He's been planning escape since his mother slapped him.
The first time, mind you; when he said he didn't understand why Andromeda's actions were so incriminating. It was three years ago.
There's too much hatred in this house, always has been.
The Potters will welcome him. Even though his own mother will probably disown him, James will always be his best friend.
He blinks blood away from his eyes while he shoves anything around him in the darkness of his trunk: socks, robes, parchment, quills, ink, books. Hope – he slams it shut.
It's not the first time his mother loses her temper.
Now comes the time when she loses her son.
After Sirius left, his parents became sweet little lambs. Likely they were afraid Regulus, too, would leave if they pushed him any harder.
He's the only Black heir now: their only chance of continuing the family line.
Turns out their efforts were for naught.
He joins the Death Eaters, as expected. He dies, as dreaded.
It ends with two Inferi clawing at his feet, lungs flooded with water and a smiling demon in front of him.
Perhaps it's the poison, but the resemblance to Sirius is startling.
Orion is the second death.
Pale and sweaty on his death bed; he looks at Walburga, remembers her beauty, forgets her cruelty.
When the fever finally drives him mad, he dreams of his wife by his side, not this empty hull of what she used to be.
As his heart flutters to a stop, he realizes he'd lost her long ago, to a little boy with black hair, grey eyes, and too much virtue.
Five years, that's how long she prowls the dark corridors, waiting for death's sweet embrace.
She loses track of time, loses any trace of sanity, loses all will to live.
Sometimes, she sits in front of Regulus' room, never daring to open the door. Sometimes it's Sirius'.
When she tires of waiting for death, she drives a knife into her stomach, just like she drove everyone she loved away.
There are no shame in her eyes, just relief.
Kreacher buries her in the back yard. No one says goodbye, no one sheds tears over her prone body. There's not a single person in this world to pay their respects under the crescent moon.
That's how the line ends, in the coldest part of the night, with an even colder woman.
The lights are out and nobody's home. Hasn't been anyone since Walburga died.
Sirius was the first to go: all fire and rage and no looking back. He's not dead, not really; certainly wishes he was.
Regulus left next. Pride and joy of his parents - hasn't come back yet.
Never will, no matter how long his mother waits. No matter how loud his brother prays.
Same year went Orion. If it was poison or disease, we will never know.
Last died Walburga. She'd been dead for five years already: an empty shell walking around an empty house. She never touched either of her son's bedrooms.
The lights are out as he pushes the front door open.
Disowned or not, the wards still recognize him: Sirius Black has come home.