Disclaimer: JKR owns, I merely play

Moirai

The grey veil flutters and in the mist, three women sit, robed in white and spinning.

I. Clotho

The distaff spins, spins.

Here's an interesting one. Look, dears.

Look how it shines.

He enters the world squalling in a voice that no one hears. The house has claimed it first, claimed it like his mother's screams, darkening the walls. He will learn, someday, how the house feeds on pain and fear and blood, sucks them in to build itself. He will learn, but not now.

Now he is their shining one.

II. Lachesis

It tangles, that one, knots and gnarls, won't weave in properly.

Look at the mess.

She sits quietly as he rants and storms up and down the drawing room, her white hands folded in front of her, still as a Muggle painting, driving him mad. He wants to shake her, break her, crack that icy composure once and for all, but she doesn't even blink when a 200 year old lamp shatters into a thousand pieces next to her head. Its pair follows a moment later, and she stands then, straight and cold, and the words coming from her mouth are uglier than any he's ever heard, for all that they're spoken in the calm voice of a saint. They burn into his skin like black ice and he wants to fall to his knees and cry, bury his face in velvet skirts and whimper like a baby, but he can't give her the satisfaction, no. He stands and takes them, his nails digging deeper into his palms at every syllable, his body shaking, and when she is done, he turns on his heels without a word and leaves. Forever, he thinks.

When he returns 19 years later, her words are still there, filling the house now, as they once filled his ears. Sirius stands in front of her and laughs, hoarse and ragged, until Remus drags him away downstairs.

III. Atropos

Don't worry about the knot, dear. I always said that Alexander could learn a thing from me.

The silver shears flash.

It seems to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curves in a graceful arc as he sinks backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch.

The veil flutters back into place and a dark shape climbs to its feet and looks around. In the mist, the women smile.

Hello, poppet.