Sirius seethed in silence as he threw himself onto his four-poster bed, the argument with his parents still playing through his mind. The deep emerald curtains that encircled his bed, adorned with the Black family crest, felt constricting. He could feel his anger simmering beneath his skin, the warmth of Hogwarts seeming like a distant memory now. He'd refused to go down for dinner a few hours ago, when Kreacher had called for him, preferring to isolate himself from the lot of them.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Before he could respond, the door creaked open, and Kreacher shuffled into the room, carrying a silver tray. His large, bat-like ears flopped as he moved, and his watery eyes glinted with something malicious.

"Dinner for young Master Sirius" Kreacher croaked, his voice full of venomous glee as he set the tray down on Sirius' bedside table.

Sirius eyes the tray wearily. He wasn't particularly hungry, but he knew better than to outright refuse the food he was given. Kreacher stepped back, folding his spindly arms and looking up at Sirius with a twisted smirk, as if relishing some hidden joke.

With a sigh, Sirius sat up and pulled the tray closer. The moment he lifted the lid from the plate, a strong, unpleasant smell hit him, making his nose wrinkle in disgust. On the plate sat a thick slice of blood pudding, accompanied by a helping of boiled liver and onions – one of the few dishes Sirius absolutely loathed. The sight of it made his stomach turn.

Sirius scowled and pushed the tray away. "You know I hate this, Kreacher" he muttered, his voice heavy with irritation.

Kreacher's smirk widened, and he inclined his head in a mocking bow. "Oh yes, young Master Sirius, Kreacher knows. Kreacher is following Mistress's orders".

Sirius' hands clenched into fists, and he closed his eyes in an attempt to calm his temper. So, his mother had ordered this on purpose. It was a petty, vindictive gesture; exactly the kind befitting to his mothers character. The Black family had always been experts in subtle cruelty.

"Take it away" Sirius snapped, his anger bubbling again. "I'm not eating it".

Kreacher's expression soured, but he did not argue. He simply bowed his head and muttered, "As Master Sirius commands". Kreacher picked up the tray and slunk out of the room, the door closing with a soft click behind him.

After a half hour of stewing in frustration, Sirius decided he could not stay in his room any longer. He needed answers, and he needed to confront Regulus. The boy's coldness earlier still gnawed at him, and he couldn't let it go without understanding why.

Determined, Sirius pushed open his door and made his way down the hall to Regulus' room. The door was slightly ajar, and he could see his brother inside, sitting at his desk with his back to the door, reading one of their father's books on pureblood lineage. Sirius frowned at the book.

"Reg" he called out, his voice sharper than he had intended.

Regulus turned slowly; his expression carefully neutral. "What is it, Sirius?"

Sirius stepped into the room, crossing his arms, and frowning slightly. "What's going on with you? Why are you acting all weird?".

Regulus' eyes flickered with something – guilt, perhaps, but it was quickly replaced by a look of steely resolve. "I'm not acting weird, Sirius, I'm just…I've been thinking. About Mother and Father, the family".

Sirius frowned, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. "What are you talking about?".

Regulus stood up, facing Sirius fully. He was a head shorter than his brother, his posture tense, his hands gripping the back of his chair. "I've been reading, studying our history, the Black lineage. Mother and Father…well they're right about some things".

Sirius felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath him. He stared at Regulus, disbelief and anger warring inside him. "Right about what? About how muggle-borns are inferior? About how purebloods are better than everyone else? You can't seriously believe that rubbish".

Regulus' jaw tightened, but he didn't back down. "It's not rubbish, Sirius. It's who we are. We're Blacks, one of the most ancient houses in the wizarding world. There's a reason we have these traditions, these beliefs. They've kept our family strong for generations".

Sirius took a step closer, his voice rising with frustration. "Strong? They've kept us trapped, Reg! Trapped in this twisted, bigoted mindset. Don't you see? You're being poisoned by this nonsense!".

Regulus' eyes flashed with something like anger, but his voice remained controlled. "No, Sirius. They're teaching us to be proud of who we are. To honour our bloodline".

"Proud?" Sirius spat, his anger flaring hot and bright. "You want to be proud of this? Of hating people because they're not like us? That's not pride, Reg, that's prejudice. And it's wrong".

Regulus shook his head, his expression hardening. "You don't understand. You're always fighting, always challenging. But this is who we are. You can't just ignore it because you don't like it".

Sirius felt a cold, bitter realisation settling in. This wasn't just a disagreement. This was something deeper, something fundamental that was now dividing them. Regulus wasn't just being distant, he was aligning himself with their parents, with everything Sirius despised about their family.

"Is this what you really want, Reg?" he asked quietly, his voice laced with disappointment. "To be just like them?".

Regulus hesitated, just for a moment, and Sirius thought he saw a flicker of doubt in his younger brother's eyes. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone, replaced by a stony resolve.

"I want to be who I'm supposed to be" Regulus answered firmly. "A true Black".

Sirius started at him, his heart breaking in a way his parents had never managed to break him before. He had always known they were beyond reasoning, but he had held out hope for Regulus. Hope that if he could just influence his brother in the other direction, the boy might avoid adopting the worst of the Black family traits. Now, that hope felt shattered.

"Fine" Sirius said, his voice cold. "Be a true Black".

He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, the familiar anger surged within him, but this time it was mixed with a profound sense of loss. Regulus was more like their parents than Sirius had ever realised, and that realisation was worse than any punishment his mother could have ever devised. He couldn't help the feeling that if he hadn't been at Hogwarts this year, Regulus might not have been so exposed to their parents' influence.

Sirius slammed his door shut and leant against it, breathing heavily. He had to write to James.

Dear James,

I'm back at the House of Horrors, and it didn't take long for the madness to set in. Father said I should have apparated from Kings Cross, because walking is positively muggle. Anyway, I thought that since we have his permission, we can start practicing our apparition come September? What'll McGonagall think?

Regulus has also gone mad in my absence – suddenly he's Mother and Father's little soldier instead of mine. Get this: he's actually swallowing all that pureblood crap they keep spouting. I tried to talk some sense into him but its like talking to a wall. A wall with a permanent scowl.

Oh, and you'll love this, guess what I got for dinner tonight? Kreacher bought up a plate of blood pudding and liver, apparently it was Mother's idea. Lovely, isn't it? Honestly, I'm already counting down the days until the end of Summer. I don't know how I'm going to survive without hexing someone. Maybe I'll start with Kreacher. Kidding…sort of.

Anyway, enough about me, I've complained enough. How's life in the land of the sane? Please tell me you're having more fun than I am. I could definitely use some good news, or at least a decent laugh. I'm half tempted to sneak out tonight and show up at your doorstep. Can't promise I won't.

Write back soon, yeah? Keep me from losing what little of my mind I have left.

Your best mate,

Sirius

P.S. your parents are bloody brilliant for offering to walk me home. Can I swap them for mine?

Sirius read the letter a few times over, not satisfied with it, but not having the energy to write it again. He knew it was a bit of a downer of a letter, but he also knew James was the only person who would really understand why. Sighing, he tied the letter to his owl's leg, and opened his window to allow the bird out, already eagerly anticipating his friends response.

Sirius collapsed back on his bed, looking out of the window at the night sky as he imagined what his friends might be doing that evening. He tensed at the sound of his bedroom door creaking open, expecting it was Kreacher collecting laundry. However, when he glanced over to the doorway, it was his mother stood there, a grim expression etched on her face.

"I thought you might refuse to eat it", she said, holding the tray of now congealed blood pudding, liver and onions. "But I will not have you starving yourself out of spite. You will eat this now".

Sirius sat up onto the edge of his bed, stiffening as he shook his head. "I'm not eating that. You know I can't stand it".

Walburga's eyes narrowed. "It's what your father and I have decided you are having for dinner. Do you think you can simply refuse to follow the rules of this house?".

"Rules?" Sirius snapped; the anger that had barely dissipated now very much alive. "Is it a rule to be cruel? Because that's all this is. You're just trying to make me miserable".

Her face flushed with anger, and she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You dare speak to me like that? Do you think this is a game?".

Sirius shuffled himself back further onto the bed as she advanced, his heart pounding in his chest. "I'm not trying to play any games. I'm just trying to survive this hell".

Walburga's face twisted into a cold, determined expression. She set the tray down on the bedside table and leant in close, her breath hot on his face. "You will eat this, or I'll have your father deal with you. Any you know he won't be gentle".

Sirius felt a chill run down his spine. A large part of him wanted to cry, to beg his mother to explain what he had done to cause her to hate him so, but he refused to give her the satisfaction. He forced his hurt and tears to transform into rage, the only emotion he was willing to show her.

"Go ahead" Sirius said, his voice trembling but resolute. "Send him up. Let him come up and kill me if that's what you both want. I'm done".

Walburga's eyes widened in shock and fury. She took a step back, her face contorted with rage. The sharp sting across his cheek flared with pain, but Sirius did not flinch.

"You ungrateful wretch" she spat. "You'll eat this, or I will make sure you regret it. This is your last chance".

Sirius touched his hot cheek, where the sting still burned, and looked her squarely in the eye. "I'd rather face him than eat that filth. Do your worst".

Her expression was a mask of fury as she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Sirius stood up, walking to his wardrobe mirror where he saw the angry splotch of red that covered his left cheek. He glanced over at the tray of food on his bedside table, feeling a mixture of defiance and despair.

Sirius awoke the following morning to pain. His muscles ached, and he stretched his arms out above his head with a wince. His father had come and dealt with him in his own way, but Sirius felt a sense of satisfaction when he glanced over to see the full plate of blood pudding still there. They couldn't break him.

A flapping at his window resulted in the first genuine smile he'd had since arriving back home for the summer. It was James' owl, which meant James had likely kept his for a bit of a break. Throwing open the window, he petted the owl gently on the head and grabbed a handful of food from his desk drawer for it to nibble on before untying the letter.

Dear Siri,

Sounds like things at Grimmauld Place are just as lovely as ever. I know you'll roll your eyes at this, but seriously, I'm sorry its so awful. Its not you, they're just rubbish people, but you already know that.

As for Regulus…bloody hell. It's a wonder you turned out so normal. Bet its hard to not even have him to turn to, but just remember, you're not alone in thinking their views are a load of dragon dung.

I nearly choked on my hot chocolate when you described your dinner. Honestly, its pure torture mate. Why don't you make Kreacher eat it instead, since he seems to enjoy it so much?

Also, don't threaten to show up on my doorstep out of the blue, just do it! Got my hopes up for nothing. But, speaking of Mum and Dad, they're already making plans for when you come and visit. Of course, if you need to break out early, just send word, I'm sure between us we can come up with a plan to get you out of Azkaban. I'm thinking something involving brooms and a well-placed disillusionment charm – Dad does love a rescue mission.

Seriously though, remember your real family, me, Remus, and Peter. The kind that doesn't serve up disgusting food. Keep your chin up mate, it'll be over before you know it.

Yours in mischief,

James

P.S. if you do decide to escape in the dead of night, don't forget to grab your broom. The front lawn here needs some serious quidditch practice.

Sirius smiled as he read the letter again, feeling as though he were back at Hogwarts having a chat with his best mate. He folded the letter nearly in half, placing it in the drawer of his desk as he pondered what he would do to keep himself busy today.

He knew he could not stay cooped up in the house today – not with the tension simmering just below the surface. He thought back to the muggle record shop he'd walked past yesterday, and the two muggle kids he'd met outside. Now, it seemed, was the perfect time to brush up on his knowledge of muggle music.

Sirius threw open his wardrobe, which Kreacher had decanted his trunk into, browsing it for his most muggle looking attire. He quickly grabbed a pair of black jeans and a t-shirt, clothes he knew would annoy his mother. He reached into his satchel and grabbed the sickles and knuts that were floating around at the bottom. He wasn't sure how much it would be in muggle money, but there was a currency exchange close to the record shop that he could pop into.

He slipped out of his room, careful not to make a sound as he creeped along the old floorboards. He narrowly avoided the creaking step on the staircase before approaching the front door, his spirits lifting with every step he took away from Grimmauld Place.

After exchanging the wizard money he had for a crisp 10 note, Sirius made his way towards the record shop. The walk was a familiar one, Sirius having spent ample days out in muggle London since as young as 8 just to get away from his house. As he approached the shop, he could already hear the feint melody of music drifting out through the open door.

"Oi, look who it is!" A voice called out from behind one of the racks. The boy with floppy brown hair and a cheeky grin emerged, a record in his hand. "Wondered when you might be back".

Sirius laughed. "How's it going Dave?"

Dave shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face. "Same old. We've been spinning some new records, though. Heard of The Clash? They've got a new album out – it's ace".

"Sounds brilliant" Sirius said, eager to lose himself in something other than his own thoughts. "Mind if I hang around for a bit?".

"Course not", Dave said. "Me and Tom were just about to head to the park, actually, meeting a few others there. You in?".

"Definitely" Sirius nodded, the idea of spending the day with these muggle boys sounding better and better.

They spent a few more minutes flicking through the albums in the shop. Sirius pretended to be interested in the cover art, even though most of the bands were unfamiliar to him. It didn't matter though, he was just happy to be surrounded by something so normal.

The three boys walked down the street, Sirius silently fascinated by the muggle world; its noisy cars, bustling streets, and lack of care for bloodlines or dark magic. They made their way to a nearby park, where they found a spot under a large tree, Dave pulling out his portable radio and music soon filling the air.

Eventually they were joined by another boy, who's name Sirius had not managed to remember. Tom pulled out a football and the group spent the afternoon leisurely kicking it back and forth to each other. The third boy suggested they play a two on two match, and though Sirius had little to no knowledge of the sport, he committed to the game with as much enthusiasm as the rest.

"You're pretty good at that" Tom said, after the group had collapsed breathless on the grass, "when you're not hand-balling of course".

Sirius, who had promptly learnt that one of the biggest rules of football was not to touch it with your hands, smiled in response.

Later that evening, when he'd arrived back home, even the arrival of Kreacher with the same tray of food from the evening prior, could not foul his mood.