The early years
1962
Sirius is 3 years old and sitting on his mothers lap. Her knee is gently bouncing him up and down and her hands are rubbing soothing circles on his little tummy. Sirius loves watching his mother’s hands. When she shifts, the light catches the large emerald in her ring, sending a soft cascade of green light flickering across the room. It's mesmerizing to look at. He wraps his tiny hand around one of her fingers. Sirius can’t help but think that his mummy must have the softest hands in the entire world.
1964
It’s almost impossible for Sirius to keep his eyes open. No matter how hard he tries, his eyelids keep falling shut. His room gets cold this time of year, but the duvet lays heavy, protecting him from the February chill. Leaning over his mother’s lap, he checks on Regulus—he's still awake. It's decided then; Sirius must stay awake as well. He is older after all and should be up longer than Regulus. It's as simple as that.
“Sirius, what are you doing? Lay back down,” Walburga snaps.
Reluctantly, he complies, rubbing his eyes. He stifles a yawn and focuses on the book she’s reading to them.
“That was the last star in the Andromeda constellation. You boys should sleep now, we'll read more tomorrow,” she says, closing the book around her finger.
Sirius doesn’t need convincing, but Regulus, awake as ever, points to a page in the half-closed book.
“It says my name, Mummy! Can we please do me? Just one more,” he begs, his eyes big and round.
Walburga gets up from the bed. The absence of her warmth is felt instantly, and Sirius doesn't appreciate it. “But sweet Regulus, you already know everything there is to know about the Leo constellation and your star."
It's true. Regulus is obsessed with his own star.
“Just tell me one more time.”
"It's getting late, and Sirius can hardly stay awake. We should let him get some sleep.”
That is definitely not true. Sirius could stay awake—after all he is older than Regulus. He is the big brother, and big brothers are awake.
“Am not!” He protests. making his eyes big so that he’ll look more awake.
His mother sends him a skeptical look.
“See! Sirius is awake! Oh just one more, Mummy, ” Regulus pleads.
Sirius and Regulus share a look before they tilt their heads and flash their most angelic smiles.
“One more then-”
“Yes!!” Regulus exclaims.
“But it’s the last one, do you hear me boys?” She sends them both a stern look.
“Yes, Mummy,” they say in unison.
“Alright then,” she says as she gets back in bed.
“Regulus, the brightest star in the constellation Leo. The Lion is a harbinger of spring in the Northern Hemisphere,” she reads.
Regulus is holding his breath. Sirius doesn’t think it's possible for his little brother's eyes to get any bigger. Sirius snuggles closer to his mother, and she drapes an arm around him as she continues to read.
“Regulus is also commonly known as Qalb Al Asad, from the Arabic phrase meaning, ‘the heart of the lion.’”
“ The heart of the lion, ” Regulus whispers, enthralled.
“Le cœur du lion,” Walburga confirms.
She reads for a while and when they are both on the brink of sleep, she kisses their foreheads and leaves the room.
Sirius yawns again and tug the duvet closer, on his way to a blissful sleep when he hears Regulus whisper.
“You're just daddy's dog, but I’m the heart of the lion.”
The words hit Sirius with a strange, hollow pang. He turns to retort, but Regulus is already fast asleep. He turns on his back and stares at the ceiling, his previously sleep dulled eyelids now wide open.
You're just daddy's dog, but I’m the heart of the lion .
The words start to echo in Sirius’s mind, picking at something he can’t name.
Just daddy’s dog.
The phrase unsettles him like a weight pressing on his chest, even though he doesn’t quite understand why. He casts one more glance at his brother, and then he gets up.
He creeps down the halls until he reaches the big door at the end. He hesitates before he knocks. There's some shuffling on the other side and then the creaky noise of the old wooden door opening.
His mother appears looking like an angel in her nightgown—her long hair hanging loose and the soft light from the room haloing around her.
“Sirius? I told you to sleep,” she says in an annoyed tone.
“I know and I was… it's just… Reggie said something.” His voice is hoarse.
Walburga doesn't look impressed. Her arms are crossed and she’s clearly waiting for him to go on.
Sirius tries to swallow the lump in his throat. “It’s just.. he said that.. that I am just daddy’s dog and that he is the heart of the lion..”
Walburga softens a bit. She crouches down and puts her hands on his shoulders. It puts Sirius at ease.
“He’s right, your brother,” she says, firm but gentle
Sirius blinks at her, stunned.
“You are Orion's dog, and he is the lion's heart, but you're also the brightest star in the sky, and more importantly you're my boy.” She strokes his hair. “You might be your father’s dog, but you'll always, always be mummy’s prince.”
Sirius should feel proud hearing this—her boy, her prince. And a part of him does, but another part of him is oddly uneasy, as if there’s something in her words he should understand but can’t quite grasp. He tells himself that prince is the part that matters, the part he’ll remember. But the echo of dog lingers.
xxx
She says her name is Miss Fawley, and that she's here to get them started on their education (“and not a second too soon”).
“But Mother says we’re going to Hogwarts for our education,” Sirius points out, confused.
“That's not for many years, Sirius. What I will teach you is simply the bare minimum of what a pureblood and especially an heir should know to get by in society.” She follows her words with a pointed look in Sirius’ direction.
“Do you play piano?” She asks.
“I do,” Sirius says. “Regulus doesn't yet. He'll start when he turns four.”
Miss Fawley tutters. “I’ll have to talk to Mrs. Black about that, he really ought to begin right away.”
xxx
Miss Fawley is the meanest lady Sirius has ever had the displeasure of encountering. Everything about her is pointy: her shoes, her nose, her nails and especially her tongue. She's a small woman with a scrawny figure—like a scarecrow. Her gray hair sits in a tight bun on top of her head, and she's never seen without a frown. She's teaching them a variety of things: Astrology, Potions, Piano, Ballroom Dance, History of Magic, Theoretical Charms and Theoretical Transfiguration. (Their magic is still too unpredictable for them to do any practical work in these subjects.)
Monday through Friday, she's there teaching them, but to Sirius, it's more like she's torturing them. Just being in the same room as her gives Sirius chills; he wouldn’t be surprised if the temperature actually dropped the moment she click-clacks into the room, her wand being the only thing raised higher than her nose.
Beyond the magical subjects, she's also teaching them how to read and write, smacking their fingers with her wand when they don't perform satisfactory enough. Sirius finds the material easy enough as long as he can stay focused; not an easy task when Miss Fawleys sharp and bitter perfume is suffocating the room. Regulus on the other hand is finding the stuff more difficult to learn. Sirius has tried explaining to Miss Fawley that he just needs a little more time to understand it, but she just slapped his fingers for talking back to her.
After one particularly rough piano lesson, Regulus, fingers bleeding, runs crying to Walburga and tells her everything. Sirius watches as she dismisses her crying son and tells him that a bit of discipline is important for boys during their formative years.
It gives him a bitter, twisting feeling in his stomach. Sirius looks at his little brother, with his red hands and eyes. Regulus looks like a porcelain figure that has been dropped on the floor.
He looks at his own hands, the pale skin is perfectly intact. There are no red marks of mistakes. I won't let her do it to him again, he thinks. From now on, I'll be there to protect him.
Miss Fawley leaves the room and Sirius glares after her, holding his breath, her scent clinging to his clothes and lingering in the air long after she’s gone. It’s a scent that makes him want to pull back, but no matter where he goes, the smell seems to follow, as if it has seeped into the very walls of their home.
Sirius likes Saturdays the best, because on Saturdays Orion takes them out for flying practice in the garden. It's the only time Sirius has ever seen his father truly relax. Orion still carries the same serious look on his face, but his body is less tense. One time, Sirius even caught him leaning back, his face basking in the sunshine. Sirius thinks about this moment a lot, because he felt like he understood his father right there. He too likes to look at the sun, even if it fills him with a feeling he can’t quite put his finger on—like wherever the sun is, that’s his real home. Like if he could just keep chasing it, one day he’d end up somewhere that felt right.
Orion treats flying like a science—technique matters above all. As a former Seeker, his form and precision are nothing short of perfection, and he’s determined that his sons learn the same. That’s why he teaches them himself, rather than delegating the task to someone else.
Despite his young age, Regulus—like Orion—is the picture of poise on a broom. His back is straight, his grip firm, and his knees bend just at the right angle. Sirius, on the other hand, is a fucking rocket—much to his father’s dismay. He’s not concerned with form—he’s all about speed. For Sirius, flying isn’t about control; it’s about freedom. When he’s flying, it doesn’t matter that the rain soaks him through or that he’s not great at keeping his balance. The falls, the crashes—they’re part of the thrill. What matters are those few seconds before the impact, when he’s going full speed, and finally feels like he can breathe.
Summer 1965
“I KILLED SIRIUS BLACK! I KILLED BLACK!”
“You cheated!” Sirius screams, his wet hair plastered against his face, dripping onto his already-soaking shirt. “My back was turned! It’s not fair!”
“It’s a duel, cousin. You’ve got to give it all you’ve got,” Bellatrix says, flipping her hair smugly.
The game was called Awater Kedavra, and it's Sirius’s current favorite. The rules are simple: every man for himself, and the last dry one standing wins. Shields are allowed; drying spells are not. Bellatrix had come up with it early in the summer, and it had been their go-to activity ever since.
Before Sirius had managed the spell he'd been on Andromeda's team, just like Regulus, who didn't even have a wand—had been on Narcissa’s team. Andy had helped Sirius practice over and over again until he could finally cast the spell. The day he produced his first proper jet of water, he was ecstatic—and insisted on being his own team.
He isn’t exactly skilled, though. Where the others can produce streams of water ranging from a pressure washer to a showerhead, Sirius’ attempts look more like a sputtering garden hose. Still, he doesn't care. He is determined to stand on his own, no matter how upset it makes him when he loses.
Andromeda is Sirius’ favorite cousin. She isn’t mean like Bellatrix, and unlike Narcissa, she actually answers his questions. Last Christmas, Sirius had convinced his mother to buy her a camera. Now, every time Andromeda sees him, she brings him photos from Hogwarts—pictures of the castle, her friends, the Quidditch pitch. Sirius kept every single one of them, tucked away in a box under his bed.
Unfortunately, Andromeda is also the cousin he sees the least. He spends most of his time with Narcissa. Since she isn’t at Hogwarts yet, she often looks after him and Regulus when Walburga and Orion are out, and Miss Fawley is unavailable. Technically, Cygnus is supposed to supervise them, but he usually sends the boys straight to Narcissa’s room instead.
Sirius does not mind. Cissy is always nicer when it's just the three of them. At big dinners or family gatherings, she ignores them in favor of talking to her sisters, but alone, she lets them touch her things and shows them the new spells she's learned.
“I can’t wait to be at Hogwarts,” Narcissa sighs one afternoon, flopping onto her bed dramatically.
“Me neither!” Regulus chimes in, climbing up beside her to mimic her pose. Sirius rolls his eyes. Cissy has always been Regulus’s favorite cousin, and Sirius thinks Cissy feels the same way about him.
“It’ll be a hundred years before you’re at Hogwarts,” Sirius teases, smirking.
“Nu-uh! Not a hundred!” Regulus protests, his voice rising.
“Almost! You don’t even have a waRegulus’snd yet,” Sirius shot back.
“Well, you just got yours!” Regulus’ face scrunches, and his voice cracks. He looks ready to cry.
“All right, enough of that,” Narcissa cut in sharply, sitting up and brushing imaginary dust off her dress. Her cool, doll-like face doesn’t so much as twitch. “Hogwarts will come soon enough.”
Sirius watches her, fascinated. Narcissa always seems so grown-up. Of all the kids he knows, no one can sit as straight or look as poised as she does. It’s unnatural. One time, he’d asked her how she managed it. She’d just smiled her knowing little smile and said nothing, as if the question wasn’t worth answering.
He used to think she might actually be an adult in disguise—a proper Black woman trapped in a child’s body. Sometimes, though, when they all tore through the garden laughing, water splashing everywhere and slowly drowning the orchids, he remembered she was just a kid too.
1966
“Are you sure this is a good idea, Sirius?” Regulus asks hesitantly.
“It'll be fine, Reggie. Wait and see.”
“I think it’s going to be brilliant,” Evan exclaims, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.
“Are you sure you can do the spell?” Angus asks, skeptical.
“Only one way to find out, Avery,” Sirius grins, pulling out his wand in one swift motion, whispering, “Colovaria!”
Evan Rosier’s pale white hair instantly shifts to a muddy green. His eyes widen, and his hands fly to his head. The other boys burst out laughing.
“Why did you do that? Why me?! Avery was the one doubting you!”
“Well, you were the one who said it’d be brilliant,” Sirius replies, shooting him a wink.
“Okay, now, gentlemen…” He adopts a theatrical tone, earning a laugh from Regulus. “We need a real victim.”
“What about me?” Evan asks, desperately. “Can you undo it? You do know the spell, don’t you, Sirius?”
Sirius ignores him, scanning the ballroom. Everywhere witches and wizards are standing in groups, chatting and laughing. His eyes land on an older witch wearing a large hat.
“I’m thinking Mrs. Abbott,” he says.
“No, she’ll never notice. Plus, she always hides all of her hair under that hideous hat.”
“Yuck. Good point.” Sirius’ gaze continues around the room.
“What about Miss Lestrange?” Avery suggests.
“Maybe…” Sirius says, tilting his head as he watches the small woman refill her glass for the fourth time. She pops an olive into her mouth, and her lipstick smears, leaving a red smudge on her cheek.
“I’m not sure—” he begins, but Regulus interrupts.
“I know who!” He exclaims excitedly. “Sirius, look!” He points.
The boys follow Regulus' finger and find themselves staring at a tall, elegant woman. She’s slim, wearing a long, dark green gown, and telling an engaging story, waving her arms around. But none of the boys are really paying attention to any of that. They're all staring at the long, silver hair cascading down her back.
“Of course!” Sirius gasps. “Miss Malfoy.”
“She’s perfect,” Avery declares.
“You sly genius.” Sirius grins and bumps shoulders with Regulus, who smiles back.
“What color should we do?” Evan asks eagerly, apparently having forgotten about his own hair disaster.
“I’m thinking pink. What do you think, Reggie?” Sirius asks.
“Pink!” Regulus laughs.
“Pink it is, then!”
The boys are practically giddy with excitement as Sirius pulls out his wand. He’s about to cast the spell when the tablecloth above them is suddenly pulled up, letting the lights and sounds of the party flood in.
“There you guys are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Andromeda’s face appears.
They all freeze, faces filled with terror.
“You all look very guilty. What’s going on? And why are you hiding under here anyway?” She asks skeptically.
“Nothing,” Sirius says, trying to sound nonchalant.
Andy clearly doesn’t buy it, but she lets it slide. “The Yaxleys have arrived, and the kid is looking for you, Angus.”
Avery quickly hurries out from under the table, with Evan following in heels. Andy watches them go.
“What happened to Evan’s hair?” she asks, sounding repulsed.
Sirius and Regulus exchange a look.
“Nothing,” they say in unison.
Andy doesn’t question it. She simply mutters a “finite” in Evan’s direction, and his hair returns to a dull straw blonde before anyone can notice. Then she turns back to the boys.
“Your mum is asking for you. Dinner’s about to be served.”
Sirius starts to get up.
“Oh, and Sirius?” Andromeda adds, her voice taking on a playful tone. “Maybe it’s best if I just hold onto your wand for the rest of the night, yeah?”
Christmas 1968
Sirius has always loved Christmas. Everything feels softer this time of year. The house, usually so big and cold with its marble floors and angry portraits, feels more homey when it’s decorated for the holidays. Soaring candles float in the hallways, rows of silver tinsel shimmer on the ceilings, and the enormous 20-foot-tall tree sparkles with the most amazing ornaments Sirius has ever seen. Each ornament is a crystal ball with tiny magical scenes inside—a man chopping wood, a snowy Quidditch match, a pair of deer grazing in the woods.
He isn’t allowed to touch any of it, of course, but just looking feels like a thrill. He and Reg used to spend hours in the library inspecting the ornaments’ designs, inventing stories for the people inside.
The holidays also mean the house is full of people. Sirius doesn’t like most of them, especially his father’s stern French relatives, who send stinging hexes after him if he conjugates verbs wrong—but he likes to watch them. Sitting at the top of the staircase, he peers down at the swirling crowd, listening to their voices like it’s a play.
Some people he likes, though. One of the best parts of Christmas is his cousins coming home for it. They discuss their teachers, classmates, and what boys they think are cute. Sirius does his very best to keep quiet, hoping they’ll forget he’s there and he can keep listening in.
But Sirius’ absolute favorite part of Christmas is helping his mother brew the Astrarium Draught. The potion creates a glowing map of the night sky above the drinker’s head. With a simple spell, you can summon stars and constellations into the air. Sirius has never been allowed to drink it—no matter how much he begs, the answer is always “no”—but he loves making it.
Every year, his mother lets him into her potions lab for one night to help brew it. It’s the only time he’s allowed in there, and Sirius knows better than to mess it up. Potion brewing demands precision and concentration—two things Sirius struggles with—but he would never jeopardize the tradition.
Most of the time, he just watches her. It’s nice to be close to her like this. Perched on his stool, he tries not to ask too many questions as she chops and measures ingredients. Sometimes she lets him stir—supervised, of course—but he doesn’t mind; It makes him feel like he’s part of something important. And he has every intention of proving she can trust him with the task.
Then there’s Uncle Alphard. He’s the reason why they make the Astrarium Draught in the first place. Alphard is a bit of an oddball in the family. Sirius has never seen him at any of the grand Black events—no galas, no formal dinners. Sirius only ever sees him at Christmas, when he stumbles in smelling of firewhiskey, carrying chocolates for Sirius and Reg. Alphard is kind, at least compared to Sirius’ other uncle, Cygnus, who gets cruel when he drinks. Alphard just gets sleepy.
But for one night, Alphard comes alive. On Christmas Eve, he drinks the Astrarium Draught and tells the story of the Black bloodline to the family. Every year, it’s the same story—tales of stars, great men, and the purity of the blood that runs through their family's veins. It’s mesmerizing. His raspy voice fills the room as constellations swirl above his head. He gestures with rough, calloused hands, summoning whole galaxies, and Sirius stares, barely breathing.
He doesn’t want it to end. For a few minutes, even his parents are quiet, their sharp edges softened by the glow of the stars. When Alphard finishes, the room feels darker, smaller. He always downs a few more drinks and collapses on the futon in the hallway, leaving Sirius and Reg to peek at the stars still floating over his head.
xxx
“Mother, when are we brewing this year?” Sirius asks, excitement in his eyes. It's December 23rd, and they’re having breakfast. Walburga doesn’t answer. She must not have heard him. He clears his throat and tries again.
“When are we brewing this year, Mother?”
Walburga doesn’t look up from the Daily Prophet.
“I’m afraid we won’t be doing that this year,” she says in a stiff voice.
Sirius feels his stomach drop. Beside him, Regulus turns his head to send him a worried look.
“But... what about Uncle Alphard and his story?” Sirius tries carefully.
“Alphard won’t be attending Christmas,” she states coldly.
“This year?” Regulus pipes up.
“Ever.”
“But can’t someone else take over for him?” Sirius asks, feeling desperate. He can’t afford to lose this tradition. “Can’t Dad tell the story?”
“Sirius, you’re giving me a headache. If you want stories, we have a perfectly good library that you are free to use. Now I don’t want to hear any more about it.”
xxx
“Isn’t it weird that Alphard isn’t here to tell that story?” Andromeda asks, putting a few potatoes onto her plate.
“Yeah. What are we going to do after dinner now?” Regulus adds, not looking up from his plate.
Sirius watches them from the edge of the dining room, his hands curled tightly into fists in his lap. He hasn’t touched his food, though the rich smells of roast chicken and freshly baked bread fill the air.
“Maybe talk to your family instead of hearing about it? You four were always so bloody obsessed with that story,” Narcissa says, her voice high and airy as she flips her hair over her shoulder. “Personally, I never cared for it.”
“You just felt left out because you’re not named after the night sky,” Bellatrix teases, a sly smile curling on her lips. “No,” Narcissa contradicts, shaking her head. “I just think it’s a waste of time, that’s all.”
“Sure you do, Cissy,” Bella fake-comforts, her tone dripping with mock sweetness.
“When you said talk to the family, Cissy, did you mean Father’s mean aunts or Uncle Orion’s psycho cousins?” Andromeda whispers, looking around.
They all break out in laughter, all except Sirius. Sirius has been feeling off ever since yesterday—like he’s lost an essential part of himself and doesn’t know how to get it back.
xxx
Christmas 1968 ends up being a strange one. On the surface, it seemed the same as always—tinsel, ornaments, dinner, and presents—but something was different. The adults huddled in corners, whispering to each other with serious expressions. Nobody paid Sirius any attention except when they sent him to bed early. The worst part, though, was that the magic was gone. Christmas had always been a time when the house felt softer, more like home, but this year, nothing felt right. The white snow outside was beautiful, but it only added to the chill inside. Little did he know, it would be years before he would enjoy Christmas again.
On December 26th, Sirius can't take it anymore. He walks toward the door of his father’s study, each step slow and deliberate, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, but he knows he has to ask. His hand hovers over the doorknob, but he hesitates. His breath is shallow as he knocks on the door.
“Who is it?” Orion’s voice rings out.
“It’s me, Papa,” Sirius says carefully.
“Oh, Sirius,” Orion says with a stone face. “Come in.”
Sirius steps in, letting the door fall closed behind him. He looks around—he can count on one hand how many times he’s been in here. The study is dimly lit, the shadows of the bookshelves stretching long across the floor. The fire crackles in the hearth, but the warmth doesn’t reach him. His father is sitting at his desk, papers scattered in front of him, his face obscured by the flickering light. His father’s voice cuts through his thoughts.
“What do you want, Sirius?”
Sirius swallows hard, trying to steady his breath. He feels small standing there, too small for his own body.
“What happened, Father?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“What happened to what?” Orion asks, still shuffling through his papers.
Sirius’ chest tightens as he answers.
“To Christmas.”
He feels the tears well up in his eyes, but he quickly blinks them away. His father doesn’t like criers.
Orion just looks at him, as if Sirius had spoken Arabic. The silence stretches for miles between them.
“Why didn’t Uncle Alphard come?” Sirius asks, his voice cracking despite his best efforts to sound steady.
Orion’s face hardens, his eyes narrowing. There’s a flicker of something dark in his gaze.
“Why didn’t Uncle Alphard come?”
“I thought your mother told you not to talk about it,” he growls, standing up quickly, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. He begins to usher Sirius out of the room.
Sirius stumbles back, his breath catching in his throat. He feels the sting of hot tears again, but he holds them back. When he reaches the door, he lets out a final plea.
“Please.”
Orion looks at him for the first time during the conversation. His eyes are the same gray as Sirius’s own, but smaller and meaner. His teeth flash as he speaks.
“He wasn’t pure.”
And then, without another word, Orion takes a step back, making the heavy door slam shut, leaving Sirius feeling very small.
1969
Miss Fawley has started being around more. On top of educating them, she’s taken on other tasks. She’s the one they have dinner with at night, the one who sends them to bed—only to raid their father’s bar once they’re asleep. She’s also the one who looks after them when Orion and Walburga are out, which is often these days. Under Miss Fawley’s reign, the house feels colder than ever. The fires are never lit, leaving the rooms dim and freezing. The hallways seem bigger, emptier, and the portraits glare down at them with sharper, angrier eyes. Sirius knows better than to complain to his parents.
Orion never takes them flying on Sundays anymore. He says they’re good enough to do well in class, and if they want to make the Quidditch team, they’ll have to practice on their own. Sometimes they do. Sirius and Regulus grab their brooms and soar around the gardens, but it’s never the same—especially not with Miss Fawley’s hawk-like gaze watching from the windows.
Sirius hardly ever sees his cousins anymore, not since Narcissa started Hogwarts. Even when the long-awaited school breaks roll around, they’re always busy. And with the number of pureblood events dwindling, he doesn’t see them at those either.
He spends most of his time with Regulus. The two of them hide out in his room, the library, or sometimes even the kitchen—if Miss Fawley is being especially awful. They make jokes, practice spells, and read books to each other. It’s nice being with Regulus. Sometimes Regulus sleeps in Sirius’s bed. Sirius tells himself it’s for Regulus’s sake, because he’s scared. But he’s secretly glad not to be alone.
The house is freezing, and Sirius feels like there’s never enough air. By the time summer arrives, Sirius understands that the freezing house has nothing to do with the weather. And when his birthday comes, he realizes he’s almost used to it.
1970
Sirius is ten years old the first time his mother hits him. They’re fighting—a new thing they’ve started doing. Sirius is screaming, throwing himself onto the floor. His mother is yelling at him to get up and behave. He doesn’t know how long the fight has been going on. Time blurs when things get like this.
Sirius’s mind shuts off in situations like these. All he feels is the anger, expanding and burning through his body, making his blood boil and his throat raw. He feels it growing larger and larger, coating his insides. It’s already seeping out of every crevasse and soon there won’t be anymore room for it in his body, and he’ll explode! He feels like he’s about to burst—his skin cracking, his body splitting open—and then…
He feels something else.
Skin and bone.
Cool, hard metal.
The sharp, burning sting.
The blood rushing to his cheek.
He looks up at his mother. She stares back at him, her face frozen in shock. Her hand is still raised mid-air, palm flat, like time itself has stopped. He can’t tell if those are her tears shining in her eyes or his own, reflected back at him.
For a moment, Sirius is unsure if time will ever start again.
But, of course, it does.
A crash from the kitchen shatters the stillness. His mother blinks, turns sharply on her heels, and strides out of the room without a word, leaving only the echo of her footsteps on the marble floor and the mark on Sirius’s cheek behind.
Sirius stays where he is, frozen in that moment until Andromeda finds him. He doesn’t know why she’s there, but her presence snaps him back to reality.
“Hey… hey, hey. Come here, little man,” she says softly, crouching beside him. “Come here, Sirius. Tell me what happened.”
Her voice is so warm, so gentle. But Sirius doesn’t have room for warmth. He’s already burning up from the inside. He needs to cool down, to let the fire escape. His jaw aches from clenching his teeth, the air feels thick and suffocating, and he can’t hold it back anymore.
He cries. No—he sobs. Deep, guttural, infant-like sobs wrench free from his chest. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop.
“Oh, baby,” Andy whispers, pulling him into her arms.
Being held feels foreign to Sirius, but Andy’s embrace is soothing, like smothering a fire with a wool blanket.
She cups his face, and that’s when she notices the swelling on his cheek. Her breath hitches.
“Is this the first time it’s happened?”
Sirius, too choked by tears to speak, nods.
Her thumb brushes his cheek with a tenderness that makes him want to cry all over again. Her voice, though soft, is strained.
“Listen, Sirius. Our family... it holds onto some very old, very ugly values. Values they think are more important than the well-being of the people in it. It’s not how things should be, but it’s the hand we’ve been dealt. I’d hoped—prayed—that you and Regulus wouldn’t have to go through this, but now I see that was in vain. There are ways to survive this, though. But I need to know you’re listening to me. Are you listening?”
Sirius, wide-eyed, nods.
“Good. Here it is: you have to keep swimming.”
“Swimming?” he echoes, his voice small.
“Yes. Swimming. Our family is an ocean, Sirius. A dark, violent ocean. The undercurrent will pull you under and eat you alive the second you stop moving. Some days, treading water will be enough. But never, ever stop swimming.”
Andy stands, her hands dropping away from his face.
“I have to go,” she says. “But Sirius—”
He looks up at her, his tear-streaked face full of questions.
“Choose your battles. Sometimes, the only way to survive is to keep your head down. Remember that.”
And with that, she’s gone, leaving Sirius alone in the dim, freezing library. But her words linger, sinking deep into his chest like stones dropped into water.
xxx
The following week, Sirius tells Miss Fawley he’s sick. She insists on calling a healer, but he convinces her to let him ride it out in his room, and since his parents are away on business there’s no one to object.
Kreacher brings him his meals, setting the trays down without a word. Sometimes, Regulus slips in with books, placing them carefully on the nightstand. It’s a nice gesture but Sirius doesn’t touch them.
He spends most of his time staring into the mirror.
A bruise sprawls across his cheekbone, deep purple at the center, fading to sickly yellow at the edges. A thin cut splits the skin above it, scabbed over in a jagged line. He touches it absently, feeling the sting beneath his fingertips.
He did that. He drove her over the edge, and now he’s bleeding for it.
He’s always known he was difficult.
Now, he wonders if he’s actually broken.
When he’s not looking in the mirror, he stares at the ceiling. It’s not enchanted, but if he looks long enough, he can pretend. He imagines birds flying free in the morning sky, and stars twinkling happily at night. He builds beautiful worlds around him, floating through them weightlessly, until he starts to feel estranged in his real room and in his real body.
In his mind, the air is softer.
In his mind the silence doesn’t press down on him quite so hard.
But eventually, reality seeps in and the ceiling is just a ceiling, and the air is still heavy.
Sometimes when he disappears in his own world, he starts to doubt whether the thing in the library actually happened. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe he made it up.
Maybe he deserved it.
That’s when he has to get up. He forces himself to the mirror, traces the bruises with his eyes, reminding himself of what happened. He presses his fingers to his cheek, just to feel it. Just to make sure it’s still there.
The cycle continues until Orion returns home. He takes one look at Sirius and hands him a vial of healing potion. No questions. No hesitation. Just a simple order: “Drink.”
Sirius obeys. The bruises fade. The cut vanishes. The proof disappears.
But the feeling stays.
August 19th, 1971
The Nimbus 1000 gleams majestically in the early August sun. Sirius stands among a crowd of children, admiring the broomstick on display in Diagon Alley. The street buzzes with the usual back-to-school energy, filled with families and students preparing for Hogwarts. Sirius wonders how many of the kids here will be his classmates and how many will be Slytherins like him. He scans their faces, finding none familiar. Not pure-bloods, then. Straightening his back, he strides confidently down the street. He feels their eyes on him, like peasants gawking at royalty.
He glances at the clock above Flourish and Blotts. How long does he have before Miss Fawley and Regulus finish with Regulus’s robe fitting? His wandering thoughts are interrupted when he spots a familiar face.
“Andy!” Sirius calls, breaking into a brisk walk to catch up.
Andromeda is standing in conversation with Bellatrix. Bella has her back turned. Beside them is a young man Sirius doesn’t recognize, his brown hair tousled, wearing a corduroy jacket. None of them notice him, so he calls out again, louder this time.
“Bellatrix! Andromeda!”
This time, Andromeda turns toward him, her face flashing with panic. Bellatrix doesn’t move. Andromeda leans in to whisper something to the man, who hurries off just as Sirius reaches them.
“Andy!” Sirius exclaims, his excitement undeterred.
“Hi there, Sirius!” Andromeda says, pulling him into a quick hug. Her voice is warm, but her eyes still dart nervously around the busy street. “What are you doing here? Are you alone?”
Sirius turns to address Bellatrix, but freezes. It isn’t Bellatrix.
The woman before him has the same black, curly hair and slim frame, but her face is softer, her eyes kind, and her lips curve into a smile.
“Hi, I’m Jane,” the woman says, extending a pale hand.
Sirius stares at her, confused.
“Sirius, this is Jane Summers. We were at school together,” Andromeda explains.
Sirius’s mind races to process what he’s seeing. He leans toward Andromeda, his voice a sharp whisper. “But Andy—she’s not pure. How can you surround yourself with such scum?”
“Sirius!” Andromeda recoils, horrified.
“It’s okay,” Jane interjects gently. “Remember how you were when we first met?” She chuckles, a sound like bells.
Then she turns her gaze to Sirius. “Have you ever met a Muggle-born before?”
“No,” Sirius replies quickly, almost defensively.
Jane tilts her head, her patience unwavering. “What have you heard about us?”
Sirius lifts his chin defiantly. “That you’re filthy and polluting the magical world.”
Jane pauses, then spreads her arms. “Take a look at me.”
Sirius blinks, caught off guard. Jane spins in a slow circle, her smile never faltering.
“Do I look filthy to you?”
Sirius hesitates. She doesn’t look filthy. She looks... beautiful.
He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly.
“And she’s better at magic than I ever was,” Andromeda adds, smiling softly.
Jane gives an exaggerated bow, making Sirius crack the smallest of smiles.
Andromeda crouches down, meeting Sirius at eye level. “Listen, Sirius. Muggle-borns are just people, like you and me. I know the family talks about blood purity, but the truth is—”
“Andy!” The man from before appears again, slightly out of breath. “It’s time.”
Andromeda’s expression turns urgent. She glances back at Sirius. “Look, Sirius, I have to go. It’s best if you don’t tell anyone about this, okay? Please.”
“Andy, now,” the man urges, picking up a bag at her feet. Sirius hadn’t even noticed it.
“Please Ted, I'll be there in one minute.” She snaps.
“Take care of yourself, Sirius,” Andromeda says softly, her eyes lingering on him with a mix of love and sadness.
Sirius reaches out instinctively. “But you’ll come to the ‘night before Hogwarts’ dinner, right?”
Andromeda stalls for a second before hurrying after her companions.
Jane turns and gives Sirius a cheerful wave. “Nice to meet you, Sirius Black!” she calls.
Andromeda doesn’t look back.
xxx
Something is wrong.
Sirius can’t put his finger on it, but the house seems to buzz with it. It’s in the way the walls feel closer than usual, in the way the air seems thick, like it’s pressing against his skin. It makes his stomach twist. It makes him restless. It makes him impatient to leave.
But there’s still a week until September 1st, and it’s looking to be a long one.
His mother, who’s been distant all summer, suddenly can’t stop hovering.
She fusses over his robes, forcing him to try them on again and again, summoning tailors at the slightest imperfection. She checks his school books repeatedly, as if they might vanish when she isn’t looking. She comments on his posture, his walk, his expressions—correcting him, testing him, molding him.
Her sharp eyes follow him wherever he goes.
The attention makes his skin crawl. It’s not the usual stiff expectations of Grimmauld Place—this is something else. Something is wrong.
And then there are the preparations. The house is full of extra servants, their voices hushed as they clean and decorate for his ‘night before Hogwarts’ dinner. Sirius has been to plenty of these before—for his cousins, and more recently, for his friends. It's an old pureblood tradition to honor the child who’s about to start school. The higher your status, the closer to September 1st your dinner is held.
The Blacks always host theirs on August 31st.
Sirius is used to the stress that comes with event planning, but this feels different.
Something is wrong. And Sirius is standing in the center of it—right in the eye of the hurricane.
August 31st, 1971
The morning of the dinner, Sirius walks downstairs—and stops cold.
The house is empty.
The decorations, the table settings, the floating candles—gone.
Days of preparation, of cleaning and arranging, undone in the span of a night. The space where everything had been looks devastatingly empty.
A sick feeling pulls at his stomach.
He rubs his eyes hard. But nothing changes. The house is still stripped bare, as if the dinner had never existed at all.
He wishes he could turn around and go back upstairs. Pretend he never saw it.
“Sirius, can you come here for a moment?” His mother’s voice drifts from the lounge.
His feet move on their own. He finds her standing by the window, her silhouette framed in the morning light.
“I still remember my first day at Hogwarts,” Walburga says, her voice unusually soft. “The train ride, the Sorting... the first night in the Dungeons. It’s special, Sirius. Remember to enjoy it.”
Sirius stays silent. His throat feels tight. He can feel his guard going up, feel himself turning wary—a feeling that quickly merges into guilt. He should hold onto her words, should listen carefully—she almost never speaks like this. He should be grateful.
But something is wrong.
The nausea that’s been curling in his stomach all week tightens.
She opens her mouth, then stops herself, her expression hardening.
“We need to discuss your dinner,” she says abruptly.
Sirius swallows. “Okay?”
“Your father and I have decided it’s best if it’s just the four of us.”
The floor tilts.
“What?”
“It’s too much for Regulus,” Walburga says, her tone leaving no room for argument. “He’s sensitive. You know that.”
Regulus? That doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.
Something in his chest clenches—like a string pulled too tight.
His hands don’t feel like his own. His arms are foreign, heavy at his sides.
“But... Mother, I—”
“No more, Sirius. This is how it will be.”
His voice feels distant when he asks, “Will my cousins be there?”
The moment the words leave his mouth, he knows the answer.
Walburga’s expression darkens.
“She’s no good, that girl. There’s no need to speak of her again, since you won’t be seeing her anymore.”
Sirius blinks.
“What girl?” he asks, confused.
Walburga ignores him.
“I always knew something wasn’t right with that girl. Blood traitor from birth,” she mutters, almost to herself.
Blood traitor?!
His thoughts are racing, trying to catch up, trying to make sense of it. His family. One of his own.
Then he remembers Jane. He remembers what Andromeda told him about their family, that day in the library, and it clicks.
“Andromeda is not a blood traitor,” he says, his voice careful.
Walburga’s eyes flash.
“Of course she is,” she spits. “Running away with that... that mudblood.”
Running away?
The words land like a blow to the chest.
Everything shifts—the walls feel further away, then too close. The floor doesn’t feel solid beneath his feet.
He rubs his eyes.
Walburga exhales sharply, collecting herself.
“It doesn't matter,” she says smoothly. “Now she's gone, we don’t have to worry about her corrupting the bloodline.”
Sirius barely hears her. His head feels stuffed with cotton. The world feels flat, two-dimensional, like a moving painting instead of something real. It’s like he’s watching himself from outside his body.
Walburga's gaze softens as she looks at him. She strokes his hair, and the sensation is almost too much.
“Who allowed you to grow up so fast?”
Sirius doesn’t answer. He can’t.
“I can’t believe my oldest boy is starting Hogwarts tomorrow,” she murmurs. “My perfect prince.”
He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut, trying to find something to hold onto. Trying to take in her words.
Say it again when I’m really here.
But when he opens his eyes—she’s gone.
xxx
“Are you nervous?” Regulus asks.
It helps, being in Regulus’ room—hidden away from their mother’s gaze. Sirius always feels more at ease here, away from the tension of the house, with his little brother beside him.
“Not really,” he lies.
Regulus' eyes widen with wonder. “Wow.” He exhales the word like it’s something sacred. “Hogwarts.”
Sirius smiles to himself.
Hogwarts.
Regulus hesitates. “Do you—” He stops, then tries again. “Do you think you’ll miss me?”
He won’t meet Sirius’ eyes when he asks.
Something heavy drops in Sirius’ chest. If he could, he’d throw out all the robes, all the books—just bring his brother instead.
“Every day,” he answers, and he means it.
Regulus’ lips press together, his chin lifting ever so slightly before he says, “I’ll miss you too.”
Sirius feels warm inside. Regulus has always had an honest bluntness to him, something nobody else in the family has. When Regulus speaks, he means every word. And despite being the eldest, Sirius has always trusted Regulus’ words more than his own.
“You will write, right?”
“I will,” Sirius promises.
That night, he falls asleep in Regulus’ bed, where he dreams of a train waiting to take him far, far away.