A/N: Trigger Warning for underage drinking/smoking and child abuse (physical and emotional/verbal).
December 24th, 1975
It was well-established that the London Blacks hosted the Christmas Eve event, then the families separated for their own small Christmases, and finally reunited for New Year's on the large Black country estates. That was why Sirius, while disappointed, was not surprised to find the day before Christmas thoroughly unpleasant.
In the day's defence, he didn't wake until noon. The morning was fine by default. His new curtains were thick enough to blot out any potentially offensive ray of sun, meaning that he didn't wake until he was well and truly rested. The whole house had been changed, slightly, for the winter. Sirius and his mother had each written exactly one civil, impersonal letter to each other in the first term of his fifth year. His mother asked him to note what he wanted to do to his room. Knowing that she could and would go through all his things and burn them if he replied with sarcasm or ridiculous demands, he got very drunk and then wrote the letter while hungover, when good and bad seemed crystal clear and he was most in need of comfort. His drawers had not been touched, but his cotton bedlinen had been exchanged for thick, fluffy blankets (in black, which he begrudgingly accepted). His gauzy summer curtains were swapped out. It was the perfect place to spend most of his time dead to the world, which was his plan. There was no other way he could get through the holidays at Grimmauld Place. The first afternoon left him trembling, and his back still hurt to lay on. Luckily, the house's potion cabinet was kept well-stocked. Convenience was everything. Imagine if Regulus had a headache and, God forbid, they had to dash into Diagon Alley to buy a potion for him? That could be another twenty minutes the poor baby would have to suffer. Sirius dosed himself with Dreamless Sleep, washed it down with the bottle of Firewhisky he'd smuggled home, and crawled under the blankets to lay on his stomach. His presence had not been missed at any meals. The family was all the better for pretending that Sirius didn't exist. Sirius himself was all the better for pretending that he didn't exist. He only needed to be conscious enough to stumble into the bathroom to relieve himself, and to find the little brewing room they had and to swipe a couple of potions from the cabinet. Kreacher brought his meals up, eyeing him with disgust, and Sirius told him exactly where he could shove his overlarge eyebrows. All in all, Christmas Eve wasn't off to a terrible start, as far as starts went in Grimmauld Place.
So, noon. He got up with a lot of grumbling and slid out of bed. His limbs were heavy. He felt over his bedside table for his wand. Upon finding it, he made the movement and whispered, "Lumos," into the darkness. The tip of his wand flared. That was another of the very few good things about Grimmauld Place; as it was a magical house with an adult witch and wizard living there, the Ministry could not detect if any spells performed were done by of-age wizards or underage wizards. It was up to his parents to enforce it. Mother and Father believed that practising at home was key to being a good wizard, and as such, the boys had free reign. He staggered over to his drawers, pulled out a dark set of robes, and tossed them onto the bed. He snapped his fingers.
"Kreacher!" Crack. Kreacher appeared. "I want a bath run. Piping hot. Tell me when it's ready." Kreacher glared at him.
"Yes, Master," Kreacher said, with a pathetic little bow.
"Good. Go." Crack. Kreacher vanished. Sirius returned to his drawers, and shoved his hands into the very back corner of the top drawer. Marlene's packet of cigarettes from the summer were still there. He pulled one out, and looked to the window. He could open the curtain and let the light in, but the thought alone hurt his eyes. He rolled the cigarette between his fingers. He could command Kreacher not to tell, in which case, Mother could only find out if she specifically asked if he had been smoking in his bedroom. Yes, that would work. He clapped twice, made awkward with things in his hands, and the chandelier flickered to life above him.
"Eugh," he groaned, wincing. He sat down on his bed, and lit his cigarette with his wand. He inhaled deeply. The first hit in the back of his throat was always the best. Sirius tilted his head back to exhale, the candlelight glittered through the grey swirl haze. It was only two seconds of release, but it was all he had. Kreacher reappeared as he ashed the last of it in the silver bowl meant for trinkets and loose change.
"Master," Kreacher said, turning up his overlarge nose. "Your bath is ready. The door is unlocked."
"Good," Sirius said, and waved a hand to dismiss him. Kreacher popped away. Sirius scooped up his robes, and tucked the bottle of Firewhisky in the folds of the fabric. He left his room, blinking furiously as he adjusted to the light in the corridor, and stumbled towards the bathroom. The set-up was decent. The tub was filled to the brim with bubbles, and three impossibly soft towels were folded on the counter. A breakfast tray hovered just above the water. Kreacher had put out tea in one of Mother's second-best china cups, as well as a wine glass. Perhaps the stupid elf was smarter than Sirius gave him credit for. That was the only change from the way Sirius had requested his baths over the summer; the rest of it, the candles floating through the air and the radio by the bathtub, was the same. He shrugged off his pyjamas, and frowned. He could smell himself, and it wasn't pleasant; a mix of whisky and tobacco and something that might've been dried blood. He swallowed, and stepped into the water.
At first, it was so hot that he sniffed in surprise, but his right foot quickly got used to it. His left one followed. Slowly, slowly, he lowered himself into the bubbles. To his relief, he only winced slightly as the water lapped at his scarred back. The warmth dissolved the tension in his muscles, unpicking the knots and coaxing them into an easiness. He sat his bottle of whisky on the floating tray, and poured himself a glass. He swirled it around, and peered into its amber depths as though he intended to scry. It showed him nothing. Sirius sighed, disappointed, and downed as much of it as he could in one go. It didn't burn much anymore. He smiled to himself. That'd be a neat trick to show the others. Peter would be beside himself.
He let the heat seep into his bones. He made snowballs out of bubbles and pegged them at his wriggling toes. His hair skimmed a bubble mountain, and he leaned over the edge of the tub and wiped his hands on the floormat before attempting to braid his hair back. It wasn't as easy as girls made it look. His first try ended up in a matted tangle, and he tore it out. His next technique failed, coming apart with every movement of his head. Eventually, his fingers found a pattern and he made something serviceable for keeping his hair out of the road. His attention turned to the task of making a large foam beard, as long and as fat as Dumbledore's. It slid down his chest and into the water. The sudden destruction of his bubble beard caught him in the wrists, as if someone was squeezing him too hard. Without warning, he slammed a fist into the remnants of his beard, and the water splashed upwards, spraying foam across the room. His heart raced. Fuckwit, he thought. What the fuck did you do that for? He sunk lower into the bath, until his lips were on the water's edge. Curiously, he parted them a little, allowing the tiniest bit of bathwater into his mouth. He spat it out ferociously, and pressed his lips together so hard he thought his front teeth would go through the flesh. His tongue probed the leaf that had melted into the back corner of his mouth. It was still there. Good. They were fucked if he lost it.
It was Christmas Eve. That meant, he thought, counting on his fingers, that he would be going back to school in eleven days, not including today. His bottle of whisky had been full at King's Cross, and was now halfway to empty. His stomach sunk. Maybe he could owl James and ask if he had any. He knew people. He could owl Dale, maybe, but he didn't know if Dale would bother replying. He was at his sister's house or something, Sirius vaguely remembered. Probably not in the best spot to be linking Sirius up with anything. He felt sick at the thought of dealing with his parents sober. He submerged his head beneath the water, eyes squeezed shut. It was oddly calming. He stayed under, suspended in the water, the bubbles popping upon contact with his hair. He stayed under a little after his lungs started to burn. His instincts took over and threw him through the surface. He gasped, massaging his throat. His head spun. It reminded him a little bit of smoking, somehow. He did it twice more, and then he finished his glass of whisky and counted the tiny lines on the roof until he fell into sleep.
Crack. Sirius jolted awake. The water was cold, and the bubbles were gone. He could see himself in the water – his body, dark hair hiding the pale skin beneath. His leg hair was long enough to sway in the ripples from his movement. He ran a finger across his stomach. How strange it was to think that this all belonged to him. Sometimes he felt like he just existed in his head, right behind his eyeballs. The rest of it was something he dragged along. It was strange that he could think he wanted to do something in his head, like shake his foot, and then it would happen. It was like magic; how did his mind and his tongue forming words and a stick and a bit of animal hair light a room, or sting someone, or transform a rat into a teacup? His head swirled. Shake my foot, he thought. His foot did not comply. Shake my foot; and now the spell had been broken, and maybe his body didn't belong to him after all, because it was not being obedient. Panic swelled in his chest, and he struggled against his powerless. Shake my foot. Shake my foot. He splashed through the water, but his foot did not move, it had forgotten how, the connections between his brain and his feet had been severed and now –
"Master Sirius!"
"Fuck!" Sirius nearly leapt out of the tub. Kreacher stood just in front of the closed door, eyes narrowed.
"Mistress wants you downstairs to talk," Kreacher said. "This bathroom has been occupied for two hours."
"Fuck," Sirius said, his heart still hammering away. "I'll be down soon." Kreacher sneered, but apparated away. Sirius buried his face in his hands, and pressed his palms into his eyelids until he saw stars. It is fine. I am fine. I am fine. He forced himself to get out, and shivered as the air hit his exposed skin. He pulled out the plug and watched the whirlpool of water swish down the drain. As a kid, he'd liked to stick his fingers in the holes as the water subsided; when he had been very small, small enough that sharing a bath with his brother was great fun, Regulus had cried that he would hurt himself doing that. He wondered when the last time they'd bathed together had been. He remembered getting sick of it, and turning his back to Regulus, cheeks going pink, and Regulus cried then too, and Mother scolded Sirius and he insisted that he was getting too old for it. But he did not remember the very last time. When had their toy sea-serpents been put away, never to swim again? When had the little mermen that ducked and dived around their legs been left on the counter to dry out? He pulled on his robes, chewing his lip. Regulus wouldn't remember; even if he did, it would be far too weird to ask about.
He tossed the whiskey bottle and his wand onto his bed and then headed downstairs, combing his wet hair with his fingers. He made sure that his locks covered the piercing in his ear. He stopped outside the parlour door, brushing out the wrinkles in his robes, and then knocked. He cupped his hand around his mouth and nose and blew into his palm, trying to smell his breath. It just smelt like breath and his room to him.
The door opened. His chest tightened. The logical part of his brain screamed at him to run. The last time the two of them had been alone in a room together was scratched, quite literally, into his back. But they had guests coming tonight. She wouldn't have him limping around or looking ill if she could help it. He wished he had his wand with him. He clenched and unclenched his empty fist.
"Sirius, don't dawdle," Mother said. He tugged at his lower lip, and stepped inside. The room was dressed up for the festivities. His mother's best china was ready to go. Every surface had been dusted and polished, if possible, until it gleamed. Green garlands with blooming poinsettias covered the join between the wall and the ceiling. Stars of silver and gold glittered in the light of a hundred candles, sparkling just beneath the ceiling. The fire roared, and tinsel lined the mantle. A framed family photograph from when Sirius had been small was front and centre. His mother gripped his shoulder tightly, keeping him in place, but he kept looking over to Andromeda, who pulled faces to the disgust of Bellatrix and Narcissa, who stood on either side to keep her from escaping. Snow globes covered a spare shelf, depicting children flying broomsticks, and a talking snowman, and a gingerbread man building his house. Flurries of snow drifted through the scenes. It could've been a nice place, if Mother weren't sitting in the largest armchair.
Everything about her was sharp; the bones of her face, the gleam of her eyes, the bun her dark hair was in, the points of her obsidian earrings and the ends of her nails. Her robes looked almost black, but as the candlelight flickered, it appeared that they were the darkest possible shade of forest green.
"Sit," she said, flicking her hand in the direction of the empty seats. Sirius exhaled a sigh, and perched on the lounge closest to the door. She tutted. "Really? Are you that childish?" It was bait. He knew it was bait. He strained to keep his mouth shut. With her eyes on him, he felt he shouldn't have bothered getting dressed at all. She stripped him naked with a look. He hugged himself, and tried to play it off like he was folding his arms. She chuckled emptily. "If you do nothing wrong, I'll have no reason to punish you." His insides shrivelled up. He flexed his fingers until he cracked his knuckles. He thought about school. His mind went to Remus. What was Wales like, at Christmastime? Was it snowing there? He'd have to ask. How was James? How was his mum? What about Peter? How was Marlene doing, how were her siblings? He tore through distractions as quickly as he thought of them. In the end, nothing could keep his brain from being trapped in the room with his mother, as his body was.
"it's rude not to answer," she snapped. Sirius blinked furiously. He wondered who had made the rug. Where they had lived. How did they have their tea? "I've been thinking. About you. About myself. You've been up in your room since you got home. You haven't even had dinner with us. I talk with other ladies, and to your aunts, and none of their children behave in that way. It makes me worry." Sirius ground his heels into the floor. "If it's not a common thing amongst teenagers, if it's a situation unique to us, then there must be a problem. Either I am the problem, or you are the problem. While I've been organising everything for tonight, making menus and supervising the decorating, it's been in the back of my mind. I keep thinking, 'am I a bad mother? Am I a bad person? What have I done wrong?'" Her voice broke. He could hear the crocodile tears creeping into her voice. It was all a farce. She was toying with him. He scraped his teeth along his tongue, and begged his lungs to keep breathing. He just had to wait this out. In an hour, he would be back in bed, with his wand in one hand, the bottle of whisky in the other, and a cigarette between his lips. One hour. The equivalent of a Herbology lesson. They went quickly, sometimes, when he was dicking around. This could go just as quickly, he told himself.
"Look at me." Sirius did as he was told. Her upper lip curled, just for a second, and then her eyes filled with tears. She arranged her face perfectly. She really did resemble what Sirius imagined a sad mother at her wit's end with worry would look like. "Sirius," she said, with a little gasp. She put her hand over her heart. "Do you think that I'm a bad mother?" Yes, he thought instantly. He said it to his mates all the time; she was a bitch, a she-devil, a motherfucker from hell, his jailor and captor. He said it ten times a day without a moment's hesitation. But now a tear dripped down her cheek, and he could see where he'd got his nose from. He longed to believe her. Sirius wanted, desperately, for her to have realised her short-comings. He'd condemned her to death once or twice, when it was just him and James, but he knew suddenly that if she apologised, he'd forgive her in an instant. She was his mother. His eyes roamed across her face. Was it genuine, at all? But he knew this was just a game. It was another fucking game. Another fucking trap. The only way to win was to refuse to play. He ought to stand up and shout at her that she was awful, and that he and Regulus would be better off without her even if Regulus didn't know it, and then he would run and grab Regulus by the collar and shove him into the floo. They'd go to James', and the Potters would let them stay until he could figure something out. They could go to Uncle Alphard's. He always loaned a kind ear, and Mother wouldn't think to go there first.
Sirius could do nothing that he was meant to. He could barely look at her. He needed a drink.
"Mother," he said. It came out all childish, and he hated himself for it. His eyes burned.
"Am I?' she asked, coughing a sob. "Sirius, am I a bad mother? Have I done you wrong? I've only ever tried my best. I try so hard to give you the best of everything. The best robes, the best meals, the best education. A roof over your head. I had Kreacher put in the curtains you wanted. He ran you a bath, didn't he? You always loved a long hot bubble bath." Tears streamed down her cheeks. She's faking it, he told himself. Isn't she? She dabbed at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. And if she isn't? He was paralysed. What did he say? There would be no right answer. You're a bad mother, he wanted to say, but he couldn't form the words. You're wretched. You make my life hell. Look at the scars on my back! She cried so hard that her body shook. Every tremor squeezed his soul.
"Don't cry," he said weakly. She shook her head.
"I've done my best," Mother said. "Oh, tell me if I've done you wrong, Sirius. Be honest." And in that moment, he couldn't be. He shook his head. "I'm not a bad mother?" He wanted to scream.
"Mother," he said, trying to get a hold of himself.
"If you don't think I'm a bad mother, tell me so, please, Sirius. I can't bear the thought that I might be hurting you."
What could he say? She burst into a fresh round of tears. His own eyes overflowed, hot splotches staining his cheeks. He sniffed tilting his head back in an attempt to contain them. Mother had always said that wizards did not cry. Every tear a wizard shed was a drop of his magic leaving him. You could cry yourself into squibhood, according to her. You would confine yourself to bed for days, drowning in your own tears, and then you would go to use your wand and find it limp and unresponsive.
"Sirius," she said. He could not look at her. He shut his eyes. He needed her to stop crying. If she continued, he would too, and he couldn't, he couldn't.
"You're not," he said quickly, the words scalding his tongue. He hated himself for it. In two words, hadn't he just invalidated every complaint he'd ever had? Now was the time. How would he recount this to James? James would ask why he didn't tell her the truth, why he didn't run. He had no answer. Why? His ration demanded. Why? Why? He swallowed hard. Her breath hitched.
"I'm not…?" she asked. "Not what, Sirius? I'm not a good mother?" He gnashed his teeth together. Shut up! Shut up, you bitch! Stop crying! "Look at me!" she shrieked suddenly. He did as he was told. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. The corners of her eyes hinted at wrinkles. Her hair had come loose, in long curls past her shoulders. They had the same nose. Him and Regulus and Mother.
"Mother," he begged. She had her claws in him now. He was in the trap. He'd walked right into it.
"Sirius," she said. "I need you to say it. For me. Please."
He wanted to die. He had no options. He could tell her she was a bad mother, that she always had been, and he could feel like absolute shit, and get cursed to the point of no return and dumped in St. Mungo's and disowned or something. He could tell her what she wanted to hear. He could make it through the holidays. He could build her a new shield; if she was a Good Mother, then any time he criticised her, anytime he went against her rules, she could use that. She was Good, and therefore, he was bad. He knew he ought to tell the truth. He was hungry, and tired, and he wanted a smoke and he wanted to go to Glen Vane's Christmas party and he wanted to curl up in his bed and not come out until it was time to head back to King's Cross. There was only one way to get the chance of having those things.
"You're good," he said, and his mind went numb. His ears rung. He couldn't hear what she said. Her arms squeezed around him, and for a moment, he panicked, worried she was suffocating him. But he could still breathe. It was a hug. And some part of him, the little boy from the bathtub, wanted to hug her back. It's been so long, the little boy whined. Please. Please let me hug her. He did not. He broke like a dam and she didn't slap him even once.
"Oh, Sirius. You know, don't you?" she cooed. "You know when you've done the wrong thing. You're a good boy at heart, aren't you? Shh. Come on, now." He fought weakly against her hold. She stroked his wet hair.
"Don't touch me," he murmured. She was consuming him with every touch. She wasn't shouting at him. It was what a loving mother would do; hold her son while he cried. It was poison. She was Devil's Snare, twisting around him. And he couldn't fight it. Was he even Sirius Black, if he couldn't fight off his mother? Sirius Black did not get hugs from his mother and Sirius Black did not cry in front of her and Sirius Black did not give into her. Now, he was just a scared little boy.
"This is why I wanted you to come down," Mother whispered. "I knew it would be like this. I wish I'd done it sooner. You know you've done wrong. It's the guilt that's making you cry. It eats you up, doesn't it? Poor little lamb. You've only been punishing yourself, hiding out in your room. I would've forgiven you the moment I laid eyes on you. I'd already given you a touch-up when we got home, I wasn't going to do anything more. That would be unreasonable. And you know I'm not unreasonable, don't you?"
"Don't touch me," he sobbed. He lurched forward, and she tightened.
"Shh, shh, shh. Stop it, now. I want to talk to you about tonight."
She pulled back. She wasn't crying anymore. She tapped her hair with her wand, and it spun itself back into a neat bun. She soaked up the last wet spots from her cheeks with her handkerchief.
"Pull yourself together," she said firmly. He sniffled, pressing his lips together, and sucked it all in. "Listen," she said. He couldn't wipe his runny nose on his sleeve – she hated that – and he didn't have his wand to conjure one. He really, really didn't want to ask her for one. There was only so much he could take. He was already ruined. The snot dribbled onto his upper lip, and he nearly cried again, cheeks burning. Any softness in her features was gone. She sneered at him. His eyes were still dewy.
"Tonight, we are having guests over," she began. "Some are family, and others are your father's friends, or mine. We're expecting no more than fifty people. We like to keep our Christmas gatherings intimate. You know this. Because of the intimacy of the situation – and the importance of our invitees – you need to be at your absolute best tonight. None of this nonsense. No crying, no running your mouth, no humiliating your father or I by making absurd demands in public. I will not have it. You are our heir and you will not disgrace us. If you find yourself unsure of what to do, ask Regulus. It is a pity he was not born first. He is meant to look up to you, not you to him." He was raw and fresh from the tears, and every word was a lash against his bloodied, flayed heart. She gave him a look of utter disgust. "You know what is right, Sirius. You choose not to do it. Make better choices tonight. Now get out of my sight."
He trembled. She gestured wildly.
"Out!" she screeched. He could barely stand. He stumbled out of the parlour, nauseous, feverish. He wanted to crawl into a hole. She had made him cry. Worse, she had made him say those words out loud. She had years of ammunition now. He had given it to her. It was his fault. He only just made it back to his room before he screamed. He screamed into his pillows and punched the wall until his knuckles came away bloody. He was no good at healing magic. He attempted a spell and it left him dizzy, so he wrapped it up in potion-infused gauze from one of the spare first aid kits James had stowed in his trunk. Then he collapsed into bed. He stared at the roof for a long time, pulsing with hatred. Not only for her. For himself. He had let himself be duped. He knew better. He let it happen anyway.
The afternoon slipped away from him. He paced his room like a caged lion. He played with his earring, twisting it round and round. He fiddled with his wand, and tried to see if he could cast 'Lumos' non-verbally. Non-verbal casting waited until N.E.W.T level, but it was a cool trick. It kept him from thinking of Mother, or James, or Remus. He'd looked like shit on the train. Sirius couldn't wait until they could transform with him already. He knew what it was like to have to deal with things alone. He didn't doubt Remus' ability to do it, but he did hope that having others with him would help. Then again. He twirled his wand, considering. James was the sort to claim that, had he been by Sirius' side in the parlour, the two of them could've taught Mother a lesson and spirited away with Regulus and the family fortune before she could blink. Sirius was glad he had been alone. For James to see him in that state would've made things ten times worse. It was easy to call his mother a bitch and to claim he didn't give a flying fuck about anything she thought, but it wasn't true, not as much as he would've liked it to be. James was so black and white; Sirius could see the confused look on his face. 'She's not a good mother,' he'd say, 'and you have every right to tell her that, mate. Why won't you tell her that?' It would've been mortifying, having James watch him crumble into tiny little pieces of a person. Would Remus feel the same way, if they were there to see him at his worst? He'd learned more about the transformation process in Defence than he ever had from Remus. It sounded like a confrontation with Walburga Black. Every bone in your body, broken. Any sense of personhood, lost.
He didn't know how much Remus remembered from being a wolf. Maybe they could just meet up with him after he'd transformed, and that would save him the embarrassment. As far as Sirius knew, wolves didn't feel things like shame. Based on the research he and James and Peter had done, they valued a pack over pride. He hoped that would be the case for Remus, who had a tendency to be the exception rather than the rule.
Crack. Kreacher was back. Sirius ran his fingers through his hair. Kreacher's fist-sized eyes surveyed the room. Spying. Filthy little fucker. Sirius had half a mind to kick him across the room. Mother had probably sent him to see if he was still crying like a little girl.
"What?" he demanded.
"Mistress is telling Kreacher to tell Master Sirius that Mistress' guests will be arriving in forty minutes," Kreacher said.
"Yes," Sirius said. Kreacher disapparated. "Good fucking riddance." Sirius got out of bed, waving his arms around furiously. The air hummed with magic. "Fuck!" he said. His wand twitched. Boom! A chunk of wood hit the ground. It was taken out of the side of his dresser. A hole now exposed his pyjamas to the world. "Argh!" he shouted in frustration. "Fucking, fucking, reparo." The chunk sealed itself back into the dresser. It was a little uneven. "Reparo," he repeated, and his wand sparked red. The chunk twisted, and settled. It was serviceable.
He mentally went through the guest list as he chose a set of good robes to change into. Aunt Lucretia and Uncle Ignatius, as well as Percival and his family (all Prewetts, and all potential candidates for a conversation that wouldn't end in him wanting to punch somebody), Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella, with Bellatrix and Rodolphus, and Narcissa and her new fiancé, he supposed, Lucius Malfoy. No Andromeda. If Andromeda had been coming, her and Ted and the baby, he could've looked forward to it. But of course not. No, that would be ridiculous. Ted was a muggle-born. Mother would have him killed for looking in the general direction of the house. All of Sirius' grandparents would come along. As would Uncle Alphard. He chose a cloak that complemented his robes as he strained to remember the older folk. Aunt Cassiopeia, Grandfather Pollux's sister, would round out the family members unless Mother and Father had any particular cousins they wished to impress. The friends were harder to pin down; a lot could change in their social circles within a few months, and it wasn't as if Sirius ever cared to ask about who exactly his parents were hanging out with. He knew the gist. The gist was enough to make him feel sick.
He tied his hair back with a gold ribbon. His outfit was respectable, and made up entirely of wizard garments, but he knew there was enough in it to piss off his parents. His robes were deep crimson, similar to his mother's in that they were so dark to be almost black. They would have to wait until he stood in the light before they realised what he had done, and by then it would be too late. His cloak was the same shade; around his neck was a fine golden tie, one that Uncle Cygnus had gifted him, actually, so they could not demand him to take it off. He slid golden rings onto each of his fingers. Finally, he pulled on plain black boots. Sirius eyed himself in the mirror. He looked good. There was not an inch of him out of place. And yet, he would stand out like a sore thumb, because apparently adults had nothing better to do than to hate a group of children from a school because of their parents' political beliefs. He took a swig from his bottle of whisky. One of the highlights of the evening was the unrestricted access to alcohol. They only really turned you away if you were obviously a child. Sirius would be a man grown in less then a year. Nobody could turn him away now.
A knock at the door. Not Kreacher, then. Sirius straightened his tie, slid the bottle back under his bed, and opened the door. Regulus stood outside. Sirius blinked. He was dressed just as Mother wanted. The long sleeves of his black dress robes reached almost to the floor. His tie was silver. He wore a single silver ring – one of Father's, if it was the one Sirius thought it was. Simply elegant. He raised an arm to scratch his neck, and Sirius saw his cufflinks. New ones. Silver, and monogrammed in curling script. What had Regulus done to earn them? Things like that weren't freely given. Either he had pleased Mother, or Mother was so displeased with Sirius that she had given Regulus new things to make a point.
"You need to come down now," Regulus said. Sirius whacked his arm lightly, and then grabbed his wrist.
"Nice," he said, admiring the cufflinks. "Where'd you get them?" Regulus pulled his hand away.
"Sirius," Regulus said. Sirius made to grab him again. Regulus flinched. Sirius laughed.
"Did Mummy get them?" Sirius asked. "Or Mulciber? Do you tug him off when you talk about Voldemort?" Regulus balled his fists. Sirius took no pleasure in it. His voice fell flat. "Or was it Gibbon? I think he has a crush on you."
"You're acting like a child," Regulus said. Sirius bit his lip threateningly.
"Shut up, Reg," he said. Regulus scoffed.
"Come down," he said, and turned for the stairs. Sirius flipped him the two-fingered salute, and then slammed his bedroom door for good measure. He leaned his back against the door. He covered his face with his hands. What was the point of that? He asked himself. Are you loony? You would never wear cufflinks with your initials on it. He scrambled for his bottle and gulped more of it down. A pleasant heat burned in his cheeks.
He headed downstairs. Golden baubles zoomed through the air like snitches. Tinsel wound tightly around the handrail of the stairs. The air was rich with the smell of something baking. If he hadn't known better, he might've thought that Mother was cooking. His family stood in the entranceway, backs straight, chins up.
"You decided to join us," Mother said. She'd painted her face in the interim. Her eyes were outlined with thick, glittering black gel, and her lips were plumped and shaded in soft red. Father looked the same as he always did. Black robes, a silver belt and tie, his beard trimmed and styled.
"Yup," Sirius said. He shoved his hands in his pockets. Mother hissed as though burned. You vile snake, he thought. He took his place by Regulus, and looked at the wall. "Is nobody coming by floo?" he asked. Mother scoffed.
"Only you would be happy to ruin an outfit with soot," she said. "They're all apparating to the doorstep, I would expect."
"That won't cause any problems with the muggles," Sirius said sarcastically. "Good to know they're deaf and blind."
"We've warded it," Father interrupted.
"What about the little ones? Percival's youngest wouldn't be able to apparate," Sirius continued.
"He can now," Father said. "Sixteen months." Sirius clenched his jaw. No escaping, then. They would all have to play happy families to welcome their guests.
Grandfather Arcturus and Grandmother Melania were the first to arrive. Father shook hands with his father, and chastely kissed his mother on the cheek.
"Merry Christmas," Grandmother Melania said. She kissed Mother on the cheek, who stiffened, and then plastered on a sickening façade.
"Merry Christmas, Aunt Melania," Mother said. Sirius swallowed. He'd always known that his parents were cousins, but as he grew older, the reminders became less comfortable.
"And how are you, Regulus?" Grandfather Arcturus asked. Regulus smiled.
"I'm well, thank you, Grandfather. It's good to see you. I've missed you while I've been at school." Suck-up, Sirius thought. He turned away. Grandfather Arcturus caught him by the shoulder.
"Sirius? How are you?" Sirius folded his arms across his chest. Of all the grandparents he had, Grandfather Arcturus was the best, but it wasn't a high bar. It was enough to make him turn back around, however.
"It's good to see you," Sirius mumbled. Grandfather Arcturus patted his shoulder.
"Where are we going?" he asked. Sirius looked to his parents, who were talking to Grandmother Melania. He shrugged.
"I think the drawing room and the parlour. Where do you want to go?" Sirius asked.
"I'll go to the drawing room. Take me, Sirius," Grandfather Arcturus said. Sirius offered his arm, and avoided Regulus' eyes. They made slow progress up the stairs, and by the time they reached the first floor, he heard another group of guests arrive. Grandfather Arcturus kept on, and Sirius helped him into the best armchair in the drawing room. It usually would've been Father's, but fuck that, Sirius thought. Grandfather Arcturus was technically above Father in status, and he was above Grandfather Pollux too, being descended from the eldest son.
"Is that alright, Grandfather?" Sirius asked. Grandfather Arcturus nodded.
"Very good. Thank you." Sirius tapped the leaf in his cheek out of habit, checking that it remained. Grandfather Arcturus settled back. "How many guests are your parents hosting tonight?" Sirius shrugged, looking at his feet.
"Maybe fifty," he said. Grandfather Arcturus nodded.
"And is the size of the crowd what prompted you to start the festivities early?" Sirius' head shot up. He'd smelt his breath – did he smell that badly? Was it his cheeks? He tried to raise one hand in a casual manner, and brushed it against his skin. It was warm, sure, but was it warmer than it was mean to be? He pinched his top lip between his forefinger and his thumb. Grandfather Arcturus sighed. "You aren't in trouble. In any other boy, I'd assume you were excited. I know you hate it."
"I don't," Sirius said reflexively.
"Don't lie to me," Grandfather Arcturus said. "Tell me about school. If you can have a civil conversation with me, I won't send you downstairs. How are your classes?"
"Alright," Sirius said. "Easy. I only get bad marks in the subjects that don't matter." Grandfather Arcturus laughed.
"Everything is either easy or not worth doing to you," he said. Sirius scoffed.
"Well, History of Magic isn't worth doing. Professor Binns is awful at his job. Kreacher would do better."
"Sirius," Grandfather Arcturus chided. Sirius made a face. His grandfather shook his head. "How are your friends? Still all Gryffindors?" Sirius chuckled, scratching his chin.
"Yeah. All still Gryffindors. They're good. James is still playing Quidditch. James Potter, you know."
"Fleamont's son," Grandfather Arcturus nodded. "I don't agree with their politics, but the Potters produce some talented wizards. I would guess that James is no exception."
"He's not," Sirius said proudly. "He's one of the best in our year. He's a brilliant Chaser. Professor McGonagall wants him to enter this competition for Transfiguration." Grandfather Arcturus raised his eyebrows.
"He must be talented. That'll be the International Transfiguration Tournament. Your Headmaster competed, you know," Grandfather Arcturus said.
"Dumbledore did?"
"He did. England won. That was before you were born. I took your grandmother and your mother to watch, Italy was hosting. We stayed in Milan. It's a beautiful part of the world." He was lost for a moment in a time long past. Sirius looked away, feeling suddenly intrusive. "It's good to have friends like James Potter," Grandfather Arcturus said, bringing him back. "You can only ever get better if you surround yourself with peers. I don't mean other students your age. True peers, your rivals in skill and magical talent, they're the ones you need to keep close. A tortoise will think himself the fastest in the world if his only companions are sloths."
"My other friend, Remus, was made a prefect," Sirius said.
"Remus?" Grandfather Arcturus frowned. "Remus who?"
"Uh, Lupin." Grandfather Arcturus tapped his temple, frowning.
"Lupin. It sounds familiar. Not the fellow who was involved with that nasty business about the werewolves? The man who cried wolf?" Sirius went cold. Remus? How did Grandfather Arcturus know? How could he?
"What?" Sirius blurted out. Grandfather Arcturus tapped a pattern across his face.
"He was a laughing stock. Paranoid, seeing werewolves everywhere. The story did the dinner party circuit. A few years ago, in Magical Creatures at the Ministry, a pack of werewolves were bought in, along with a muggle. They locked up the werewolves and registered them, of course, but let the muggles go free after being obliviated. One of the men – I'm sure it was Lupin – but one of the men working in Magical Creatures wanted the muggle locked up just in case. Now, that may have been prudent, but when the Head of Department told him to stand down, he exploded. He said that werewolves all ought to be put to death, and that the Head was a fool, among other crude remarks I won't repeat. He already had a vicious temper, and, well, that was the snitch in front of the goalposts. He'd insulted his boss publicly. He was talented, but his career died in that room. The Head of Department never wanted anything to do with him again, and his co-workers followed suit. He became all but a recluse." Grandfather Arcturus shook his head. "I tell your Father this, but he never heeds me, and so I'll tell you, Sirius, and hope you have better judgement. Whatever your beliefs, whatever you feel, exercise restraint. Any shade of extremism is bound to end badly. There wouldn't have been a wizard on the committee that didn't believe werewolves deserved death, but it was the manner in which the man asserted that."
Sirius stared.
"Lupin," he repeated.
"That's what I said," Grandfather Arcturus nodded. "Learn from it. There are going to be some people here tonight that you don't agree with, but you mustn't lose your temper."
"I won't if they aren't bigots," Sirius said simply. Grandfather Arcturus sighed.
"I understand you have strong opinions, Sirius, but not everyone you disagree with is bigoted," he said. Sirius chuckled, and tapped his chin with two fingers.
"You'll find they are, actually, Grandfather," he said.
He sat down next to his grandfather. Guests trickled inside. Sirius dug his teeth into his bottom lip. Lupin. A man called Lupin working at the Ministry, speaking out against werewolves. Insulting his boss and retreating into obscurity. If the political stance had been flipped, it could have been his Lupin, his Remus. He would demand they made certain, and would flee if it turned out he was wrong. But Remus was too young to be the man in the story. He wouldn't declare that werewolves ought to die. Lupin wasn't a common name. Sirius had met plenty of wizards, but never one called Lupin until Remus, and not another since. You couldn't assume every Crabbe was a close relation, but Lupin…
"Sirius." He looked up. Grandfather Pollux. He got to his feet.
"Grandfather," he said. Grandfather Pollux looked him up and down.
"You aren't greeting your guests."
"He was, Pollux," Grandfather Arcturus said. "I needed his assistance to get up here. I am sorry for taking him away from his duties."
"He will be the head of the family after you and Orion. His primary obligation is to train for that position. Regulus could have helped you."
"I thank you for your advice, little cousin, but as the head of this family, I made the decision to enlist Sirius to help me," Grandfather Arcturus said. Sirius fought down a smile. Grandfather Pollux glared.
"It is good to see you, Arcturus. Sirius." He turned stiffly and strode towards Uncle Cygnus. Grandfather Arcturus smiled.
"There are benefits to the position," he said. Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Your parents complain that you don't enjoy being the heir. They worry about your ambitions."
"I'm not ambitious," Sirius said. He folded his arms across his chest. "I'm a Gryffindor." Grandfather Arcturus looked bemused.
"Gryffindors can be ambitious. Being in one house doesn't mean you have no qualities of the others. Can you imagine if that was the case? People would be so very boring. You are ambitious, Sirius. Your ambitions are just different to that which your parents want for you." Sirius sat up straighter.
"I don't want to be a Death Eater. I'm proud of that," he said. "I'm not ambitious. I don't spend all my time plotting. I'm happy with what I am, actually, except when I have to come home." Grandfather Arcturus looked him up and down. Sirius clenched his jaw. "Believe me or don't, I don't care."
"Hello." Sirius looked to the newcomer. Uncle Ignatius dressed himself in plain black robes, only embellished around the collar. His hat was a good decade out of date, and drooped to meet his bushy brows.
"Ignatius," Grandfather Arcturus beamed. He reached his arm out, and Uncle Ignatius helped him out of his seat. They shook hands. Uncle Ignatius offered his hand to Sirius, then, and Sirius took it. His calloused hand enveloped Sirius'.
"Merry Christmas to the both of you," Uncle Ignatius said, his voice laced with hints of Cornwall. "Lucretia's helping Jewel with the little ones.
"Are they in the parlour? I'd like to see them. Sirius." Sirius gave his grandfather his arm. Uncle Ignatius led them out of the room, and then Sirius directed them down to the parlour. Aunt Lucretia, Percival, and his wife Jewel stood outside the door, all looking rather harassed.
"Father!" Aunt Lucretia kissed Grandfather Arcturus on the cheek. She was the very copy of Father, but with longer hair and a more pleasant expression. "Sirius, how you've grown!" She pinched Sirius' cheeks, which he found unnecessary. Percival shook his hand and Jewel offered him a smile, which he returned with a flicker of his lips. The little boy sobbed into his mother's shoulders. What was his name?
"Give him here," Grandfather Arcturus said, holding out his arms. Sirius looked at him and his shaking hands dubiously.
"Accio," Aunt Lucretia said, flicking her wand with the hand that didn't hold Percival's daughter. There was a loud bang, and another, and then a chair came whizzing down the stairs. Sirius fought a laugh. It was the chair that sat at his mother's vanity. Uncle Ignatius intercepted the chair by grabbing the long hairs of its fluffy green cushion. He set it down in the hallway. When he let go, tufts of green fluff stuck to his fingers. He frowned, and wiggled his hands curiously.
"Sirius," Grandfather Arcturus said, calling him to attention. Sirius helped him into the chair. Jewel then passed the little boy over. His cheeks were bright red and stained with tears, and his lower lip trembled furiously. His hair was the same shade of red as Percival's.
"Hello, Thomas," Grandfather Arcturus said. "We aren't happy, are we? Oh, no. Terrible thing, to be with family for Christmas. Dreadful."
"I can think of places I'd rather be," Sirius muttered. Jewel snorted. They stopped. Sirius looked up at her, eyes round. She flushed.
"Apologies. I'm a bit under the weather," she said, taking the little girl from Aunt Lucretia. Sirius dropped his gaze to the floor. Interesting, he thought. Sirius hesitated, and then he ploughed forward.
"We've some potions upstairs that might help," he offered. Aunt Lucretia nodded.
"There's an idea. Your elf is a domestic one, isn't it? It could fetch it," Aunt Lucretia enthused. "Oh, it's been far too long since I've had a domestic one."
"It's too expensive to get them well-trained," Uncle Ignatius reminded her. "You know the others wouldn't like it."
"Mother needs Kreacher in the kitchen," Sirius improvised. He didn't know where Kreacher was, and frankly, didn't give a damn so long as the elf wasn't in his way. "It's no trouble at all, I can take you up there. It's not far." Something brushed his shoulder. He tensed. It was only Percival's hand.
"You can't fetch it for her?" he asked.
"I could, but there's different doses in different vials. I don't know how much she usually has of each potion, or which she prefers," Sirius said. "I'm not a Healer," he added. Nor a house-elf. Nor an owl.
"I'll come," Jewel said. She handed the little girl to Percival. Sirius led her away from the group, and up the stairs.
He tried to recall what he knew about her; it wasn't much. His mother preferred the company of Uncle Pollux's family, who lived in Wiltshire on a large estate that grew only decorative hedges and the occasional flowers, when Aunt Druella was in the mood. It meant that Sirius had spent far too much time around Rodolphus Lestrange and far too little time around Jewel Prewett. She and Percival married in the winter of Sirius' first year, and he remembered very little about it except for moping around the reception and wishing he could've spent the holidays with James instead. It had never occurred to him that he might have an ally. What did Andromeda think of her? He'd have to write and ask. Jewel's daughter would be the same age as Nymphadora, he guessed.
"In here," he said, opening the door for her.
"Thank you, Sirius," she said. The room was dark, damp, and cool, the temperature maintained by charms, and lined with shelves of labelled potions of various colours, kept in small glass vials, corked at the top. He rarely came in here. It was Kreacher's domain. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. He scanned the shelves. He couldn't find any determinable organisation – not alphabetical, or by purpose. He strode to the far wall, and read the labels there. Fifteen vials of the antidote to common poisons stood next to four large yellow cans of Madame Glossy's Silver Polish. Troublesome.
"Are you and Percival still living with Uncle Ignatius?" he asked. Jewel laughed lightly.
"I've never lived with Ignatius," Jewel said. "We live in Glastonbury. In Somerset." Sirius frowned at the next row of useless potions. The name sounded familiar. It conjured images of James and Remus, though he couldn't think why. They swung their heads in time to the music, sitting cross-legged on James' bed in their dormitory.
"Glastonbury," Sirius said quietly, trying to make sense of it.
"It's lovely, really. It's where Avalon was. The resting place of King Arthur," Jewel said. That wasn't it. His mind felt fuzzy.
"I was never fond of those stories," Sirius murmured, turning his search to another shelf. He cursed Kreacher silently. Why had the elf seen fit to organise the potions so nonsensically? Sabotage, he thought. It made them dependent on him. They couldn't just slice off his head, then – not that Mother was likely to. It was unfortunate that her cruel streak stopped where he would've liked it to begin.
"Arthurian stories?" Jewel asked, clasping her hands together. He wondered why she was married to Percival. In terms of cousins, he ranked higher than Bellatrix and Narcissa, but he was still an arrogant prick. Sirius wouldn't have picked him as one to value a sense of humour in a partner, especially not at the expense of his family. Then again, maybe the Blacks didn't count. Percival was a Prewett. When he'd been younger, Sirius had wished he was a Prewett too. Sometimes he still did. It seemed easier than being a Black. The key detraction of Prewett-hood was that their hot water hadn't been reliable until Sirius was nearly school-aged. He hated cold showers. "Why don't you like them?"
"All the worship of Merlin," Sirius said. "I s'pose they couldn't name another decent Slytherin."
"I was in Slytherin," Jewel said. Sirius nodded.
"So was Andromeda – she's my cousin on the Black side. Uncle Cygnus' daughter. She's better than decent, but decency isn't what gets you held up as a paragon in this family. Merlin's the exception."
"Andromeda Black. I think I remember her. She was a few years below me. She might've been at my wedding, come to think of it. We invited all the Blacks." Sirius stopped. He turned around to look at her.
"You knew Andi?" he aske quietly. Flames of hope flickered in his chest. Jewel wrung her hands together.
"Oh, not well," she said evasively. "Any luck finding the Pepperup? I could summon it, I'll just need to be careful that it doesn't break." Sirius shook his head sharply.
"No – Andi and I – she was always my favourite cousin. I won't run my mouth. Have you spoken to her recently?" He pinched his bottom lip hard, reigning in the spark that threatened to become a wildfire. Jewel frowned at him with her big round eyes.
"Sirius, you're mistaken," she said. "We only overlapped at school. I've not spoken more than ten words to her, and it's been a good ten years since even that." Silence languished between them. Sirius almost put his fingernail through his lip.
"Yeah," he said, finally, pressure crushing his lungs. "I was mistaken. My apologies. Feel free to summon the potion." He needed a smoke. He propelled himself past her, shoving the door open. It swung shut as the yellow light of the hall flooded his eyes. He caught it at the last moment. Jewel jerked her wand. A potion flew towards her. She barely caught it, fumbling.
"Oh my," she said mildly. She ducked into the hallway. "Thank you, Sirius." A clear picture formed in the forefront of his mind. David Bowie, his hair long, in a cloak and a hat, looking more a wizard than a muggle. Remus had shown him a photograph. David Bowie had performed in Glastonbury. That was it.
Sirius dimly noted that they were downstairs once more. It appeared that the snort had been an accident. Not the hint of a laugh, not the glimmer of a sympathetic ear. He should have known better. A few days at Grimmauld Place was enough to addle his mind. The fog of alcohol or weed was the last thing he needed to worry about. Being within ten miles of his mother was ten times worse. He needed a cigarette.
"Excuse me," he muttered, slinking by the wall. Grandfather Arcturus grabbed the sleeve of his robe.
"Sirius," he reprimanded. Sirius pressed his lips together. Jewel delicately drank from the potion, and Percival vanished the vial with a wave of his wand.
"Ah, you're a clever lad. I never did master vanishing things," Uncle Ignatius chuckled proudly.
"Oh, Ignatius." Aunt Lucretia laid her hand on his arm. They moved into the parlour, but hung by the entrance. It was the women's domain – Mother's domain. Sirius' hackles rose. The drawing room was better, even if it meant dealing with Uncle Cygnus and Grandfather Pollux. Anywhere was better.
Uncle Ignatius found a decanter of fine whiskey and summoned some of Father's glasses.
"I think this was meant for the men," he laughed. "You ladies don't drink this strong stuff, do you, love?" he teased, addressing Aunt Lucretia. She rolled her eyes at him. "Percival, you'll have. Sir?" he looked to Grandfather Arcturus.
"Please," he said. Uncle Ignatius nodded.
"And Sirius?" He wanted to say yes, but he saw Mother in the corner of his eye. He'd be fucked if he was too drunk in front of her.
"No, thanks," Sirius said coolly, barely regarding the glass. Uncle Ignatius gave him an odd look, and set the decanter down.
"Prefer to keep your wits about you, eh?" Percival said smarmily. "I understand. How old are you now, fourteen? A bit young for whiskey," he laughed. Uncle Ignatius joined him, and Aunt Lucretia tittered. Sirius wanted to punch them. He got as far as balling his fists. Grandfather Arcturus laid a hand on his arm.
"Get a hold of yourself," he warned. Jewel eyed him nervously.
"Just a boy," Aunt Lucretia said, reaching out to pinch his cheek. He ducked. She laughed. "Oh, touchy. I remember Percival at your age." I'm sixteen, he wanted to shout, but it would only make him seem more of a child. He longed to break Percival's nose and then give her a slap for good measure. The house was too crowded. He felt light-headed. I'll write to James again, he resolved. We can plan some way to break me out of here. And then he could ruin the Potters' Christmas. Mrs Potter would fuss over him and Mr Potter's eyes would crackle, and any hope of peaceful holidays with their son would vanish because of Sirius. Mr Potter wasn't well; a runaway houseguest wasn't going to improve his health. Sirius flexed his hands. He couldn't go to the Potters'.
Who else was there? He had no idea if the Pettigrews would take him. He remembered something about Peter's sister coming to visit. Sirius cared less about ruining Peter's holidays, but if Mr and Mrs Pettigrew were anything like Peter described them, he'd probably kill himself. He couldn't go to Remus'. He'd never been there before. He knew he lived in Wales, but that was it. Otherwise, it could have been an option. Remus wouldn't ask questions. His parents probably wouldn't put themselves out to try to comfort him. Sirius caught the meaty flesh beneath his lower lip with his front teeth, and bit down hard.
Andromeda? He didn't know where she lived, either. They owled, sometimes, but he'd never visited. He could send an owl and follow it on his broom. He didn't know how long that would take. He'd only be able to take his wand and his cloak and some money in a pouch. His Nimbus was good, and faster than a post owl, and Sirius was a good flier. He'd keep up for a couple of hours – he'd played games that had lasted two or three hours before. He had never bothered with long-distance flying, however, which was apparently a different skill to playing Quidditch. He'd figured it was a waste of time. In a year he'd get his apparition license, and that would be that.
It wasn't that yet.
"Excuse me," he said, stepping back. Grandfather Arcturus opened his mouth, and Sirius' blood surged. "I need to piss." Percival scoffed. Jewel paled. Aunt Lucretia clutched Uncle Ignatius' arm and laughed loudly and hollowly.
"Boys," she said, with obviously forced mirth. Sirius stormed out before Grandfather Arcturus could stop him. If Mother found out – no, it didn't matter if Mother found out, because she would be a bitch regardless. He lost nothing. He flung open the door to the nearest bathroom and slammed it behind him. He locked it with a flick of his wand and the faintest shape of 'colloportus on his lips. It clicked. He sat on the floor with back against the door. He pulled out a crushed cigarette from one pocket and his wand from the other. Sirius pinched the cigarette until it resembled a cylinder more than a scrap of parchment. He lit it, and stowed his wand away. He dragged on it so long that his head spun the way it had when he first started smoking. He exhaled smoke and it filled the room. He shut his eyes.
Rap, rap, rap.
Sirius froze. The door handle twisted fruitlessly. The person rapped at the door again. He filled his lungs with smoke. He exhaled through his nose.
"Sirius."
Fuck. He could've dealt with it being some far-flung family member, like Uncle Ignatius, or even Jewel. He could've told Regulus to fuck off, and Grandfather Arcturus would have only told him a pipe would have greater success if he was trying to look like an adult. Sirius could have figured something out with Father.
But it was Mother that was on the other side of the door.
"Open the door now," she demanded. He had a choice. Several choices. He could turn the tap on, thrust the cigarette into the stream of water, break it in two and shove it down the drain. He could undress and pretend that he was in the bath, and the shock of seeing him in such a state would have her gone. He could try the window. He could hex her.
He put the cigarette between his lips and grabbed his wand. There was plenty of floo powder by the fireplace downstairs. He'd outrun her. There's nowhere to go. He could floo to the Leaky Cauldron. They tend to ask your age there. It'd be full of people like him with nowhere else to go, gathering together to get blind for Christmas. He could slip into the crowd and convince someone to buy him a drink. He could sleep in one of the booths. The barman might not notice him until the morning, and he could figure out what to do then.
He took a final drag, and butted his cigarette out on the handle. Ash fell onto the tiles. He tossed the butt into the bathtub and got to his feet.
"Alohomora," he said. Click. The handle rattled, and Mother threw the door open.
"Sirius!" she hissed. Her nose wrinkled. "You've been smoking!" He needed to run. He was frozen. Run! He screamed at himself. His mouth went dry. "Are you going to hex me? Your own mother? Drop your wand." He clung to it. She drew herself to her full height. He hair came loose from its tight bun, and twisted, wild curls fell over her shoulders. "Drop it," she snarled. He had to move. Now. Now. Now. His legs were weighted. Panic washed over him. She stepped forward, moving into the room completely. His chest tightened.
His hand jerked. Bang! A flash of magic burned a hole in the cupboard door. He crackled with energy. Mother stared. It was the catalyst. He barrelled across the room. Instinctively, she moved out of his way. He got out the door. His world shrunk to his intended route. He made it to the staircase. The kitchen fireplace held his best chance. It would be empty. They kept floo powder by every fireplace, just in case. He skipped several steps. His throat stung. He scrambled through the hallway towards the kitchen. The Leaky Cauldron. The Leaky Cauldron. Mother wouldn't follow him. She had guests to attend to. It wouldn't do for her to be seen in a pub at this time of night on Christmas Eve.
He slammed face-first onto the hardwood floor.
"You are an embarrassment," said Mother, her voice low but clear. "You are rude, you are false, you are foul. I come to check on Father and I am told that you have harassed Jewel, that you have used filthy language, and that you have run off. I asked you," and her words turned wet, "for one thing. One nice night with our family. You spoil everything you touch. Any room with you is turned rancid. You, Sirius, leave a trail of horror in your wake." He stared at the floor, because he could do nothing else. He had no shield to absorb the blows. His back was exposed to her, and she took every opportunity to stab a knife through it. "I am at my wit's end. I am supposed to be hosting and instead I am dealing with you. I have no choice but to use magic against you, Sirius, do you not understand how serious that is? You have broken my fragile heart. You make me hate myself." Even if he had not been cursed, he couldn't have responded.
The hem of her dress came into view. Her cold fingers touched his back. He couldn't even flinch.
"I am going to put you to bed, because you are a child that cannot look after himself. I will allow you to walk, but if you run away, I will not hesitate to bind you once more and keep you that way until morning. Do you understand?" She waited a moment. Sirius felt dead. She tapped her wand on his back and whispered the counter-curse. His limbs relaxed. A lump swelled on his forehead. His nose throbbed. His lips were slick with blood.
Mother grabbed his arm and wrenched him to his feet. He swayed. Her steel eyes raked his face.
"That won't do," she said. "Episkey. Tergeo." His nose cracked into place, and the blood coating his mouth disappeared. She glared. "You can keep the bump as a reminder. You need it." Sirius said nothing. He followed her up the stairs in a daze. She shoved him into his bedroom, his pen. She raised her wand in warning. He looked at her wearily.
"Stay," she commanded, like he was a dog. He stayed silent. She sneered and shut the door. Locked it. Sirius sat on his bed.
She rarely resorted to using magic against him. There had been a little of it before Hogwarts, a quick, light Stinging Hex across the back of his legs. It wasn't uncommon amongst wizards, and muggles had a variant of it too. Remus had gone to a muggle school briefly and been caned on occasion. Lily had mentioned it before. James had never been stung or caned, but the Potters weren't the type. The Pettigrews wouldn't need to; Peter went to water after a few stern words. Sirius had been stung regularly, but it stopped once he was at school. She'd never cursed him. It would be stupid to be surprised, but he hadn't been resigned to it. It hadn't been a foregone conclusion. It was unnatural to expect your mother to hurt you in worse ways each time. Instinct advised that he trust her.
He should've known. A headache swelled in his skull. Merry Christmas, he thought, and like a fucking idiot, his eyes burned. He didn't feel sorry for himself. He was pathetic. He had been blind. He should've known.
A/N: I am so so sorry this took so long! I genuinely didn't expect it to as this was 1/2 done by the time the last chapter was uploaded. I had a tough time with mental illness, and then was hit with my final assignments and my mock exams. I'm glad to finally have this done - please excuse it if it's a bit rough! I have the next chapter outlined and a bit written already. I graduate in November, so my writing should be a lot more frequent over the summer. Thank you all for your support 3