Sirius/Bellatrix : The Apple Grove
In wild celebration of the fact that Bella’s been cast - and damn well, I must say - I thought I’d upload a Sirius/Bella I wrote. Hurrah :D!
Title: The Apple Grove
Length: 1040 words
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Pairing: Sirius/Bellatrix
Rating: R (allusion to dark themes; sex)
Summary: He supposes they are a little older now and suspects that the years show: he, a little taller in the limbs and bolder in the heart; she, a little wider in the hips and stauncher in the mind. But none of that is very important now and he is sure he abhors her for it, positive that he hates her, in fact.
A/N: EDITED a wee bit since posting. Beta’d by derryere and yuying_luo who are both so amazing I can’t say! This is for you and bluejaye7, because you darling, deserve all the happiness in the wooooooorld ♥. Any other mistakes are my own :D
Feedback is <3
The Apple Grove
At the tender age of four, Sirius discovers that he is rather fond of apples, but not just any old sort either. No, even for someone so small and minute he still maintains certain requirements, you might say, for the fruit of his choice to meet, preferring those with a tart, sharp taste and crisp flesh to properly sink his teeth into, as opposed to the sickly sweet variant those insufferable cousins of his took a ghastly liking to.
He is not a thief by nature but he just cannot contain himself as he accompanies his brother - under his mother’s orders, of course - to his Aunt’s fruit grove the summer of his eleventh year. There, nestled amongst creaking branches laden heavily with harvest, are the most glorious apples he has ever seen, just the sight of them makes his mouth water incessantly.
So he allows himself to sample the seasonal condiments on offer to him as the sweltering days go by, becoming more and more aware of picking apples harbouring the most crunch, based on appearance alone.
His pilfering goes unnoticed for a while but, as luck would have it, Bellatrix catches him one morning, with juice dribbling down his chin and fingers sticky with saccharine residue.
She greets him at the bottom of the tree he has scaled with a pugnacious grimace akin to the kind her mother would give her accompanied by scandalised tones before sending her to the punishment corner. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she admonishes, clucking her tongue impetuously and craning her neck to squint up at him. “Taking a gander at whatever you like and stealing from mother’s orchard. Well, I’ve caught you now, you little filcher!”
Sirius is not alarmed by the threat veiled behind her words and merely dangles his legs from the limb he’s upon, helping himself to a voracious bite out of the apple he has taken great lengths to polish against his trousers during his cousin’s diatribe.
Perhaps it is this lack of concern on his part which takes Bellatrix by surprise - more than she would like.
“Don’t think I won’t tell mother!” she declares hotly, regaining her composure with a scowl etched across her features: spidery lines worried into the purse of her mouth, rendering what would be an attractive face into something dour and unpleasant. “Because I can and I will! You mark my words, Sirius Black!”
He does not think of her as very pretty when she works herself up into rages such as these.
“Well, go on then,” he sneers in return, tossing the half-consumed piece of fruit up and down in the palm of his hand, with a nonchalance that he knows will drive her mad. “I can’t bloody well do much to stop you, with me being in a tree and all, so go be the little tattle-tale that you are.”
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?!” she demands furiously, kicking the trunk juvenilely with a booted foot - the very same pair of shoes he had begrudgingly gifted her the previous Christmas - as if the simple gesture would somehow shake him off of his ungainly post. “Regulus is! Narcissa is! Andromeda is! Why aren’t you?!”
He is stunned by this rare showcase of vulnerability; but he is not fooled - not for a moment. “I can’t find anything remotely fearsome about you, besides the fact that you’re absolutely and completely mental.”
Bellatrix surveys him, for what seems an eternity, with the most potent form of hatred he has ever beheld before turning on her heel and stalking off bad-temperedly.
He sits on his perch, intent on finishing his apple, careful to avoid the pips as he remembers Bella saying once, that they were poisonous and would kill him.
Sirius may not be frightened of her but he listens.
He deems the sheer acknowledgement as the most that she deserves, for now.
~*~
He supposes they are a little older now and suspects that the years show: he, a little taller in the limbs and bolder in the heart; she, a little wider in the hips and stauncher in the mind. But none of that is very important now and he is sure he abhors her for it, positive that he hates her, in fact.
It is of no consequence that he does not quite know why.
He detects it in the very air he breathes, a thick mucus that coats the back of his tongue; he tastes her in the very food he eats, a scintillating tang that burns down his throat; he sees them in the very family portraits they pose in, a fiery vision of lust branded upon his brain; and he loathes the dire erroneousness of it all because it is her fault entirely and surely, he cannot be blamed.
But he never tells her to end it; so it continues.
He is the weakest coward he will ever have the good fortune of meeting.
That night, he fucks her on top of his luggage - all packed and ready for his departure - with the handles digging into the small of her back, an imprint of all that they will never have, so that she whimpers, head pounding against the door with the deafening boom of each thrust, a happiness that they will never recognise, so that she laughs.
She leaves him with what he desperately wants to call a smile, though it bears no semblance to one. It is something he mulls over as he journeys from a childhood he has never properly known; it is something he tries in vain to forget as he darkens the Potters’ doorstep.
And later, much later, it is with racing pulse and bated breath that he opens his bags to unpack. He finds hundreds of apple seeds, laced with deadly cyanide, strewn across layers upon layers of a former life he has compartmentalised into two suitcases - shoes and collars and socks and cuffs and shirts and -
“You’ll die if you eat those, they’ll slowly murder you.”
“Come off it, of course they can’t!”
“Oh, but they can and they will. You’ll be dead, dead, and dead Sirius!”
This is her warning, he is convinced of it.
Sirius is not scared of Bellatrix - he is petrified.
Title: The Apple Grove
Length: 1040 words
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Pairing: Sirius/Bellatrix
Rating: R (allusion to dark themes; sex)
Summary: He supposes they are a little older now and suspects that the years show: he, a little taller in the limbs and bolder in the heart; she, a little wider in the hips and stauncher in the mind. But none of that is very important now and he is sure he abhors her for it, positive that he hates her, in fact.
A/N: EDITED a wee bit since posting. Beta’d by derryere and yuying_luo who are both so amazing I can’t say! This is for you and bluejaye7, because you darling, deserve all the happiness in the wooooooorld ♥. Any other mistakes are my own :D
Feedback is <3
The Apple Grove
At the tender age of four, Sirius discovers that he is rather fond of apples, but not just any old sort either. No, even for someone so small and minute he still maintains certain requirements, you might say, for the fruit of his choice to meet, preferring those with a tart, sharp taste and crisp flesh to properly sink his teeth into, as opposed to the sickly sweet variant those insufferable cousins of his took a ghastly liking to.
He is not a thief by nature but he just cannot contain himself as he accompanies his brother - under his mother’s orders, of course - to his Aunt’s fruit grove the summer of his eleventh year. There, nestled amongst creaking branches laden heavily with harvest, are the most glorious apples he has ever seen, just the sight of them makes his mouth water incessantly.
So he allows himself to sample the seasonal condiments on offer to him as the sweltering days go by, becoming more and more aware of picking apples harbouring the most crunch, based on appearance alone.
His pilfering goes unnoticed for a while but, as luck would have it, Bellatrix catches him one morning, with juice dribbling down his chin and fingers sticky with saccharine residue.
She greets him at the bottom of the tree he has scaled with a pugnacious grimace akin to the kind her mother would give her accompanied by scandalised tones before sending her to the punishment corner. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” she admonishes, clucking her tongue impetuously and craning her neck to squint up at him. “Taking a gander at whatever you like and stealing from mother’s orchard. Well, I’ve caught you now, you little filcher!”
Sirius is not alarmed by the threat veiled behind her words and merely dangles his legs from the limb he’s upon, helping himself to a voracious bite out of the apple he has taken great lengths to polish against his trousers during his cousin’s diatribe.
Perhaps it is this lack of concern on his part which takes Bellatrix by surprise - more than she would like.
“Don’t think I won’t tell mother!” she declares hotly, regaining her composure with a scowl etched across her features: spidery lines worried into the purse of her mouth, rendering what would be an attractive face into something dour and unpleasant. “Because I can and I will! You mark my words, Sirius Black!”
He does not think of her as very pretty when she works herself up into rages such as these.
“Well, go on then,” he sneers in return, tossing the half-consumed piece of fruit up and down in the palm of his hand, with a nonchalance that he knows will drive her mad. “I can’t bloody well do much to stop you, with me being in a tree and all, so go be the little tattle-tale that you are.”
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?!” she demands furiously, kicking the trunk juvenilely with a booted foot - the very same pair of shoes he had begrudgingly gifted her the previous Christmas - as if the simple gesture would somehow shake him off of his ungainly post. “Regulus is! Narcissa is! Andromeda is! Why aren’t you?!”
He is stunned by this rare showcase of vulnerability; but he is not fooled - not for a moment. “I can’t find anything remotely fearsome about you, besides the fact that you’re absolutely and completely mental.”
Bellatrix surveys him, for what seems an eternity, with the most potent form of hatred he has ever beheld before turning on her heel and stalking off bad-temperedly.
He sits on his perch, intent on finishing his apple, careful to avoid the pips as he remembers Bella saying once, that they were poisonous and would kill him.
Sirius may not be frightened of her but he listens.
He deems the sheer acknowledgement as the most that she deserves, for now.
~*~
He supposes they are a little older now and suspects that the years show: he, a little taller in the limbs and bolder in the heart; she, a little wider in the hips and stauncher in the mind. But none of that is very important now and he is sure he abhors her for it, positive that he hates her, in fact.
It is of no consequence that he does not quite know why.
He detects it in the very air he breathes, a thick mucus that coats the back of his tongue; he tastes her in the very food he eats, a scintillating tang that burns down his throat; he sees them in the very family portraits they pose in, a fiery vision of lust branded upon his brain; and he loathes the dire erroneousness of it all because it is her fault entirely and surely, he cannot be blamed.
But he never tells her to end it; so it continues.
He is the weakest coward he will ever have the good fortune of meeting.
That night, he fucks her on top of his luggage - all packed and ready for his departure - with the handles digging into the small of her back, an imprint of all that they will never have, so that she whimpers, head pounding against the door with the deafening boom of each thrust, a happiness that they will never recognise, so that she laughs.
She leaves him with what he desperately wants to call a smile, though it bears no semblance to one. It is something he mulls over as he journeys from a childhood he has never properly known; it is something he tries in vain to forget as he darkens the Potters’ doorstep.
And later, much later, it is with racing pulse and bated breath that he opens his bags to unpack. He finds hundreds of apple seeds, laced with deadly cyanide, strewn across layers upon layers of a former life he has compartmentalised into two suitcases - shoes and collars and socks and cuffs and shirts and -
“You’ll die if you eat those, they’ll slowly murder you.”
“Come off it, of course they can’t!”
“Oh, but they can and they will. You’ll be dead, dead, and dead Sirius!”
This is her warning, he is convinced of it.
Sirius is not scared of Bellatrix - he is petrified.