Muaha. Another Harry Potter fic. This is my own little rendition of the summer after 6th year, where Sirius runs away from home. Veeery short, sorry.
It was only one week into the holidays, and Sirius was already sick of it.
When he had been little, it had been easier to swallow. He didn't know what half those terms meant, and as for the other half, he'd never met anyone like that, so he could easily assume that what his mother said was true. However, going to Hogwarts had changed everything.
Sirius couldn't stand to hear his mother denounce Muggleborns when his best friend was in love with one. He couldn't hear her rant about werewolves and how they should be shot (whenever he did, an image of Remus in the hospital after a particularly difficult full moon popped into his mind). Sirius was sick of it, and this was the last straw.
His mother was berating him personally now. First on his choice of friends, then on his house placement ('As if I had any control over being better than all you lot,' he thought angrily), and then she started to tell him how she'd fixed him up over the summer with a nice pretty girl, a Lestrange. Sirius had met this girl; she was about the opposite of pretty as far as he was concerned. "Of course, you can't have her meet your friends, you weren't planning on spending time with them this summer, correct?" said Walburga Black regally.
Sirius gave his mother a ferocious smile. She stopped speaking suddenly, confused at his expression. "Dearest Mum, I regret to inform you that you shall have to tell this young lady that I have gone away and won't be able to see her. Because, dear Mum, there is nothing you can do to keep me in this house a second longer. You talk about Muggleborns as if they were the lowest scum on the planet, but no. No, dear Mum, you are. You, and this entire family of snotty, stuck up, pureblooded assholes are the lowest beings on this planet. Ophelia, my dear owl, is smarter than you lot. And really, it would lower my intelligence to be associated with you one second longer. From this point on, you can no longer consider me your son, Mum," he said in his calmest voice. But really, Sirius was shaking with rage.
Sirius ran off then, completely ignoring his mother's angry squawks. He shoved his clothes in his trunk as fast as he could, and then (hang the underage magic law), he shrunk his trunk and stuck it in his pocket. Then, Sirius grabbed his broomstick and money bag, stuffing the latter in his pocket with the trunk, and peered out the window. "Fan-bloody-tastic," he grumbled. It was pouring sheets of rain.
Sirius clutched his cloak around him as he flew, rage blinding him. He didn't even know where he was going, the broom seemed to have a mind of its own as he flew high above the ground, unconsciously avoiding being seen.
Before he knew it, Sirius had landed at a familiar-looking doorstep. He glanced around, realizing that it was James' house. Sirius raised one shaking hand to push the doorbell.
James answered the door himself. His hazel eyes widened as he stared at his friend. "Padfoot…you're drenched! What on earth happened to you? Did you fly all the way here in this weather?"
Sirius smiled ruefully. "Finally told my mum off. Told her exactly where she can stick that superior pureblood bullshit, too. Look, can I stay here awhile? If your parents say no, I'll stay as Padfoot and pretend to be a loveable stray…" said Sirius hopefully.
James laughed and put a hand on Sirius' shoulder. "Come on in, mate. Oh, but don't drip on the carpet. Remember that time we all had that water balloon fight, four summers ago, and came in—" "And your mum made us clean the carpet by hand? Indeed I do," Sirius finished, walking in and peeling off his wet clothes, extricating his moneybag, wand, and trunk from the mess. "You know Mum and Dad love you, you can stay as long as you like. Welcome home, Padfoot," said James as they walked to James' room.