This is the first part of four. The rating is a cautious one, but just a warning to say the story does contain violence and an eventual relationship between two boys, so if it's not your thing turn away now.

I would love a few reviews :)

1.

Sirius held a shaking hand to his head. When he drew it away his fingers were bloody. He thought of how stupid he had been to get himself caught, how damn idiotic to suppose he could eavesdrop unnoticed without so much as bringing his wand. It had been too hard to resist though, a chance to spy, find out for himself what the so-called Lord was up to rather than hearing second hand through newspapers and whispered conversations between professors. He had heard a few things, mutters of Mudbloods and murders, before a cold and gravely voice had announced there was an unwanted presence and the door shot open, crashing into his head. He had been grabbed by his own father and thrown into the room. Sirius stumbled onto the floor but defiantly looked up and into the face of Voldemort, scaly, pale and glaring at him.

"This is your brat is it? The filthy blood traitor?"

"It is, my Lord," Sirius heard his father say. "He is a disgrace I assure you, but I had assumed he would have the decency to stay away from us at such an important time."

"Then you were wrong. We have no room for assumptions within our rank."

"I'm ever so sorry, my Lord. It won't happen again."

Despite the sinking feeling within Sirius' stomach, he was amused to hear the desperation within his father's voice.

"And how can I be so sure?" Voldemort continued.

"Name your price."

"The boy. Let us teach him a lesson – call it entertainment if you like." He jabbed his wand in the direction of Sirius' father. "You first."

Sirius climbed to his feet to meet his father's gaze. They were obviously family from their identical colouring, height and build, but as Sirius started angrily at his father he thought how completely foreign the man was to him.

"Go on, Daddy. Teach me how to behave."

"I've been gentle to you all these years," he replied.

Sirius thought momentarily about broken fingers, bruised ribs and bleeding skin. He remembered being starved for days and the hours he'd spent unconscious on his bedroom floor. Then he heard a screamed curse and his limbs were on fire. He didn't remember falling but now he was writhing on the floor, shouting in pain and he realised his father was right. Until now he'd had it easy. The other injuries were just a warning. His muscles must be tearing apart, he thought, and this headache would surely blind him soon. Then all of a sudden he found he was able to lie still and although his body ached it wasn't the excruciating pain of before.

He lay panting on the ground and although his brain was pleading for rest he forced himself into a sitting position. He realised his mother had pushed her way through the crowd to stand by the front alongside his cousin. They were both laughing along with the others.

"You didn't like that much did you, boy?"

Sirius glared at Voldemort but didn't reply.

"Answer me!"

"Why?"

And then he was blasted with another dose of the curse. He hadn't thought it possible, but this time the pain was worse, electric shocks shooting throughout his body making him lose control and thrash about on the floor. He felt distant shame at the cries he was making but it was impossible to bare the pain silently. He couldn't breathe, he wondered if his ribs were shattering and his brain exploding. When the curse was lifted this time he remained lying shakily on the floor.

"That's what happens to vile, disgusting blood traitors," a voice said, and Sirius recognised it to be his mother's. "I bet you regret not reconsidering now."

"No, never," Sirius whispered, thankful that his reply was lost among the jeers and laughter of the crowd. He thought urgently of his wand, trying to summon it from where it lay on his bedside table.

"Stand."

Sirius weakly lifted his head, but before he had time to attempt sitting his father's hand grabbed his hair and pulled him up. He struggled to find his footing and when on his feet prayed that he would remain upright.

"What did you overhear?"

"Nothing."

"Liar!"

Sirius felt Voldemort's spit hit his face, but he dared not wipe it away.

"Shall we have some little games with the liar?"

The crowd cheered, twisted faces looking thrilled at the prospect.

Terrified of being hit again by the cruciatus, Sirius threw a glance towards the door and saw an only half obstructed escape route. He made up his mind in less than a second and ran towards the exit, pushing past cloaked men and women. He was almost there when a curse knocked him off his feet and left his back stinging and raw. He scrambled to his feet again, and pushing off with his hands, headed towards the stairs. He was halfway up the staircase when he heard a familiar angry roar and was flattened by the weight of a man throwing himself on top of him. As they tumbled down the stairs together Sirius felt his arm break and let out another cry.

He landed on top of his father and trapped the man under his own weight. Without a wand for defence he opted for the only alternative and, with his good arm, punched his father in the face. An unknown Death Eater grabbed his arms, holding them tightly behind his body as he pulled him off his father. He struggled, sending shooting pains down his broken arm, but the wizard who held him was a large man and easily capable of restraining him.

As all the Death Eaters dispersed into the hallway the man behind Sirius spoke.

"I've got him, Orion. Time to get your own back."

"As you wish," Sirius' father said, stepping nearer.

He punched Sirius in the stomach three times and with each strike Sirius doubled over, feeling his father's rings leaving familiar indents in his skin. When he had a moment to breathe he spat blood on the floor, pleased that the crimson stain was spreading on an expensive rug.

Sirius looked at his father and mustered the smirk that was famous throughout Hogwarts. "I thought you'd learnt that trying to beat my opinions out of me doesn't work."

His father laughed. "Oh that's not why I'm beating you."

Sirius was hit twice in the face leaving him with a bleeding lip and sore eye, then Voldemort held out a hand to stop his father.

"Enough. We can't have our fun if he's unconscious."

Sirius struggled again, but the man still held him tightly.

"I'm not scared of you."

"You're scared of my curses," Voldemort said. "You're scared of the pain, aren't you? What kind of Gryffindor runs away from battles?"

"He doesn't fit anywhere," another voice said. "A pathetic Gryffindor, a weak fighter, even his own family don't want him."

Sirius looked again at his father and at the excited faces of his mother and cousins within the crows. "They're not my family."

"Ungrateful bastard," his mother called. "Let him have it."

"I have a better idea," Voldemort said. "Let him fight. Just the two of us."

"I- I don't have a wand."

Voldemort cackled.

When Sirius was released from the man's tight grasp his knees buckled and he fell to the floor. He felt Voldemort towering over him, and shakily climbed to his feet. Before Voldemort had a chance to cast a spell, Sirius shoved him fiercely and ran down the hallway, this time aiming not for his room and his wand but for the front door.

"Fleeing baby."

"Disgrace to such a noble family."

"Weakling."

"Blood traitor."

As he ran through the crowd, Sirius tried to ignore the comments, instead only listening for spells aimed in his direction. He ducked a green jet of light but was hit by a curse that sent him flying into the wall. He staggered up and continued, gaze focused on the approaching door. Another two spells just missed him but then he felt a sharp pain slice through his side and looked down to see blood seeping through his t-shirt. He clasped his stomach and with his other hand opened the front door. He tripped down the steps, grazing both knees on concrete, but didn't stop, knowing that once he'd outran the protective enchantments around the house he would be in public view and that Voldemort would be too cautious to try anything.

He made it a few streets away from his house before stopping. Trying to catch his breath felt like daggers were stabbing his chest, so he stumbled weakly through park gates and collapsed against a tree in the early evening shadows.

Now there was time to feel the pain he realised how much of a mess his body was in. His wrist and stomach both throbbed with pain that he was used to experiencing, but his body still ached from the torture and the blood from his side was flowing freely.

He worried briefly about getting to safety, but before he had much time to mull over possibilities a looming darkness overtook him.