Hiiiii! I'm Sarah, and this is the first installment of my newest FanFic, Metanoia. It's Wolfstar, and will be documenting the (mostly canon) lives of the Marauders, from eleven to eighteen/nineteen years old.
I've wanted to write this fOREVER so I hope everyone likes it! Please leave a review if you can, I love suggestions!
Again, thanks for readinggg~
I.
"But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing's changed at all?"
-Dan Smith
"Shall we go for a walk, Sirius?" Orion Black's impossibly deep tones crawled over Sirius' shoulders and stayed there; not in a warm, comforting fashion, but rather as a chilling reminder that that voice could, and would, always be in control.
"Yes, sir," the wavering voice of the eleven-year-old Heir to the Noble and Moste Ancient House of Black replied. Sirius stood from his place at the dinner table, which tonight, was set for four- Walburga, Sirius' mother, Regulus, his nine-year-old little brother, and two others, who were currently venturing away from the archaic piece of furniture.
Shall we go for a walk? was not an unfamiliar question to Sirius' ears. Not that it could be considered a question, really- it was more of a command, and Sirius knew that it meant he would be going to the Black Library.
Most libraries smelled of parchment or mahogany, and made people feel warm and comforted. The Black Library was a sharp juxtaposition. Sleek, cold shelves housed thousands of books from every corner of the Dark Arts- How to Properly Cast an Unforgiveable by Hempus le Fay, Secrets of the Darkest Art by Owle Bullock, and Magick Moste Evile by Godelot were of a few. Walking off the Slytherin green carpet- which blanketed almost the entire house- and onto the black tiles of the library, Sirius sucked in a gulp of air and held it in his throat. He followed his father behind the shelves, each book radiating with Dark Magic. It sent a sickening chill down the eleven-year-old's back.
Finally, the two men reached a spindly desk, with two chairs on either side- one large, green, and cushiony, the other static, made of sharp lines and angles. Orion and Sirius took their respective seats.
"How have you been lately?"
Sirius sat up straighter as his father spoke. "Fine, sir," he lied.
"Just fine? Is that ungratefulness I'm hearing?"
"N-no sir." Sirius cursed himself inwardly for his stupid response.
"Good. And don't stutter. It's unbecoming of the Black Heir."
"Yes, sir."
"Anyway," Orion folded his long, pale fingers together and placed them on the desktop. "You'll be starting school soon, yes?"
"Yes, sir."
"And I presume you know what I expect from you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Articulate, Sirius."
"You expect for me to be sorted into Slytherin House. You expect for me to behave in a manner only becoming of the Heir to the Noble and Moste Ancient House of Black. You expect for me to earn top marks in all of my classes. You expect for me to befriend all of those with merit, regardless of age." Sirius struggled not to falter as he recited the list of expectations his father had drilled into his memory since the previous year.
"What else?"
What else? There was more? Sirius panicked. He'd double and triple checked his list, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what he'd forgotten.
"Family." Sirius jumped at the slightly harsher tone Orion spoke in. "You will stay close to your family- Bella and Narcissa. Upholding the reputation of the House of Black is your first priority. Everything you do shall be in loyalty to them, to us."
"O-of course, sir," Sirius replied. His mind was screaming at him, uncannily sounding like his mother. How could he have forgotten? How could he be so stupid? Why did he have to stutter under those unforgiving, black eyes?
"Now, I trust that you shall exceed all of these expectations?" Orion's voice was suspiciously nonchalant (for him, anyway).
"Yes, sir."
"Good. There are some presents waiting in your room, compensation for your cooperation."
"Thank you, sir." Sirius knew not to be overly-excited at the notion of gifts. He'd made too many mistakes during this meeting to be let off the hook completely.
"You may go," Orion said.
Sirius stood- his insides trembling, his outside feigning confidence. He held his chin high, kept his back straight, and walked with purpose towards the exit of the library.
"Wait, Sirius."
He halted his proud steps, turning to look at his father, who hadn't moved at all.
"I suspect you know where to meet Kreacher, before you proceed to your room?"
Sirius' shoulders sagged undetectably. "Yes, sir."
"Brilliant. Five lashes for forgetting your obligation to your family, five lashes for stuttering in my presence."
"Yes, sir."
"Now you may go."
Wordlessly, Sirius turned on his heel, walking with trepidation in his steps as he headed for the kitchen.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Sirius was dying.
At least, that's what it felt like. A thin, steel rod was alight with a golden glow, mercilessly slapping the pale skin on his back. White hot pain marched from his left ribs, across his slightly protruding spine, to his right ribs. A thousand needles were poking at his newfound gashes, the unbearable pain hugging his body. Sirius couldn't take it. His normally unblemished skin was flushed and torn, his cheeks red, sweat dripping down his body. All coherent thoughts disappeared, and he was left a stuttering, whimpering, begging pile on the emerald tiles of the kitchen floor.
"Ten," Kreacher, the Black family house elf, croaked. He was just over two and a half feet tall, and with his drooping nose, jagged fingernails, and empty, sadistic eyes, Kreacher was quite a frightening sight for anyone who hadn't grown up with him. He snapped his fingers, and the metal rod rained down on Sirius with another sickening slap. He screamed in pain, collapsing from his kneeling position and landing stomach-first onto the floor. A trail of blood raced down his skin and pooled at the waistband of his dress pants. Tears followed suit, falling from stormy gray eyes and pooling at the corners of Sirius' mouth.
"Master Black's orders have been fulfilled," Kreacher said, sounding disappointed. "Master Sirius is free to go."
With a loud clap of his wiry hands, the ten gashes on Sirius' back were sewn together. He mewled in agony as the blood stains were lifted from his skin and the scars simmered from a flaming red to barely noticeable white lines. They were queued politely, traveling evenly from his shoulder blades to his lower back.
Nasally laughter cut through the still air, and it disappeared as Kreacher left the room, his interest clearly gone. Sirius tried to stand, but the pain was too fresh. He hissed and fell back to the floor, resigned himself to laying on the cool, sweaty tile.
He didn't know how much time had passed when a small voice said, "Sirius?"
The heir lifted his head, finding his eight-year-old brother standing in the door frame.
"Hi," he choked, not realizing how dry his throat was.
"What'd you do now?" The younger boy stepped closer, and Sirius realized that he was dressed in a pair of Slytherin green pajamas.
"What time is it?" Sirius asked, deflecting his brother's question.
"After nine," he said.
"Merlin, Reg, you need to go upstairs. If they catch you out of bed, you know what'll-"
"No, I know," Regulus interrupted. "It isn't nine thirty yet. I have ten minutes and I wanted to make sure you weren't hurt too bad."
"I'm okay." Sirius got to his feet on a pair of shaky legs, biting his lip hard to keep from crying out.
"What'd you do?" Regulus repeated.
"Same old stuff. I was being stupid and forgetful and all the rest."
"Why can't you try harder? So they won't hurt you like this?"
Sirius felt a stab of annoyance, but knew that his little brother was only trying to help. "I do try, Reg. But they expect more from me than they expect from you."
"Okay."
"Now come on, we need to go to our rooms."
Sirius picked his shirt up off the floor. He didn't bother buttoning it, but rather let the black material sit against his skin, offering a small comfort. He stepped forward tentatively, and after a few more steps, grabbed Regulus' hand and walked with precision out of the room.
The two boys walked in silence up the stairs. Their steps were quiet under the plush carpet, their communication limited to Regulus squeezing Sirius hand harder if they passed a particularly unsettling portrait of an ancestor. It was inevitably nearing nine thirty now, and they both didn't want to deal with their parents' wrath about being about the house after bedtime.
Sirius and Regulus had rooms opposite each other, both doors engraved with a golden, cursive interpretation of their names. As they stood in front of them, Sirius looked down at his little brother- eyes wide and concerned, trying to glimpse the barely detectable white scars on his older brother's back.
"Hey," Sirius' voice was back to normal, and softer than usual. Regulus looked up.
"Yeah?"
"I'm okay, honest. Don't worry about me."
"Okay." But Sirius knew that Regulus was anything but.
"What's bugging you, then?" he asked.
"Shcoo," Regulus mumbled.
"What?"
"S-school," he said, louder this time.
"School? You mean Hogwarts?"
Regulus nodded.
"Oh, Reg, you're buggered about me leaving?"
"I'll be all alone, Sirius. For nine months. What if you make friends, and you like them more than me? What if you don't want to talk to me anymore? What if mum yells at me? What if Kreacher hurts me? No one will be there for me anymore."
"Reg, you're my little brother. Even if I make friends, I'll still talk to you. And mum never yells at you, you're the angel child. And Kreacher won't hurt you unless mum or dad tells him to, so you should be fine. And-and Reg, no matter how far away I am, or how long I don't see you, I'll always be there for you. You're my little brother," Sirius finished. His heart was hurting for his little brother, who was currently staring at the floor with something akin to despair.
The boys didn't talk like this very often- affection was taboo in the Moste Noble and Ancient House of Black- but either way, they communicated with knowing glances and the occasional hand squeeze. They spoke formally when their parents were around, but in the wayward moments when they were alone, they could relax.
"Promise?" Regulus' small voice asked.
"I promise," Sirius replied. He squeezed his little brother's hand one last time before disappearing into his room. It was definitely past their bedtime now, and their parents would be upstairs to check on them soon.
He stepped into his candle lit room, ready to take a shower and head to bed. A dull ache was still living in his bones, and he felt filthy. However, his gray eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he noticed the enormous trunk sitting on his bed. It was sleek and black, with gold latches and detailing. Sirius unhooked both clasps and flung it open.
What seemed like a thousand Galleons greeted his eyes, a sea of gold across the lid of the trunk. On the other side sat stacks of new robes. Sirius ran his fingers over the various materials- some silky, some velvety, others stiff, with an all-too-familiar properness about them. All of a sudden, the pain that ran through Sirius' blood seemed to dissipate, and he jumped onto his mattress. He let his eleven-year-old mind take over, throwing the coins in the air and letting them clink back onto the bed. He smiled happily, examining the money, imagining what he'd buy when he was at school and free from his parents' watchful gazes. He'd have to tell Regulus sometime, and bring him presents over the winter holidays.
Sirius stopped playing in his sea of coins, suddenly overcome with excitement about going to Diagon Alley the next morning. His father had promised to take him, and although he'd been to Knockturn Alley hundreds of times before on Black family business, he'd never been to Diagon. Sirius was overjoyed at the notion of getting his wand, getting his books, and packing his new trunk. Sirius was ready for school. He was ready for freedom. He was ready to take Hogwarts into his hands and flip it upside down.
Maybe he'd actually be able to make his parents proud for once. Maybe his mum wouldn't be so disgusted with him all the time. Maybe he'd stop receiving lashes for his misdemeanors.
Hogwarts meant change, and Sirius felt like he'd been labeled a disappointment since he first learned to talk. So, this was his chance to live up to his title. Things were, for once, working in favor of the Heir to the Noble and Moste Ancient House of Black.