A/N: This chapter depicts Sirius's childhood. Please review if you are reading.

Alexithymia: the inability to express feelings with words.


Bricks to this old house are breaking


The atmosphere was typical: that Black superiority that he so loathed, and he was becoming increasingly frustrated as the minutes on the grandfather clock ticked. He was hungry and unbearably unsatiated. His listening, which nearly all Black rules stated should be fined tuned, was wavering as his beautiful, doll-like cousin drowned the family with stories of Hogwarts. Sirius wished he was spending the Christmas holidays with James and his parents who were up there in age but had more spirit than anyone in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. At least they would have been cheerful.

His family was so tense and strained.

His little brother locked eyes with him from across the table. He couldn't be sure, but it looked as if he was being challenged. Regulus did always liked to be entertained, especially when it was at Sirius's expense. He winked at the eleven year old. "Narcissa, please tell us again how horrid the sleeping arrangements are."

He finished his shielded jeer with a smirk, batted eyelids, and a sip of whatever his father had poured in his cup (probably poison, he thought, though he found himself so bored he didn't care.) His cousin whipped around, taking her eyes off of his mother and unleashing them on him. Her eyes were filled with anger, but he found them more amusing that fearful. Narcissa had never held the steely glare as well as her oldest sister, Bellatrix.

Which filled him with another thought: it was a dreadful shame old Bella wasn't coming around anymore. She was always worth a few good laughs. He wondered how often he would see her now that she was married to Mr. "Pure should be the only kind of blood there is, Mrs. Black." He called him that so often that he sometimes lost track of his real surname. Though, he did admit, Lestrange is a bloody hilarious name no matter how evil the bloke seems to be.

It was also too bad that his favorite of all Blacks, (not exactly a hard feat to accomplish) Cousin Andromeda, was no longer frequenting the Loving and Most Welcoming House of Black anymore. As in, she had been banished off of the family tree for running away with the Muggle-born, Ted Tonks. He would miss her greatly; she gave him hope. He still had four years before he became of-age, and he had wanted her to stick around until he could escape, too, but he knew she was living happily without the Blacks to tear her down.

"Oh, I suppose the Gryffindor dorms are just impeccable?" Narcissa sneered. The entire table of Blacks glared at him with such dislike that he felt as if they had just heard the news of his being a Gryffindor for the first time. His teeth clenched. He had heard this mock before, many times, actually, and he found himself wanting to take back his first comment. Sirius knew exactly how this entire conversation would proceed now that the blonde had started the Gryffindor smear campaign. Really, he should've kept his mouth shut until after they had reached the second course. His stomach was growling.

A quick glance at the grandfather clock told him he indeed started too soon. He looked at Reg, who was grinning sadistically at him. For an eleven year old, the boy could be pretty conniving. He'd be proud if he didn't know that his brother would probably be led down the same road as Mr. and Mrs. Purebloods-Are-Supreme.

"As a matter of fact, Cissy," he added that term of endearment which he hadn't actually meant since he was about five, "they are quite spectacular. Thanks for asking." He tried to quickly focus on his salad. Even through his uncle's rage of disapproval, he thought longingly about the curtains that he hated, about Peter's incessant snoring, about the loose floorboard that he was guaranteed to step on, about the drafty window that couldn't even be cursed shut, and about James's habit of sleeping until well-past noon. It was true that he had complained loads of times about the conditions of the dorm he shared with the other boys, but the dorm was fabulous compared to the Evil and Most Pretentious House of Black.

"..I just don't understand it, Walburga. How did we raise such traitorous Blacks?" He heard Uncle Cygnus say to his mother. He was obviously talking about Andromeda and him. He laughed at the irony: a traitorous Black. Wasn't he taught from birth to never trust anyone, even family? Wasn't it preached daily that the fundamentals of the Black heritage were pedigree and audacity? A traitorous Black was sort of redundant, he thought.

He swallowed his rage, thinking about his uncle, Alphard, who had dealt with these same people without losing his composure on countless occasions. Sirius, though not in agreement with them, understood Uncle Cygnus and his mother and father much better than they believed he did. They were taught, as he had been, the notion that Muggles were inferior, and they saw their own children associating with the inferior.

He saw his own parents associating with lunatics.

Frankly, he wasn't even sure he saw a future for the Black family. He figured in a few decades everyone would be dead or have a different last name. Maybe Regulus would have a few kids, that is, if he got out of the family without becoming as cynical and bitter as he was. Narcissa was betrothed to that complete git, Malfoy, who he was sure didn't give a damn about her, but they would definitely have some evil, blonde brats to absorb their pureblood mania, and Bella would probably get herself killed or chucked in Azkaban.

He would die laughing at their pathetic lives.

His father threw his salad dish, causing the Black crescent on it to shatter against the wall and Sirius's fine listening skills to be used again. "I will not have this in my family or in my home!"

He sighed, wishing he could have at least tasted the roast beef. His father continued to bellow, surely at him. Regulus nearly grinned, loving that Sirius, the popular Gryffindor, was hated by his Slytherin parents. Narcissa seemed a bit scared, and for a brief second, he felt sorry for the way she was forced into the person she is now, that she didn't have the strength to fight her parent's wishes.

His Aunt Druella, whose personality was permanently foul, shrieked, too, so that the entire table was filled with yelling about being faithful to the family name. His mother was going so bonkers that he couldn't distinguish what she was going on about.

The grandfather clock chimed. It was eight o'clock, he thought he might be able to make it to the Potter Manor before James ate all of the rice pudding.

He trudged over to the fireplace, his mother howling about how he should never come back, grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, and spun off for the Potter Christmas he'd been craving for.

Leaving the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was like breathing again, and he was glad he didn't have to clean up the broken pieces of the china or the broken pieces of his family.