Author's Note: Hello readers! Well, I know the storyline of Sirius running away from home has been done to death… but I hope to put my own spin on it. This became a bit lengthy so I'm breaking it up into a two shot. Please let me know your thoughts!

Trigger Warning: Child abuse

Open Wounds

His freedom did not come easily.

Sirius Black had been sixteen years old when he had left his home, intent on never returning. It had been his mother who had ultimately driven him out that night. They had been having a particularly heated argument over his choice in friends, something that had become a bit of a routine since he had returned home for the Christmas break.

Walburga's voice had been heard in every room of the house, though Sirius had given her a run for her money as he had yelled until he became hoarse. She had been attacking Remus – who she would never call anything other than "the half-blood" – and Sirius had gone after their inbred family.

Following a very foul and graphic explanation of how exactly the family had become inbred, Walburga had lashed out and struck Sirius across the face with a solid backhanded blow. He had been so shocked by the unexpected physical attack – he had been watching her wand rather than her hands – that he had stumbled backwards, solidly hitting the wall behind him. He reached up and touched his throbbing cheek, finding blood. Her rings had left two parallel cuts across his cheek.

Sirius had snapped. What followed was a very vulgar description of what he thought of his mother. Before he could finish though, Walburga had whipped out her wand, screeching as she sent a streak of fire toward her son, most likely just a manifestation of her magical energy than an actual spell. He tried to dodge out of the way, but the flames caught his bare arm, burning him pretty badly before he was able to put it out.

"Silence!" Walburga screamed over Sirius' cursing. She took a slow breath in through her nose, as if she were trying to compose herself as she tucked her wand away again. Sirius was still up against the wall, huddled over his injured arm protectively as he watched his mother wearily, trying to gauge what she was going to do next. "Sirius, there is still time to fix your life and atone for your poor decisions these past couple years."

Sirius snorted at that, but she continued on. "We will be having a large, formal gathering for Christmas this year. The entire family will be here as well as a few… honored guests." Sirius' eyes widened as he saw where she was going with this. There was only one group of people that she would consider honored guests. "Sirius, despite all of your faults – and believe me, there are many – you have still been invited by the Dark Lord himself to take the honored Mark and join his followers. Now that you're sixteen you are old enough to join the cause. You can restore dignity to the Black family name and redeem yourself as a proper heir of this family."

Sirius closed his eyes for a moment as he tried to steady himself. Then, he pushed himself off of the wall, ignoring the pain steadily pulsating in his arm as he pulled his shoulders back in order to speak to his mother standing at full height.

"You can tell your precious Dark Lord," Sirius said slowly and calmly, meeting his mother's wild eyes, "that he can go fuck himself."

Sirius knew the statement would get a reaction out of his mother, but he had not been prepared for the magnitude and speed at which she would act. In an instant, her wand was in her hand again and he didn't even have time to register which curse she shouted before it hit him squarely in the chest.

Pain exploded from every fiber of his being, consuming him before a single thought could be formed, brutally ripping him apart over and over. He had to be dying; there was no way he could live after enduring this kind of pain. He wasn't aware of anything outside of this excruciating agony. Time became irrelevant. It could have been two minutes or two hours for all he knew. He was unable to form a coherent thought in his head over the white hot pain, but words like 'dying' and 'end' along with several very vulgar swear words flittered across his consciousness.

By the time the pain lessened, he was lying on his side on the floor with no memory of having fallen. He was gasping desperately and with each breath his throat burned with the pain of being scraped raw. Had he been screaming?

"You had that coming, you insolent brat," his mother was suddenly hissing in his ear as Sirius was still trying to get his bearings. "You forced me to do that. Now. Have you had a chance to rethink your manners? Will you join the Dark Lord and bring pride and honor back to your family?"

It took Sirius a minute to gather enough breath to speak. "No." His voice was hoarse but it was firm.

"You ungrateful spawn," she spat, drawing back. "I'm ashamed to have such a filthy blood traitor living under my roof." Sirius knew what was about to happen, but could do little more than shift himself slightly away from what he knew was coming. "Flagellum!"

He was very much aquainted with the Whipping Curse and normally the pain would be brutal, taking his breath away with each strike, but with every nerve in his body still screaming from the previous curse, he hardly felt the welts that were being slashed onto his back.

"I'll leave you to think over this honor that's been so graciously offered to you." His mother's voice suddenly sounded far away. "Tread carefully, Sirius Orion Black. This one decision will have a greater impact than you know."

Sirius heard the sound of the drawing room's door clicking shut. For several long minutes, the only sound was his ragged breathing as he lay on the cold floor.

Normally, his mother would let him stew for a while before sending in Kreature to reluctantly heal him and make sure there were no visible scars from his "discipline" that might be seen when he returned to school. But as time dragged on, Sirius started to realize that Kreature would not be coming to heal him this time. Not unless he agreed to take the Dark Mark.

And finally, one thought crystalized within him. They weren't going to stop. They would keep torturing him until he either agreed to join Lord Voldemort or died. And he wasn't entirely sure that the latter option would be frowned upon much.

As long as he lived in this house, he would never truly get a choice.

It was like a fire was lit within him at that moment. He had to get out. That was the thought that drove him to lift his broken body off the floor. It was the thought that pushed him to put one foot in front of the other. It was the thought that motivated him to climb the stairs, one painful step at a time, to the top floor where his bedroom was in order to retrieve the few things he brought home with him for Christmas break.

His bag thrown over his shoulder, he staggered back down the stairs, not encountering another soul as he moved through the house. He didn't care enough to wonder where everyone else was, simply relieved that there was no one between him and the door.

It was surprisingly easy to walk out of that house. He kept expecting someone to come and stop him, but no one did.

It wasn't until he was standing out on the sidewalk, shivering in the frigid December air without a cloak, that he realized he needed a plan. His body was still aching horribly and his joints kept locking up awkwardly, threatening to drop him to the ground with every step. He was slowly starting to become aware of a terrible throbbing in his back, and every few minutes he felt dangerously close to vomiting (the only thing keeping him from doing do, he suspected, was the lack of food in his stomach since he had a habit of skipping meals while he was home). All this told him that he wasn't going to get far on foot.

The longer he stood still, the more he wavered on his feet and his vision began to tunnel, so he decided it was best to keep moving while he still could. He headed up the street, following a familiar path deeper into London. It wasn't too far until he was stumbling into a small pub just a few streets over from Grimmauld Place.

"No underage drinking tonight, Mr. Black," called the bartender as soon as he spotted Sirius. "I don't care how much you tip. The Ministry's already been in here three times this week, I don't need any more trouble." He paused and then did a double take, looking at Sirius a little more closely as he approached the bar, though Sirius doubted he could tell much in the dim lighting. "You alright, kid?"

"I just need some Floo Powder," Sirius rasped, tossing some coins onto the counter.

The bartender looked at him skeptically, but reached under the bar and tossed him a small pouch of Floo Powder without questioning him any further. Sirius took the pouch and carefully limped through the crowd, heading toward the back where he knew the fireplace was.

He stood in front of the fireplace for several minutes, swaying unsteadily on his feet as he tried to figure out where he should go. The obvious answer to the question would be James' house. But he still hesitated. He had always been welcome there on visits, but tonight he was asking so much more than that.

He finally convinced himself that all he was really asking for was somewhere to stay the night. Tomorrow he would figure out something more permanent for himself, though he wasn't sure how he was going to do that since he had only his pocket money left to his name. Still, it was enough to give him the courage to toss the Floo Powder into the fire and step in.

He couldn't Floo directly into the Potters' house. In this time of war, most private homes had disconnected from the Floo Network for safety. Instead, he Floo'd into another wizard pub nearby the Potters' residence, a place he knew from sneaking out with James on many occasions.

The trip was not a pleasant one. His injuries screamed in protest as he was pulled into the Floo Network and he gasped involuntarily, inhaling ash and making himself cough violently. He barely made it out at the right fireplace, stumbling and falling to the ground. Luckily, the pub was crowded at this time of night so close to the holiday and no one seemed to take notice of him.

Sirius took a minute to catch his breath, coughing raggedly. Had it been a bit lighter in the bar, he might have noticed that he left drops of blood on the floor as he pushed himself up to his feet, fighting the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.

He staggered out of the pub, bumping into several people on the way who all yelled angrily at him, but he didn't so much as glance in their direction, barely hearing them. He was feeling worse by the second and was seriously concerned about being able to make it all the way to the Potters' house, which was situated a little over a mile out of town.

He paused outside the pub, leaning on a fence as he painfully dry heaved, his body's need to vomit overriding the fact that his stomach was still empty. Some passersby laughed, commenting on how he needed to learn to hold his liquor. If only they knew.

Determined, Sirius set off, limping in the direction of James' house. He was actually relieved that there was a good couple inches of snow on the ground to cushion him on the several occasions that he fell. Despite the fact that he was wearing only a short sleeved t-shirt –probably torn from the Whipping Curse, but Sirius didn't have the energy to check – blue jeans and trainers (all Muggle clothing in order to drive his mother batty), he barely noticed the cold.

A trip that usually took him twenty minutes at most, took a battered Sirius almost an hour. When the Potter estate finally came into view, Sirius knew that he should feel relief, but in reality it seemed impossible to feel anything but exhausted and pained with every step he forced himself to take.

The Potter house was isolated outside of the small town, set on several acres of land. There was an iron gate just off the road that led onto their property, but the house itself, while visible from the road, was set back off the road a good ways for privacy.

Sirius barely made it to the gate before he collapsed to his knees with a yelp of pain, grabbing onto the edge of the gate to keep from falling completely to the ground. He groaned loudly as he hung his head and fought against the darkness that was pushing in the edges of his vision. He was so close, he couldn't pass out now just outside the Potters' front garden.

Get up, get up, get up, he silently commanded his body, but his muscles simply wouldn't cooperate. It appeared he had reached his physical limit.

With a massive effort, he plunged his hand into his bag and produced his wand. He had to dig down deep within himself to find enough energy just to cast a small jet of red sparks up above his head. He looked up at the pathetic display of magic, feeling angry at its lack of usual skill. If no one in the house had been looking out one of the front windows at that particular moment, it's likely it would simply go unnoticed.

However, luck seemed to be with him for once. As he slumped forward against the gatepost, still clutching it desperately just to remain on his knees, he heard a voice floating out from off in the distance.

"James, Euphemia, stay here. James. I won't tell you again, stay inside with your mother. And keep your wand out." There was a crunching sound of snow being compacted underfoot; indicating James' father was not coming down the cleared walkway for some reason. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

They hadn't seen him. Or at least they hadn't recognized him. Sirius knew that he should speak, assure Mr. Potter that it was just him and that he wasn't a threat. If he didn't, there was a fair to likely chance that he would be mistaken for an enemy trying to hide behind the gatepost and cursed. They lived in dangerous times, after all. But as he opened his mouth he found that couldn't force any coherent words out, only pained gasps. So, instead, he dropped his wand, letting in clatter onto the pavement, hoping that Mr. Potter would see it and take that as a sign that he wasn't a danger to his family.

There were several long minutes of quiet. Sirius' head was hanging and he couldn't see anything past his own knees, unsure what was happening but lacking the energy to even lift his head at this point. Just when he was sure that he couldn't hang on any longer and he was going to lose his grip on the post that he clung to, a hand came down on his shoulder.

"Sirius?"

Sirius coughed and sputtered in response, relief washing over him in a cool wave as he heard James' father's voice. In the back of his mind, a small voice pointed out that he had never had this kind of reaction to either of his own parents' voices.

"Sirius, can you hear me?" Mr. Potter was now crouching down next to him. Sirius let his head slump before pulling it back up in a weak attempt of a nod to his question. "Come on, let's get you inside, son." He pulled Sirius up to his feet. Sirius groaned as he clung to the older man for stability. "Can you make it?" Mr. Potter asked hurriedly.

In answer, Sirius desperately tried to make his legs cooperate. Aided by Mr. Potter, he made it about three steps passed the gate before his legs gave out and the ground rushed up to meet him. His kneecaps hit the walkway, but Mr. Potter caught him by the shoulders before he could fall all the way down.

"Merlin, Sirius," Mr. Potter said quietly, clearly just now realizing the extent of his injuries. "What did they do to you?"

"'M sorry," Sirius mumbled.

"Hang in there, son. You're going to be okay."

Mr. Potter shifted around and suddenly he was lifting Sirius up in his arms, one hand around his shoulders and the other underneath his knees. It was an impressive feat for the aging man to lift the sixteen year old, even if Sirius was on the thin side, and Mr. Potter would later attribute an adrenaline rush for the accomplishment. Sirius tried to protest, knowing he should be embarrassed to be carried like a child. But the protest died on his lips as he let his head rest on James' father's shoulder and suddenly felt… safe.

As the light from the house met his eyes, Sirius allowed his eyelids to slide shut, finding the sudden brightness to be painful.

"Oh, no…" came a soft, feminine voice.

"Sirius?" James' voice sounded strange, like there was a bit of a choking quality to it.

"Fleamont, can you get him upstairs? James, go get my bag of medical supplies from my bedside and meet us in the guest bedroom. Now, James, move."

The next thing that Sirius knew, he was being set gently onto a soft mattress. He groaned as he was placed on his back, the muscles in his midsection pulling painfully as his body position flattened. The sudden spike in pain gave him enough motivation to force himself to roll over onto his side and curl in on himself in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

"Did he say anything about what happened?" Mrs. Potter asked, suddenly all business and sounding very much like the accomplished St. Mungo's Healer that she used to be. "Anything about what curses he might have been hit with?"

"He hasn't said anything coherent at all," Mr. Potter responded grimly.

"Here, mum," came James' strained voice along with the sounds of her medical bag being handed off.

"Thank you, love," she said. Though his eyes were still closed, Sirius could sense her leaning closer to him. "Sirius? Sirius, honey, can you hear me?"

Sirius made a noise in the back of his throat, but didn't make an effort to actually speak or open his eyes. He could feel himself floating away from the mortal world, inclined to let the darkness take over and dull his pain.

"Sirius, I need to know what happened. Can you tell me what happened to you?"

Sirius made no effort to respond, allowing himself to fall deeper into the darkness, hearing Mrs. Potter's voice start sounding like it was drifting away.

"Sirius, if you can hear me, I'm very sorry, love. You're not going to like this. But I need you to talk to me before I can treat you, okay? Drink up."

There was a liquid poured into his mouth, fingers gently stroking his throat in order to help him swallow. Sirius sputtered lightly, but couldn't find it in himself to be too concerned about it at first.

But then, suddenly, his protective darkness was growing thinner. He was becoming more and more aware of his body and the pain was coming back to him full force. He felt panicked as his mind started racing. What was happening?

There was a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know it hurts, darling," came Mrs. Potter's sympathetic voice, sounding truly remorseful for having to cause him pain in order to help him. That was a stark contrast from his own mother, he realized dimly. "But try to stay calm. I just need you to tell me what happened and then I'll give you something to help with the pain. I can see the effects of the Whipping Curse on your back. What else was done to you?"

Sirius' eyes fluttered open, but the room was blurry around him and he couldn't quite seem to focus on any one thing. He gasped for breath and his fingers dug into the comforter on the bed, gripping it tight as he groaned through gritted teeth.

"Sirius, it's going to be okay." It was James' voice this time. Suddenly he was able to focus on James' face, his best friend kneeling at his bedside and looking at him with worry and a touch of fear in his features. "My mum is going to help you. But you have to tell her what's been done to you so she knows what to do."

Sirius inhaled sharply, willing himself some sort of composure as he choked out words. "M-my mother and I… we had a f-fight." He took in another harsh breath as the pain continued to grow. There was no part of him that hurt more than the other; it was like this pain consumed every fiber of his being. "S-she scratched my face." He swallowed and winced. "B-burned my arm." He squeezed his eyes shut, hating the way that his voice broke, making him sound weak.

"What else did she do?" James urged, his voice decidedly even, though Sirius could still hear the anger that boiled just under the surface.

"She… used the Cru…" His voice caught in his throat, but he wasn't so sure it was because of the pain this time. He hadn't had much time to think about what curse she had used on him before the Whipping Curse… but thinking back, it had been obvious. There was no other curse that could cause pain like this. "C-Cruciat-" He was cut off as a sudden coughing fit tore through him.

"No…" Mrs. Potter gasped in shock, taking his meaning without him having to choke out the entire name of the Torture Curse.

"Mum," James said quickly, alarm and fear in his voice. "Mum, he's coughing up blood."

Sirius glanced down and saw that the white comforter that was beneath him was now spotted with red. His heartbeat sped up with barely contained panic. He knew that was a very serious thing, just now realizing that internal damage may have been done.

But Mrs. Potter had quickly regained her composure, speaking to him calmly. "It's going to be alright, darling." She was rummaging with something that Sirius couldn't see on the floor. "I'm going to give you something to help you rest. When you wake up, you'll feel much better, I promise, love. Okay?"

Sirius held on to Mrs. Potter's assurances and kind tone like a lifeline, with no idea that she was putting on a calm face for his benefit. No idea that the extent of his injuries truly frightened her.

Mrs. Potter lifted his head a bit and gave him a drink from a vial. He coughed on the liquid, causing his body to pulsate with even more pain than what he had been experiencing. But immediately, the comforting darkness began to push in on him again. He didn't fight it and within seconds everything faded away.

Author's Note: Thoughts? It's not over yet, keep an eye out for the second part soon!