Disclaimer: The characters, universe and basically anything else you recognize are all property of J.K Rowling and Warner Bros respectively. I own nothing.

Author's Notes: For all readers of 'The Memoirs of MWPP' I know its been a while since I updated 'Memoirs' and I really wanted to post something before Christmas (preferably the Christmas chapter) but its not been beta-ed yet, and it still has a chapter before it that needs to be posted (and never fear- its authored by Remus!) so I decided to post this little one shot instead. It takes place on Christmas day but other than that has little to do with Christmas. Its from the POV of Sirius' father, Amias Black. I was going to post it to coincide with the chapter in 'Memoirs' where Sirius actually runs away, but I figured then it would be ages before it got posted. But please note that this story is not exactly 'linked' to 'Memoirs', I may change my mind as to the character of Amias in 'Memoirs'. Its just a study of his character, one possibility for what he could be like, I'm not saying he will be like this in 'Memoirs'. I'm not saying he won't be. ;)

The dates and year that it took place should be all right, because Sirius ran away when he was 16, and its set in1976, so it should be all right hopefully. And if it's not feel free to correct me, because this hasn't even been beta-ed yet. But when it is I will put the betaed version up instead, but I just wanted to post something around Christmas. So consider it as an unbetaed little gift to the readers and reviewers of 'Memoirs'. I love you all! I hope you enjoy it, even if it doesn't directly have any of MWPP in it. I really just wanted to write something with Amias and Cyrilla Black in it because I find them very intriguing and I'm trying to make sense of their characters. So, enjoy and a very Merry Christmas to all!!!;) And please review and tell me what you think!

MUSINGS OF A BLACK

Amias Black stood at the window of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, London, contemplating, exactly where he had went wrong with his son, Sirius Black.

The weather outside was dark and stormy. The rain trickling down the window made muddy tracks along the outside of the glass.

A sudden flash of lightening provided the only light in the musky old room, instantaneously illuminating Amias' taut, tired features. A long, shapely nose led to a tight mouth that barely, if ever, showed a flitter of a smile. His eyes, a light grey, mirrored the storm clouds outside.

It was Christmas day, December 1976, in the midst of the Great War.

Lord Voldemort against Muggle lovers. 'Dark wizards' against 'Good wizards'. If wizards could be classified as such. Rather, Amias preferred to believe the notion that there was no 'good', there was no 'evil'. No 'right' and no 'wrong'. Just simple human beings. Simple human beings, who fought, died and murdered for what they believed in. For their way of life. And that was the way in which Amias Black saw life. It was no ultimate battle of good versus evil. There was no final ultimate battle where one side was victorious over the other. For there was no good or evil. Just life and what humanity decided to do with it. How they decided to live it.

The day, Amias mused, had been an eventful one - to say the least. For he had lost a son and gained an exquisite silver clock with intricate engravings and serpents intertwined on the face of it and the Black family crest engraved on the back. Yes, that was the way he saw it. He saw his own son, once heir to the Black family fortune, and a clock in the same cold light. Merely objects to be used as he saw fit and to be at his disposal when he wished them there. But this son would not be at Amias' disposal any longer. This son had disinherited his name, his future fortune, his family and his home all in the space of a few minutes.

Of course Amias had seen it coming. He had seen it coming ever since Sirius was a little boy. Ever since the little boy had asked 'Why? Why can't I play with those kids over there? Why must I play with these ones, when those ones are clearly more fun?'. 'Why should I do what you say? Why should I obey you?'. Of course Amias, and his wife Cyrilla, had tried to quash out these feelings in their eldest son. But Sirius had a spirit in him that no one could suppress, no matter how hard one tried. A reckless spirit that wanted, needed, longed- to disobey. A spirit on the side of 'good', if it was to be termed so.

Amias had seen it coming ever since Sirius had asked to 'have that dog in the window', the dog with the 'friendly look on its face', and ever since Sirius had refused to play with his 'stupid, evil' cousins, Bellatrix and Narcissa. Ever since Sirius had claimed that Regulus was a 'little spineless weakling who was unable to stand up for himself'.

And of course, Amias had seen more clearly that the day was growing closer, the day in which Sirius would disown himself from his own family, in which he would finally join the side of 'good', when Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, and not Slytherin. The day that the news of Sirius' Sorting had came to him; Amias knew that Sirius would never be on their side. And this was confirmed that day in Dumbledore's office when Sirius chose not to be in Slytherin.

Amias remembered that day clearly. He and Cyrilla had travelled to Hogwarts to sort the crisis (as Cyrilla had termed it) of Sirius' sorting out. But Amias knew it was no use from the moment they walked into the fireplace of Grimmauld Place and into a Hogwarts fireplace. He knew, that Sirius, whether subconsciously or not, had already made his choice. And there was nothing that he or Cyrilla, or anyone for that matter, could do to sway him from this path. He knew Sirius had made that choice when he strode towards the train on Platform 9 ¾ and Cyrilla had yelled at him 'Remember boy: You'll be in Slytherin!'. He could tell from the way Sirius had hunched his shoulders in a way that said 'That'll be the last thing that I'll do'. He could tell from the look on Sirius' face earlier that morning when they were travelling to Platform 9 ¾, the mixed look of excitement, anticipation, that he would finally be away from Grimmauld Place, and in a way be 'free' - if there ever was such a concept.

Amias remembered his eldest son and future heir sitting straight backed in one of Dumbledore's chairs on his first day of school. He could remember clearly the look on his son's face as he made that decision. Could remember the instant when Sirius had said 'No' firmly, his face set on the decision not to be moved to Slytherin.

At that moment Amias realised more than ever, that his son, ever like a bird trying to be free from its cage, would never follow in his father's footsteps. That he would never be held down by family loyalty and the ancient Black Legacy. At that moment Amias knew that Sirius would never be on their 'side' again, knew that from that moment Sirius would be distanced more and more every day from his family. And he also knew that it was hopeless to try and change Sirius' mind. Like his father, (the only trait they seemed to have in common besides their light grey eyes), Sirius, once his mind was set on something, would pursue it relentlessly and never give in. Or once he had made a decision there was little to no swaying it on anyone's part.

It was on that day when Amias realised Sirius would never be like his father, or his family. Sirius would tread a different path. Of course Cyrilla tried everything she could to stop it, but Amias knew that there was absolutely nothing that could stop his eldest son from treading the path that he had chosen. However much it angered Amias, he knew there was no use trying to do something about it. But of course there was no telling Cyrilla that.

And now, standing in front of the window on a Christmas day with the rain sliding down the glass in torrents, Amias Black knew that he would never see his eldest son again.

Such was the way with fate.

He had lost his eldest son, but he didn't grieve for it. Simply felt displeasured that his son was not his 'son' anymore. Even though he would forever carry the name of 'Black', the title was no longer indicative of his family. Because he had disowned that family. Cyrilla liked to think that she had disowned Sirius. But Amias seen it as quite the opposite- that Sirius had disowned his family. For he knew, ever since Sirius was a little boy, that Sirius would never be like the rest of the Blacks. Ironically, he was the 'black sheep' of the family. And, as much as Amias reviled it, there was nothing anyone could do to stop that fact. It was like the inevitability of the forces of nature.

A sudden creak of the door shook Amias out of his dark musings. He did not turn around; rather, he kept looking out the window watching the thunderclouds brewing and merely waited for the person inside the doorway to make themselves known.

"You spend far too much time thinking, Amias." It was Cyrilla, her voice silky and intoxicating. This was the same Cyrilla, who, a couple of hours before had been raging with fury at Sirius, their 'son'. But now she showed a calm, cool demeanour, the same demeanour she always showed when around her husband. Amias had worked out a long time ago that he no longer loved Cyrilla. And that Cyrilla no longer loved him. There was no love between them now, merely just the acceptance that they felt when they realised that they would be together forever, not as lovers, but as companions.

"Dwelling on dark musings and thinking about how the world works, that there is no good or evil." Cyrilla knew him too well.

She moved closer into the darkened room and a hint of command could be heard in her voice, "We're about to have dinner and you have to come down." It was like the loss of a son hadn't even affected her.

Which of course, it hadn't.

As if reading his mind Cyrilla started talking again, "Regulus will not disappoint us Amias. Regulus is ours. He obeys us day by day. He's a true Slytherin. The true Black heir. He has nothing in him that Sirius" she spat the words out, as if saying his name tainted her, "has. He is at our disposal. Wanting to please us. Wanting to obey us and listen to us. Now Sirius is gone we can fully recognise him as the true Black heir and forget all about the disgrace." Cyrilla said.

That was true enough. While Sirius had been around Cyrilla thought that there had been hope, however little, that Sirius would change his ways, and then the Blacks could recognise him as their heir. But for Amias that hope had died out long ago, for he knew his son would never ever be theirs truly ever again.

"Sirius was a disappointment. But Regulus will not be." Cyrilla said.

Amias glanced at his wife, who was now standing close by him; she held a shiny silver goblet delicately in her white hands, swishing the wine inside it smoothly before running her forefinger around the rim.

Amias finally turned from the window and looked at his wife.

Long, ebony hair hung down the sides of her face, framing her angular features and slightly pinched cheeks. Her small and elegant nose led down to her tight-lipped mouth, which curved at the edges to form a tight smile that did not reach her dark eyes. A quick flash of lightening threw strong shadows over her features, making her absolutely terrifying and exceedingly beautiful at the same time. It was these two characteristics that had attracted Amias to Cyrilla when they were younger. She was like fire and ice in one. Able to yell in a furious rage one minute and seduce someone the next.

"No," Cyrilla went on after Amias made no reply, "Regulus will not be a disappointment to us."

"I know this Cyrilla," Amias replied. "Regulus is willing to obey our every command. In some ways Sirius was right," Cyrilla glared at him at the mention of her ex-sons name, "Regulus is spineless. He has no spirit." Amias stated, looking out the window once more, and wondering, perhaps against his will, where his eldest born son was at this very moment.

"Better spineless than an ungrateful blood-traitor Amias!" Cyrilla spat, before taking a rather long sip of wine from the silver goblet.

"Yes," Amias said distantly. Then again, "Yes. But you only see one side of him Cyrilla."

"There is no other side to him Amias. He's a blood-traitor to his own kind! A stain of dishonour! Filth! Shame of our own flesh! A brat! You, Amias, of all people should know this!" Cyrilla snapped.

"I know it well," Amias glanced at his wife emotionlessly, "He's just another human being, doing what he thinks is 'right'. As we all are." Amias had no idea why he was telling his wife this. Why he seemed to be defending Sirius. It shocked him himself.

"I don't need to hear your worldly musings tonight Amias. Sirius is gone and I'm glad of it, we'll never have to see that filthy blood-traitor again." Cyrilla said before turning around and marching out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Amias stood at the window for a while longer before taking one last look out of the rain drenched glass then turned around to leave the room to follow his wife.

As he smoothly made his way down the darkened staircase Amias suddenly felt something under his foot. He stopped and bent down for closer inspection.

There, on the step below him was a tarnished silver ring. The same silver ring that Amias Black had given his eldest born two months before he had entered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Amias knew that Sirius had never worn the ring, but it surprised even Amias to find it here, and suggested that all these years that Sirius was at Hogwarts, he had kept the ring. He bent down and picked it for closer inspection.

It had been a very old ring, passed down the Black line from father to son for generations. It was made from the finest Fifteenth Century goblin wrought silver there was, and on the front of the ring in a circle the Black crest was embossed. On either side of the crest was a small silver serpent with emerald eyes, which snaked its way around to the back of the ring to where they joined as one. Engraved on the other side of the ring was the Black family motto, Toujours Pur. Always pure.

Amias never thought he'd see the ring again. It must have fell out of Sirius' possessions in his angry rush to the front door and away from Number 12 Grimmauld Place, either that, or Sirius, in an ultimate and final gesture of disowning the Black family, had thrown it down and left it there on the staircase. Whatever the reason, Amias never thought he'd see the ring again.

In all honesty, he had forgotten about it.

It was only now that Amias realised the significance of finding it here on the staircase on the same day in which he had lost his eldest born son. He was almost certain that the ring had not been there in the morning.

In the morning, when Sirius was still, however distant, a member of the Black family.

At that moment a strange feeling came over Amias, one that could be loosely described as a cold 'comfort' mixed with a strange realisation. Even after all of these years, all of these years that Sirius had claimed that he was not one of the Black's and never would be, even after the day when Sirius had made the choice to be in Gryffindor, and consequently his path in life, even after all of this, Sirius had kept a part of his heritage, his legacy, a reminder of his family, close by him.

Until now.

Now, that last reminder of his family and legacy had been cast away in a state of absolute and utter fury.

Standing up again Amias pushed the ring safely into his soft velvety chest pocket, wondering when he would pass it on again to his other son, symbolising the passing on of his fortune and the carrying on of the Black legacy. To the son that Would Not Fail Them. The son with no backbone. The son that would obey his every command.

Making his way into the dining room, where his family was gathered at the dinner table, awaiting his arrival, Amias wondered if Regulus Black was worthy of the Black family fortune. Sirius, for all his disobedience and free spirit, would have been a far better contender, mused Amias.

If only Sirius had chosen the right path.

Or, Amias contemplated silently, while taking his place at the head of the table and gazing at his younger son, maybe he had chosen the right path. And it was Regulus, Amias contemplated, who had chosen the wrong one.

Or, as Amias reminded himself, there was no 'right', or 'wrong'.

Just life, and what humanity chose to do with it.

FIN