Sirius Black never came home for the holidays if he could help it, not since he’d made the mistake of doing so in his first year and spent the holiday locked up in his room as punishment for being in Gryffindor. Ever since, he’d stayed at school, or went home with Peter, or Remus, or James – though not as often James, because he was the only one he could get away with visiting during the summer holidays. He was the only one of his friends his parents begrudgingly accepted, because at least his blood was all right. They knew, of course, what sort of ‘scum’ he’d otherwise hang out with – thanks to his annoying little brother, who made tattling a sport. But did it even matter? Whilst they’d surely have found out some other way if Regulus hadn’t told on him, it did bother him to be betrayed by his own family like that, his own brother no less.
He just didn’t know why it bothered him so much; he should have seen it coming, as it was obvious by now that Regulus was a complete idiot incapable of thinking for himself. It wasn’t his fault, really; it was in his blood. Sirius had just got lucky somehow and inherited all the brilliance of the family, leaving everyone else without even an ounce of common sense.
He spared a glance at his alarm clock for the seventh time that evening. It wouldn’t be long now before dinner, the one event he knew he couldn’t miss this holiday, since it was Christmas Eve and everyone was meant to be present for dinner on Christmas Eve. Well, not everyone; it would only be the four of them and no-one else, which was something that would take some getting used to, because the last few times he’d been present for it, they had invited the whole family, or indeed gone to his aunt and uncle’s or his grandparents’ for it – but that was long ago, before the world grew so twisted and his parents so … paranoid was the only word for it, really, and it had quite surprised Sirius the first time he put that word on it, because he’d thought his parents would be above that somehow. He’d also thought they’d have nothing to be paranoid of, but he knew now that that had been childish and naive to think; everyone had something to fear, something to be paranoid of indeed, no matter their political beliefs. Mother and Father were the norm, and not the exception.
Nobody could be trusted these days, and that was why even family was never invited any more, not even for Christmas.
Sirius couldn’t say he minded this, because he didn’t like the rest of his family much, and, since Andromeda had left them, there was no-one to look forward to anyway, so being with just the four of them would do. It would be miserable enough without the likes of Bellatrix to worsen it. In fact, it already was miserable enough, just being here, knowing he could have been with his friends, or even at Hogwarts, where he could help further the work done on the thing that would help their werewolf friend most: the Animagus potion. Since neither Peter nor James could stay at school for the holidays either, this meant that they’d likely have to start over. Again. The most difficult part of becoming Animagi proved not to be the actual magic but the timing of the thing, which never seemed to want to work with their busy lives.
But instead of working on all that, he was stuck at home, doing nothing but hide out in his bedroom so that he wouldn’t have to actually spend time around his parents. It was quite ironic, really, that so far, he’d voluntarily spent this holiday in much the same fashion as that very first one, which had put him off of any others. He had never imagined it would go like this, but then he’d never imagined coming home for Christmas at all. He’d only come because he’d been explicitly asked to by his parents, and, as he didn’t want to spoil his chances of spending much of this summer at the Potters’, he’d humoured them, though he’d regretted that decision within minutes of setting foot in the rotten house. Mother and Father had criticised every inch of his appearance, and when they were done with that, had moved on to his personality, and the company he kept – really, was it any surprise he had left for his room at the very first opportunity that presented itself, never to come down again?
But come down he must, now, for it was time, and so he slowly rose from his bed. He didn’t bother changing – they’d find something wrong with it no matter what he wore – and descended the many stairs with a heavy feeling in his chest that only got worse and worse as he neared the dining room. He took a deep, steadying breath, and entered.
The dining room was as oppressively dark and gloomy as ever, with no Christmas trees or wreaths or indeed any sort of decoration to indicate it was Christmas Eve and not some random Wednesday. The only indication that this was not a random Wednesday was that the table was set with the expensive china, complete with family crest and all. Mother was already seated at one end of the long dining table and Father at the other. Regulus sat in his usual place in the middle, looking perfectly at ease in his pressed robes, his hair neatly combed beneath his new pointed hat: the very picture of a proper pure-blood son.
Sirius was sure he did it on purpose, looking and being so proper, just to make it more obvious that Sirius was as improper as they came.
Trying to push down these feelings of resentment, he took up his own seat across from his brother without a word. He kept his eyes firmly on the empty plate before him, hoping, praying –
‘You’re late.’
Sirius knew for a fact that he wasn’t; he’d checked the clock all evening, specifically to avoid this accusation. But he knew arguing would only make things worse, so he said flatly, ‘My apologies.’
‘And you couldn’t even be bothered to change into proper robes?’ Mother continued, scoffing loudly.
‘These are clean,’ Sirius replied mechanically. And it was true, though perhaps they were a bit rumpled from lying on his bed all afternoon.
‘That is hardly the point –’
‘Let’s not start,’ Father interrupted, which surprised Sirius until he realised it wasn’t for his benefit but rather because he didn’t want the meal ruined by argument. Still, he was glad he’d intervened. Kreacher appeared with the first course only moments after, and for a few blessed minutes, there was nothing but the clink of silverware.
Then Mother had to ruin it again. Naturally.
‘Your brother,’ she said softly, in that tone that never meant anything good, ‘has been spending his time productively. He’s been working. Reading. Doing research. He has been practising his spellwork and hasn’t missed a day of study –’
‘How admirable,’ Sirius muttered, already knowing where this was going, because he hadn’t been doing ‘research’, he hadn’t been reading, or practising. He’d just been lying in bed all day wasting his life.
‘It is admirable,’ Father said sharply. ‘A young man should occupy himself with worthwhile pursuits. Not gallivanting about with every manner of undesirable, filling his head with dangerous ideas.’
Ah, there it was. So it wasn’t even about his ‘laziness’ this holiday; it was about his friends. He should have known.
‘Indeed,’ said Mother. ‘And all that despite the state of the school. Despite the kind of … people … they see fit to teach these days. The dangerous ideas they put in your heads. It’s a wonder any pure-blood child comes away from Hogwarts with a shred of sense about them – and yet, Regulus has managed. And Regulus has managed because Regulus knows when to hold his tongue. Knows the value of keeping his own counsel, of not allowing himself to be swept up in every mawkish sentiment that’s dangled in front of him!’
Right. Unlike him, of course. He felt his whole body tense up and couldn’t stop his spoon from scraping loudly at the bowl in front of him. So much hatred was running through his veins right now. So much pure loathing. And he wanted to tell them all about it. He wanted to scream. To shout. To say the truth: that they were the disgrace, and that they’d twisted everything good and decent into something dark and cruel, that they had driven away Andromeda and were well on their way to losing him too – but he’d learnt long ago that there was no point in saying these things; they would never understand. They would never change. So instead he said nothing, just stared at his plate with all the defiance he could muster, even as his heart pounded in his chest. He was helpless and could only hope that this all would pass before he snapped and ruined the rest of the holidays.
‘We had hoped that you would show at least some signs of maturity by now,’ Father went on, apparently oblivious to Sirius’ silent struggle. ‘Some understanding that the world is not as simple as your foolish schoolboy ideals –’
‘Foolish?’ said Sirius, before he could stop himself. ‘So it’s foolish, is it? To think there are things in this world that matter more than blood? To think –’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Father calmly. ‘As you very well know.’
Sirius laughed. ‘I think you’re the foolish ones,’ he said, but as he said it, he wished he hadn’t.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Mother, and Sirius knew he should take it back, should apologise, should do whatever it took to survive this dinner. And he wanted to. But something in him – that same stubborn recklessness that had once landed him in Gryffindor – wouldn’t let him.
‘You heard me,’ he said quietly, looking at her reddening face, knowing it would push her over the edge.
And it did. She got up from the table with an ear-splitting shriek, and Sirius braced himself for what was to come – whatever was to come – but Father was quicker. He held Mother back with just a look, the way he’d so often done when they’d been young, but not so much lately, not since Sirius had gone to Hogwarts. Until now. Mother stayed where she was, fuming but not doing anything, whilst Father turned to look him in the eye. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously soft.
‘So you think us foolish? Very well. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps we have been foolish …’ He paused for a moment, but when Sirius did nothing, he said, ‘We have left you too long to the influence of that school. Too long without any proper guidance. That, I will admit, was foolishness on our part.’
Sirius didn’t like where this was going at all. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I am talking about removing you from Hogwarts –’
‘You can’t do that,’ Sirius said at once.
‘We are your parents,’ said Father. ‘We can do precisely that, and we should have done it ages ago. We talked about it, yes, ever since it became clear that you were keeping the company you keep. Since you chose to involve yourself with Mudbloods and other such mongrels. But we – and this is more foolishness on our part, but we hoped it was just a phase. That you would come to understand on your own what it meant – what it costs – to invite that kind of contamination into your life. Into this family’s life. But you have not come to understand it. Sixteen years old and you still see blood as something of no consequence, when it is the foundation of everything you are. Everything we all are. You still do not see that every one of your little “friendships” is a betrayal –’
‘A betrayal?’ Sirius said, and something in him came loose. ‘Because of their blood, I’m betraying you, am I? You want to talk about blood and purity and all that nonsense? Fine. Let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about what it has actually got us, hm? What has all this obsession with purity actually accomplished? We lock ourselves away in this house, suspicious of everyone, trusting no-one, living in constant fear –’
‘We are not living in fear!’ Father snapped. ‘We are just wise enough to recognise the dangers that surround us –’
‘The dangers you’ve created!’ shouted Sirius, crossing into hysteria. ‘With your own hatred! Your contempt for anyone who isn’t exactly like you! You’ve made enemies of half the wizarding world and then you wonder why you have to hide – !’
‘ENOUGH.’
Father’s hand slammed against the table, rattling the china. Regulus even flinched hard enough to spill soup all over himself, and Kreacher appeared in the doorway, wringing his hands, but disappeared again when Father waved him away with one sharp gesture. Mother still stood frozen to the spot, looking as though she might explode in anger. Father was looking positively fuming himself.
Sirius, however, remained still.
‘You dare,’ Father said, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage, ‘you dare lecture us about the state of our world? You, who has spent years consorting with the scum of the earth? You, who speak so highly of that half-blood of a headmaster –’
‘Professor Dumbledore is a great man.’
‘Get out,’ said Father, teeth clenched and face twisted in fury and contempt. ‘Get out of my sight. I will not sit at this table and listen to such filth.’
‘Fine,’ spat Sirius, scraping his chair loudly over the floor as he stood. He walked calmly out of the dining room, more calm than he had any right being. But the calm didn’t last; he was nearly running by the time he reached his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and stood there, breathing hard, his whole body trembling.
Get out.
The words echoed in his head. He’d meant get out of the room, of course. Go upstairs and stay there until he could behave himself, until he was ready to apologise and pretend to be the son they wanted.
But as he stood there, in his bedroom, staring at the pictures on his walls, as he had done all holiday so far, something that had nagged him in the back of his mind for days, if not years, suddenly came to him in full force.
Why should he stay? Why should he spend his days locked up here, counting down the hours until he could leave again? Why should he come back for the summer, or the summer after that, or ever again?
‘Get out’, Father had said.
Fine. He would.
He pulled his trunk from the wardrobe and threw it open on his bed. He grabbed clothes, books, anything he could get his hands on and he shoved it all inside. His wand. His books – the ones that weren’t still at school, at least. The photograph of him and James and Remus and Peter from last summer. His winter cloak. It was just as he grabbed his money pouch that he finally slowed down; it was nearly empty. He opened it and counted one Sickle and three Knuts. Not nearly enough to take Knight Bus. He’d been planning to go to Gringotts the day before term started to get more, but that was ages away now, and suddenly utterly impossible.
The Floo network wouldn’t work either; his parents had disconnected the house from it years ago. And his broom was still at Hogwarts, locked away in the broom shed.
There was no other option. He had to Apparate.
He’d been practising, of course – all of them had, in secret, because who wanted to wait until they were seventeen to learn something so useful? James had got the hang of it months ago. Sirius had managed it a few times, but only ever over short distances. Twenty feet was his record at the moment. And the Potters did not live twenty feet away.
He looked at his trunk, at all the things he had just frantically collected and put inside. Then he grabbed only his wand and pulled out his winter cloak, putting it on. Everything else would have to stay. He could come back for it later, or – no, he probably couldn’t, not after this. But it didn’t matter. They were just books.
And a photograph, a little voice in the back of his head reminded him. and –
Footsteps. He had to leave. Now.
He walked to the window – the window that had so often been his saviour, his escape plan, his way out of hell even when he was little. He climbed onto the windowsill and cast one last look at the trunk sitting on his bed, at all his possessions still inside it. Then he opened the window and jumped out, without looking back.
He landed in the cold street, scraping his knees against the hard pavement. It was dark out and the street was empty. He rose, pulling his cloak tighter around himself as his breath fogged in the frigid air. He turned around. He could see them sitting in the dining room, chatting animatedly about something or the other – likely blood, and how horrible Muggles were, and how that Dark Lord of theirs was going to achieve great things, and all that utter nonsense. How long until they found him missing? How long until they realised he had left for good this time? It wasn’t the first time he’d run away. But it would be the last.
He turned back around and closed his eyes, scrunching up his face as he concentrated long and hard on the Potters front garden. He’d been there so often he could picture it perfectly in his mind, and some confidence came back to him. He could do this. He just had to fix the image in his mind, make it feel as real as the ground beneath his feet … there it was … he could do this, he was sure of it … he had to …
He turned on his heel.
The last thing he knew before the dark claimed him was the terrifying, excruciating pain of his body being ripped apart.