Sirius Black couldn't sleep. That was unusual. It was almost three o'clock in the morning, and he was usually dead to the world long before now. He rolled out of bed, pulled on an old, thin, white t-shirt, and stuck his feet into a pair of slippers. He quietly snuck down the hall, pausing briefly at his 14 year old son's door. He could hear Rommy's soft snores, and immediately knew that Rommy wasn't the reason he was awake. He went downstairs and into the kitchen, stretching his arms high above his head. His t-shirt rode up slightly, revealing defined abs, a line of hair running from his navel and disappearing into the thin cotton pants he wore, and several tattoos covering his back and sides. At 35, he was still considered a very attractive man. Some said he was the most attractive of his group of friends, the same friends he had run around with at Hogwarts; however, Sirius tended to disagree. Knowing that sleep would be futile, he lazily pointed his wand at an old teapot, and it began to boil instantaneously. There was something wrong, though. The toujours pur that had been magically branded on his wrist twenty years ago was itchy and burning for the first time in years. He desperately wanted to know why it was bothering him now, after eighteen years, but Remus knew the most about magical injuries and would probably murder Sirius for waking him up now, in the middle of the night. Instead, Sirius thought back to the night the words had been branded onto his arm forever, trying to remember anything that would give him a hint as to why it was hurting.
"And may your name never darken this family again!" His mother had screeched as she had taken her wand to the tapestry and blasted his name off of it. He wasn't even quite sure what had happened. His parents had been discussing the latest werewolf attacks and how werewolves were disgracing the name of Death Eaters, and Sirius just snapped. He had been thinking of Remus already, of how gorgeous his smile was and how endearing it was when his hair fell in his eyes. When his father said that all werewolves should be euthanized at the time of their initial bite, Sirius had quickly stood, knocking his chair back with a loud clang.
"WOULD YOU ALL JUST SHUT UP? DON'T YOU EVEN CARE THAT I'M IN LOVE WITH A HALF-BLOOD WEREWOLF? HE'S WONDERFUL AND BRILLIANT AND HE'S THE ONLY PERSON IN THIS DAMN WORLD WHO CARES ABOUT ME." He hadn't even realized what he was saying until it was too late. He had just admitted a few too many things to his judgmental, blood-purist parents, not to mention the fact that he had blatantly and openly disrespected them. His father and brother had both grown dangerously quiet, and his father starting flinging dark hexes at him before Sirius could react. His mother was also flinging hexes and curses at him, but she was doing it while dragging him by his hair to the room containing their family tapestry and shouting at him. His brother had abandoned his wand and was physically assaulting Sirius. As Walburga blasted his name off of the tapestry, his left wrist immediately began burning. He was confused, until he realized that the family motto, toujours pur, was burning itself into his wrist.
After their return to Hogwarts, Sirius, along with James and Remus, had spent hours in the library trying to determine why James and Remus couldn't see the words, but his cousins and brother could. They eventually discovered that it was an ancient magic, that the words were linked to the tapestry. Anyone in the Black family, with Black blood, could see it. That was how they were to know that the particular Black with the words had been disowned. It was also to serve as a reminder to the Black bearing the branded words that he had been disowned, that his family had turned their back on him, that he was no longer welcome.
After coming out of his reverie, Sirius poured a cup of tea and wandered into the sitting room. He collapsed on the couch, putting his feet on the coffee table, and inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of his tea. He set his tea down, picking up a sketchbook, and started adding detail to an old sketch of a man (a teenage boy, really) transforming into a werewolf. This was convenient – while the man looked more like Remus, he could change some of the details to make it look more like Rommy.
After a few minutes, he realized that he was no longer drawing but rather writing "toujours pur" all over the paper.
Meanwhile, little Electra Black was being screamed at and hexed by her mother, cursed by her father, and punched by her brother. Electra was holding back tears while dodging fists and flashes of lights. She wasn't quite sure what had happened, although the tension had started five years ago, when she was sorted into Gryffindor. All she knew now, at this exact moment, was that her mother was blasting her name off of the family tapestry and her wrist was burning.