A/N: Wow, another chapter already? I know, I know. Despite him being very overdone, I decieded to do Sirius, while he's running away. I think it's very interesting, and I really liked how this turned out.

And I'm thinking of doing Orion Black, Sirius' father, next. What do you think?

And if you can find the reference to a previous chapter, you get a cookie! :)

Sirius Black

Fears

A Black fears nothing and no one.

The darkness of midnight envelops the house in sleep. Shadows reach across the floors of Number Five, Grimmuald Place, their fingers brushing against tapestries, and old, dusty bookshelves. Cobwebs hang, catching the light of the moon and twinkling in the blackness. It's quiet. The only noise heard is the gentle whisper of wind that flutters the curtains. Someone has left the parlor window open. There will be consequences for that, but not tonight. Tonight there is peace, and there is silence. The pictures hang limp, their occupants either absent or asleep themselves. Nothing stirs.

At least, not until a creak is heard upon the stairs. Someone is coming. He tries to be silent, to keep the peace of the night, but his every movement disturbs the seemingly frozen vision of calm. He knows which steps makes the most noise, and he avoids them, but the sounds are still heard. He knows he must skip the third step down, and that is he doesn't stand exactly right on the seventh step he will wake the entire household. And he must stay to the left on the bottom step. It's broken, and the last thing he needs is to be stuck in the staircase come morning. He needs to be gone by first light.

The creeping continues through the hallway, past the kitchen, near the parlor. He hesitates at the threshold. One thing is all he wants. In and out. And then he'll be gone forever.

He goes into the room slowly. While he knew every creak and snap that the stairs made, this room is alien and strange to him. He has no idea which board underfoot will alert everyone to his presence.

He crosses the parlor, careful and scared.

And then it's in front of him.

The tapestry.

And he sees his name, shining, and his face grinning back at him. He knows what his fate will be. Tomorrow he will be gone, and his name will be burned off of the Black Family Tree. He wonders if anyone will care. He wonders if anyone will mourn his loss.

He doubts it.

Disgusted with his own weakness, he turns around sharply. His book is on the table, resting gently on the edge. He reaches out quickly, and stuffs it in his bag. It is done. He must leave.

Again he makes the perilous journey across the parlor. Again, there is no noise.

Freedom lies beyond that door. Just a few more steps, he knows, and then—

"Master? Where is you going?"

He winces as the words drift across the hallway.

"Shut up," he hisses quietly. "Just shut up for one minute and go to bed!"

Kreacher's eyes meet his own. They are wide and angry and accusatory. "As my Master wishes," he murmurs before falling silent. For one second longer he looks at Sirius standing there. He knows he must seem ridiculous, holding a large bag in one hand and in the other a book on magic. There are bags under his eyes, he knows, and his hair is unkept. He watches Kreacher go back up the stairs. The house-elf's mouth is shut as if someone had sewn it that way. Kreacher's eyes, though, stay on Sirius.

Shaking his head to clear it, he turns back towards the door. He reaches out for the doorknob, his way to freedom—

—and Kreacher screams for help.

Damn.

Sirius was never good at giving orders; somehow he always gave the little weasle a loophole. Now was no exception.

He runs. In the background he can hear his mother screaming, and his father cursing. He's already across the street, now, so it doesn't matter. If he can only get to the park, he can Disapperate, and he'll be gone—

He hears his father shouting. "Stupid ingrate! Get back here, you bastard!" And he feels the graze of something against the back of his head. It burns. And a crash, shattering glass all around him, why isn't he using his wand . . . ?

Doesn't matter. Run, Sirius, go. His fingers search his scalp, and they come back sticky and wet with fresh blood. He can still hear the screaming, and then the shouts of his father calling for his wand. He can hear the man behind him, hear his breath, the heavy footfalls of a man whose never had to work a day in his life.

And he can hear Regulus, probably still in the house. He's shouting at his father, yelling encouragement. "Get him!" he's shouting, "Get him good!"

And then the whoosh! of a wand landing in Orion Black's hands. And it's being raised, poised at Sirius, ready to hurt, to maim, to kill.

He's in the park. He's there. He's free. He turns, looks at his father.

He swears. And then he's gone, forever away from this family.

A Black fears nothing and no one.

Except, perhaps, another Black.