Welcome to my very first fic! I was given the idea for writing Crucio Butterfly whilst thinking about fate, and how one single incident, in a split second can completely alter the course of the future. I then got to thinking about Sirius and how he could have been a Slytherin, and all the complex consequences of that.
The prologue below is separate to the rest of the fic and is PoV "Real" Sirius – it is also shorter than what the rest of the chapters will be. I may consider using some of the events in the prologue in a separate fic when I have finished Crucio Butterfly so don't steal them or anything :P
I am uncertain as to how often I will update – I tend to write quite sporadically, but should update on average once a week.
So scroll down and read on!
-----
Disclaimer: All characters, places, HP universe related stuff is based upon the world created by JK Rowling and is NOT MINE!
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"It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."
Albus Dumbledore.
Crucio Butterfly – Prologue
I had forgotten about that, the Black family tree on the wall in the drawing room. I hesitate to say my family tree; they weren't my family, not really. I guess in that respect I don't have any family at all, but that isn't really true. I had Gryffindor, the Marauders. We were the greatest of friends, laughing together, playing pranks together, running through the school on the night of the full moon, wolf, rat, dog and stag; Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. We never thought to be separated, the innocence of our youth kept us together until the end, an end that would not come until we were insane old men. There are only two of us left now, Moony and Padfoot, last of the Marauders, which sounds terribly over-dramatic, but it's true. I have Harry, as much of a son to me as anyone could be. Molly accused me of mistaking him for James, but then she never really knew James, of course as sixth year Gryffindor prefect she knew all about those mischievous Gryffindor first years who had doused Slytherin first year Severus Snape in soap on the second day. We had become famous for it, our first act as the Marauders, despite the fact it would be another year until we took that name. Molly never spent time with James though, not like I did, she would never understand that I could never place Harry in the hole James left behind. Just as though I know Harry would never try to replace James with me. They are alike, Harry and James, in more than looks, that courage, that talent for trouble and Quidditch can only have been hereditary. Harry has his mother's eyes though, a fact I know he is sick of hearing, but I find it ironic that the eyes are the window to the soul. Harry is so much like his mother, more than he ever realises, so loving, so compassionate, and intelligent, not in the same way as Hermione, but logical and quick to understand a situation. It hurts me sometimes, watching him become the man Lily and James would have been so proud of.
I don't regret leaving my blood family, I could have stayed with them, allowed myself to be moulded to their beliefs, but with them I would have been without the Marauders. Without the Marauders I could have been a free man. I could have been given back twelve years of stolen life, but I'd never have the memories I do now, memories of four boys standing shaking in the line to be sorted, four boys on their first night at Hogwarts, overwhelmed by the grandeur of the feast and the castle, soaring above the Quidditch field, standing together on the platform for the last time, watching memories of seven years fade away into the past. I wouldn't give those up for anything.
I think that, at some point, my parents must have loved me, or at least, they must have accepted me, I can't really see my mother being particularly affectionate to anyone, but I don't really remember. What I do remember though, with crystal clarity, is my mother's first lesson in 'how to be a Black', a memory that still, after more than thirty years, sickens me to the core.
It was a crisp autumn day, I remember because I had been sitting on the window ledge of the drawing room, watching the leaves outside blow gently in the breeze. Two muggle children, no more than six or seven, were scooping up handfuls of dry brown leaves and throwing them at each other, their muffled laughter echoed up through the window and I wished with all my heart that I could join them. I knew the girls didn't live here in Grimmauld place, hours spent sitting alone at this window meant I knew everyone who lived here. I thought I recognised them, though, as the same two children who visited the old lady at number six last Christmas, her grandchildren, I assumed. Suddenly, the younger of the two, who on closer inspection seemed to be around my age, looked straight at me and waved. I stared, the older, blond girl did too but I suspect she thought her companion had gone mad, waving at the blank wall joining number eleven with number thirteen. I sat up against the window, still staring at the girl in shock before tentatively waving back, she laughed and waved again. A noise from behind made me turn sharply.
"What are you doing, Sirius?" My mother's voice was cold, even more so than usual, instead of awaiting an answer she strode over to the window and looked out into the street, where the two girls had resumed their game. The look on her face when she turned back round was one of pure anger and hate, though I was uncertain who it was directed at, I didn't think it could be all me. "What on earth did you think you were doing, Sirius Black? Waving at muggles, you should know better than that, and I don't care that they can't see the house, you are a Black, Sirius, you do not associate with scum anymore than you befriend the house elves."
"She's not." My voice had dropped to a shaky whisper; I had befriended one of the house elves and most definitely did not want to see my mother's reaction when she discovered that.
"What?"
"The red-head, she's not a muggle, she waved at me." The icy expression on my mother's face made me hurry on, "You said only wizards could see our house, and the girl saw it, she waved at me. The blonde one didn't, though, she looked at her sister as though she was mad."
The look on my mother's face was now completely unreadable, as though she was unsure what to do next, she stared out of the window at the muggle and the red-haired witch, finally she pulled out her wand, I flinched instinctively; I had seen what my mother could do with a wand when she was angry. She did not point it at me, though, "Accio butterfly, Engorgio." The now enlarged butterfly was held by one wing in my mother's free right hand, it was a beautiful thing, a swirl of colour decorated its free wing, every line and shade visible now that it was enlarged. I must have looked bemused because my mother then said, "I have put this off for far too long, my son, I am beginning your lessons in how to be a respectable member of the Black family."
I nodded firmly; I had expected this day to come, my older cousin, Bellatrix, often spoke of her lessons, though she refused to give details of what she learned, I had asked her, more than once, but the last time that had happened she had run to my mother who put a silencing charm on me and refused to remove it for a week saying it was 'none of your business what Bellatrix is taught and you will know when you are old enough'. My mother held out the butterfly and raised her wand towards it, "You may consider this an introduction, a test of faith, shall we say, before you begin your true studies. Crucio." The butterfly began twitching violently, I stared at it in horrified fascination, certain that if it could, it would have been screaming. After several long seconds my mother lowered her wand, the butterfly lay limp in her hands, still twitching slightly.
"Now," my mother's voice cut through my thoughts like a knife through butter, "Your turn." She held out her wand and I took it in shaking hands, "Just raise the wand at the butterfly and say the word, I do not expect you to succeed, but I expect you to be willing to succeed." My mind froze then, as I realised what she was asking me to do, I stared uncertainly at the wand in my hand, "Just say the word." My mother whispered in my ear, and I could, I could just have said it, have succumbed to my mothers will, she was so certain I would, and accepted the training she was to give me, but then a face danced before my eyes, a small red-haired child waving up at the window, so young and innocent, I saw the dying beauty of the butterfly still twitching in my mother's fingers. How could I cause harm to something so free and innocent? My mother's words taunted me, I knew I would never be forgiven if I disobeyed, and yet, I couldn't bring myself to do that, to destroy the innocent. I let the wand fall to the floor.
"No" I whispered.
"What did you say?"
"No!"
It still frightens me now to think what might have happened if I had done it, chosen what was easy over what was right, I was beaten by my mother that night and locked in my room without any food, but I didn't care, I knew in my heart what I had chosen was right.
It was from that day onwards that I was not really a part of the Black family, my mother refused to teach me so I would sneak into the library and steal books to read, I would join the house elves in the kitchen and sit in the airing cupboard reading. She asked me twice more in the following weeks to do what she had asked of me that day, but I had refused once, I could do it again. I sent Mindy, the youngest of the elves, to whom I had taken a particular liking, to the Potter family with a letter requesting notes from their son, James' lessons. The Potters were one of those treacherous families who had all been in Gryffindor for at least twelve generations, and in the view of my mother, a disgrace to the name of wizard, naturally I had never met them. It was this, more than anything, which led me to believe that what they taught their son would be less biased than what I would otherwise have got from my mother. The Potters were nice to me, which was more than I expected especially as I was from the Black family, which was on a level with the Malfoys, they sent owls to me at night, when no-one else would know. I wrote to their only son, James nearly every day from the age of eight, although I didn't meet him until we boarded the Hogwarts express, three years later, when I crashed into him in my hurry to find the platform.
I could have said yes, I could have raised that wand and said 'Crucio', if I did it once I'd be able to do it again, and every time it would have become easier, more natural, I could have been brought up a respectable member of the Black family, if I had just said one word.
-----
So that's it...Please review and tell me what you think! Cookies for any who can figure out who the 'Muggle' children are (really very obvious!!!)
Next chapter – The beginning of the Story Proper - Sirius Black's first day in Slytherin!
The prologue below is separate to the rest of the fic and is PoV "Real" Sirius – it is also shorter than what the rest of the chapters will be. I may consider using some of the events in the prologue in a separate fic when I have finished Crucio Butterfly so don't steal them or anything :P
I am uncertain as to how often I will update – I tend to write quite sporadically, but should update on average once a week.
So scroll down and read on!
-----
Disclaimer: All characters, places, HP universe related stuff is based upon the world created by JK Rowling and is NOT MINE!
-----
"It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."
Albus Dumbledore.
Crucio Butterfly – Prologue
I had forgotten about that, the Black family tree on the wall in the drawing room. I hesitate to say my family tree; they weren't my family, not really. I guess in that respect I don't have any family at all, but that isn't really true. I had Gryffindor, the Marauders. We were the greatest of friends, laughing together, playing pranks together, running through the school on the night of the full moon, wolf, rat, dog and stag; Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. We never thought to be separated, the innocence of our youth kept us together until the end, an end that would not come until we were insane old men. There are only two of us left now, Moony and Padfoot, last of the Marauders, which sounds terribly over-dramatic, but it's true. I have Harry, as much of a son to me as anyone could be. Molly accused me of mistaking him for James, but then she never really knew James, of course as sixth year Gryffindor prefect she knew all about those mischievous Gryffindor first years who had doused Slytherin first year Severus Snape in soap on the second day. We had become famous for it, our first act as the Marauders, despite the fact it would be another year until we took that name. Molly never spent time with James though, not like I did, she would never understand that I could never place Harry in the hole James left behind. Just as though I know Harry would never try to replace James with me. They are alike, Harry and James, in more than looks, that courage, that talent for trouble and Quidditch can only have been hereditary. Harry has his mother's eyes though, a fact I know he is sick of hearing, but I find it ironic that the eyes are the window to the soul. Harry is so much like his mother, more than he ever realises, so loving, so compassionate, and intelligent, not in the same way as Hermione, but logical and quick to understand a situation. It hurts me sometimes, watching him become the man Lily and James would have been so proud of.
I don't regret leaving my blood family, I could have stayed with them, allowed myself to be moulded to their beliefs, but with them I would have been without the Marauders. Without the Marauders I could have been a free man. I could have been given back twelve years of stolen life, but I'd never have the memories I do now, memories of four boys standing shaking in the line to be sorted, four boys on their first night at Hogwarts, overwhelmed by the grandeur of the feast and the castle, soaring above the Quidditch field, standing together on the platform for the last time, watching memories of seven years fade away into the past. I wouldn't give those up for anything.
I think that, at some point, my parents must have loved me, or at least, they must have accepted me, I can't really see my mother being particularly affectionate to anyone, but I don't really remember. What I do remember though, with crystal clarity, is my mother's first lesson in 'how to be a Black', a memory that still, after more than thirty years, sickens me to the core.
It was a crisp autumn day, I remember because I had been sitting on the window ledge of the drawing room, watching the leaves outside blow gently in the breeze. Two muggle children, no more than six or seven, were scooping up handfuls of dry brown leaves and throwing them at each other, their muffled laughter echoed up through the window and I wished with all my heart that I could join them. I knew the girls didn't live here in Grimmauld place, hours spent sitting alone at this window meant I knew everyone who lived here. I thought I recognised them, though, as the same two children who visited the old lady at number six last Christmas, her grandchildren, I assumed. Suddenly, the younger of the two, who on closer inspection seemed to be around my age, looked straight at me and waved. I stared, the older, blond girl did too but I suspect she thought her companion had gone mad, waving at the blank wall joining number eleven with number thirteen. I sat up against the window, still staring at the girl in shock before tentatively waving back, she laughed and waved again. A noise from behind made me turn sharply.
"What are you doing, Sirius?" My mother's voice was cold, even more so than usual, instead of awaiting an answer she strode over to the window and looked out into the street, where the two girls had resumed their game. The look on her face when she turned back round was one of pure anger and hate, though I was uncertain who it was directed at, I didn't think it could be all me. "What on earth did you think you were doing, Sirius Black? Waving at muggles, you should know better than that, and I don't care that they can't see the house, you are a Black, Sirius, you do not associate with scum anymore than you befriend the house elves."
"She's not." My voice had dropped to a shaky whisper; I had befriended one of the house elves and most definitely did not want to see my mother's reaction when she discovered that.
"What?"
"The red-head, she's not a muggle, she waved at me." The icy expression on my mother's face made me hurry on, "You said only wizards could see our house, and the girl saw it, she waved at me. The blonde one didn't, though, she looked at her sister as though she was mad."
The look on my mother's face was now completely unreadable, as though she was unsure what to do next, she stared out of the window at the muggle and the red-haired witch, finally she pulled out her wand, I flinched instinctively; I had seen what my mother could do with a wand when she was angry. She did not point it at me, though, "Accio butterfly, Engorgio." The now enlarged butterfly was held by one wing in my mother's free right hand, it was a beautiful thing, a swirl of colour decorated its free wing, every line and shade visible now that it was enlarged. I must have looked bemused because my mother then said, "I have put this off for far too long, my son, I am beginning your lessons in how to be a respectable member of the Black family."
I nodded firmly; I had expected this day to come, my older cousin, Bellatrix, often spoke of her lessons, though she refused to give details of what she learned, I had asked her, more than once, but the last time that had happened she had run to my mother who put a silencing charm on me and refused to remove it for a week saying it was 'none of your business what Bellatrix is taught and you will know when you are old enough'. My mother held out the butterfly and raised her wand towards it, "You may consider this an introduction, a test of faith, shall we say, before you begin your true studies. Crucio." The butterfly began twitching violently, I stared at it in horrified fascination, certain that if it could, it would have been screaming. After several long seconds my mother lowered her wand, the butterfly lay limp in her hands, still twitching slightly.
"Now," my mother's voice cut through my thoughts like a knife through butter, "Your turn." She held out her wand and I took it in shaking hands, "Just raise the wand at the butterfly and say the word, I do not expect you to succeed, but I expect you to be willing to succeed." My mind froze then, as I realised what she was asking me to do, I stared uncertainly at the wand in my hand, "Just say the word." My mother whispered in my ear, and I could, I could just have said it, have succumbed to my mothers will, she was so certain I would, and accepted the training she was to give me, but then a face danced before my eyes, a small red-haired child waving up at the window, so young and innocent, I saw the dying beauty of the butterfly still twitching in my mother's fingers. How could I cause harm to something so free and innocent? My mother's words taunted me, I knew I would never be forgiven if I disobeyed, and yet, I couldn't bring myself to do that, to destroy the innocent. I let the wand fall to the floor.
"No" I whispered.
"What did you say?"
"No!"
It still frightens me now to think what might have happened if I had done it, chosen what was easy over what was right, I was beaten by my mother that night and locked in my room without any food, but I didn't care, I knew in my heart what I had chosen was right.
It was from that day onwards that I was not really a part of the Black family, my mother refused to teach me so I would sneak into the library and steal books to read, I would join the house elves in the kitchen and sit in the airing cupboard reading. She asked me twice more in the following weeks to do what she had asked of me that day, but I had refused once, I could do it again. I sent Mindy, the youngest of the elves, to whom I had taken a particular liking, to the Potter family with a letter requesting notes from their son, James' lessons. The Potters were one of those treacherous families who had all been in Gryffindor for at least twelve generations, and in the view of my mother, a disgrace to the name of wizard, naturally I had never met them. It was this, more than anything, which led me to believe that what they taught their son would be less biased than what I would otherwise have got from my mother. The Potters were nice to me, which was more than I expected especially as I was from the Black family, which was on a level with the Malfoys, they sent owls to me at night, when no-one else would know. I wrote to their only son, James nearly every day from the age of eight, although I didn't meet him until we boarded the Hogwarts express, three years later, when I crashed into him in my hurry to find the platform.
I could have said yes, I could have raised that wand and said 'Crucio', if I did it once I'd be able to do it again, and every time it would have become easier, more natural, I could have been brought up a respectable member of the Black family, if I had just said one word.
-----
So that's it...Please review and tell me what you think! Cookies for any who can figure out who the 'Muggle' children are (really very obvious!!!)
Next chapter – The beginning of the Story Proper - Sirius Black's first day in Slytherin!