AN: Looks like this is the real Chapter 20 this time! Sorry for the mixup with the chapters, I hope it didn't cause too much trouble.

Trigger warnings for depression, child abuse, etc..

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Sirius cracked his eyes open to find himself laying in the Black parlor. He took a deep inhale and pain spiked against his temples.

"Shush, Pads, don't cry," the Remus voice in his head murmured.

"R-Rem?" he wheezed, and lifted his eyes to the edges of his vision to attempt to find the Werewolf. When he moved, pain roared in his whole body and he immediately stilled, tears blurring his vision.

"Don't cry, you're not a baby."

"I kno', Moons," Sirius reminded his friend, slurring his words carelessly, and forced himself slowly, painfully up the stairs and to his room.Collapsing face-down on his bed, he caught sight of his back in the mirror, where two words were carved. Blood seeped from the cuts, a sick sort of slow.

Toujours Pur.

Sirius closed his eyes as the cold wind hit him, trying not to shiver. His window was open, he could freeze to death. A breath rattled weakly in his chest.

What did it matter anyway?

oOo

Locked in his room; a classic punishment, he had to admit, but it remained unamusing. A minimal amount of water was delivered to him by Kreacher every day, accompanied by slurs. Faggot and freak seemed to have become his favorites; Sirius would order him out and then crawl under his bed, ignoring the shadow of Remus watching in the corner of his room.

Under his bed it was relatively warmer than the rest of his freezing room, a place to hide. Wavering safety.

The first day after what the Remus voice had dubbed The Dinner was possibly the most painful.

"Bandage it with something," Moony had insisted. "It's going to get infected, Sirius, that could kill you."

He dozed uncomfortably the entire day, but barely managed any solid sleep, those few hours he did get filled with nightmares. Sirius was only woken from his feverish despondency when his friend murmured in his ear, so close and real that he could practically feel him, "I don't want you to die."

I don't want you to die. Managing to wrap some bandages made of torn sheets around his torso was much harder than he expected.

The next beatings followed randomly; a potion that made his throat sting being forced down his throat, think coils of rope wrapping his wrists together because Father was drunk again, the Cruciatus Curse wearing on his body until he felt utterly lost.

By the end, Sirius was exhausted.Empty.He was hollow; eyes vacant, spirit diminished. He didn't care if he was beat, didn't care if he died, just didn't care. He felt so used that this wasn't his body anymore.

And with that emptiness, Sirius stepped out of McGonagall's fireplace and into her office. He had worked his face into a still mask, lips pressed together coldly and brows narrowing over grey eyes. Yet he felt a pang of relief when he caught sight of his friends, James and Remus peering at him anxiously, Peter nervously twitching, his eyes as wide as saucers. He took notice of McGonagall, whose eyes were intent on his face, but ignored her. Crossing his arms with an almost arrogant air, Sirius straightened his posture and cleared his throat; his friends were staring at him as though they thought he would drop dead.

"Padfoot!" James burst forward, wrapping his arms around Sirius, squeezing him before he could react. Hands fell hard onto his back and he scrambled away from the figure clinging to him, blackness flashing in his vision and he couldn't breath couldn't breathe—hands latching onto his shirt, pulling him closer, flecks of spit flying into Sirius' face, intermixed with growls of traitor.

James stepped back as if he had been shocked. Sirius swallowed his breaths and rested a hand on the wall. Dizziness hung in his brain like a swarm of flies crowding him; unsure, he fixed his eyes on the ground.

James' face was heavy with guilt. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—how—where are you hurt?"

Sirius let cool indifference slide over his features once again. This was important, to keep his emotions under control. The only thing he knew how to control. What would they say if they saw me like that?

Peter squeaked out a question. "How was it?" His fingers fumbled at his pockets, fidgeting.

"Hell."

Voice ever so icy, bitter with cold. Something that might once have been a smirk twitched a corner of Sirius' mouth.

Remus then fixed his eyes on Sirius, his voice soft and controlled, grounded. "Sirius, are you okay?"

It almost broke him, that voice. He gave a swift nod then and walked through them, not looking back at their worried murmurs.