I look to my side. You're still there. It's as though I had expected you to disappear if I turned away. I almost wish you had. For a moment I see think I see you move, and my eyes hold their gaze. But it just turns out to be a shadow, and I turn away. I can't bear to look at you for so long. I never could. All those night we would spend when I would stare into your eyes, not speaking, just being swallowed up in the mysterious wonder of your eyes- those were different. That was another time, another world practically. It was somewhere, sometime, that I wish both so much to go back to, and to forget all together…

"Sirius! Get up this instant!" a voice shrieked from downstairs. I rolled over lazily in my bed, drawing the blankets up to my chin. I didn't want to get up and face the world. Especially since today was the day I was going off to school. I didn't want to have to deal with all the troubles of life after childhood, schoolwork, everything else that went along with adolescence; all I wanted was to remain in the gentle comfort of my bed.

I ducked my head beneath the covers, feeling the confines of the quilts surround me in an intimate periphery. I felt myself dozing off again, welcoming the oblivious sleep, until my mother saw fit to move me bodily from my room. The door crashed open, slamming against the wall, and deepening the dent that was already present from the various other times she'd done this. She was dressed in deep green robes and half her hair was up in rollers. She had apparently been in the process of applying makeup before my involuntary defiance, because I noticed that only one eye was rimmed with her signature dark eyeliner. She was holding a clean pair of robes in her hand, which she promptly strode over to my bed and struck my half-sleeping body with.

"GET UP!" she shrilled, "GET UP NOW, IDIOT BOY!"

I half raised one eyelid, poking my head from under the covers, but dove back under as she aimed another blow at my face with the robes. "IF YOU ARE NOT UP IN TWO MINUTES, I SWEAR I WON'T BE BRINGING YOU TO KING'S CROSS! YOU CAN GET THERE ON YOUR OWN, OR NOT AT ALL!"

With that, she stomped out of the room in a childish manner, leaving me to tumble sluggishly out of bed and put on the robes. My hair was short, and I ran my fingers through it to count as brushing. I found myself subconsciously hurrying to meet my mother's demands. As much as I hated the thought of responsibility, I really did want to learn magic, and, of course, get out of my house and away from my family.

A few years after the death of my father, my mother's temperament began to slope downhill. Her life was empty, and she didn't have what she needed to be satisfied. She didn't have a male figure to dote upon, she didn't have any reason to specifically care about me and Regalus, and she even her power and status had been reduced as much as they could be, granted that she was a Black. After a while, it seemed that she just gave up, and let herself become ornery and choleric; quick to anger, and positively maniacal when she was. Of course, she never had really held the same vivacity that a mother should, but now, any signs of affection were generally nonexistent, and acknowledgment was rare, except to scream herself into a frenzy when something was wrong. Though she was never physically abusive, her verbal mistreatment was enough to influence us in a less than positive way.

Despite my attempts to defer it, Regalus became a model of our parents: my father's attitude, and my mother's behavior. He became quite the obnoxious little bastard, and I was happy to leave him as well.

I took the stairs two at a time, keeping a steady pace towards the kitchen, where my mother awaited with an icy stare. "It's about time," she said coldly.

I didn't reply, but took a piece of toast from a tray on the table. She consulted me with a harsh look and looked as though she would say something, but restrained herself. She seemed to struggle with this for several seconds before finally taking a deep breath. "Hurry up, and your hair looks filthy, when's the last time you've washed it?" she settled on demanding in a clipped tone.

I looked up lackadaisically. I was used to her criticisms. "Last night," I replied in a monotone.

"Your lying," she announced, raising her voice in a delirious sounding way, "You couldn't possibly have, with that greasy mop on your head!" Her voice was strident and high strung, and her eyes were beginning to widen the way they did when she really began to upset herself.

I decided not to respond, not wanting to fuel her temper, and I ate in silence while she seemed to force herself to calm, a rare event. By the time I was done, she managed a cold but civil tone. "Auntie and her children are coming to see you off." A wave of happiness rose up my midriff, and made me smile. That meant you would be there.

Soon, we were arriving at the station, and Mother was talking in a hushed tone to Auntie while we waited to board. You seemed to be preoccupied with something. You were eight and easily distracted. I didn't interrupt you, not wanting to earn the stern, penetrating glare that you'd already made your signature.

You were staring intently at a book, a thick one at that, trying desperately, I imagine, to comprehend what it was saying. You were always so ambitious, always taking on things that no one thought you'd succeed at. You often did. Of course, it's the times that failed that really counted… Then, however, you seemed to be prevailing, at least slightly, because every once in a while, you'd turn the page.

I just watched you, interested, as always, to see you, even if we didn't interact. Soon, however, it was time for me to get on the train. You hadn't said a word to me, or even acknowledged my presence. I stood rather awkwardly, waiting for you to say something. You didn't. I stuck my hands in my pockets and bit my lip, nervously awaiting some sort of farewell from you.

"Sirius, what's the matter with you, boy? Get on the train!" hissed Mother.

My thoughts were now frantic. It was the sort of need already growing in me that made it necessary for you to recognize me. The sort of compulsion that wreaked havoc in my mind each time I thought of you. I had to say something, for fear that you would not. "Good bye, Bella," I ventured bravely. You didn't respond. I furrowed my eyebrows. The panic was getting more intense. Thinking that you might be too wrapped up in your book, I tapped you on the shoulder. You stiffened at my touch, but didn't speak. I bit my lip. Were you angry with me? I hadn't even seen you in a while, I couldn't have possibly done anything to irritate you!

"Sirius, get over here, NOW!" screeched my mother. "Before you miss the train!"

I couldn't leave. I couldn't move until I knew that you knew I was there. I couldn't believe that you were actually ignoring me. Mother grabbed my shoulder and yanked me away. "Get on the train," she breathed, her eyes mad with her ever easily provoked temper, "Or I swear I will turn around right now and leave you at the station."

Something rose up inside me that made me want to shriek and rip her hands from me. To run over to you and embrace you. To cry into your shoulder and ask you why you were so cold to me. What had I done? What had I done to deserve this?!?!

I tried to shove this feeling make down, send it back to the darkened corner from whence it came- a corner of my mind best not explored. It grew stronger. I tried to wriggle away from my mother, but she held tight and forced me toward the train. My eyes grew wide with hysteria as lashed out, trying to get back to you.

"Bella!" I shrieked. "Bella, answer me!"

I managed to grab hold of a bit of your hair, and as I was dragged away, it slipped out of my fingers with a tug. You turned. Looking at me with those huge violet eyes of yours, I knew what was wrong. This was all a game. This was one of your little mind games that I'd soon come to know only too well. You liked to exhibit your power over me. You wanted to make me realize that you had such a control over me, and that there was nothing I could do about it.

Your eyes were intense and sparkling, not maliciously, but thoughtfully. This was like your first experiment, and you were taking great heed of the results- for next time. I stared into your eyes, realizing this, and stopped struggling. The test was over. You were pleased.

And as I slowly boarded the train, I could see what was happening. It was like a fishing line, with you letting me pull the line out farther, but still always having the control to reel me back in- I was still attached. But unlike the lucky fish that might free himself from such a trap, this hook became a handcuff with no existing key. However, I didn't struggle to free myself. Later, I might, but for now, I was content sitting like your lap dog on a leash, only able to stray so far. But I'd always come back. You never needed to check my roaming, because I'd always return on my own free will.