Title: watch yourself (death is there)
Team: Falmouth Falcons
Position: Seeker
Prompt: "My reputation's never been worse, so." - Delicate
Summary: When Sirius returns home from his first year at Hogwarts, fear consumes him. He doesn't expect to make it through the night to see morning.
TW: Child Abuse; Paranoia; Mentioned Anxiety Attack; Non-POV Filicide Threats and Ideations
Sirius was aware that he was not the best choice for Heir to the House of Black. His mother had stated as much for as long as he could remember, saying every single day that his younger brother, Regulus, would be a far better choice. Well… snarled would probably be the more accurate word.
Either way, having a bad reputation wasn't anything new as far as he was concerned. His mother's view of him had never been the best, or anywhere near good by any stretch of the imagination, but he was fine with that. He could have felt weighted down by the knowledge, but it made it easier for him to be different. There were less constraints on him, to be something more than just another Black. Although, she always tried to curse him into an Heir, thinking that the pain would make him conform to what she wanted.
However, getting sorted into Gryffindor because of a spur-of-the-moment decision was perhaps not the best idea. A panic attack in an empty corridor confirmed that, after he got a single note from his mother who'd written two whole words. Watch yourself.
That note echoed in his head at random times during school, especially after the end of the Winter Hols. As they got closer to the end of the year, the fear climbed within him. It rattled through his ribcage as he rode the train back to Kings' Cross for the summer. He tried to be as upbeat about home as his new best mate, Heir James Potter, though he could more closely identify with Remus Lupin, who seemed to associate with them only reluctantly and was very subdued about going home for the summer.
All Sirius could think about was how his mother would react in person, how violent she would be when he got home, what the first curse she cast would be. How intent she would be on causing him pain.
When he got home after being escorted back by his emotionless and ever-looming father, his mother was there. She screamed and shouted, voice echoing inside the dark walls and chest heaving like she was a dragon about to breathe fire. Her eyes were smoldering, and Sirius could see the sheer hatred reflected in them.
"A disgrace! A worthless heir!"
"The devil of my womb!"
"You are a stain on this house! On the history and reputation of the noble house of Black!"
Sirius silently wondered if this meant that his reputation as the Heir was in the pits as far as his mother was concerned. That would mean that he couldn't go to the balls and events hosted by polite society (snobby stuck-up purebloods) without there being whispers about his… tarnished reputation.
Sirius had always been proud of being known as a prankster and a wild child despite the lessons that had been shoved down his throat since he was a babe, but this… his mother was angrier than he ever remembered her being and he wasn't sure if he was going to make it through the night at this rate.
The fear provoked by the thought wrapped around his lungs, threatening to strangle him with its strength; Sirius was nearly reduced to a heap of terror on the ground, having to lock his legs so that they didn't give out. His mother stared down at him, her grip on her wand so tight that her knuckles were white, and Sirius dared to hope that she would snap her own wand in two.
Her chest heaved and she opened her mouth, a cruel glint in her eyes. Sirius flinched minutely and looked at the ground, waiting for the curse to hit him. For the pain to start. Except it didn't come.
His mother swept away, her heels clicking on the floor, saying nothing, and doing nothing. His father was already gone from the room and Sirius allowed himself to fall, his legs finally giving out under the weight of his terror.
Sobs built in his throat, and he swallowed convulsively, sinking his hands into his hair and scrunching it. He took in big, heaving breaths, trying to stave off the build-up of emotion in his chest. Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and stayed that way for however long. When he came back to himself, he was calm enough not to start trembling the moment he stood — or so he hoped, at least.
For the rest of the day Sirius was on edge, waiting – expecting – for the curse that would come, sickly green and life-ending. He avoided his mother when he could, but when their paths crossed, he tried to keep her in his line of sight, staring up at her with the false bravado that was the only thing that kept him moving. If she wasn't in the same room as him, he was always in a corner from where he would spot her the moment she entered.
He used everything he'd learned during the lessons that had been forced on him to make the fear-induced tremors cease at least temporarily, his weakness hidden from the biggest threat to his well being, the same person who'd taught him to await death with his head held high.
But it never came.
His mother would grip her wand whenever he entered a room she was in, her eyes would pierce his skull, but no spell came. It didn't make the fear better, not even a bit, as he ate dinner with quaking hands and a desert-dry throat that couldn't be moistened by any drink.
When he entered his bedroom, all Sirius could think about was what could happen if he went to sleep. His mother would surely kill him once he was asleep and defenseless. He didn't put it past her to do something dark and fiendish to try and fix the stain on the House of Black that was his sorting into Gryffindor. With her hatred for him, it was the most likely thing that she would try and do.
His mind raced, wondering what he could do to ensure that he lived to see another day – perhaps not the sunrise but at least the very first minutes of July 1st – and he blinked away the tears that were forming in his eyes.
"I don't want to die," he whispered into the emptiness of his bedroom, voice wavering. He pressed a hand against his mouth when a gasping sob escaped. He undid the protections on his trunk to open it and took out his potions' kit. The potions knife was perfect.
His mother likely would never think of a knife as protection because to her stabbing people was far too muggle and barbarian to even consider. It didn't matter that there were many cursed blades in their hold, most with flesh-eating curses of some kind that gnawed at muscle with what felt like a thousand-thousand teeth all dripping with poison.
Sirius slipped into bed, his hands gripping the handle of his knife tightly. He forced his eyes to stay open, reciting songs, stories, numbers in French, English, and Latin just so that he wouldn't close his eyes and give into sleep. He listened for any noise – including the mutters from Kreacher, his mother's insane elf – and refused to sleep.
The stillness of the room, the hyper-awareness of everything, drove him mad. It drove his terror to the point that he wished his mother would come, that she would kill him, because his mother hated him. He was unwanted in her life and Sirius knew that he was perhaps her greatest regret.
His mother would come and kill him, and her precious little Regulus would be the Heir just as she wanted. But when she did come, Sirius would be able to escape because he was ready for her.
And yet, even with the crippling, heart-stopping fear going through him, sometime during the night his eyes slipped closed, without his express permission. When Sirius opened them again his hand was still tight around the knife and there were the barest rays of sun coming into his room.
He breathed out shakily, his heart missing a beat. A small bit of hope, the most miniscule amount that could exist and still deserve the name, wedged itself under his ribcage and Sirius slid off his bed, unable to believe that he was still alive.
He took a shaky breath and stared at his door. A high scream, strangled, erupted from downstairs. He took another breath to steady himself.
Time to brave hell on earth for another day.