A/N: So here's chapter two. Sirius is brought home and at the mercy of his devil of a mother. The prodigal son has finally returned. But is there room for one more son in this household that had become three?

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

He stood beside his mother, his shoulder clamped beneath her clawed hand, her talons seeking to draw blood but obstructed by the fabric of his clothes. His father spared him one look of disdain before searching the platform once more.

He tried to appear calm and nonchalant, wearing a well-practiced mask of indifference, one that could rival even his father's, however the fear must have still been evident in his eyes. His friends were sending him worried glances, looking as if they wanted to run to his aid, but they knew better, or at least he hoped they did. There was nothing they could do anyway.

Regulus exited the train in the company of his Slytherin friends and he could practically feel his mother's adoration upon seeing her golden child as her body relaxed slightly, the claw loosening only a bit.

Regulus' eyes scanned the platform but only for something to do before heading to the floo. He was well aware of their parents' negligence and he never left with his brother, who always disappeared as soon as he could. His eyes finally landed on his loving family and there was a slight hitch in his step before he strolled over with his head held high. Though they were not on the best of terms, he could read his brother like a book from a mile away. Regulus was surprised as well, hiding his fear behind a cool swagger and a pompous attitude. It made him scowl at the mindless sheep his brother had become.

Once Regulus stood with them, his father turned and stalked through the barrier, his leave signalling the end of this charade. They walked behind him, his mother's grip increasing to ensure her straying dog kept on his leash. His brother spared one glance to him, but he ignored him and kept his face forward. He didn't need Regulus' false pity.

No words had been exchanged between the family throughout this whole ordeal, but that just heightened his nerves. This was the calm before the storm, a storm that been brewing for two years and it would soon hit him full force.

They walked into a private room at the Muggle station, too clean and pure to dirty themselves with the sooty fireplaces. With his mother's hand on his shoulder, and Regulus tentatively holding her other hand, they apparated to their home, his house, Grimmauld Place.

They appeared in the foyer of the grand house, the large room closing in on him and wanting to strangle him with the darkness. His mother was never one to open the windows for any flippant reason. She was creature of the darkness and abhorred anything light.

His feet touched the rug and before he could think, he was forcibly pushed to the floor, his nose inhaling the dust of the aged carpet. His mother's heeled boot was placed on the space between his shoulder blades and the nape of his neck, holding him in place. She bent low, her mouth only a few centimetres from his ear and whispered harshly, "Welcome home, son." Then she screeched, "Leave us!" to his father and brother. His father was all too happy to go, already finished with this spectacle, though he knew he and his father would have their own talk later. Regulus was also jumping at the chance to go, his unease evident in the shifting of his feet. Kreacher quickly came from under the stairs and grabbed their trunks before taking them away.

She turned back to him and moved her foot a bit higher to press her heel into the soft flesh of his neck. He winced slightly at the pressure but he would not give her any pleasure in hearing him squirm or beg. "We are glad to have you home, son. There is so much that has happened since the last time I saw you and much to be done now that you are here," she said innocently.

She waited for some response from him but he still remained quiet. She continued, "You shouldn't have ignored me, boy. You shouldn't have run. You forced me to come get you myself, which only succeeded in making it worse."

She was pressing hard enough into the back of his neck to draw blood and his mouth opened in a silent scream, his face contorted in pain. She had gotten to him.

She removed her heel and stepped back a bit. "Get up, boy!" she shouted, kicking his extended leg. But he remained on the ground, vainly defiant even though he knew it would irritate her more. Maybe that's why he was doing it. He just couldn't help it. He had lost all respect for her long ago. He despised her and everything she stood for. He wouldn't just bow to her will.

His body rose from the ground of its own accord, or actually at her wand's power. He floated a foot above the ground, his arms outstretched and facing her. She leaned into his face and gave him a sweet smile. She offered him a reprieve, "All can be forgiven my dear. There is room for you here, if you only ask. We are still family and you are still a Black."

He spat on the rug near to her feet and gave her a lopsided grin. mocking her own smiling face. He wasn't falling for such an obvious ploy. He had called her bluff. Her eyes blazed red and she leaned away, stepping away from the spittle. "It seems after all this time, you have forgotten who you are and who I am, son."

The pain that ripped through his body was beyond anything he had ever felt. He had purposely forgotten the punishments she had given him two years before, repressing those memories to never be relived again. They had been bad but she had never used an Unforgivable on him then. This spell had all the rage and annoyance held in for the two years of his absence. She held the spell, moving her wand about his body and the epicenter of the shockwaves following its path. He had yet to scream and he could see the annoyance on her face the longer he took.

Then she moved her wand to point directly at his throat and that did. His mouth opened wide and let out the most terrifying sound he had ever heard, made worse because he knew it was coming out of his own mouth. The pain rippled from the area and travelled up his neck to his head and down to the ends of his toes. His throat was raw and he could feel a strange warm trickling, the iron taste faintly registered on his tongue.

Then he fell to the floor unable to catch himself and his face slamming painfully onto the carpet. His chest heaved in ragged breaths as his body shuddered with aftershocks. She stood over him again, her heel on his exposed cheek but he barely felt it through the pain that was still racking his body.

She leaned down and said, "These is still room for one more son. I hope you've remembered who you really are."