The Sugar Quill
Author: Jem (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: Wounded  Chapter: Default
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

She turned to him and held him, one of her hands running down his back


This vignette takes place sometime between PoA and the end of GoF. "She" is an unknown character who has fallen in love with a man on the run, still wrestling with demons.

**Rated "R" for mature themes**




She pulled him closer and tugged his shirttails free, then worked her hands under his clothing and onto his back. He shuddered at her touch and closed his eyes, hesitant, she thought, but desperate for contact. She kissed him then, and as she breathed in his scent she felt his longing, clearly. He was starving in more ways than one.

She slid her hands over his much too prominent ribs to his chest. Still he didn’t move, but she could feel his heart pounding under her fingers, she could see him trembling. Slowly she pulled his shirt over his head, and then began to take off her own.

He put his hand on her wrist and stopped her.

"Do you really want this?" he whispered, "With me? You know who I am…what I am…"

She paused at this to look him carefully in the eye. "I’ve not wanted anyone more in my life."

His eyes studied hers. She wondered why he couldn’t believe her.

She took his hand in her own and led it over her bare skin, stopping on her chest. Directly over her heart. He hesitated, his fingers longing and firm, but still…still his eyes were uncertain as he leaned in to kiss her. His mouth was warm and gentle over her much more insistent lips. She took his bottom lip demandingly between her teeth, and he uttered a low, soft moan in the back of his throat, and his hands closed over her body with a passion that surprised her. His mouth was on her neck, savoring, lingering—knowing—and then moving freely over her body, and the intensity with which he moved nearly overwhelmed her. He seemed intent on tasting every inch of her skin, and suddenly she felt in very real danger of passing out – he was literally taking her breath away—the world was fading— She knew only that she was in his possession, she was in his control and she had never felt safer or more loved in her life.

His hands were worshipping—there was no other way to describe what he seemed to feel for her—surely he worshipped her—surely he was revealing the depths of his emotion to her—and she wanted only to return that same sort of love to him. She wanted him to revel in the same passion she felt at that moment. She wanted nothing to separate them – she wanted only to be a part of him, to be one with him, to never leave him. And she was lost in the joy of his body and his hands and his mouth. Time seemed to stand still, completely still… and there was no past, no future, there was only now. If only it could always be this way.

And then they lay in each other’s arms, she was fulfilled, content, and with a start she realized he was weeping – his tears were dripping onto her neck. She was startled as she brushed back his long hair, and when she saw the look in his eyes she started to pull away.

He gripped her tighter.

"Please don’t leave," he whispered. "Please – I’ve been dead for twelve years—I’ve been dead… I couldn’t bear your leaving…"

His naked honesty stirred her soul. She stroked his face as he continued to weep, and reached up to kiss the same spots her hands caressed. He dropped his head onto her then and she pulled him closer—if only she could merge with him, protect him, make him whole …if only she could make him whole, she would.





They were sleeping, nestled against one another, she feeling unbelievably content with him near her, taking peace in the steadiness of his breathing, the warmth of his body. How he had unexpectedly come into her life was a complete mystery, and a blessing she could not quite believe. Then, as she had just drifted into sleep, suddenly, unexpectedly, he jerked as if in a spasm and it jolted her into wakefulness. A low, tortured moaned escaped him. She was startled at the shock of its agony – it seemed to penetrate her very soul and settled inside of her with an agonizing chill. She sat up and stared at him, her heart racing. But he did not move. She placed a hand on his shoulder and was startled at the sweat on his body and his sudden writhing at her touch.

"Sirius," she said softly, yet urgently, her hand stroking him and settling just over his heart. "Sirius, what is it?" Her heart was pounding suddenly – was he ill? He must have a fever, some awful menace was attacking his body…

He moaned again, louder, "No-ooo," and she shivered involuntarily. She shook his shoulder.

He opened his eyes, but she couldn’t read his expression in the dark.

"Are you all right, Sirius? Are you ill?"


She pulled him against her and held him, one of her hands running down his back. He was awake, she was sure, but he seemed remote, distant, a strange aura radiating from him, and for a moment she had the idea that she should move away, that she might be in danger. But she shook the feeling off, longing for him and the man she knew and the comfort of his embrace. He stirred and moved over her in an unpredictable manner, staring into her eyes, and the look chilled her to the bone. Something was definitely not right.

"Sirius," she whispered, and brushed her hand against his long, dark hair, moving it from his face. She could not hold his gaze. She realized with a start that she was afraid of him.

He was moving brusquely, and his hands gripped her arms with a strange power that she had never felt from him before. It felt at once oddly thrilling but terribly threatening. Her pulse was increasing and as he clamped his mouth roughly over hers she found herself struggling against him to breathe.

"Sirius," she gasped and turned her face away, struggling to move her arms, which were pinned to the bed. "Sirius…"

His eyes were frightening. Vacant and hollow – she had never seen this particular look on his face. She tried to calm herself, but was rapidly becoming terrified.

"Stop, Sirius! You’re hurting me!"

He blinked, looking slightly disoriented, then moved a hand to her jaw and brought her back to his mouth, where he seemed to be trying to contain her, to possess her, perhaps… His eyes bored into hers with a fathomless, empty intensity. She shuddered and gasped and he finally released her mouth.

"Sirius…what’s wrong?" she gasped, her voice pleading, begging.

He moved back slightly then, perhaps at the grief in her voice, and she was able to wrench herself away from him. A horrible contempt radiated from him as she pulled away. She leapt from the bed, and in that moment he lunged after her. She whimpered softly in her fear – if only she could reach her wand, she thought helplessly as she backed away from the towering, menacing figure looming in the darkness. He looked every bit the horrible wanted criminal of the past… She backed against the wall, and instinctively collapsed into the smallest figure she could, huddled down on the floor, terror now in control, wanting only to find a hiding place from this man she had thought she had known…thought she had loved.

He took a step toward her, and then just as suddenly turned away. "Oh, my god," was all he said – but there was a haunting mournfulness in his tone, and then she heard the squeak of the bed as he must have sat back down. His labored breathing filled the silence, but she did not dare move to see what he was doing. She thought her heart would stop in the anxiety of those moments. Did he have her own wand pointed at her this very moment? Or perhaps he was unable to find it, and held a knife instead, ready to lunge at her and slash her chest open. My god, what had she done? What could she have believed when she opened her heart to this man, this hardened criminal who had single handedly escaped Azkaban?

After what seemed an eternity she lifted her head and turned as softly and slowly as she could. She had to know what he was doing. What was he waiting for? She was trapped—what did he want? This sitting in terrified suspense was too awful…she had to try to escape.

He was sitting on the bed as she had imagined, but his back was to her. He was huddled there, in a heap, his head in his hands. She wondered for a moment if he was even alive. Perhaps she could creep from the room without his noticing…

She stood and took several steps toward the door when he turned just as suddenly to look at her. She froze, panic-stricken.

She could see his expression from the light of the night sky that shone in through the windows. His face was pale and drawn, and his eyes were wet. He glanced at her only briefly, then stared at the floor. The agony in his face was totally unexpected, and pierced her soul in a way she would have thought impossible. Still, she didn’t move. She was paralyzed with fear.

He stood then, quietly and awkwardly, and without a word moved from the room. She held her breath for a moment, then dashed to the bureau and retrieved her wand. Holding it steadily in front of her, she pulled a robe around herself, pausing to be sure the clasp at the chest was securely fastened, and then moved cautiously from the room. Sirius was at the front door. He had rapidly dressed and was putting on his boots. He looked briefly toward her, taking in the wand that was steadily pointed at him, and once again lowered his eyes.

"I won’t hurt you. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything in the world," he said, so softly she could barely hear him. He finished with his boots, stood, and walked out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

She remained staring after him, wand still pointing to the place he had once stood, tears dripping from her cheeks. Then she sank to the floor, still gripping the wand, and began to cry with an intensity she did not know she possessed.



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