Love Letters to You

The first time they fuck, it takes both of them by surprise. 

Potter had not ceased to gloat about his recent potion mastery, which coupled with his undeniable talent in the Defense of the Dark Arts, made his head a tad too big for Elara's taste. Oh, perhaps he did not gloat in the way that Purebloods or even Draco like to fan their own flames of self-importance, but his teasing smirks and fighting words were enough that Elara wanted to shut him up with a well-placed hex. 

Or, as it turns out, a kiss. 

It is a quick and aggressive one, more teeth than softness, and she swallows his would-be next remark like it is the oxygen she needs. 

His lips are soft, it is her first thought.

The second one is: this feels right.

Then comes Draco's voice, her soul brother who, even when not there, echoes. Are you seriously kissing Potter?

Elara tears herself off the Gryffindor as if only remembering her place, their name. That they are Black and Potter, Slytherin and Gryffindor. She parts from his soft lips, almost relunctly, though not even a Crucio would make her admit so. Emerald meets gray, eyes blown wide with surprise and something more, something that makes her stomach flutter. 

The witch takes a step back. 

This-

This is crossing the line that stands between her and Potter, a gate has opened, one that she stole glimpses of since the Yule ball, but the chains have shattered and she is suddenly hit by the realization that oh.

She has found her Heart. 

Potter has stopped looking at her straight in her eyes, rather, his gaze roams almost hungrily, sweeping over her tied-up hair and bitten lips. 

"Potter-"

In an almost ironic turn of events, it is him who swallows his name, lips crashing into hers, hands cupping her cheeks till she can only lean in and kiss him back as if it is the most natural thing to do. 

She tilts her head, and, as if almost reading her mind, he deepens the kiss. 

Harry Potter tastes like starlight. Sweetness and light, the balm to wounds she did not know existed till his touch soothed. 

He removes her hair ribbon and waves of ebony silk tumble on her shoulders. Potter groans in her mouth as he gets a hold of them, long fingers running through her locks. In response, Elara pops open his outer robes, buttons clattering on the floor like a soft mist. 

He chuckles, but an inch from her and they are so close to one another, she feels how his chest rumbles with laughter a bit like thunder, her own personal storm.

"Eager?" he asks, his voice deeper than usual, eyes almost black with something burning inside of them, burning so hotly Elara wants to grab him and never let go. 

"Always for you," she responds, and he kisses her once more after whispering out hoarsely, "You're killing me, Black."

It would be of poor form to kill her Heart, Elara cannot help but muse, though she quickly forgets it as her tie, green and silver, joins the buttons and his outer robes. 

Now, Elara could spend hours writing about what happens next, but she fears that Draco might suffer a heart attack if he ever comes across such writing. 

All she can say is that Potter is a good lover. 

Kind, gentle. Worshipping. 

perfect

They fall asleep, spent with their legs intertwined, in the conjured bed.

It was perfect.

It should have been perfect.

But, she wakes up alone with a simple note depicting a smiling drawing pinned to her robes. The other side of the bed is still warm, Potter having snuck out probably mere minutes ago and left her to her shame. Elara bites her lips, drawing the covers a bit tighter around herself as if it could shield her away from the sudden cold that washes over her. 

She does not get a kind word, nor even letters from the Gryffindor. A mere, crude drawing that a five-year-old could outperform. 

Elara tries to swallow back whatever rises from her throat, though she thinks it's bile, most probably bile. There's an ache to her core, but a more painful one in her chest as she gathers herself, and calls her personal elf. 

"Missy is here, Mistress," the house elf bows deeply, her long ears brushing on the room's floor. 

Usually, Elara graces her personal elf with a kind smile, and thanks. However, she cannot muster the strength to, and her words are cold when she tilts her chin towards her outfit of yesterday, most particularly the red and gold tie that she has just taken off her wrists. 

"Burn those," she orders. 

Missy blinks. Once, twice. "Burn those clothes, Mistress?" she repeats, and Elara sneers. 

"Yes, I have no more use of them." Something in her flinches from the words that ring too true to do anything but hurt, but Elara is a Black, and she will not break here. She will not hold onto something that has Harry Potter's touch, that has this night's memory so tightly woven into them, Elara does not dare to touch them

"But Mistress," the house-elf tries, but Elara is already gone, snatching a robe that the room conjured at her request. She does not glance back, does not dare to look back at the emptiness that awaits her back in those sheets, and the memories that try to slip through her Occlumency shields. 

it had been perfect

while it lasted

Blacks really aren't lucky with their Hearts. 

Interlude: 

Harry cracks his neck as he carefully opens the door that the room has conjured for him, taking great care not to spill anything from the tray he holds. In them are bacon, chocolate chip pancakes, eggs and toast, something he is proud to say he has cooked himself. Elara will probably throw him an incredulous glare, sarcasm on her lips like it is the first thing that comes to her mind when she finds him silly, but now, Harry knows how to shut her up. 

Kiss her senseless. 

He had never thought it possible to have Elara Vespera Black speechless, unable to formulate the simplest of words. (Well, every word except his own name). It is a good look on her, he cannot help but think, chuckling lowly to himself. 

"Hungry? Cause I am starving-" Harry's words, as well as his cheer, dies on his lips as he takes in the empty room, empty bed. 

Elara's gone, and with her, a part of Harry's heart.

Quite frankly, Elara had never understood her lady mother who, though she knew herself not Sirius Black's Heart, cherished him purely. 

How could she love someone who broke her heart as surely as he breathed? 

Yet, as Elara allows Potter to trail soft kisses on her neck before turning him around to do the same, she cannot help but think that perhaps she understands a bit. 

Potter stops, catches his breath. 

He looks heart breakingly beautiful as he gazes at her as if she was perfection itself, a kind lie in the greater scheme of things that Elara cannot bring herself to refuse. 

"Kiss me," she huffs. Love me. 

"As my lady commands," he replies with a rugged grin. 

Elara wonders if that too would be his answer if he knew of her other request. 

This time, Elara makes sure to leave first, if only to fool herself into thinking that it does not break her heart to know if she did not do so, she would wake up to a cold, empty bed.

Again. 

The next time they fuck, it is after a party. They have both drunk a lot, too much, and Elara cannot help but cling at Potter's frame. 

Please don't leave me

(She had never thought herself a sad drunk, but it seems that Potter always draws out new sides of her she had never known. Because Elara Black would never pine over her lover? paramour?)

Theo -adorable, cunning Theodore - tries to tear her away from the Gryffindor, slurring through his words and empty threats of castration. Potter, as Gryffindor as always, pushes the Slytherin right back. He grabs her from behind, tucking his chin on the crown of her head, and sticks out his tongue. 

"You can't have her," he stubbornly grumbles out. 

Theo flushes with indignation, pointing a waving finger as though he thinks his appendage his wand instead. "She's my Queen," the pureblood stresses out, Elara nodding in agreement because he is quite right. She is the Queen of the Slytherins, and damnit, she will not cry over Potter of all damn things. 

Potter shakes his head, chin digging into the top of her head, and Elara hisses at the unpleasantness. As if to excuse himself, he peppers the sore spot with butterfly kisses. "She's my Elara." 

Elara cannot but smile and nod at his words, as drunken as they may be. "Mine," she repeats to Theo seriously. 

Theo gapes and then groans. "You," his eyes flicker from Elara to Potter, wide and disbelieving. "Drayyy's gonna kill me," he curses as he points to the two wizards still entangled together. 

"A problem for future Theo," Elara waves him off. 

Potter then twirls her around, and, an arm still around her waist, presses her towards the exit. Impatient, impatient. 

"Harry-" a Gryffindor girl accosts them with a blinding smile and a cleavage that screams of plastic practically shoves in Potter's face who blinks and then stubbornly closes his eyes, clinging tighter to her. The Gryffindor ignores that very clear warning and marches forward till her chest, artificial - at the very least, it seems so - pressed on Potter's side. 

Rude.

Is Elara invisible or what? 

"Romilda, woosh." Potter tries to take her off, but the girl only takes it as an invitation to cling more to him. 

The Slytherin pointedly coughs but gets ignored for her trouble, which fine, two can play the game. Elara waves her wand, splashing acid over that indecent thing. The girl screams out, and Elara continues on her way till the hallway. Potter is staring wide eyes at her, and she shrugs. 

"It's fake," she says. He blinks, and she scowls. "Her chest?" she gestures to her own and then to her wand. "Fake." 

There's something alike a laugh that tumbles from his lips, thin and unbitten, a poor look on him."I'm going to kiss you right now." 

Elara crosses her arms on her chest. "Why now?"

"Why not now?"

dumb Potter

"Cause you never initiated. I'm always the one that wants more. You never go first. Blaise would sooner kiss me, than you." And if there's a grumble, a subtle complaint to her almost whine, well, Elara is drunk and there is no witness. Other than Potter, that is. 

The Gryffindor grimaces. "Don't say Zabini's name and kiss in the same sentence."

Rude. 

Guys would kill for one of her kisses, thank you very much. 

"Why not? Blaise should be glad if I-"

There are lips on hers, whiskey and starlight too. And though Potter's grip on her cheek and waist is almost bruising, his lips are soft. Reverent. 

"I'm going to make you forget that darn name."

Elara blinks, eyes riveted on Potter's lips. "Blaize's?"

Potter smirks. It looks handsome on him, like all things. "And everyone else's." He leans closer. "You'll only remember mine." 

Elara leans closer too, till the tip of their nose touch.

"Sounds like a challenge, Harry."

His eyes twinkle, like the stars her family is named for, like the sun that he seems to be. 

"Up to it, Elara?" 

Always. 

And if she wakes up alone, well, Blacks are well suited for heartbreak, as the story goes.