Blank Pages of a Lie


I hate this existence, and I hate it more with every passing moment.

I feel their eyes on me—watching, always watching. Some eyes seek my flesh beneath my clothes while others map my every move. I hate them both, and I know not which I hate more. I think perhaps I hate most those that do not look.

The old man plays a game with a foe every bit as skilled, and I am merely only one of the pieces cast out onto the board. But I'll be damned it I remain a lowly pawn! He expects me to sit and do as I'm told just like a good puppet and to let those who know better decide my fate. Ha! Who knows better than I the evils of the world? Who? Who indeed! I've been to hell and I've seen all the demons of mankind and I've felt their jagged, stinging bites! I am the one who has beaten death beyond what rational reasoning can explain.

Dumbledore may be a powerful wizard beyond the limits of most imagining, but even he can't grant me back all I've lost. Even he can't turn back enough time to fix all the ills of the world.

And they can't even leave me now to my bitterness! She stands waiting for me, smugness oozing from her every pore. It's as though she's convinced of my damnation and waits now to cast judgment on my soul. Doesn't she know I've already been found wanting? Why else would the gods have thrown me so coldly back to this pit? Now she stands between me and my one sanctuary—the silent room of knowledge where all the answers I seek lie. I'm almost certain I found a way to liberate Padfoot from the dark recesses of my mind, but the book is forbidden to me for now.

"I'm on to you," the buck-tooth girl-woman crowned by a halo of twisting hair frizzed every-which way declares, fixing me with as cold a glare as she is capable.

"And what, pray tell, is there anything on me for which you to be onto?" I ask, taking pleasure in the frustration she now embodies. Her lip trembles with the realization she does not intimidate me, despite being one of Dumbledore's favorite pieces. She never even had a chance. Her worse nightmare is nothing more than a pleasant revelry for me, a balm from the weight of this realm of Tartaras.

"I know what you did to Professor Lupin," she decrees, lifting herself as though she was somehow superior to me. "Harry doesn't need you distracting him. Leave him alone."

"Perhaps you should instruct Harry to leave me be. I am not the one seeking his company, yet it is to my bed he crawls. He's so like to his father in that regard, but unlike his father, James was always content for a few kisses," I mock her, offering her my most charming smile.

"I won't tell you again, you lying demon of a boy," she starts. "Leave Harry be, or I'll—"

"You'll what?" I challenge. "What horrors can you possibly do onto me I've not already seen?"

She pulls back a hand as though she would strike me. Surprising her I grab her hand from the air and brush my thumb over the soft skin of her hand. Her skin is soft like all scholars' hands. Blue veins lie under it. "How truly fragile we all are. It was with this hand I shattered his. Did you know?" I ask her softly, my voice a whisper. She doesn't pull away, so well caught in my spell, mindless in the wake of my touch like so many others. A pity. I thought she could have offered me a better fight.

"Remember, little girl, I could break you, too," I tell her, offering her the same smile, and with a manic gleam in my eye, I caress the curve of her jaw. "Let this be our little secret," I continue, my smile sliding to a clandestine smirk.

My harsh touch of my favor, after all, is worse than the sweet bite of my rancor.

Letting her hand drop, I turn away and enter the room filled with rows and rows of volumes to the last with any answers to any quandary of curious minds. I have greater worries than that of a meddling schoolgirl who thinks she knows best. She still stands stone still where I left her, holding a hand to the spot I stroked, and her eyes never leave the hand I held so tender.

It's always the same. I'm nothing more than a pretty doll to any of them. Pull a string and watch me dance! Little do they know that I have a few tricks of my own! I hate them all.

Little Sirius Regulus decked in his blue and bronze turns from round an isle as I enter and his distracted frown morphs into an elated countenance. "Uncle!" he cheers, never mind the edict of silence, and he rushes toward me, innocent to the magic I had weaved over the girl.

I smile indulgently as he borrows his face into the front of my robes and seeks what comfort he may gather from my presence. His hair is sweet and clean, and he is warm against me. "I got a letter today from Father," he babbles, his face still buried in my outer most cloak.

"And what does he say?" I ask, petting his hair dark as my own.

"He told me to keep an eye on you!" he laughs. "Incredible, isn't it? I mean, me watching over you!"

"Your father is a queer one," I offer, smiling wide still. He's so young…

There is another set of eyes watching from across the room. It is an amber set of eyes whose gaze is perhaps the most familiar to me of all. I can feel on my skin the weight of that stare as though it were a tangible thing. Think me not paranoid! I am hunted by a most dangerous of beasts! Those eyes have never left me…not in so many long years. That hungry, wolfish gaze racks down my body as though I am no more than a lamb in the mouth of the lion.

Instead of crippling the wolf's paw, I should have taken its sight.

"I'm sure you're hard at work," I say to Little Sirius. "Go on, Little Star. What trouble could I get into here?"

"Alright Uncle. I love you," he says, smiling up at me with teeth snow white. He releases me and goes on his way to a table manned by others in the array of Ravenclaw.

With my nephew safely surrounded by his peers, I turn my attention to the watching eyes and offer him a smug, secretive grin. I approach him calmly at an even pace. He dares not try anything here were there are so many other sets of watching eyes. I can almost see his ears go back and his ruff rise as I near his table. "Hello, Professor," I say pleasantly. "Lovely day, isn't it?" I add, gesturing to the now clear, blue sky outside the window. "Too bad about the cold."

"What do you want?" he demands, all bite. His hand is still braced against his chest—useless.

"It's so unfortunate that Madam Pomfrey couldn't relieve you of that pain," I remark. "And your wand hand even! How truly problematic."

"If you've come to gloat—"

"Merely to inquire after an…old friend," I interrupt, all sugar sweet and with claws extended. "Do you mind if I join you, Professor?" I ask as a courtesy before slipping into the chair across from him.

He says not a word bur fixes me with a cool stare. So cold! Ha. And yet he still loves me so. The bruises and bites on my neck may have healed, but I can still feel the powerful throbbing under my skin of his claim over me. Werewolves may not mate for life, but they always have their favorites…

I brush my hair back from my neck and let him drink in the vision of my bare, fragile skin. My smile turns seductive as I whisper, "Maybe I could help you where she could not. My father taught me many things after all."

He shakes his head to clear the influence of my charm. Let him try. "Why are you doing this?" he whispers, almost sounding as if he was in pain.

"I need a favor, actually. In return for it, I could give you back your hand…or maybe there is something else you want from me? One last night, perhaps?"

"You are so cruel," he continues, "and yet I still want you. Oh, Merlin, why did I ever fall for a creature as harsh and lovely as you, Sirius? You say I hurt you, and you say I turned you into this like you had no choice in the matter. If only you could see the way you are instead of trying to cast blame onto everyone else," he says softly, reaching out to touch my face.

His words shake me harder than I thought they would. I slap hiss hand out of the air before he can touch me. "Stop playing this game with me!" I demand.

"Oh, but Sirius, you started it," he mocks.

"I wonder…when you laid down with my cousin, did you ask her to let her hair be dark and long, her skin be milk white, her eyes be grey, and her face be mine? Did you ever howl out my name as you filled her with your seed? How many other nameless, faceless wretches have you, in your minds eye, seen wearing my guise? When have you ever stopped when I begged you to?" I demand harshly. "You may have forcibly taken part of my soul, but you know not of anything I've experienced. You thing you were my first?" I snap. "Not even. I was twelve, and it was the head girl, the very same who now works under Madam Pomfrey. She ruined me before you even thought of my flesh," I hiss.

"And there rears your ugly mind and Black heart," he says. "Leave me be. I want nothing from you."

"You will always want me," I tease. "Lie to yourself all you want, but you know I am right."

"That might be so," he admits, 'but now I really see you, the corrupt, little horror of a demon that you are, and not the ideal cupid I conjured."

"Very well. I shall see if Severus will assist me. He always did have a weakness for me," I add, a little surreptitious grin curved across my lips. I rise and turn away, but before I can take a step, I feel the warm fingers curl around my wrist.

"Why must you torment me so?" he begs.

"Because I hate you so, dearest lover," I answer pleasantly, "and I love you so. Because it was you who held me and you who hurt me. For all the warmth and the cold you have shown me, that is why I plague you like a thousand pinpricks," I continue with a white grin and honeyed voice.

His grip slackens. I slip away.