Name: Courtney Kathrys
Title: Recrudescent
E-mail: Faeriedeathhotmail.com
Summery: Following the events immediately after "Be But Sworn My Love." The reaction following Ginny and Sirius' first kiss.
Notes: Don't ask... I have no idea where I came up with this. It takes place during the summer before Ginny's seventh year. If you're a stickler for detail, you think of a way Sirius came back.... that's not the center of this story.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot.
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Rec-ru-des-cent: adjective – To break out anew or come into renewed activity
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She ran to her room, crying. She knew he probably hated himself now and her more so. But he could never hate her. He had never thought much of her until recently, actually. She was always the little sister of his godson's best friend. Just another redhead. He began to see her as a person, a separate entity, after she told him of Tom and The Diary. He told her of his family. She disclosed the nature of her tumultuous affair with Dean Thomas, and the vengeance she reeked with Draco Malfoy. He admitted Azkaban, and his time behind the veil. Safe within the confines of Buckbeak's room. They were tired of the prison the house had become, tired of everyone worrying about their safety; therefore, being thrust together, they came together. And the room became a haven, a confessional, a pensive. And it is where they fell in love, the summer between her sixth and seventh year.
And so, hours later, in the middle of the night, she made her way back to their hideaway. He was still in the same position she had left him in, sitting on the stairs, running his hands through his hair. He looked up at her when she entered, and was struck by how beautiful she had become to him. She wore an old white cotton nightgown, and her fiery hair fell in tangles about her shoulders. Her face was still splotchy from crying, and her eyes bore bruises beneath them from the tears. But she was beautiful.
He stood and she made her way tentatively towards him. When she was close enough he reached out and grabbed her, crushing her to his chest, and somewhere between tears and shoulders and hair their lips met again. This wasn't tentative and spontaneous like the first. This second one was awareness and consent; this kiss was full of tears and fingers and skin. They devoured each other, making up for months of their mutual isolation.
That first night they just reveled in the second kiss. They lost themselves in two pairs of lips, two traveling tongues, and two bodies wanting only each other, separated only by twenty-two years. Their mouths explored new territories and their tongues waged a battle over possession of each other's mouth. It had been so long since he held a woman, even longer for the youth the one in his arms now possessed. She had only been exposed to boys, ones only her superior by a year, or even a handful of months.
For him it was like returning to contentment; to clandestine rendezvous in empty classrooms with willing girls. But now he was here, dangling precariously on the edge of forty. Clinging to the girl in his arms who was barely legal; a girl who was still in school.
For her it was salvation. Between years spent in the arms of little boys, too desperate to be men, and memories of incorporeal hands possessing her. He was here to prove to her that love wasn't meant to be what she had only known. And on that first night, they let their minds believe while their mouths took advantage of their silence.
On the second night they needed more than kisses and tongues and lips could grant. That second night they needed the soft hay of Buckbeak's stall, and two bodies wanting only the other. When he entered her she felt filled, instead of dirty or lacking. Neither of them was inexperienced in this matter, both having left the naivety of innocence behind many years ago. Him with a girl at a party his parents had thrown; her in the cold Chamber with the future Dark Lord
For him, he was fourteen and she had taken advantage of the generous amount of liquor available. She was older and much more experienced. He was all hormones and very eager to fulfill her request, delighted at the scandal it would cause if his parents ever discovered. They never did.
For her she had been twelve, though they both had been perched on that fine line between real and imagination. Tom had owned so much of her by that point, that she'd have been able to refuse him nothing. So she didn't.
They both had entertained other lovers as well, nameless girls and sleepless nights, or fumbling boys who couldn't induce half the pleasure a single memory could. But on that second night, they were neither nameless or a memory. The two sprawled awkwardly on a bed of straw were real. And they laughed when he began to move in her, aware at the absurdity of the situation. In some part of their minds, they half expected this to just be their fantasies playing a cruel prank. But when she whimpered as she came, and he bit her shoulder as he released, they knew that no fantasy could compare. Afterwards they had joked and flirted and fell asleep in each other's arms.
The second time was their last night together. No words were spoken as she left her pristine nightgown on the floor where she entered. There was no foreplay, no whispered endearments or amused laughter. It was all passion and anger and fury. They fought each other against the knowledge that they could not continue this affair. She tore his back with her nails, and he left bite wounds over her shoulders and breasts. He backed her against the wall when he pummeled himself inside of her, and she threw her head back against the concrete, screaming. Her crimson hair could have been blood following behind her on the wall, but neither cared enough to check. They destroyed each other as she shouted his name in her husky and desire filled voice. He whispered hers in his dangerous and feral growl. Neither could keep the pace up at such a speed and both fell as soon as they reached the top; tumbling down in a tangle of sweet fear, bitter regret, salty skin, and sour emptiness.
They curled up, back to back, unable to bare the sight of the other. She left soon after, not bothering to dress as she made her way slowly to her room, almost daring someone to find her. They didn't. And she never asked for that kiss goodnight, or goodbye.
She left for Hogwarts the next morning. She was all innocence in her uniform and Head Girl badge; her fiery hair tamed into a modest braid. He never came down to send her off, and she was relieved. She didn't know if she could stand to see him again. He watched her as her trunk was loaded into the back of a Ministry car. She'll never know what made her look up to the far window, but she was unsurprised to see him gazing down at her. She knew the expression that scarred his features. She knew, and she agreed. How could they possibly hope to carry on this foolish affair, who had they been kidding? They would be a distraction, a liability to all those trying so hard to fight this war. No one would understand or accept. Perhaps, if they lived in a time of peace, they may have worked; but they were born out of war, and would always be so with each other.
She laughed bitterly to herself, remembering how they had both been so frustrated about being useless. They stayed at home and sat around and lamented about having nothing challenging to give, nothing to sacrifice to ease the pain for the others. Little did they know that while the others risked their lives, they had been required to sacrifice their hearts for the good of the Wizarding world; and that, perhaps, had been the greatest casualty of war so far.
After all, what was the price of happiness, of love, and of two hearts in the great scheme of things anyways?
-=fin=-
Thank you to all who took the time to read this. I do hope you continue on to the next installment