He knew what caused the mood drop, but somewhere deep inside him refused the answer. Curled, shirtless on a bare bed, the migraine pounded at his skull in time with the phantom throbbing of his wrists.
Turning over with a stifled groan, he covered his eyes only a fraction too late as they slipped open with the moment.
Lights flashed, sending fuzzy spikes of pain through the back of his head.
He curled tighter on the bed, hands quivering with the slightest shake that none of his friends ever seemed to see. He didn't blame them, of course. After all, his personality was naturally attention-grabbing (seeking, his mind wheedled).
They knew about the migraines, of course. Hard not too, when your friend spent a solid week out of classes because the migraines and auras got so bad he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe.
The other stuff, though…
Well.
Let no one ever say Sirius Black was bad at keeping secrets.
His heart clenched, a duet with with the throb of his brain just behind his ears as the door slammed downstairs and Walburga was set off again by something or another.
Sirius drifted off to sleep, his hand clenched tight around the tiny scars no one but he would ever see.