It wasn't the first time. No where near. He'd endured 16 years of this so no, it was not the first. It was, however, the worst.
He arrived home for summer precisely 3 hours and 46 minutes. It was worse than it had ever been in so many ways.
Sixteen year old Sirus black sat on his bed having bolted upstairs the second the heavy black door smashed shut. Staring around his room he found it was the same as before he left but somehow feeling off. Same Gryffindor posters stuck jauntily on the walls, motorbike magazines scattered on most surfaces with a few cut outs plastered up amid the enlarged pictures of scantily clad Muggle models, permanent sticking charms helped to anger the folks further he thought with a smirk.
The black furniture was scuffed in the same places, silver bed sheets still rumpled even. Everything was normal, down to the rusty brown blood smear on the black stone floor.
Desk untouched. Wait. Papers, broken quill, ink bottle and stain, bad hippogriff sketch.
Dismay flooded the pits of his stomach and seeped into his blood like the dark magic soon to be used against him, the letters were gone. Every. Single. One. Every letter exchanged with James since first year had vanished. As if on queue a screech like that of a banshee pierced his mind and he cringed.
'SIRUS ORION BLACK. GET DOWN HERE NOW.'
Great.
No. God please please no. Not today. Not now. Regulus was sitting on a chair in the corner of the lounge tied by some invisible force. A punch Sirus could take but he couldn't bare for his brother to watch.
'Filthy blood traitor, scum of my flesh. Disgrace to the name Black. Disappointment. Muggle loving.'
The voice of his oh so dear mother, barley a whisper dripping malice.
For three straight hours his mother taunted insults, his falter kicked and hit and slapped and shoved and bruised, regulus sat, face dripping silent tears. And him, why he just took it. He wrenched himself back to the present and drew his focus to the drawls falling from the mouth of Orion Black.
'Muggle loving scum. You are no son of mine, should've offed you when I had the chance. People would talk now though wouldn't they. The perfect Gryffindor suddenly gone. The mudblood, blood traitor and disgusting half breed would ask and talk. No. We will just have to try other means of silencing shan't we Sirus? You've been associating with that boy again. We may just need to sort him out to.'
'Crucio.'
Huh. Funny how one word spoken so calm could feel this way. His head split open and white hot lava flooded out. Pokers set alight where teasing his hair. Knives were skinning him alive. Teeth crumbling. His bones were powder and muscles reduced to liquid fire. Daggers exploring every inch of skin. He was vague aware of someone -no it was him- screaming hell and murder. It wasn't stopping though he begged but maybe that was because no sound escaped his lips. No sound enterd his ears now. He couldn't see but merlin, could he feel. Kicks and curses joined in now until everything faded into numb blackness.
...oOo...
If anyone were to enter the drawing room of the Nobel And Most Ancient House Of Black now they would need therapy for the sight they saw.
Scorch marks littered the marble flagstones which were also coated in a layer of the sticky crimson which was adorning the walls, furniture and even some of the ceiling.
They would see chunks of the curtains burned away and lightly smoking. The chandelier had cracked from stray curses and the furniture was chipped with the upholstery torn.
The most disturbing feature of this nightmare was the young boy, too skinny to be sixteen, lying, unconscious and twitching, in a lake of his own blood and vomit. Heavy, purple bruises adorned most of his gray tinged skin. Hair matted with dried blood fell over his face, barely recognised beneath the swelling and bruising and scars. This was not, however, the full extent of his injuries.
... oOo ...
(A/n) Hiiii. So this is really really awful but I will be posting more to this story. I'm not great at writing and can't spell anything right. Please please please review!!