Destruction
Since that day onwards, his gaze clings and never leaves the one who stains the walls with venom. It continues to pour, and he does not need to know whether it is the magic of the ancient house of Black, the pride of a pure-blooded arrogance seeping like an open wound or imagination of the mind, fractured with his third attempt. He simply does not care.
He follows Black’s movements, spies mercilessly and forgets about everything else, seeking only grey eyes with his end inside. Memories fill the head; previous years seem to be covered with murk. Lily evaporates like snow and he cannot overtake the feeling of someone else’s wander through it all.
Resistance is his strength. And so, he burns it all, thoughts are empty – nothing has remained, and books are full. Now everything in his mind is broken and will never be restored, not completely, nor for Black, who fills the gap there on his own, letting venom stuff the toy.
Legilimency at its finest, madness at its best.
Thinking that, he pours self-made potions into flasks. And table seems to appear bedraggled. Pranks instead of notes and burned fingers, not just blurred but fractured by the mothers curse. But where he sees potion is the poison and acid eats the table to the point of no return. He is not to be subdued with ease, Black sees it all - together they are one.
He goes mad, even so despite the shatter and collision, silence in the room remains.
Black somehow leaves it be and not a single rumour gets spread, Potter continues to spill pranks. And life goes on until he is caught by the throat. Eye to eye, with no one else. It’ s only them amidst forgotten class.
Black wants answers, he feels a knot of guilt in the chest. Mix of that dissolves them both. Poison visible solely to them, coats their blended selves from the bottom to the top. Silence broken, but nothing can be said. He cannot be saved.
Air is lacking in the lungs and whenever he has a chance, he gulps it like a dying whore. Exactly till there is no strength, lungs are hurting, and fire burns without a chance of wiping out devouring poison as it fetters body. Black comes closer, converges foreheads of them both and leaves them be. With him, on the verge of collapse and lack of anything except for other ones warmth, leaning against the wall.
He then slowly crawls down. Breathes heavily, not admitting how bad the situation is. How bad he is. How he is ready to succumb, allow the poison to remain.
Letter with a known to him by detail handwriting gets on his hands and they tremble in fear, so he hides it in the old robe. Only to unwrap with him not around. Heart skips a beat. Wand goes under sleeve, he is not ready, but nothing can be done and with night landing on the castle he enters tunnels.
Everything and nobody at once prepares him for the monster waiting in the Shrieking Shack, its feral eyes glowing in the dark with bones rattling through the snores. Wand in the hand, and without a second thought he uses his beloved arts of darkness for defence. One spell is cast, another follows quickly. Until the monster finds its prey.
The bones are broken in the arm, the fangs are bloody, and his lungs are filled with blood. He can not scream, incapable of any move. Unable of pulling himself together and fighting back he only feels as hot drool of a monster mingles with his blood. Teeth sink deep.
Laying on the ground he whines through pain, hearing how werewolf growls while tearing him apart, piece by piece. The pain is all-consuming, primal, silences the only faintly right of his. His only care in the world.
Fight back.
Voice of his poison comes sharp through his dying soul. Hands soft, he does the opposite instead. Black will not regret. Yet venom boils as fire burns under the skin.
He is prepared, he will be dead. Convinced, because he knows the feeling. Death always approaches in the same way, changing in time not by a single thing. Nonetheless, he finds himself already in the bed.
Smell of the blood and monster lingers in the room, but gruesome ache sits only in his head. Black stands there by the bed, his shoulders heavy with an unnamed weight. With body healed and no scars to be seen, he looks with hollow eyes at Black who felt it all and senses now it even more. Who got the chance to ease this madness through the pain and wholesome truth.
They mourn each their own and stare with misery at their own, being fully aware.
Even with that, they remain alone, unchanged.