Mr. and Mrs. Black, of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, were proud to say they were perfectly magical, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything mundane or muggle, because they simply didn't stand for such filth.

Orion Black was officially unemployed but unofficially spent much of his time making money through means best unexposed to examination. He was tall man whose stretched skin seemed too small for his body, with his nose always upturned as if he had smelled something foul. Walburga Black was thin and short with long black hair perpetually done up in a severe black bun, giving her a near comical appearance of a vulture. She was normally to be found ordering about the family house elf, twisting her pliable wand in her hands and gossiping. More than anything, the lady of a well established family had to protected the prestige and eminence of her family.

The Blacks had two young sons, Sirius and Regulus though they rarely acknowledged the existence of the former. The younger son could often be found about the house, shadowed by the family elf as he organized Chocolate Frog Cards and skimmed down the halls on his toy broomstick while shouting merrily. His older brother in turn would be found in the attic at the top of the stairs which played home to a large circular window that peered out the clay tiles. From that vantage point, Sirius could watch the whole street and the boys that played, shouted and ran down it.

The Blacks, like most old families, held many secrets though one in particular weighed heavily on them. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out how Sirius, though as old as ten, had never once demonstrated any accidental magic. Increasingly Mr. Black couldn't help but pretend he indeed only had one son. The Blacks shuddered to think what the Malfoys or Lestranges would think if they only but knew. Increasingly they kept him away from his brother, Regulus, for fear such shame could spread through the family tree like rot.

Orion Black left the house as he did every morning, frowning as he noticed the gaggle of children playing in the grassy square that was Grimmauld Place. The ancestral house of Black loomed overhead in what was once a firmly magical community of London. The centuries had not been kind to the Wizarding community; wars, low birth rates and the firm hand of the Magic of Ministry had allowed the Wizard population to dwindle and historic Magic areas of London slowly degenerate. The houses of once magical blood now held muggles who suffered a disturbing frequency of accidents inside their homes.

He stepped inside the muggle Police Box that he had fought tooth and nail to prevent: progress could not be halted it was said, the old wizard stone rings were too archaic and out of place in modern London. It was precisely such rubbish that had the pureblood community up in arms, tired of watching their birthrights stolen and histories destroyed. With a double tap of his wand against the vividly blue back wall and a muffled crack, he was off to the Ministry.

It was a lengthy day of work, haranguing the Minister of Magic, coaxing members of the wizengamot and outright blackmailing at least one mugwump. Such painful trivialities, Orion thought, were well offset by a snide remark to Abraxas Malfoy about the muggle born inlaw he had on his wife's side.

He lunched with LeStrange who remained on good terms with You-Know-Who down in Wales. Black and LeStrange both loudly agreed that it was an outrage that anyone championing wizarding rights had to do his best to keep one's own identity out of public knowledge. While Orion Black couldn't help but agree that steps had best be taken to defend wizarding rights he also couldn't help but feel they were best taken by someone else. Perhaps it was simply the Slytherin morals he so espoused.

After passing the afternoon leisurely playing Wizarding Whist with a quartet of goblin bankers, he strode back out of his police box and onto the grounds of Grimmauld. The muggle children still played on the grass, kicking around a speckled ball in some barbaric form of sport. The sore spot that was the continued illegality of putting muggle repelling charms around his house rankled a bit deeper than usual.

As he drew closer he noticed why they had taken to playing near the house their eyes could not even find. Laughing in the crowd was the subject of Orion Black's glare, his impossibly pale face sunburned red, a dark haired boy whose shaggy hair ill-suited the prim and proper clothes he'd soiled with grass stains.

With his eyes breathing fury he parted the crowd easily, the laughter of the children falling short as he approached his son. Grabbing the hair that he had been growing out in the style of his uncle Alphard he ignored the protests as he marched towards Twelve Grimmauld Place. Some boys would later swear that the door of it actually banged open before the man ever reached it, as if by some unknown force; others were uncertain if they had entered house 11 or 13. The gloomy hallway they entered was much like the owner himself: immaculate, darkly dressed and mirthless.

"Kreacher!" The man roared. Before he even finished, the house elf appeared with a crack beneath the row of heads he so resembled, trembling before the rage of his master. The Elf's crooked mouth sat sharply below his bulbous mouth, sputtering with jumbled excuses.

"What was the boy doing outside of the house?" The man demanded.

"The young master-"

"Scissors, now!" he roared, as if insulted that the elf dared to provide the excuse he had asked for.

The house elf trembled further at the punishment in store for him but left diligently. Orion Black let his son go as his wife entered the the hallway. Shorter and somehow even thinner than her husband the ire in her eyes shone even brighter.

"The boy" he croaked "was out crawling in the mud with a pack of muggle children." The woman said nothing at first but merely glared at the boy who had backed himself against the nearest wall.

"If he wishes to act like a muggle, carry on like a muggle and defame the House of Black I shall treat him like a muggle." The man spat before grabbing his son and moving to the drawing room.

Every bit as dark as the hallway, one large wall of the room was dominated by the enormous family tree. "The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black" was inscribed at the top. It was where the man brought his sons to be punished and shamed before their many ancestors. Decorated in a dark green and silver decor, all natural light to the room was stamped out by heavy curtains.

"Sit." The man said to his son after conjuring a familiar wooden foot stool in front of the tapestry. With another crack the terrified house elf appeared in the room even as Walburga Black swept inside the room.

"As a squib" his father began "you should grow accustomed to the ways of muggles." With that, the man grabbed his son's hair and nearly pulled him out of the chair as he lifted the dark strands. Taking the scissors with one snip after another he sawed through the hair. As it fell to the floor the only sounds were of the boy's sobs and the steady snipping from the furious man.

When all that was left was a head of mismatched short lengths the man relented. No longer thundering his face returned to disdain. Orion swept from the room without a glance at his wife, treading the familiar stairway to his private study. The marriage of Orion and Walburga quite matched their appearances - cold, dark and unwelcoming.

"Kreacher! Take the child to his room" She hissed before her frown deepened. "No, take him to the broom cupboard under the stairs and lock it. The muggle loving freak needn't a room unto himself like a proper Black"

The broom cupboard was hidden beneath the stairs in the foyer where the young Sirius Black could smell the house elf cooking food that was out of reach for the famished boy. It was also near enough to the dining room that he could hear the muted discussion at the family table at which he was most certainly not welcome. And at long last, the creaky 7th stair on the case as the Blacks went to bed, leaving one son in darkness.

It was there, between the prototype Comet that had been a gift and the Cleansweep won at a Wizard's Gala that Sirius Black was found the next morning. But where his mangled hair had been was the long, gleaming hair that he had been growing out, his first act of accidental magic.

The result was near magical itself; the privileges that had slowly been lost to Sirius over the years came flooding back: the endless gifts of toys and treats, showcased by his parents at every possible event. Other than returning outside to play with the muggle children he had attempted to befriend, no misdeed was worth more punishment than a wink and encouragement not to be caught.

But try as he might, he couldn't forget. The mangled hair and the locked broom cupboard, the hissing and degradations. Being ignored and hidden from the sight of guests and being unwanted. Perhaps most of all, he couldn't forget how Regulus, the favourite for a few short years, was returned to being a tiresome burden, a spare. Loyalty was cheap indeed in the house of Black.

Author Commentary:

This chapter is, clearly enough, a true beta work. Originally it was to be published along with my co-author, Corruo. He, sadly, has vanished leaving me rather at a miss. So after a great deal of waiting I'm pushing ahead alone. Obviously there are some parts of the writing I find rather difficult, including dialogue. With this in mind, there's a distinct possibility a large amount of this will be re-written, though I promise to make a note in the most recent chapters if that happens and chapters must be changed.