Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything you can recognise from any books or TV series or movies. I do however take liberties with the plots or mentions provided by JKR or other writers. The only profit I'm getting out of it is improving my English.
Title: The Blacks: Semper Slytherin
Rating/Warnings: R/M [AU; Slytherin!Sirius; Black family feels; profanity; canon-typical violence; references to child abuse of physical, verbal and sexual nature (affecting multiple characters though not all at the same time with the exception of Sirius); wizarding politics.
Chapter summary: Sirius goes after the ghost from his past.
Word count: Around 3400 words.
Author's note/personal ramble: After last couple of chapters of Entropy I need a reset and recharge to go further so I'm devoting quite a lot of attention to other stuff, like this story (and keeping myself from writing anything new – which let me tell you is not exactly easy).
Another, the most important, thing: It's a Slytherin!Sirius AU, therefore, his placing will affect literally everything but most importantly it will affect his budding friendship with James Potter. So, consider yourselves warned
Chapter specific warning: discussion of sexual abuse of a minor (not graphically descriptive)
Dedicated to all of my readers who stuck with me for so long in spite of my shortcomings. Thank You, I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I adore seeing your reactions because not only they're thought provoking but also can be so inspiring that I will go out of my way to write a nearly 100k words spin-off. Not that I'm seeking validation but I do enjoy dialogue.
Remember upon the conduct of each depends the fate of all.
~Alexander the Great
The Blacks: Semper Slytherin
Chapter four: Canis Major
"Not dead," he said quietly.
"No," she replied slowly without looking at him. "Very much dead and I would like you to forget that you ever heard the name of Miranda Black."
"Why?" he pressed as he looked at her face.
"Because I asked that isn't enough?" she asked, still without looking at him. "Old Sirius would have respect that."
Except the old Sirius was no longer there. He died a very painful, agonising death over the course of several months that started with the fire in which he had lost his only friend; father's… (he couldn't even bring himself to give it a name) followed soon after and then came the brain fever. He recuperated but for weeks afterwards he found himself staring at his reflection unable to recognise the boy in the mirror. And it wasn't that his sickness changed him much physically. He lost weight, obviously, and he had trouble gaining it back because by then the growth spur started. But something had changed inside him too and he had noticed it. He no longer laughed like he used to when Miranda was alive or prior to meeting her, not that he laughed a lot in the first place but before her death on occasion genuine joy and good mood was something that not only showed on his face but also in his eyes, at the very least according to Reg.
"Old Sirius didn't grieve the loss of his only friend," he replied harshly. "Without as much as a proper goodbye to her. He didn't wake up screaming in the middle of the night because he was plagued by the ways in which he could have saved her."
And he had, he slept under silencing charms for years, occasionally screaming his throat raw into his pillow. Not just because of Miranda but grieving her was the only thing he could control in his life at the time. So, obviously he didn't.
"No, I'm afraid that he's dead too. Died the same day his friend died," he finished.
Or shortly thereafter.
"Do not compare these two," she snarled angrily.
Finally, it was a familiar reaction even though it rarely had been aimed at him. To her brothers, and him for most of the time, Miranda could be the kindest, warmest of souls, infinitely patient and understanding. But that was it, the people she cared for, a small clique of boys that adored her and whom she, mostly, adored in return. But the outsiders? Her parents? Playground bullies? Well-meaning neighbours? Tenants from her parents' house? Those at best were treated with caution if not open disdain, her parents in particular. They were as bad if not worse than his. At the very least when he first met her his parents had only been neglectful while hers…
It had taken a change in perspective to understand the burning hatred she had for her father because in spite of completely different backgrounds and financial status both Messrs Black were worthy of each other, as much as a noose or even better, a slow acting poison.
"Then make me understand," he said, with a calmness in his voice that he didn't feel at all.
"What there's to understand?" she replied with a shrug. "Miranda Black is dead and as such she will remain, end of story."
"Which implies that there's one," he muttered.
"Maybe," she snorted. "But that doesn't mean that I feel comfortable with sharing it with you. Especially now," she grumbled.
"Why not?" he pressed.
"Because I don't trust you!" she snarled again.
That hurt, deeply. Not that she trusted him a lot in the first place. No, she trusted his knowledge of wizarding world, his genuine concern for her and her brothers. But she never trusted him with big stuff, like the reason why she hated her father so much. He figured it out in the end though after he found himself walking in her shoes. He got that and he wasn't going to run around admitting to the same thing.
"I don't trust anyone," she added, more calmly. "And right now I don't have time, or patience or strength to stroke anyone's wounded ego. Even yours."
"Even," he echoed the word. "Which implies that on the list of people you don't trust I'm one of the people you distrust the least."
She snorted and turned around in the direction of the bridge before she muttered, "You and your bloody mind games."
She was ready to leave, signalising that this conversation was over while Sirius felt that it was far from such. He wanted some goddamn answers, something more than demands for silence when she hadn't offered him even the flimsiest of excuses. So out of reflex, and maybe a tiny bit of seething anger from being brushed off he grabbed her right arm and yanked it. Hard. Hard enough to make the strap of her bag slid down her arm. Slightly alarmed by the force he used he dropped his hand away immediately but not fast enough to catch her bag which had fallen on the ground and promptly spilled out its contents.
They both looked down at the mess at their feet in almost overwhelming silence. This wasn't good, it was father's levels of intrusive and he was about to profusely apologise when his gaze had slid over her books. The only big and thick book in there opened itself in the middle, revealing a big hole in the middle in which was hidden another, smaller book. Which title read:
Dealing with Unwanted by Anonymous
And seeing that title felt like a punch to his gut, a very hard and winding one. He recognised it, once fished it out from his father's personal collection while the bastard was away for weeks. He had been expecting to find in it something nasty that he could use on father but he quickly realised that it wasn't yet another book on hexes, jinxes or any dark spells. No, it was a guide, quite comprehensive from what he managed to glimpse, on how to get rid of an unwanted pregnancy without the aid or altering one's relatives or healers.
And it was in possession of his old friend, a nearly twelve years old girl. And Miranda? Old Miranda was pragmatic, firmly rooted in here and now because in here and now her brothers were hungry or in pain. Her approach to newly discovered wizarding world was similar, practical and narrowed down to what she needed at the moment or felt that she was going to need soon. She didn't need to make flowers dance because it was a pretty sight (unless to cheer up her brothers) but she needed a way to channel her magic into a healing spell or the one that would mend little Reginald's only shoes. And that book? It didn't end in her possession simply because she was curious but because she needed to fix her problem.
The problem that was being pregnant, few shy weeks away from turning twelve. Definitely something that she didn't want and in which she unwillingly participated. What sort of twelve years old would have had? Maybe one like Brown or Yellow, as they were short-sighted by the way they were brought up, believing that woman's purpose was to give wizarding world new generations of wizards and witches.
Miranda hadn't been like that. Even at the age of eight she was certain that she will either never have children of her own or at the most will only have one. And many, many years into adulthood, after ensuring that she would be able to provide for its needs.
Definitely unwanted. Definitely an issue that needed solving and because it was Miranda she was ready to solve it on her own.
The first slap in the face had taken him by surprise but the second one not only he saw coming but also braced himself for it. Miranda always lashed out when she was in distress and resorted to physical violence when she felt threatened and saw it as the only way out.
"How dare you!" she snarled, luckily for Sirius's nose lowering her arms and going for a forceful punch in the gut. "How could you!" was followed by another. "I told you," another, "to drop it," one more. "Why can't you…"
He didn't bruise easily but he wasn't about to become her punching bag as justified as the first blows could have been. So when she was pulling back her left arm to punch him again, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her hard to his chest, quickly wrapping his left arm around her shoulders.
"It's okay," he said calmly, into her hair because the top of her head was coming up to his chin. "It's going to be okay."
"You don't know that," she mumbled into his chest.
"I don't," he agreed, still keeping his voice calm and even. "But I'm not going to leave you on your own with it."
She was silent for what felt a very long while before she sniffled and mumbled, "Why do you care?"
"Because you're my friend and that's what friends do, Randa-My-Randa," he said earnestly.
The use of the pet name he and her brothers came up with – well mostly him and Reginald had since four years old Rad occasionally got his 'r' and 'l' mixed up and two years old Z just called her Anda if he wasn't calling her Mama, which he did for most of the time – brought in another sniffle.
"You don't have to…" she started to mumble.
He shushed her because if she was feeling stable enough to make that statement it meant that he needed to talk her down a little further. At the age of eight she was far more independent than majority of her peers, Sirius included. Not that she had a choice in that regard with her parents being the way they were and three younger brothers to look after. Not that she was like that from the beginning, she had a grandmother that looked after them all but she died around the time Z was born.
Meeting her was a truly humbling experience and made him appreciate the help of the house-elves even more. Like her, he was mostly on his own with Reg but with them he didn't have to worry about things she had to. And if there was anything he could trust her with it was knowing that she wouldn't rest until she would fix the issue.
But that didn't mean that she had to do it alone. Because women weren't flowers that could be pollinated by the wind. No, somewhere out there was a man that done it to her, that used her and abused her and Sirius wanted to make him pay. There was nothing he could do about his own father, but this freak of nature, this bastard that did this to her? He deserved everything that Sirius could and would throw his way.
"You're getting involved no matter how hard I will try to convince you not to?" she asked, sounding far more calmer than before, while still keeping her head pressed to his chin.
"You know me," he replied simply, running his left hand over her back. "And this stuff?" he sighed, eyeing the book on the ground. "I once leafed through it and half of its contents sounded like a disaster in progress. I guess that's the reason why the author never dared to put their name on it."
"We should get this cleaned up before a concerned older student will show up," she said grimly.
We, a concession and one that without doubt cost her a lot. So very reluctantly he let her go and crouched with her to gather her stuff into the bag. But once they had she made no move to stand up and promptly sat down, quickly gathering the knees to her chest.
"You have questions," she stated flatly.
"They can wait," he sighed as he sat down next to her, angling himself slightly to the side so he could see her face.
"They're sort of connected to it," she said and grimaced. "I won't be getting into details about the fire," she added quickly. "It's… too soon," she swallowed, "and too painful."
"They didn't make it out," he said softly, that much was obvious.
"I…" she started and swallowed again. "When I saw what was happening… I guess that I apparated or something but it…" she swallowed again, "it didn't matter. The fire wasn't really what killed them, people did, bad people and the fire…" she paused briefly. "It was a way of covering the real cause of death."
That was a very specific vocabulary thought Sirius but didn't say it at loud.
"For some time after…" she paused. "I was fostered by the copper working our case. He tried his best to not talk about shop at home but… I was the insider and I had knowledge about Slav's comings and goings. I certainly learned more from him than he learned from me," she sighed. "That said," she paused again. "I know that this," she gestured wildly with her hands, "this isn't right. It was never right even when I believed that this was what people do. Normal people don't do that to their children and if they do then they should rot in prisons. But I was born to a freaks of nature and poor Nana never saw that she was friends with others."
Sirius remained quiet while she was gathering her strength for more.
"That's where I ended up eventually, under a new name that I've chosen for myself and a surname that was given to me by my guardians," she explained and snorted. "Do you know what Verascez means?"
He shook his head.
"It's a bastardized version of a Spanish word veraz which means truthful which he's most certainly not and his name is even worse," she continued. "Clemente, which is Spanish for merciful, also something he never had been," she concluded with a snort. "They…" she paused and swallowed, "they're very good at hiding who they are from the outsiders, pillars of the community, generous donors of the local church," she paused again and snorted. "It's a pity that they aren't spending their own money rather than leeching from what Nana left for me. And I'm nobody…"
"That's not true," Sirius objected vehemently.
"It is," she replied and shook her head. "Don't you think that I didn't try to get myself out of this situation? That I didn't try to reach out to teachers or priests?" she paused briefly. "With Slav, I didn't know the difference and he wasn't the brightest bulb in the box. And if it wasn't for the Hopkins I would still didn't know the difference," she paused and swallowed thickly. "But Clemente is a smart and patient bastard. It…" she swallowed again, "didn't start right away. He waited, biding his time, telling stories to my teachers and priests, stories about a traumatised little girl that craved attention, that told ridiculous and disturbing stories. It also didn't help that I was the oddball that was a magnet for school bullies and that I gave as well as I got and sometimes better."
He nodded because he knew, he saw her in action, she didn't play fair and with that element of surprise she usually came up on the top.
"And after a while," she continued, "I stopped caring. It pissed him off because he liked to see me fight back and when I didn't sometimes he couldn't get off. Going to Hogwarts was the only thing that kept me going and I paid for it."
In flesh and blood most likely, he realised.
"I have no idea when it happened," she added softly gesturing at her stomach. "All that I knew that things started to be different, feel different, about three to two weeks ago. And it wasn't that I didn't have a period, but it was different too," she shuddered slightly and he tried his best to hide curling his hands into fists. "It couldn't be long though," she added pensively. "My first period came in June and the one in July felt and looked the same as the other, the one in August was different. And…" she paused.
He waited patiently.
"It's not its fault," she admitted meekly. "It didn't ask for all of it," she whispered.
"You didn't ask for it either," he pointed out calmly. "None of it."
She exhaled slowly before she muttered, "I can't take care of it. I'm twelve, I would still be twelve when it would be born. I'm a minor and if I won't be sent back home…" she swallowed thickly and shuddered. "And if that poor thing is a girl, I don't want it coming back to Clemente either. Little kids are helpless and dependant on the caretakers, he would…" she stopped abruptly and shuddered even harder.
And he too could see how it would have ended. The same way things would have been for Reggie if he didn't try to remove him from their father's presence. Except Reggie was old and smart enough to fight back, make a fuss but the baby, the tiny helpless being in the hands of a pervert...
He inched his way towards her and wrapped his right arm around her shoulders.
"I will be there," he promised earnestly. "Whatever you decide I will be there, with you and for you, Randa."
"What are my options?" she asked softly. "Aside of the obvious?"
He considered it. She was a Muggleborn and an orphan which put her in a peculiar position. Wizarding world for generations believed that the best guardian was a magical guardian, in all instances except when the child had no magical relatives whatsoever. Muggle parents or relatives had very little standing with Wizengamot or agencies acting on the behest of the child involved and amongst less conservative families sizing control over a magical child from non-magical relatives was relatively common. Even some very conservative families tended to do that if by some stroke of bad luck they were left heirless and the child in question was a boy.
Except Miranda wasn't a boy and she was a Muggleborn orphan and adoptions of thereof were very scarce amongst magical folk, not that adoptions of Muggleborn boys were common. But occasionally… well, there were stories, gossips passed after dinners, in the privacy of smoking or music rooms about how certain boys looked nothing or very little like their parents. But those were stories of old, one's that Grandpa Arcturus heard in his youth and he was in his seventies now.
She truly was screwed by the system. But her child? Regardless of the sex of the child adoptions of magical children with magical parents did happen, rarely but there was always a childless couple that wanted children but couldn't have any. Like say Aunt Lucy and Uncle Iggy.
Except… Did they want a child of their own truly? Uncle Iggy came from a big and sprawled out family, one in which the number of children tended to wary between three at the minimum to really sky is the limit (or at the very least family vault is the limit). He was no heir to it and there was no pressure on him to have children of his own. The lack of children from their union was bemoaned, usually by Grandma Mel, who although very fond of her grandsons envied Grandma Irma having a granddaughter (well two of them, Bella was a basket case). Not that she pressured attempts for thereof, Grandma Mel wasn't like that and being barren used to be a cause of Aunt Lucy's distress in the past. Not that he was very up to date with the issue in the present seeing that Aunt Lucy and Uncle Iggy practically taken their permanent residence in Paris in the last couple of years.
He needed a lawyer, one whose opinion he could trust. Except how one should start this kind of conversation.
"Not good?" she asked thoughtfully.
"Not much," he agreed with a sigh. "Wizarding adoptions are rare and you're a minor…"
"So most likely the adoption would require the signature of my guardians," she finished grimly. "That's not going to happen," she muttered. "The kid is screwed if I give birth to it and screwed if I do not."
"I'm sorry," he sighed softly. "I wish that there was more that I could do. Right away at least," he added.
"You're already doing it," she admitted quietly.
Not that it felt like enough.
TBC
