Summary: Sirius decides to finally leave the Black household once and for all. His sanity is questioned and he runs into his mother. OneShot

Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling. I did the actual writing involved here.

Toujour Pur

By Sarah Elisabeth

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Sirius Black hated his family. They were all of them nuts. Pure-blood fanatics who hated anyone even if they happened to unfortunately stand in line at a shop next to a muggle or, God forbid, someone of muggle origin. He didn't even want to get started on his mother or cousin Bellatrix, who were mad in the literal sense as well. Crazy, they were; off their rockers; loony like no one's ever been loony before.

Taking a deep drag out of his cigarette, Sirius quickly starts throwing things into a suitcase. A couple of his favorite jumpers, a pair of shoes, underwear—all the necessities required of someone wanting to be seen in public. He wouldn't mind being nude all the time, but people would talk. People actually did talk, the last time. Clothes were a necessity it seemed. Still, he left the more expensive items, not wanting to take anything more than he needed from this family, but, quickly opening his Hogwarts trunk, he threw in some extra books and photographs he wouldn't mind keeping. He was leaving this house tonight.

The thought of it sent chills up his spine. His whole entire family was going to hate him (more than they already did.) He could see it now: his mother burning his name from the family tree. Toujour pur and all that. Sirius stifles a bout of maniacal laughter that threatens to escape his throat and takes another drag from the cigarette. "Toujour fucking crazy's more like it," he says to himself, then, adding as an afterthought, "Nous sommes tous fous. Fucking nasty lot." A badly suppressed giggle makes it's way out of his mouth and fills the room. He drops the cigarette butt to the floor and stomps it out. No need for etiquette anymore. He kicks over the trash bin, empties his wardrobe onto the floor, and, for good measure, contemplates relieving himself onto the wall, but doesn't need to go and he can't very well force himself. What a shame.

Levitating his trunk and picking up his suitcase, Sirius heads downstairs. He has wanted to leave this house since before he could even remember. He was now sixteen years old—sixteen!—and it had taken him long enough, that's for sure. He would never come back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place again, if he could help it. Unless perhaps he were returning to burn it down. That would be fun. Burning. House. Burning the house and everything in it. He pauses on the stairs, contemplating. At this moment, Walburga Black enters the hall.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, boy?" she hisses.

Startled out of his thoughts, Sirius looks down at her. "I was contemplating burning this place down," he responds, truthfully.

She laughs at him. "Is that so? Well, you do that and you'll have nowhere to live, my stupid excuse for a child."

He narrows his eyes at her. "Well, my most beloved of mothers, I happen to be leaving forever as it is, so a burning house would be of no consequence to me."

She stops laughing and finally notices his trunk and suitcase. "A joke? C'est très drôle, mon petit chou. Don't be like that."

Ah. The change. Now she becomes a mother. Sirius says nothing. It won't last.

"Sirius, Sirius where would you go? Where will you live?"

Pause. He'd only gotten as far as leaving the bloody house, he'd never thought of a place to stay. "With James," he says, finally. "The Potter's will take me in." He says this with certainty. He knows they will take him in the moment he knocks on their door. With the Potter's, he wouldn't even have to tell them he needs a place to stay, they'd simply know, the way parents should always know things.

Her eyes flash. Change. "Those filthy blood-traitors? You are going to live with them?"

"Yes, Mother, I am going to live with them. The Potter's are far better than you and Father ever were to me." It's the truth, but as he says it, Sirius finds himself saddened by it.

"You disgust me."

He's heard it before, but this time, knowing he will never see his mother again, he finds it bothers him. He laughs. It's a reaction he couldn't control. Her eyes widen and she glares at him, hatred seeping through ever pore on her body.

"As filthy as you become, you will always be a Black," she spits at him. "You will find yourself subconsciously preying on those within our world who don't belong there and you will find yourself thinking like us. You will see that you have made a mistake!"

For a split second, Sirius remembers the hanging form of Severus Snape with his robes above his head and his underwear on display for all the school to see. He smirks, but then pushes the memory away quickly. No, Severus Snape is a disgusting filthy half-blood, he deserves what he gets, and the people in his family are monsters; he is not like them.

"I love you, Mother," he says finally, "and I hope to God you die a long and painful death after a short but painfully miserable life."

She starts screaming. No words, just her usual noise. She's crazy. Regulus runs into the hall to see what provoked her. He glares when he sees Sirius. For his own part, Sirius ignores them both and makes his way out the door. It's too late for Regulus, he thinks. He's already become one of them.

Finally, he's free. He begins laughing, slowly at first, but then it starts to come out louder and less sounding like laughter and more like weeping, but even though Sirius knows he is crying he has never been happier in his life. He has never been more depressed in his life, either. And while Sirius knows depression inside and out, and has known it since before he could even begin to remember, he is surprised that he should find himself so disheartened by leaving his family home. They have done nothing for him. All he received from them was the tainted and dirty name of Black and a good chance he's inherited their insanity. He stands outside the house laughing and crying and thinking for a good thirty minutes.

In all this time, no one comes after him.

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