Summary: Sirius Black hated his family and run away at the age of sixteen. And yet, what did he do before that? How could a family such as the Black permit a rebellious teen shame them in public? How could Sirius agree to accompany his family on various social functions?
He wouldn't. He would go as far away as he could. For one summer, he went in Spain.
Warnings: Underage drinking and mentions of underage sex; original characters and some out of character behavior.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor will I ever, Harry Potter
Prompts:
4. Silver
6. Nightmare
13. "In freedom, most people find sin."- John Green, The Fault In Our Stars
Words: 2 944
En Córdoba
It was a warm night, as it is wont to be in Andalusia during the summer, filled with music and laughter. The guitars were playing and people around him were dancing the flamenco, a dance Sirius could never get quite right to his immense displeasure.
As he walked across the courtyard with slow and measured steps, the teenager took the time to admire the Spanish witches and the sensual way their bodies moved; here everyone seemed freer, more… more something. Witches danced alone and with partners, dressed in colorful gowns, with their backs uncovered showing, for the world to see, their unblemished skin, which almost shone in the firelight. Most of the wizards had their dress shirts open and no one bat an eye. If he were to act that way in Britain in any sort of gathering, be it formal or not, people would point and laugh and he would be in for a long tongue lashing by his parents.
Yet, it wasn't as if people in Spain had no manners, au contraire, there was chivalry and courtesy because it was in the wizard's nature not because of years having etiquette beaten into them. It was strange country, indeed, and as Sirius sat on a stool and asked for a glass of wine, he caught himself wishing he could stay. Wishing he didn't have to leave this heaven, the myriad of colors and music and laughter for a live in the cold grey Britain with high colors and stiffly robes.
The fifteen, almost sixteen-year-old sipped from his sweet drink and observed the dancing couples. They all seemed so happy, so carefree that for a moment he could believe that the entire country was as happy and as carefree as they were. He knew better, however, the spectacle in front of him was just that, an illusion, wishful thinking of the higher class, a mere dream. The privileged danced and hid behind their status and their walls and turned a blind eye to everything that they refused to let exist. And yet, he would gladly become one of them, one of the laughing partying residents of Córdoba and spend his time dancing and drinking coffee and admiring the gardens of Alcázar de los Reyes Cristianos.
And didn't that make him a hypocrite. He would turn his back to his home, to the suffering of his family and friends, to the living nightmare Britain was about to become, so he could live at leisure in another country plagued by war. The Uprising of Grindelwald had left its mark across the whole of Europe and even now, thirty years later, people were feeling its effects. It Britain, such an effect was the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort, in Spain – an all-out civil war between magical creatures and wizards. Yet, it was not the purebloods who fought in it but the muggleborns and the half-blood's who had been 'growing in number' for the past three decays.
Sirius would still rather become one of the Spanish purebloods, than go home, however. He would choose every option available to going home.
"Another one," he said to the bartender and with a loud and cheerful 'Si, seignior,' he soon found his glass refilled with the sweet Spanish wine he was becoming so fond of.
"We appear to be making a drunk out of you, hijo,"said a merry voice from behind him and Sirius had to school his expression to hide the frown at the salutation. Hijo! He was no boy!
"Mother would be aghast," said he to the gay Spaniard in front of him. Pedro was in his early twenties and the lord of one of the most prestigious names on the continent: the House of Segovia. He was also a spoiled drunken and a womanizer, seemingly content with spending his family fortune one fine drinks, women and hosting extravagant parties. Tonight's one, though, was almost intimate, with only a hundred guests or so. Sirius would have called him a close friend if it wasn't for the condescending attitude he was forced to bare with from time to time.
"Father, on the other hand, would only shrug his shoulders and warn me not to embarrass the family in public."
"And that's all that matters in the end, isn't it, appearance," joked his host as he waved the bartender to pour him a drink.
"What else?" answered Sirius with a matching grin. What else indeed?
"You seem awfully, how shall we put it, subdued tonight, almost boring, if I may be so bold," said Pedro and in one gulp drank the rest of the firewhisky in his glass and signaled for a refill. "Are the senoritas not to your liking, hijo, or do you have a lady in your heart already and cannot bring yourself to dance with anyone but her?"
Sirius snorted inelegantly before taking a slow look around them, his gaze lingering in several birds. "You Spaniards and your romantic notions. I just don't feel like dancing tonight and indeed, the pool is quite smaller than usual. Losing your game, amigo?"
"Hardly. I merely wanted something a bit more intimate, only close friends and all."
"Do you even know the names of half of those people?" asked Sirius, raising his left eyebrow.
"I don't need to fill my brain with such trivial details," answered Pedro with a dismissing wave of his hand. "There is always someone to do it for me," he grinned at Sirius' raised brow and inclined his head towards a dark-haired woman. "Who's she?"
"The oldest daughter of the Eredia family," answered Sirius. "Hardly anything special about her, besides her last name. Why?"
"And that one?" asked Pedro instead, looking at the blond teen next to her.
"Her second cousin, something, of the Baxa; forth in the line of succession."
"The couple over there."
"Recently engaged. He's the heir, and if the rumors are true, very soon the Head of the Lima. She is the prized jewel of the Posara, pretty but not overly smart. Their marriage is doomed to end in them living in two opposite wings of whichever extravagant mansion they chose."
"No first names?" a smirk.
"No," irritated by this, Sirius turned to face his companion. "What is this all about anyway?"
"To show you why I don't need to remember any names," he raised his glass again. "Hijo!" a second later, he was drinking what mush have been his fifth glass of wine.
"Now, young Sirius," and Morgana, did he hate that patronizing voice. "Whose first name do you know?"
"Anna Mariah," answered the younger pureblood without missing a beat. It was hard not to know her name; she was in her early twenties, close to mid actually, still unmarried and not for lack of offers. She had long silky hair, which appeared to be black in the dimmed light, tanned skin and hazel eyes. The way she moved her body in the beats of the music, dancing alone with her hands in the air drew easily a dozen pairs of eyes on her, his included.
Pedro snorted. "You know, Muggles have this expression 'the forbidden fruit is sweetest' or something like that. Not quite sure where it came from, but the meaning is quite clear, no?"
"Quite, yet I fail to see why you are sharing this piece of, ah, wisdom with me."
"Just a friendly advice, her lover will kill you if he finds you looking at her like that," her lover, of course. The only reason Anna Mariah was still unmarried. And yet…
"That Italian, Dark Lord or not, wouldn't dare touch the Black Heir," snorted Sirius.
"The Black Heir?" Pedro outright laughed. "The Black Heir who spends his free time travelling from country to country to, how did you put it, 'advance his studies', all the while snubbing the British society. Regardless of how many friends and allies you make throughout Europe, if you don't have your countryman support, you are disposable. Trust me, I know.
"Tener alegria, hijo!" and with those parting words, the young Spanish lord strode with confident steps across the courtyard and asked some random witch to a dance.
One thing was certain, though, when drunk, Pedro could get quite depressing, albeit insightful. Then again, he had inherited the title of a Lord, when he had been only a year older than Sirius himself was now. Despite how much of an idiot he made himself appear, it was in those moments that one could get a glimpse of his real personality. Pedro Segovia was a smart, calculating and manipulating as they get and a dark wizard to boot.
Anna Mariah's Italian lover and even the Dark lord Voldemort, couldn't hold a candle in front of the Spaniard. Old name, money, power and people constantly underestimating you was a very dangerous combination indeed, thought the British as he calmly sipped from his wine, content with observing the others.
.
.
.
It was the twenty-sixth of August, a day before he was due to return home. A day, Sirius had decided to spend as if it was the last of his life. In a way it was. This strange country he couldn't quite understand, with people dancing one minute and killing the next one, with strange customs and a blend between sadness and happiness; the poor were poorer, the rich – richer and the war was getting worst by the hour. Yet, Córdoba was unaffected by it.
It was way past midnight, when Sirius decided to retire for the night, so he could catch some sleep before his portkey left early in the morning. Living many sad faces behind and with a last lingering kiss by some witch whose name he couldn't recall in his drunk state, the Black heir left don Juan's summer mansion.
The stars were sparkling on the moonless black sky. He could easily identify Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. And there was Canis Major with Sirius, and the Orion constellation. Leo was right over there with Regulus right in the middle. Astronomy was one of the most boring classes at Hogwarts, for Sirius at least. Professor Aubrey couldn't teach him anything new, knowing ones stars was obligatory in his family. Like proper etiquette and memorizing the genealogy of every single pureblood family. And dark magic, spells and potions he never wanted to think about let alone use, yet, spells and potions he could recite in his sleep.
Obligatory was also his attendance to every single (boring) social function. Fake smiles and insincere friendships, oh, how he loathed it all! More than once, he would ruin the entire evening just so he could be forced to leave. Besides, there was something terribly amusing in the way most would curl their lips and pretend not to be disgusted by any mention of a muggle. There had been that one time when a twelve-year-old Sirius had loudly proclaimed, for the entire world (or at least the room) to hear how he would marry Mary Elizabeth, a muggleborn witch from Hufflepuff.
The consequences of his actions, as unpleasant they had been, were definitely worth it. Ever since then, when he didn't want to attend a soiree or a ball, his parents would claim he had been somewhere else. Very dignified of course. And wasn't it lovely that young Sirius Back cared so much about his education? Of course, he would seek knowledge outside of Britain, with Dumbledore as a headmaster who wouldn't? Annoying bunch of self-righteous pricks!
Unpleasant people aside, thought Sirius as he walked past the silver gates of the Spanish summer house the Blacks owned (a house that hadn't been occupied for nearly a decay before he came for the summer), being a Black wasn't all that bad. He had money (more than he would ever need) and an important name. He could be anything he wanted, regardless of the marks he'd scored on his O.W.S.s (straight Os, thank you very much) and as McGonagall had said "It is all about what you want to with your life Mr Black, not what others think you should do." She had meant it in a different sense entirely, but it was true it his particular context as well.
"Is Young Master Black wanting something from Wizzy, sir?" asked a house elf with a low bow.
"Just make my bed," answered Sirius distractedly.
"Wizzy is happy to serve," and with another bow and a low pop the elf disappeared. Funny, but it probably was happy to serve. Being alone in the house for over decay was hardly the most pleasant experience. Then again, there might have been another elf besides this one. He distantly recalled an elf calling itself Mickey. Anyway, house elves were hardly relevant to anything, except to housework.
Sirius climbed up the stairs to the second floor and went to straight to his room. There he had a bottle of Daisyroot Drought, courtesy to Pedro, which had a bit more alcohol than is name suggested. It was white in color, not unlike milk actually, and with specific sweet smell. It was bitter in taste though and enough to knock out cold a grown wizard. He personally preferred it to the more popular (but rather dull) firewhiskey, despite its taste.
He poured himself another glass, despite the dizziness and the slight urge to vomit his entire dinner. As he had discovered a few days ago, the more you drank the better it tasted and he had every intention to drink until the taste was as sweet as its smell.
Sirius would have followed through his idea (and he was going home, didn't he deserve to throw himself a pity-party?) when a muffled voice echoed through the room. "Sirius Black! Sirius! Padfood? Come on mate, I know you are awake, I can see the light."
"James Potter!" said Sirius as he fished out the two-way mirror from under the cushions on his sofa. "What is it?" asked he as he took in the state his friend (and cousin and practically brother) was; his hair was messy (or at least messier than usual), his skin pale and his eyes – bloodshot. He didn't wear his glasses, appearing to have opted for contacts instead. "You look terrible, by the way, like a Muggle," said he with a grin.
"Blacks," snorted James, "only you would take that as an insult."
And every other pureblood, but that was not the topic of conversation. "What is it, mate?"
"It's my mother, she isn't feeing well and healers think it might be dangerous," the Lady Rosemary Potter nee Burke was not exactly young, so her catching every single virus that swiped through the Silver Falls was hardly unusual. For James to call, looking so worried it ought to be serious, no pun intended.
"I am sure it's nothing and Lady Rosemary will be running around making you look presentable I no time at all," said Sirius with his usual grin.
"I hope so," murmured James, his hazel eyes unfocused. He was about to say something else but instead exclaimed. "Wait, what is that?"
That turned out to be the Daisyroot, still on the table. "Just a drink before bed."
"Padfoot, have you been drinking? You have haven't you?" accused James before the other had the chance to even open his mouth. "You are drunk right now, aren't you? What have you been doing in Spain, getting drunk half the time?"
"And shagging hot Spanish birds the other half."
"You, you," spluttered James unable to form other words. "How could you? How many innocent witches have you ruined?"
"None that haven't already been, James. What do you take me for?"
Both teens glared at each other through the mirrors in a long pause. At last, James averted his eyes and sighed, running his hand through his hair, an unconscious movement he did every time he was nervous. "I'm sorry, okay. But you can't keep doing this. Running away from your problems, getting drunk, and sleeping with women is not the answer."
"You sure? Seems that way to me. If I could, I would stay here, where I am free, rather than go back!" said Sirius with venom in his voice.
"And yet, it is in freedom, where most find sin, Sirius. Don't be one of those people who fall into the darkness and never get up," said James defeated.
"Fall into the darkness? Since when did you become such a bard, James? Besides," said Sirius as he took a deep sip from his glass and watched James avert his eyes yet again. "I can hardly fall into what I have been born now, can I?"
"Just, just be reasonable, okay? And Mum would like you to visit her as soon as you can."
"Of course. Night Prongs."
"Night… Padfoot."
.
.
.
Sirius stayed up until late that night, laying on the couch and looking outside at the stars. His glass stayed on the table, half-empty.