Sirius turned the tin of bruise salve over in his hands, his thoughts turning back towards things he hadn't thought about in years. He glanced back at Harry, who was looking at him curiously; the closed-off look he had worn when insisting he was fine had finally left his face, Sirius noted with relief. He wondered how much of his story he should tell the boy; most of it certainly wasn't pleasant, but it seemed like Harry was familiar with that concept. Sirius frowned slightly at that thought.
"I know you just got here," Sirius began finally, still turning the bruise salve over in his hands. "But I think you'll start to notice pretty quickly that this isn't such a great house."
"What d'you mean?" Harry asked.
"My parents were very...dark. There's no other way to put it. I...I'm not sure when I first started realizing it."
000
Sirius didn't remember much from the early days of his childhood; he supposed he had been happy, mostly ignorant to his surroundings. He had brief flashes of memories from his first years: his mother showing him the small bundle of his baby brother Regulus, Kreacher setting out a plate of food before him early one morning as his parents slept upstairs, his father leading a few dark-cloaked ministry officials into his study as his mother shooed him away. Besides these blurs and snapshots, one of his earliest memories occurred when he was about five or six.
Sirius was bored. It was nearly midday, and he had done absolutely nothing the entire day. He couldn't even play with Regulus, who wasn't even that fun since he could barely do anything to begin with, but Sirius could at least pretend Regulus knew what was going on in their games, or, when he proved completely useless, use him as an audience for his exploits. Today, however, his mother had told him quite firmly that Regulus was to remain upstairs; he was sick with something, and he needed to rest. Hmpfh. Resting was not an option as far as Sirius was concerned, sick or not.
There was nothing to do in this stupid house, he thought. His mother had forbidden him from entering certain rooms in the house entirely, but as Sirius had already devoted several hours to trying to force entries to these rooms, he knew that wouldn't be a fruitful way to spend his time today. He sighed dramatically, flopping down on the drawing room floor. There was no one around, not even Kreacher, who Sirius was starting to view as quite an impediment to having any fun around here; the house elf had already told his mother on him several times, earning him a few sharp twists to the ears and several unpleasant spats of shouting from his mother. Kreacher also seemed to distrust him for some reason, watching him out of large, suspicious eyes, though Sirius wasn't sure what he had done to deserve this treatment.
Neither Kreacher nor his mother were anywhere to be found right now, though. Walburga Black had left the home about an hour ago, telling Kreacher that she was heading to Diagon Alley to look for some healing potion for Regulus that she had run out of; she had instructed the house elf to remain at Regulus's bedside, and to alert her at once if his condition seemed to worsen. She had told Sirius, meanwhile, that he was to remain in the drawing room and not cause anyone any trouble, or else.
Sirius had scowled and agreed, but now he was regretting his promise. Suddenly, he had an idea, a rather reckless one. Sitting up, he crept quietly toward the staircase and listened. There were no noises coming from upstairs, and Kreacher was nowhere to be seen; he must have been following his mother's instructions, locked up in that room with Regulus. Sirius glanced out the window at the front of the house, entertaining the thrilling idea that had come to him.
It was a beautiful, early summer's day. Sirius walked to the window, pressing his small face against it. The square outside the house was sunny and inviting, the calls of the neighborhood children drifting over to him. He could see a few boys bouncing a red ball between them, sometimes letting out great shouts of laughter as they did so.
A curious feeling welled up within Sirius as he watched the boys, something like longing, although he couldn't have explained it at the time. He wanted to be out there playing like the rest of them, feel the wind and the sun on his face, instead of sitting in this stuffy dark house. Sirius hadn't had many playmates besides Regulus. Once or twice, his parents' friends had brought their children over to the house, but Sirius had found them exceedingly dull. They never wanted to do anything fun, to participate in the elaborate adventures he had made up after long hours alone, but instead to just play with the expensive magical toys their parents bought for them.
Those boys outside didn't seem like that, though. They seemed fun.
The problem was, his mother had absolutely forbidden him from leaving the house without her. She had even warned him about staying away from those boys outside, although he hadn't really understood her explanation. Something about not mingling with the wrong type.
Another great shout of laughter reached him, and Sirius made up his mind. He was going out. Stealing another furtive glance over his shoulder, he pushed open the front door as quietly as he could and stepped outside, savoring the sunshine for a moment before crossing the street over toward the group of boys.
The boys stopped playing as soon as they noticed Sirius coming toward them, staring at him in confusion; it seemed like the boy had simply popped out thin air, or maybe another time period, what with his long hair and the odd robe-like clothing he was wearing.
"Er, who're you?" asked the oldest of the boys, after they had stared at Sirius in confusion for a minute.
"Sirius Black," Sirius responded promptly, sticking out his hand toward the boy who had spoken.
The boy stared at Sirius's outstretched hand in prolonged confusion before shaking it.
"Can I play?" Sirius asked brightly, ignoring the looks the boys were giving each other.
"Why are you dressed like that?" blurted a boy with bright red hair and freckles.
Sirius glanced down at his clothes, which he had never taken much notice of before, and realized how different they were from the simple shorts and t shirts the boys around him were wearing.
"Dunno," said Sirius, frowning slightly. "It's just what my mum buys."
"Are you rich?" asked another boy with dark, curly hair.
"Oh, yes," responded Sirius, whose mother constantly enumerated the riches of the Black family.
"Then why d'you wanna play with us?" replied the largest boy, drawing his blond eyebrows together in confusion. "Don't you have a ball to go to, or something?"
The other boys laughed, and a spark of anger flared within Sirius. "You're just afraid I'll be better than you!"
The boy grinned at this outburst. "All right, all right, you can play. But keep your dress on."
Over the next hour, the boys quickly realized that despite Sirius's odd clothes, he really was as good as he said he was; he always seemed to manage to catch the ball, even when it seemed like surely it was going too fast, or had slipped through his fingers. When they played kickball, his kicks soared out farther than any of theirs, or seemed to change direction just when it seemed someone would catch the ball he had kicked. It was downright weird, but it made for an interesting game. Soon the boys were laughing and joking with Sirius, who was happier than he could ever remember feeling.
It was too good to last.
About an hour and a half later, Walburga Black returned from her trip to Diagon Alley, laden with shopping bags containing the medicine for Regulus and some new robes she had eyed in Madam Malkin's. When she saw the group of boys playing in the square near her house she scoffed, wrinkling her nose at the muggle filth. As her eyes swept over them, she nearly dropped her bags. That couldn't be-Sirius? She closed her eyes for a second, but when she popped them back open, there was her son, mingling with muggles. She raised a hand to her mouth, horrified, before lowering it and screeching, "Sirius Black! You get over here right now!"
Sirius whipped around when he heard his mother's voice, the happiness quickly leaking out of him. His new friends stopped what they were doing as well, giving each other nervous looks; that voice did not sound pleasant.
"I've got to go," said Sirius gloomily, tossing the ball back toward another boy.
"Well, see you soon, mate?" one of them asked, although he sounded extremely uncertain. The boys watched him troop back across the street, shoulders slightly slumped, until he seemed to disappear from view.
"Weird," muttered one of the boys.
000
Sirius had never seen his mother so furious. Her face was contorted with rage, and her sharp nails dug into his shoulder as she pulled him back into the house with him. As soon as the door closed behind her, Walburga wheeled Sirius around so that he was staring up at her, watching apprehensively as she struggled to form words.
"How dare you?" she finally managed, glaring at Sirius with such revulsion that he took a small step back.
"I-" Sirius began, but before he could say anything his mother had slapped him in the face, hard enough to make his head turn. He was too shocked to even cry, but stared up at his mother with wide eyes. She had never hit him like that before.
"Kreacher!" she called, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head.
Kreacher popped at her side immediately. "Yes, Mistress?"
"Lock Sirius in that cupboard near the pantry. Make sure he cannot leave."
"Yes, Mistress," said Kreacher, suppressing a nasty smile. He grabbed Sirius's arm with surprising strength for an elf. Sirius struggled against this grip, but with no luck; Kreacher dragged him down toward the kitchen, wrenching open a small door near the pantry, which led into a small, dark space. He tossed Sirius into it with a nasty laugh then closed the door, extinguishing all light.
Sirius let out a small sob, drawing his knees together and wrapping his arms around them. Mysterious shapes glinted around him, which Sirius soon realized were pipes; they emitted unpleasant clanking noises. Sirius wasn't sure how long he stayed there, but it felt like hours; once or twice, he thought he heard the scurrying of a mouse, and drew his arms tighter about himself. His quiet sobs subsided after a while as he closed his eyes, willing his mother to let him out.
000
"Later that night, my father sat me down and explained things to me. He said my mother had perhaps been too harsh on me, as I didn't fully understand the situation, but that she had been afraid. He told me all about muggles, oh yes, how they were filthy scum unworthy of wiping the shoes of noble purebloods, and how I must never, ever, go near them again. Playing with them like that was degrading, was shameful, and I had deeply hurt my mother, blah blah blah," Sirius finished with a bitter smile.
"He said that to a six year old?" Harry asked incredulously.
"Yep," said Sirius, with a short, barklike laugh. "That was my first painful lesson about the kind of wizards my parents were."
"And your mother locked you in a cupboard," Harry muttered quietly, an odd look on his face.
"I told you it wasn't pleasant," said Sirius grimly. "Are you sure you want to hear about it?"
"Things got better for you, didn't they? When you went to Hogwarts?"
Sirius smiled again, this time without bitterness. "They did. Much better. Meeting your dad, that was the beginning of all that."
"Really?" asked Harry, leaning closer to Sirius.
Sirius let out another barklike laugh, setting down the bruise salve for the moment, thinking back to his first meeting with James on the Hogwarts Express.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed!