A/N: Something I rewrote, I just had this idea of Sirius Black never crying but always wondering.. how does that feel?
No ownership, just Sirius and don't we all love to know what is happening under that adorable black hair?

Blacks never Cry

"Don't love, unless you expect pain. Don't cry, unless you expect love."
- unknown

i.

There was a feeling, a burn, beyond my wildest that I knew not much of. Who could blame me really, I was shaped by a mother with ice-cold fingers on my shoulder to keep me put. She did not admire the fire behind my eyes but she loved seeing the flames burn out into emptiness. I admired secretly her poise and the way her slick fingers touch could remove every human feeling by one cold touch against my skin so I let her force me into her ice. I was also raised by a father that was less of a man than I ever thought was possible, his black gaze was blank and he floated around with a sense of meaningless in the home he worked and earned. He had no fire or ice in him, he was bland and melted into his environment, but he taught me one thing. When everybody broke down, when tears fell around him he did the most amazing thing with his emotionless eyes; he narrowed them a fraction still holding his gaze fixed with no emotion and spoke calmly that it was a foolish thing to cry; for that I'd grown to admire my father's poise. The lack of tears were a secrecy in my family so my weak little brothers tears flooding over in his pools after those darker nights of our childhood disturbed me, I was told never to cry so how dare he cry like a reckless fool.

ii.

It didn't disturb me really, not to cry. I was fed, clothed and bathed but miserable because I felt that there was something missing with me. It was not before I met James that I remembered that there was a fire somewhere in me that had been longed lost and he became my first friend, my best friend. I forgot the feeling of misery but it was one night when James snuck out of the castle with me lingering after him that I heard sobbing and memories of this emotion came back. We stared towards the stars, a beautiful night and I tried to cheer him up by telling him about the constellations on the sky like I did for Regauls but he cried rivers for something as childish as his rabbit dying. How does it feel to cry? I asked him when I realized that I didn't know. James told me under the starry sky when we were eleven to my amazement that I've overlooked a more fundamental knowledge than knowing the stars. And the eyes, James eyes looked so childish behind his tears when he told me that it feels like a lump in your throat that slowly consumes all the feelings of joy until those salty ones fall.

iii.

The feeling of a knife trusting into all the fleshed areas of your body couldn't be compared to the vicious words of my brother Regauls ones about me and my betraying. Regalus crossing the Great Hall from the Slytherin table to tell me that he was disappointed and disgusted by being related to me was a blow I knew would scar me deep but when he stood there and spoke to me it felt so surreal. It was then I knew that I could pack my bags because the days as a Black was counted. The Great Hall buzzed with excitement and cheers but somehow I felt disconnected until Peters eyes woke me up from my abstense. They were filled with tears sparkling in the hovering candles above us and I couldn't help but ask how does it feel to cry? Peter told me between a plate of fried bacon in the Great Hall when we were fourteen to my astonishment that I've escaped an even more painful sensation than my brothers vicious words. Peter's teary eyes made me feel puzzled and he looked worried when he told me that it feels like a burn behind your eyelids that wouldn't stop no matter how hard you fought it.

iiii.

Life was a gift I rarely appreciated enough I realized when I laid on a hard wooden floor with limps paining me from a transformation, a fight and a close call to death. It was the last rays of moonlight and a small sound of a heavy body hitting the same floor I was laying on that I realized that my days were still there to be counted. I feared to move until the sun reappeared on the morning sky and realized that it was my own blood I tasted in my mouth, it hurt and I was in pain beyond my imagination because of my lack of fear. The barely living werewolf only meters from me breathed heavily but I had a hard time to feel compassion for the thing that almost stole my last breaths this night. The emotions ran wildly from hate to worry when the features of the beast disappeared with the suns suble rays and showed one of my best friends. Remus lay in the floor breathing heavily and cried between his apologies. I remembered how much I did love him and crossed the room to embrace my friend in my human shape. His tears from seeing my bloody face was hard for me to process so I had to ask him a question that I felt so stupid asking. How does it feel to cry? Remus told me in the Shrieking Shack when we were seventeen to my terror that I've neglected an even more horrid feeling than tricking death. And the dept in Remus soft browns were disturbing too, Remus looked grieving when he told me that it left deep scars and hurt graver than any physical pain he felt in his lifetime.

v.

It took years for me to make me realize that if the lonely tears could make James lose all joy in his never fading smile I did not envy the humanness in those wet ones leaving trails down the cheeks. The deaths of people in family without words shared made me think that if the salty tears against the eyelids burnt Peter much worse than words he fought daily I felt joy in the ice-cold heart that made it impossible for the flames to burn. A war I fought daily that blazing louder than me made me realize that if tears trailing down Remus cheeks scared and hurt him graver than anything physical I welcomed my emotional numbness and held it sacred for that was a battle alone I didn't want to fight.

After all these years and all their tears the question remains, the one their answers didn't fully grasp but their eyes filled with emotions had shown me at times I felt inhuman, how does it feel to cry?

It was not before James never ending smile looked sickening against the paleness his face became after joining death that I didn't desire the growing emotion in the ice block I was raised to call a heart. I knew none of the joy James so childishly told me was going to leave my body, I felt the burn behind my eyes that Peter so worryingly told me wouldn't stop no matter how hard I tried and I felt the scars digging deep with the hurt that Remus grievingly told me was much graver than any physical pain.

I didn't ask that question again; it was a question I wished I was never given an answer to.

*

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