Title: Locked
Team: Falmouth Falcons
Position: Chaser 3
Reserve: No
Prompt: Broken porcelain – Write about someone being cursed.
Extensions: Green, Alohomora, coughing
Word count: 1,009
A/N: Dark!Sirius, Dark!Regulus. AU when Voldemort never existed.
The screaming started again.
Walburga froze and paled so much that she resembled the falling snow outside. She bit her lip and glanced at the bedroom upstairs before looking away. Orion's eyes were fixed on his newspaper, but his deathly grip on it put a crack in his otherwise calm façade.
Sirius' eyebrows furrowed. Regulus really need to learn how to keep it down. He's going to wake the entire neighbourhood at this rate. The last time that happened, Walburga and Orion got into a lot of trouble having to Obliviate each and every Muggle who heard the wolf-like howls. He flipped his Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them to the page about werewolves. He always found werewolves fascinating, even more since he found out Remus was a werewolf three years ago. But mostly, he was interested in the transformation of werewolves.
It looked painful, but nowhere as near as this.
This pain that his brother was currently experiencing.
Hell's Playground.
A curse so terrible it felt like experiencing the punishments in Hell.
He was pulled from his thoughts when the banging started. Yes, the second step of the curse is uncontrollable violence. That's why they locked the door earlier, for the last time it was unlocked, Regulus killed fifty-five Muggles and burnt a shop down. He could still remember the crazed look on his little brother's face when he set the shop on fire. It was not something he would like to experience again.
Walburga's hands were shaking as she dusted the green antique vase. She was clearly trying to block out the noise made by her beloved son. Sirius scoffed.
Her only son.
Not that he cared at all.
His life was like that porcelain vase. Pretty on the outside, butempty on the inside.
So, so empty.
He coughed, barely noticeable over Regulus' roars.
He sounded painful, but nowhere as near as this.
He wiped his blood-stained lips on his sleeve.
Nowhere as near as this.
Regulus howled.
The vase Walburga was holding fell onto the ink-green carpet with a crash.
Sirius stood up abruptly, a Reparo on the tip of his tongue. That vase was his life! It can't be shattered! It-
-Looks better this way... He tilted his head and pocketed his wand.
Yes, this is his life. Broken, so fragile...
Shards.
He coughed again. At this rate, he might not live to see Prongs get married to Evans. He chuckled as he pictured a tombstone in his place as best man. He wondered if Madam Malkin makes suits for graves.
Speaking of his 'deer' friends...
(Flashback)
'Padfoot, why are you coughing again?'
'What? Oh, it's nothing.'
'You sure?'
'Yeah. Just a little flu or something.'
'Really? You're not dying, are you?'
A pause.
'Of course not! Merlin, what gave you that idea?'
'You've been coughing nonstop for, like, years!'
'I'm fine, Prongs. You'll be the first person to receive the invitation to my funeral, though.'
'Gee, thanks! I couldn't wait.'
...
'Sirius, you're coughing.'
'Great observation, Remus! Would you like an Order Of Merlin, First Class?'
'I'm serious-'
'No, I'm Sirius-'
'-Are you sick or something?'
'I'm something.'
'...'
'Just kidding. Just a dry throat.'
'But you've been coughing since the start of Third Year!'
'So?'
'You're not ill?'
'Nope.'
'You sure?'
'A hundred percent.'
'Fine. Tell me if you are sick, okay?'
'Yes, Mum.'
(End of flashback)
Sirius stared emotionlessly at the broken porcelain pieces. No, he isn't completely broken, just standing on the cliff with the dark abyss an inch away from him. He reminds himself that he is merely cracked, not broken, by coughing. Corpses and Inferni don't cough, after all.
But eventually, I'll break...
He never told anyone, but he always quite liked the colour green. He had once tried on Orion's old robes when he was young and found that green suited him perfectly well, better than scarlet, to be honest. Red was too flashy for his taste, while green blended him in.
Like a leaf in a forest.
He never wore any shade of green after that, though, for he was desperately trying to prove that he was different from his family. He tried convincing himself that he looked better in red. He burnt all his Slytherin green robes and bought new ones, all in Gryffindor red. His friends joked that he was obsessed with scarlet robes, as almost all his clothes were deep red.
If only they knew...
People called him obnoxious and cocky; his friends called him handsome and arrogant; his family called him traitor and pompous. But under all that glamour and confidence was-
-a teenager craving attention...
I'm pathetic.
At least he got the attention he wanted now. Regulus was locked up in his room most of the time, and the only few words exchanged between them were 'food' and 'Alohomora'. But he wasn't looking forward to letting Regulus go. No, every time Regulus was let out, he had to change into the rebellious Sirius Black.
Funny how Alohomora, the spell for unlocking doors, locked up the door between his true self and the world.
His true self.
Not Sirius Black.
Not Padfoot.
Not Mister Black.
Just Sirius.
Just Sirius.
Sirius smiled. He liked the sound of it. Sirius who is not broken, Sirius who is not fragile, Sirius who can wear whatever colour he likes.
Sirius who isn't in shards.
However...
His smile vanished, and his eyes dimmed when he heard the familiar sound of a door unlocking and the imaginary sound of a door locking. Click! So soft, but so deadly. The 'creak' echoed loudly, and footsteps start to make their way down the stairs. He coughed for one last time, just to encourage himself to keep it together.
Sirius turned around and smirked at his brother, 'You finally decided to come out of your den, Reggie?'
Time for me to get in...