AN: I would like to thank my anonymous reviewer very much. I'm glad that you have enjoyed this thus far. Just to let everyone know, if you review for me, I will definitely review for you. Tit for tat. Enjoy!
Grief was not a happy feeling. They could not take his grief. He learned about grief early, when he was only 5 years old. He thought that he may have had a happy childhood, or at least a privileged one. He can't remember anything before, so it must not have been too horrible.
The first memory that he has crystal clear in his mind is of shock and pain. He had been dreaming, or at least he thought he was. The kind of silly dream that frightens children to the core of their being, though they don't understand why. There were bars all around him and scary monsters looming close and he began to cry for his mother.
When he woke, he was still crying and still frightened. Slipping quiet as a shadow into the hall, he slunk to his parent's room and padded up to the bed. Stretching up on his tippy toes, he tried to pull himself into the bed next to his father. Feeling the disturbance, his father rolled over and focused slitted eyes on the tearstained face of his heir.
While reaching out his hands to his father for comfort, he didn't see Father's hand reaching out to him. He suddenly found himself flat on his back as his head hit the hard wood floor of the bedroom. Before he could quite figure out how he had ended up there, a large hand clamped onto his shoulder and jerked him to his feet. Disoriented at having been every which way in the past several seconds, he blinked owlishly up at the figure towering above him.
"What is the meaning of this, young man" spat his father in clipped tones.
"Can…can I sleep with you tonight?"
"No," he stated coolly.
"But…but…"
"You're too old to be coddled. You are a Black. A pure-blood. Never forget that. Now, quit sniveling like a filthy muggle and clean yourself up."
Doing his best to wipe his eyes and his nose, which was running in the way that children's noses often do, he whimpered, "I…".
"I expected more from you. Get back to bed, Sirius. Now!" he barked, pointing out the door.
Fleeing before his father's cold distain, he ran out into the hall and into the room across the way. Quietly he sidled up to a new bed and clambered under the covers. He pulled a squirming Regulus closer to him, hushing his protests and rocking the four year old back and forth, as he almost remembered someone rocking him.
Shaking with sobs, he mourned as only a small child can mourn, completely and without restraint. Instead of hugs and comfort, he received nothing but a code of behavior that he was too young to understand. The only thing his young mind comprehended was that he was not wanted, that he was not loved.
He drifted off to sleep to the patter of tiny hands on his face.
"Shhh…it's otay, Siwi…it's otay…"
It was not okay.