Abused – Home is Hell
I lower my head, trying not to listen to my parents. They are talking happily and freely about Voldemort, they call him the Dark Lord. My brother is sitting across from me chomping happily on his – whatever he's eating. My parents take no notice of either of us, and raise their voices merrily. "Yes, I think he has a great idea! Kill all the mudbloods and muggles! It's a wonderful plan. I think that Regulus and Sirius will be wonderful Death Eaters." Mom says this as if I'm not even in the room. What is she thinking? Me, Sirius Black, a Death Eater? I don't think so. I'm not like that, even though my dad is constantly telling me that I'm only ten and that I'll have all the time in the world to change my mind. He's also gotten me my first wand so I can practice horrible curses. Can't they accept that I'm not like they are? No, my family isn't like that. If you're a Black, you're practically royal in their minds and if you don't follow family tradition, you might as well pack up and live on the street.
My dad nods and turns to me. I lower my head as if not looking at my dad would make him forget about me. My head is so low that my black hair hangs in my face. "What about you, Sirius? Ready to choose the right path and train to join the Dark Lord when you're older?" I don't answer right away. I glance up at him. He is a lanky man with black hair – like mine. His eyes are dark and cold, and his expression his unnaturally light. But just for the moment. He has a horrible temper and his mood can change before you could say, "Temper". I shrug and mutter something. "What's that, my boy?" he asks.
"I kind of like muggles..." I say, but louder so he can hear me. "I mean, they're kind of interesting, you know? Their life styles and everything." My mother gasps and my father doesn't speak. Regulus looks up from his food, looking at each of us and giving me a you-shouldn't-have-said-that look. Dad puts down his silverware and stands up. It's at this moment I realize I've said the wrong thing. Dad walks behind me and grabs a bit of my hair, pulling hard. I yell in pain and fight to get away from his grasp. He doesn't let go. He makes me look up, although my eyes are closed.
"What did you say?" he asks, a brutal tone to his voice. I don't answer. He pulls harder, shaking my head slightly. "What did you say!?" he roars. I still don't answer. He lets go of my hair and I open my eyes, sighing in relief, though it doesn't last. He hits me so hard I get knocked off my chair. I barely notice hot tears rising in my deep blue eyes as a searing pain meets my cheek. He is now over me and I look up at him. I don't notice my brother has moved closer, enjoyment on his face, watching us. I scramble away from my dad and into a corner. He advances on me and I see that he's drawn his wand. My eyes grow wide. I know what that's for. He raises it and utters a word I have learned to fear and hate, "Crucio!"
A scream comes out of my mouth. I am now curled up, shaking, in the corner. The pain is unbearable, like a million knives that have been drenched in gasoline and then set fire being poked slowly all over. My bones are quivering and my voice is becoming hoarse. I am flinching and twitching, my feet kicking out aimlessly as if this would help ease the pain. Tears are drenching my face and my eyes are closed tightly. I wish that someone would just kill me here and now.
The curse is lifted and I slowly stop shaking and I open my eyes. I'm gulping and gasping for breath and curling up into a tighter ball, trying to go further into the corner, as far away from my dad as possible. There's laughing from my brother, but I ignore it. I'm still crying, burying my face into my robes. "Look at you," my dad says harshly. "You're weak, crying like that. Ten years old and you're still crying like some kind of little three-year-old girl!" He nudges me with his foot. "You're a disgrace to my name and the likes of wizards and witches everywhere!" I look up at him, sniffing. He looks down at me with disgust and goes to sit down at the table. "Go to your room! I don't want to see you right now." I don't have to be told twice. I stand up and stumble out of the room, running up the stairs and into my room, locking the door. I jump on my bed and bury my face into my pillow, still crying. I can't stop crying no matter what my dad had said. I cry until I'm asleep, although I never loose my strong grip on my pillow.