PROLOGUE (enjoy XD)
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts. How many a time have I thought about that? How many times have I wanted to die? Many a time. My name is Sirius, and I am a Black.
In my house, if you are me, you're afraid to sleep, you're afraid to even blink. Anything can happen in that one moment of helplessness. For me, it is much more than a slap across the face; it's a kick in the ribs, or in the head. I'm not sure what to do anymore. Some Gryffindor I am, I can't even live up to life.
I'm scared all the time and things are getting harder. My friends are getting too suspicious. My teachers are getting upset because I don't turn in homework. Even McGonagall is curious; because I cowered the last time she surprised me from behind in the hall.
At home I'm starting to believe that my mum is going to beat me to killing myself. Once I couldn't use my wand at all, it was when I was about eleven. My arm was charred with burns, and bleeding furiously with a deep, fresh cut. I remember it like this:
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Regulus was really sick, and my mum was doting over him. She had forced me to come home for the holidays to help take care of him (I wanted to come anyway because I really did and do love my brother) and she was making me cook the stew. It was simmering deliciously, and I was very hungry. She hadn't allowed me to eat, and I had just wanted a little taste of it. It had been cooking over the fireplace, so I had dipped my finger in to get a little. I had forgotten how hot it was.
I had snatched my hand out of the fireplace, and it had all tipped over, spilling on the floor and everywhere. I stood frozen as my mum called me from the kitchen furiously, "What happened Sirius?!"
"I spilled it! I'm sorry!" I had screamed, cowering away from an anticipated blow. She had told me, her nostrils flaring, to pick it up. I had, bending down to try to scoop it all back into the pot. She had gotten furious and grabbed my messy hand with her claw-like one.
"Sure! Pick it up like a filthy muggle!" she had screeched, pulling me towards the fireplace, "Fine! You want to be one, then get burned and hurt with idiotic mistakes like them!"
She had thrust my arm into the fireplace, and I had started to shriek in pain. Her expression didn't phase for a moment. When she was satisfied I had been tortured enough, she pulled it out and threw me on the ground. I had splashed into the goopy soup, cradling my agonizing arm.
She had stormed into the kitchen, coming back with a kitchen knife. She had thrown it at me erratically screaming, "You filthy disgrace!"
Strangely it had sliced that same arm, and I had sat there crying, with blood in a pool around me for a long time--until she came and told me to pick everything up.
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That's how I remember it. Now I can't use my wand again, because she broke my arm. She's refusing to fix it, even if school starts again in less than two weeks. I can't wait for it, and at the same time, I want it so much to not come. Summer vacation is nearly over, and I wasn't able to do a bit of homework. Questions would start being raised, and I was not up to answering them.
TBC
By the way, I'm really scared about this rating stuff, so if anyone can help me figure out the rating for this it would be appreciated.