Here's another one-shot. I apologize if there's any spelling or grammatical errors. I tried my best to fix all of them. I also apologize if I went off canon. Please review if you have the time. I'd really appreciate it! Thanks!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. The credit belongs to Mrs. J.K. Rowling.
The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
"Damn it!" Sirius' shaking fingers were attempting to rip a picture off his wall. He had been prying at it for ten minutes off and on, but it wouldn't budge. That's what he got for charming it to permanently stick to the wall. The walls of Sirius' room were covered it pictures muggle and magic, but this one, taken of him and his three best friends at school, was the most important. Despite being angry for not being able to take it with him, he was quite pleased that his spell had succeeded. Now his parents would permanently have to be reminded of the son they lost.
He could still hear her—his mother, her shrill screams echoing through the staircase her threatening words blurring together having no real meaning, not that they carried much weight with Sirius in the first place. That night, at dinner, she had finally gone too far. After discovering, courtesy of her niece Narcissa, that her other niece and Sirius' favorite cousin, Andromeda, had chosen to marry a muggle-born, she continued on an angry tangent cursing everything not pure-blood—anything not good enough for the Black name and anyone, like Andromeda, who set those beliefs aside. Sirius, as normal attempted to block out her constant, arrogant drivel, but this time it was too much. He was sick of it all—the blood-status and the name, the name of which he was supposed to be proud, but in truth was ashamed. "Shut it Mother!" he slammed his goblet down on the table. Kreacher, the family house-elf, almost dropped the tray of leftovers which he was carrying to the kitchen. He stood frozen in the corner cowering at the anger growing in his mistress's eyes. Regulus, Sirius' brother, who rarely looked up from his dinner plate, though not moving his head, shifted his eyes to observe almost not believing what just occurred.
"Sirius Orion Black, how dare you address me in that manor!" Mrs. Black immediately stood up glaring at her son.
"How dare you speak of anyone the way you do!" Sirius replied. "Black means nothing. No one cares anymore! Andromeda and whatever her muggle-born's name is are in love. They'll get married (I'll be at the bloody wedding) and have kids. I'm sure she'll make a better mother than you! Not as insane at least."
"I'm not a good mother? Oh how rich since you've grown up in sincere poverty all your life!" she gestured to all the fine furnishings and tapestries adorning the room.
"I'd rather live on the streets of London than here with you and dad shoving all this pure-blood codswallop down my throat!" he stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
"Wait until your father returns!" his mother called. Mr. Black had been away "on business" as he would say, though Sirius was never really sure what this business was and highly doubted it was plain "business."
"I'll be long gone by the time he gets back!"
Sirius was almost packed. One simple spell had packed all of his clothes, books, and other supplies for school, including almost everything necessary for the Marauders to have a good year at Hogwarts—vanishing powder, invisible ink, dung bombs etc. He scanned the room flustered trying to think of everything that he would need. This wasn't just packing for school—it was packing forever. He was sure when his father returned the house and discovered what he had done the house, which was already bounded with more curses than Gringotts, would be impenetrable, even to Sirius. He knelt down and felt around for a small crack in the floor and lifted up the loose floorboard to reveal a small cache created by himself years earlier. His mother wouldn't be able to stand a crack in her perfect floor. Inside was a scarlet sack containing money he had been saving and withdrawing from Gringotts secretly in case an event such as the present one were to occur. He packed that as well. There was only one more place to check—the top drawer of his dresser. "Padfoot" he pointed his wand at the drawer as the handled jiggled before pulling it open. Although he banished Kreacher from every entering his room, he kept that drawer under full protection. Inside an old box that once packaged a dozen containers of Bertie Bots, that now held everything he considered most dear. His slid the lid open for a brief second getting a glimpse of the contents: fading photographs of him and his friends, an array of chocolate frog cards, letters, old scribbled passwords for each house common room and other small memorabilia from his years at school. He smiled slightly as he peered inside. He closed it and found a place in his suitcase where he could squeeze it. Everything was accounted for –except…Sirius went into panic. He ripped open the drawer to find nothing. Where was it? He felt a sick feeling his stomach. What if that bloody house elf found it and gave it to Regulus? Then he suddenly remembered he gave the map to Remus, almost at Remus' insistence. Apparently, "Sirius was a little too careless." He was starting to believe Remus was right.
He stood at his doorway, wand in one hand, along with his broom, and suitcase in the other. He took one last look at his room—his safe haven from the disgusting world that lie right outside the door knowing he would never be in that house again. He grabbed the cold, silver handle and pulled the door shut as loudly as possible. He entertained putting a special locking charm on the knob making it almost impossible for anyone to enter, but he decided that his mother's face when she discovered the scarlet and gold explosion inside, though he wouldn't be there to witness it, was far too humorous to pass up. He dragged his suitcase down the, what seemed never ending, hallway. As he passed each window, table, or portrait he seemed to notice its appearance a bit more. It had always been just what he was used to. His hallways. Now however, they seemed so dark and empty. Seeing them in this new light made him wish his feet would move a bit faster.
When he came to Regulus' room, Regulus was waiting for him in the door way. Carelessly tossing a snitch, he spoke to Sirius. "You're being ruddy ridiculous. It's stupid to leave," he informed him. Sirius put down his suitcase and walked over to Regulus placing his hand on his shoulder, the closest he had ever been to Regulus in years. "Reg," he made Regulus lift up his head to meet his eyes, "Someday, you'll get it. It's not worth it," he gave Regulus a swift pat on his shoulder before picking up his suitcase and broom and continuing down the stairs. Regulus didn't say a word. Sirius didn't look back, but he heard the door to Regulus' room shut. As much as he couldn't stand Regulus for being completely taken with his parents' pure-blood mania, he was worried about him. Sirius, although already vastly different from the rest of his family, at age eleven, was sorted into Gryffindor and saw the world outside of the Black family's point of view. Regulus, with the praise of his parents, was sorted in Slytherin and continued to prosper in the Black way of life. Sirius could tell Regulus was slowly being pulled deeper and deeper to the other side—another side which Sirius knew was more than just blood status and family names. Fortunately he still had a chance to watch over Regulus. He was younger and would be returning to school in the fall with Sirius.
Sirius passed the living room, his mother still shrieking only now she loudly contemplated what went wrong with him and if there was some way he was someone else's child—not a noble Black at all. The front door was in sight now. Sirius' pace quickened. He was filled with adrenaline ready to make his final statement, ready to separate himself from his name. As he passed the troll leg umbrella stand, the ugliest thing he'd ever seen, he didn't think anything was more appropriate than to knock it over. He reached the front door. For a split second, he stopped. He contemplated Regulus' words. It would be easier to stay. He would be secure in a house and money and then after seventh year he could leave. He quickly reminded himself of everything his parents had said and insulting Andromeda, her muggle-born fiancé, and everyone else who was "below the family standards." He accounted every sneer, every glare, and insult. He thought of the Bertie Bots box and everything inside—everything he loved. He remembered James's words to him when they departed for the summer, "Padfoot, you know you can always stay with me." He knew what he had to do. He pulled his suitcase out the door. Out of the front steps he turned to watch the knob of the door twist itself and lock. It was over. He continued down the street. He couldn't fly in the presence of all the muggle families inhabiting his street. A deserted alley was his target. Before he turned down the dark corner he took one last look at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He said goodbye to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.