Sirius sat on his bed. In the dark. He was hiding, glad that he wasn't being forced to attend the party and be humiliated. Again. He was sick and tired of being humiliated.

There were people coming up the stairs. There were only two rooms up this high: Sirius' and Regulus'. Regulus had been forbidden to come upstairs until the guests were all gone, and anyway, these voices sounded at least sixteen or seventeen. Much too old to be friends of Regulus', and certainly not looking to be friends of Sirius.

Most likely they were interested in something else entirely. Sirius shifted slightly, so that he camouflaged with the grey walls better. The pounding footsteps were almost at the head of the stairs, the hammering echoing that of Sirius' own heart.

Shut it, he told his quickened pulse. You're a Gryffindor. You're not afraid of anything, especially not those gits. Especially not their most-likely overage wands and most-likely overage curse repertoire…

Okay, fine. I'm afraid of them. Laugh away, obnoxious inner voice. Sirius had to actively stop his face from flushing in shame and humiliation before the jeering boys even opened his door. Straightening his back and tensing, he silently prepared for a confrontation.

He was not disappointed. The door flew open with a bang, and Lucius Malfoy sneered at him from where it had been, wand outstretched. "Having a nice holiday, Black?" Rosier and Lestrange snickered from behind him.

"Stellar. Any other scary lines you'd like to say?" Sirius's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Just so that I can know when you expect me to burst into very girly tears of absolute terror."

Lucius chucked softly, an action that was obviously intended to be threatening. "I could kill you right now and not lose a wink of sleep over it."

Sirius gave an exaggerated squeak. "Oh! I'm scared by the big blonde fly! Save me, save me, save me!" He let his face take on his own cruel sneer. "Work on the pickup lines, Malfoy." He spat out Lucius' last name with unconcealed venom.

Lucius smiled slightly, as if enjoying Sirius' defiance. He flicked his wand, humming slightly, and Sirius was frozen, unable to move against the magical barriers keeping him from launching himself at Lucius.

Lucius crouched next to the bed, touching his cheek with long, pale fingers. Sirius growled, a deep, feral noise, warning him to back off.

Apparently Lucius didn't speak growl, but he did drop his hand. Straightening, he walked back to Rosier and Lestrange, who both looked slightly confused but still threatening. Obviously they were more brawn than brain.

Lucius shut the door behind him. Blocking the light from the landing plunged the room into utter darkness. Sirius was suddenly glad that he could not move, so as to prevent him from trembling. He had a feeling that he knew what was coming, and he was not excited for it.

Three wand tips ignited, lighting their leering faces from the underside. They looked like hellish demons, eyes glinting with anticipation. Sirius growled again, this time in defiance. You don't scare me, you don't scare me, you don't scare me-

"Cadeo," Lucius murmured, watching in anticipation. Sirius felt his entire body tense in preparation for the pain. But it was worse when he could not move, for some reason. The fire remained bottled inside him, growing exponentially, but he kept his voice carefully locked away.

Raising his eyebrows as if in acceptance of a challenge, Lucius broke off the spell. Sirius refused to let his muscles ease, knowing that there might not be time before the next curse hit. Lucius twirled his elm wand absently between his fingers, contemplating. Finally he seemed to come to some conclusion, and flicked his wrist.

Sirius swallowed, but the pain never came. Instead, he found the spell paralyzing him had been lifted. Losing no time, he threw himself at Lucius, wanting nothing more than to tear out his internal organs one by one.

That was when the Cruciatus struck. Dropping almost in midair, Sirius bit down savagely on his lip, refusing to scream. But as one second stretched into two, and two seconds stretched into three, Sirius had to fight with every bit of energy to resist. This was no longer about the sound; it was about submission, and screaming would mean giving in.

Sirius would never, ever give in. Ever.

After a few seconds, though it had seemed an age, Lucius swung his wand down, ending the curse. Sirius tasted the coppery tang of blood in his mouth, and his lip was burning. He had collapsed, of course, and his arms were wrapped tightly around his ribcage. His breathing was suddenly very heavy and fast, almost gasping. Someone was laughing, and Sirius vaguely wondered if the room was soundproofed.

"Worthless, grovelling blood traitor." The words could not hurt Sirius anymore. He had become numbed to them, after hearing them so often.

Though his limbs screamed in protest, he pushed himself up and stood to face Lucius, ignoring the snickers of the other boys as he visibly struggled. "Who's grovelling? You seem to be the one who crawls at Voldemort's feet," he said scornfully.

Lucius hissed as he jabbed his wand into Sirius' neck, breathing into his face. "Don't say the Dark Lord's name."

"I'll say it all I want," Sirius snarled, glaring. "Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemo-"

He was cut off by the sharp swish of the snake-decorated wand, knocking him to the ground. The agony pulsed through him again, and his lip flowed blood freely as his teeth bit down on it harder and harder and harder. His hands clenched into fists, digging uncut nails into his palms. However, he was aware of none of this. Sirius' perception at present consisted of the pain and only the pain, fighting through to the deep place where his screams were kept. He defended it valiantly, but as three seconds turned to four and four to five and five to eleven, the curse breached his defences and he cried out, all while knowing that it wouldn't make a difference and not caring.

The curse stopped abruptly, and the pain faded to a slow ache. Sirius felt his stomach drop out with humiliation and shame as his tormentors laughed at him. "Weak," they shouted words drilling deeper and deeper into his head. "Weak, weak, weak!"

He had given in. He had surrendered, submitted. He had admitted defeat.

He was weak.

Still, he brought his shaking arms beneath him and tried to lift his suddenly unbearably heavy torso from the floor. His palms burned, and they were slick from the thick blood pouring from them. Lestrange kicked his arms out from under him and he fell heavily, staring into the now dark pink carpet.

He did not try to rise again. He rested his pounding head against the stained floor, breathing heavily. His heartbeat was rapid against his ears, and he was reminded of the ocean. Remus had a seashell that you could hear the ocean in, if you put it up to your ear. Sirius had thought that there was actually the sound of the ocean trapped inside it until Remus told him that it was just his pulse, like he was hearing now. But the surf had never been this fast.

Rosier crouched beside him, snickering. He seized a handful of black hair and yanked, jerking Sirius to a kneeling position. His head was pulled back, exposing his neck and forcing his line of sight to the ceiling. Rosier twisted, causing Sirius to release a small high pitched sound of pain. He had lost, he had already given in. The fight was gone from him, because there was nothing to fight for anymore. Just let them have their amusement and block out the memory.

Rosier hauled him to his feet. His legs downright refused to support him, so he was half hanging from Rosier's hand. His neck burned, and warm blood from his lip trickled down it.

Just let it be over soon, he prayed to any deity that might be listening and care. Let them get bored soon and go away…

Rosier wrenched his hair again, and Sirius whimpered. Laughing, Lestrange punched his diaphragm heavily, knocking his breath out of his lungs. Gasping for air and suspended from Rosier's fist, he didn't see Lucius' knee until too late. Striking him square in the stomach, Sirius leaned forward and vomited. He was shaking violently, legs sagging and not even trying to hold his weight, not caring that his hair felt like it was going to be pulled from its follicles. Lucius and Lestrange moved hurriedly out of the way of the sick, not bothering to hold back their superior sneers.

They hit him again and again; he lost count. Each blow seemed to be coming from an increasing distance, and Sirius stopped responding. His mind was filled with a comforting white fog, and he floated peacefully in it. It was simple and uncomplicated, the fog, unlike reality. It was easier to dream in the mist than to try to deal with the current situation.

But he was rudely jolted from the soft white clouds, because he was falling. His hands were out to catch his fall, and the thin scabs tore open, staining more of the originally grey carpet pink-ish red. His head collided with the ground with a thunk, and he thought he might pass out. But he didn't. Someone prodded him with their foot and laughed at his whimper. Everything felt broken. He lay motionless on the floor, nostrils filled with the mingled sour and metallic smells of blood and vomit, waiting.

There was a soft pattering of feet on the stairs. This was different than Lucius, Rosier, and Lestrange's had been; Sirius knew who it was. He could feel the vibrations of the light person as he advanced up the stairs. He tried to tell Lucius and his gang that Regulus was coming, but they were too busy laughing at his choked words.

The room fell deathly silent, evidently as the others heard the footsteps. The three boys looked at the broken body at their feet as if they had only just noticed he was there. Lestrange made to pull Sirius behind the bed, but Lucius stopped him. "It doesn't matter if he sees," he said cruelly, "he's old enough to know."

Lestrange shifted his weight uncomfortably. "He's the same age as my brother, Lucius." He swallowed, obviously trying to think of the best way to say this. "This is his brother. Even if he is a blood traitor..." He poked Sirius with the toe of his boot, obviously indicating his condition. "Rabastan - He's ten years old. I wouldn't want-"

Sirius had hardly gotten over Lestrange's apparent care for his younger brother before Lucius nodded resignedly. "Hurry, then," he said almost lazily.

Lestrange grasped Sirius' arm and roughly dragged him to the other side of his bed, shoving him half under the bed. Sirius coughed on the dust and voiced his bone's protest at being moved in the form of a long, ragged hiss. Lestrange kicked him sharply from behind. "Shut up," he whispered urgently, and Sirius was only too happy to.

He shut his eyes against the stinging dust and waited again, trying to slow his pulse and quiet his breathing. He knew that they were far too fast and heavy, but the welling panic seemed unable to calm either. You have to be quiet, he reprimanded himself, or Regulus will hear you.

Usually, it would not have taken Regulus this long to get to the top of the stairs, but he was climbing at a particularly slow pace. But now he had reached the landing, and as Sirius had feared, the little footsteps were padding toward his bedroom. The doorknob turned, rattling slightly, and the door opened with a low swish.

"Sirius?" called a small voice. Sirius felt his chest contract, and he tried to ignore the young voice of his brother. "Are you alright?"

The door creaked, opening a little more. He stepped into the room slightly, then stopped, presumably discovering Lucius, Rosier, and Lestrange. "What are you doing here?" His tone was polite, angry, and frightened all at once. Sirius had never before been aware that one could pull off such a combination, but Regulus did.

"Hello, Regulus," Lucius said smoothly, stepping forward. "How very nice to see you. How is the party going downstairs?" He inquired.

Regulus' voice was hard. "Why are you in my brother's room?" Sirius' stomach fluttered at Regulus' admission that he was Sirius' brother; he usually denied any connection in the presence of others.

"I really don't see how that concerns you in the least." Lucius' voice had gained an equal stoniness, and he moved further forward. "Maybe you should go back downstairs, Black."

Regulus did not seem intimidated in the least. "Where is Sirius?" His words echoed slightly in the heavy silence. Sirius swallowed and shrunk against the side of the bed, trying to make himself much smaller. "Where is he? Where is my brother?" He was getting angry. "Tell me where he is!"

Lestrange's voice was husky and low. "He's not here, Regulus." As much as Sirius hated people lying to his brother, he prayed that Regulus would believe them.

Regulus walked to the other side of the bed. "I don't believe you. I want you to tell me where-" He broke off suddenly. There was a small whimper. "What have you done to him?" He whispered. "Is he dead?"

Sirius heard one of the others curse under his breath and the small brushing sound of something being vanished. "He's fine, Regulus. Completely fine." Rosier did not sound very reassuring.

Regulus seemed to have lost a great deal of his energy. He sat on the edge of the bed, much as Sirius had earlier. Sirius could hear his shuddering breaths. "You killed him, didn't you?" His voice was thick with tears. He was crying. Crying for Sirius.

"Regulus-" Lestrange stopped mid-sentence, obviously unsure how to continue. "Your brother isn't dead." Regulus didn't respond. "Please believe me, Regulus," he said, slightly pleading.

Since when was Lestrange nice?

"Then where is he? And why-" Regulus' small voice cracked, and he kicked the bed. Sirius tried hard not to cough from the dust it stirred.

"Get out of here," Lucius said suddenly. "I said to get out!" His voice was snapping and angry.

"Lucius-" Lestrange.

"Don't argue with me, Rodolphus. Leave right now, Black."

The bed creaked from Regulus rising off of it. But instead of walking towards the door, he walked around the back of the bed, toward Sirius.

Lestrange panicked. He practically ran to Regulus, and with a small thunk he pinned him against the wall.

"Let me go!" Regulus yelled, clothes rustling as he squirmed.

However, Lestrange was a good seven or eight years older, and didn't relinquish his hold. "Trust me when I tell you that you don't want to go there, Regulus."

"What are you hiding from me? He's my brother!" Regulus shouted.

There was a sharp smack of skin on skin. Regulus cried out, twisting more in Lestrange's grip, and Sirius knew that he had to do something. Forcing his protesting limbs to move, he pulled himself off of the floor, leaning heavily on the bedspread and not caring about the blood that bloomed crimson roses on the grey fabric. "Let him alone, Lestrange," he rasped.

Lestrange whirled, staring at Sirius as though he'd never seen anything quite like him. He released Regulus, who stumbled forward. "Sirius," he said desperately, "Sirius-" He wrapped his arms around him, crying. Sirius winced, but didn't tell him to stop.

"This is so sweet," sneered Lucius. "Just so touching."

"Get out of here, Malfoy," Sirius said raggedly.

Lucius laughed mockingly. "What are you going to do if I don't, filthy blood traitor? Bleed on me?"

Sirius growled. Lestrange crossed the room and put his hand on the doorknob. "Come on, Lucius. We're done here." His voice was cold, and there was no real space for argument.

Lucius grudgingly complied. "Be sure you take a long shower to get the worthless besmirched traitor off, little Black Heir," he warned as he left, sending a last cutting hex over his shoulder before Lestrange shut the door, thrusting the Black brothers into darkness.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Sirius allowed his arms to buckle under him, as they had been begging to since he rose up onto them. He rested his sore head against the soft bed, filled with relief. Regulus watched him, and when his legs began to slither out from beneath him and he slipped, Regulus caught him, hauling his very thin body onto the bed. He was three years younger than Sirius was, but he was stronger now. Sirius tried not to move and just to calm down, to slow the heartbeat that pounded heavily in his ears.

"Sirius?" Regulus asked at last. "Are you badly hurt?"

Sirius was lying with his back to Regulus, so he had no way of seeing his expression. "I'm fine," he said tensely. "Just - just tired."

"You're bleeding." There was a note of hysteria in Regulus' voice. "You're bleeding everywhere."

"It'll be fine, Regulus. Don't worry about it." Sirius tried to keep his voice calm and reassuring. "It's not as bad as it looks, really. Get us some light, though, will you?"

Regulus did so, murmuring softly to the candlesticks and watching the wicks burst into flame. The candles had been charmed to light when special words were said, so that those in the house unable to perform magic could still light them at their leisure. After this, Regulus walked around to the other side of the bed and lay down beside Sirius, apologizing when the rocking of the mattress hurt him. He studied Sirius for a bit, lightly fingering some of the nastier cuts and bruises on his brother's face until Sirius flinched and said in a constricted voice, "Please, Regulus." He stopped, and there was a short silence as Regulus studied him more.

His steely grey eyes, just like Sirius, raked Sirius with his worried gaze. Lingering on his palms and their unusual crescent-shaped incisions, his eyes finally met Sirius'. They were guarded, unfathomable, and Sirius hated how he could not tell what his younger brother was thinking.

"Why do they do this to you, Sirius?"

The question hung in the air. Sirius didn't want to answer it, but he did. "I'm in Gryffindor, remember?" He was unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. "I'm a blood traitor."

"You're a blood traitor just because you're in Gryffindor?" Sirius caught the slightest note of alarm in his response.

"No," he said harshly, "Not for that. It helps, of course, that one of my friends is a halfblood." He clenched his hands tightly, watching the thin clotting across the knuckles crack open and blood ooze through the gaps. "And that I don't agree that muggleborns and halfbloods are any - any less than we are."

Regulus' eyebrows contracted in confusion and slight horror. "You're friends with a mudblood?"

"Don't call him that!" Sirius growled.

Regulus nodded, accepting his brother's terms. "What does he look like? Can you tell mud - muggleborns from the outside?" His voice wasn't vicious, merely curious.

"They're just like purebloods," Sirius said tiredly. "There is no difference between purebloods and muggleborns, Regulus, believe me. No difference."

Regulus opened his mouth to speak, but a hard, cold voice sounded from the doorway. "I believe that you were forbidden to come upstairs until the party was over, Regulus," Walburga said coolly.

Regulus clambered quickly off of the bed. Sirius would have followed, but he was unable to move any of his limbs. "I heard noises, Mum," Regulus said respectfully, bowing his head. "Screams."

Walburga's glance flicked to Sirius for an instant, then her eyes were back on her youngest son. "You've heard the blood traitor scream before," She said casually, "It should no longer bother you."

A trace of some unidentifiable emotion flickered in Regulus' face, but by the time Sirius realized that it was there, it was gone. "He's my brother, Mum. I'm supposed to care."

Walburga's glare of absolute hate touched Sirius, and Sirius felt suddenly unclean under her loathing sneer. "That creature is no son of mine," she spat, "And no brother of yours." She pursed her lips at him. "Stand in my presence, Gryffindor filth!" She said shrilly. Not wanting to anger her further, Sirius tried to rise, he really did. Gripping the bedpost like a life preserver, he forced his screaming bones and muscles to move into a position that vaguely resembled standing, as opposed to hanging off of a post. He clenched his teeth together and forced his legs to support him, giving his mother a defiant look.

He had thought that would be the end of it, but apparently not. Her eyes continued to drill into his, and even though tears of agony were rolling down his face, he stood. He stood defiantly, stubbornly refusing to fall.

But as seconds dragged into minutes, and minutes into more minutes, and minutes into what seemed like hours, his legs wouldn't do it anymore. Despite his insistence, his knees gave way, and he sunk to the floor. Walburga walked slowly towards him. He arranged his burning legs into a kneel, and he bowed his head. Please let her just yell tonight, he begged. He'd been talking to his mind an awful lot. Please don't let her curse me again. Please, please, please.

Walburga pulled something from her robes, and Sirius' heart sank. It was her wand, after all. She raised it and was about to plunge it down, with Sirius already on his knees before her, but Regulus stepped up quickly.

"Mum, please, it isn't his fault. Lucius, Evan, and Rodolphus beat him up, badly. He's bleeding everywhere." His voice was slightly pleading. "Please have mercy, Mum. Please."

A muscle twitched in her jaw. "For you, my little king," she said, calling Regulus by his pet name, "But I find it pathetic that you're defending this filth." Lowering her wand, she spit on Sirius' face. She spun on her small pureblooded feet, grabbed Regulus roughly, and pulled him from the room. The door shut for the third time in one evening, but this time the light from Regulus' candles glowed dimly.

Sirius wiped the saliva from his cheek, seething. He hated being humiliated, he hated being degraded, especially in front of Regulus. Regulus used to worship him, but now… How could he anymore? Sirius was a nothing, a shameful bit of dirt in this Black house.

Something snapped. Sirius crawled to his trunk and dug in it for a while. Pulling a tarnished mirror from it, he looked into it. "James," he rasped.

He only had to wait a few seconds before James' face appeared in the mirror. He laughed, running a hand through his hair at the sight of Sirius. "Sirius! It's nice to talk to you." His smile faded slightly, and he said carefully, "Would you like to stay at my place for a bit?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "You mean it?" When James nodded, Sirius muttered, "I won't stay long, I just - need out of here for a while." He looked away, embarrassed to meet James' eyes.

"Of course, Sirius," James said quietly. "You're always welcome here, you know that." Sirius nodded, still not looking at the mirror. "Can you meet us at the park again?"

"Yes, I'll be there."

"I'll see you at seven tomorrow morning, then." James obviously decided to let it all go, until tomorrow at least.

Sirius nodded again, smiling a little more at his friend. "Thank you so much, James. You have no idea."

"What are friends for?" James asked lightly, a hint of his cocky smile on his face. "See you."

"See you, James." The messy haired, bespectacled boy vanished from the mirror, leaving only Sirius' own reflection. He didn't look at it, not really wanting to know what he looked like. But he was grinning as he shoved some clothes into a backpack and set his alarm for six-thirty.