctive. He had sometimes caught himself doing it too. It was in the blood.
He had recognised in her so many things he found abhorrent in himself, yet he had felt drawn to her. For she had been different. Just like he had.
He had known growing up there would come a time when he would have to stand up to his parents. To finally tell them their pureblood mania was insane and he wanted nothing to do with it. Being sorted into Griffindor had been the catalyst, the howlers, the pretending he didn't exist, the beatings when he answered back…
He had often wondered how hard it had been for her. Being from a family every bit as fanatically pureblood as his.
He had often found himself watching her, the way she moved. The way she spoke. The way her eyes seemed to darken to the shade of cornflowers when she was happy. And when she smiled the coldness in her features softened.
He supposed really he had known her since he was a child, they had played together. Knowing their parents there had probably been an agreement of sorts to encourage a marriage. Pure blood to pure blood. He was only a couple of months older after all.
He had been blamed as a bad influence when she was sorted into Griffindor.
Yet that was where the fair tale had ended. Maybe she had resented the fact that he was a daily reminder of her family and the circle they moved it. He had attempted to talk to her the day they had joined Hogwarts. But she had politely but coolly rebuffed him. Making it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with him and nothing from him.
It would be the typical cliché to say he had dated around to get her attention. Or to get her out of his head. Or as a substitute because he couldn't have her.
But it would also be a lie. He had done so because he could. Because he was good looking, the most handsome boy at Hogwarts. He had never felt her lips when he kissed girls. He had never seen her eyes when they gazed adoringly up at him.
Of course he had fantasised about her; the softness of her skin. The coolness of her lips. Her small graceful body next to his… It had been hard not to want her.
Then of course they had been thrown together. This had infuriated her and she had tried her hardest to keep the distance between them.
But there were the odd occasions when he would catch her eye and he would see the same sadness, the same anger and the same defiance he felt at being an outcast Black, which she obviously felt at being an outcast Malfoy.
