A Darker Shade of Black

He opened the door to his room. A warm breeze greeted him, but his feet felt cold as he walked across the black marble floors.

A voice, wet with seduction, spoke from within. "I've been waiting for you."

It sent a chill up his spine.

He knew who it was, knew why they had come. But he did not want to believe it. He did not want to look at her, and as she rose from his curtained bed to greet him, he turned away, avoiding the poisonous look in her glittering black eyes.

"I told you not to come," Sirius whispered.

"Cousin," came her sweet reply. "How could I possibly stay away?" She reached out to touch his arm, but Sirius moved away. He would not take the bait. He would not succumb to her.

Sirius walked over to his open bedroom window. The sun was setting; orange and red incandescence threatened to brighten the black surfaces of his room. In the evening glow, his Gryffindor banner shone dimly with glory, bathed in the sun's setting rays. He turned away from the sunset and glimpsed his cousin in the mirror watching him. Her hands were on her hips and her brow was furrowed in thought. She stood with a sharp defiance.

Bellatrix Black was beautiful. She was beautiful, but in a dark, fragile sort of way. Her skin was alabaster and her lips were a peculiarly bright red. Her hair was long and thick and black; it fell over her shoulders and down her back in messy waves. She was wearing velvet robes and visibly beneath was a deep forest green corset, amplifying the shape and suppleness of her form.

Sirius turned to her; she gazed at him through heavy-lidded eyes, showing discreet signs of hope and desire. But her voice was brazen when she declared,

"What has it come down to then? Am I not good enough for you Si-ri-us?" She enunciated each syllable of his name; each syllable was venom in her throat. "I was good for you last week though," she laughed. She brushed her hair elegantly from her face, her skin like cream.

Sirius spoke evenly. "I don't want anything to do with you."

His eyes did not betray any emotion; there was no feeling in his heart. Even Bellatrix's porcelain beauty, tinted with the sun's last colourful rays of light, did not stir him. It was for this reason, it was because of her fierce looks and demeanour, that Sirius knew he had to stay away. He despised his cousin; the only thing that bound them together was the blood of aristocracy, and a night they shared all too well. He thought back to the last time she was in his room, in his bed. He was holding her in his arms, in the throes of incest and passion, his blood pumping through his veins, his hands clasped around her wrists, pinning her down to the dark sheets, her hair blending into the blackness that surrounded them. He could feel the serpent and skull branded on the inside of her forearm, just below her wrist and he dug his nails into her, revelling in her sharp intake of breath and consequent groan, revelling in the buck of her hips as she moved underneath him and as he drowned himself inside of her. It was horrifying and pleasurable, and he felt nothing but hatred mingled with a blunt wantonness.

Sirius shook his head as if to dislodge the memory. But their last encounter was still vivid in his mind, and he had thought about it, dwelled on it, for several nights now. It was tinged with a flavour of shame and perverseness that grew stronger the more he reflected. Bellatrix was his superior; she was nearly a decade older, but she bloomed with a youth and vivacity that surpassed her age. Her body was fruitful and flawless, as if she simply lived off the blood and youth of younger, fresher, tender witches. Her pale cheeks were now flushed with blood and she turned on Sirius in a rage, screaming with reckless abandon.

"How dare you! How dare you speak to me like that! Your own blood, the perfect counterpart to your imperfect fucking self! How dare you reject me, when I'm everything you want and need, when only I can keep you safe and loved in this wretched family! I am everything you are not, everything that you hate but wish you loved and wish you could be! I know it! Deep in your heart you seek the same arrogant claims as any other Black. The marks of a Black – the determination to find glory, a marked distaste for your social inferiors, even a glimpse of pureblood pride – I can see them in you like I see them in everyone else! How can you reject what you've so solemnly searched for?"

She was breathless after her tirade and she slumped down on his bed, her chest rattling as she inhaled deeply. Sirius stood stiff and numb; he didn't want to believe what she was saying, still didn't want to believe that she was even there, but as much as he swore to himself that he hated her, hated the whole lot of them, he couldn't help but admit that part of what she had said was true. Their ambitions were different, but the manner of his behaviour was clearly as she described. He was a Black by nature, there was no denying it.

"I am nothing like you. I don't want you, and I will not share my bed with my blood relative, especially one that I passionately despise. Your existence does not faze me Bellatrix. I could snub you out of my life like a flame. You meant nothing to me then and you mean nothing to me now. I could never love a person like you, and for all your dark beauty and worth, your soul is hideous and evil and I felt it that night. I don't ever want to feel that again." He paused; something seemed to pass over him. "Now I think you should leave."

Sirius pointed to the door of his bedroom. He could not continue to bear her ominous presence. It was like a disease and he was no longer propelled to endure it. Anything she would say from then on would be meaningless. It would not make a difference. He was resolved. His heart was empty, and she had no love to offer him.

Bellatrix rose from the bed. She walked haughtily to the door, placed her palm on the knob, but before leaving she turned to face Sirius, who stood at his full height, lean, purposeful, emitting a cold indifference that was rooted in his emotionless visage. His gray eyes flickered towards her bosom and seemed to darken with a malevolent distaste.

"You will regret this Sirius," Bellatrix whispered sardonically. Her eyes glittered and she licked her lips.

"I doubt that Bella," Sirius replied.

Bellatrix laughed, a vicious whip-like crack that disturbed the stillness of the room. "Trust me cousin, you will."

She left the room, her robes billowing out behind her, clutching her wrist to her chest, reflecting on the familiar feelings of loss and desire. She drowned her regrets in dark thoughts of revenge and power.

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. She was gone. The agony of experiencing her, hearing her voice, her shrieks of indignation, the blackness of her words, the formidable expression on her face, her cherry red lips, her hair, her body – it was an immense relief to be rid of her presence, a presence which made him feel criminal. No longer would he be subject to the seductive spell of her language and skin; he knew she would not return.

The twilight of the evening was comforting and the warm air emanating from the open window roused positive vibes within him. He would no longer drown in the shame and guilt of Bellatrix and knew wholeheartedly that he was different from the rest of his clan, if not entirely, in the virtue and honesty of his dreams and goals.

"We have both darkness and light in us," Sirius thought, and he closed his blinds, shutting out the last dying rays of the sunset.