Captive
Remus.
The glow of the near full moon shined gently through the barred window, giving Remus enough light to see where he chips at the wood with the knife he’d nicked from the kitchens. He needed a cane. Something to stabilize himself when his weak joints affected his day-to-day demands. His symptoms have gotten worse as he has gotten older and there is really no avoiding him having to use something to stabilize his movements, even when it will make him look weak. Fragile. But he does not wish to bleed anymore for what his captures consider ‘laziness’.
He didn’t really know what he was doing, just following the length of the wood strip with the knife, trying to remember how his dad taught him to do it all those years ago.
He was taken young, around 10 years old, no doubt another easy target, someone to manipulate into their psychotic beliefs. But Remus Lupin was a lot stronger willed than they expected. He’d taken beating after beating, seeking comfort in the quiet and the dark. Refusing to accept the nonsense they tried to shove down his throat.
When they’d grown tired of trying to force his submission, they threw him in here. This was his home now. He slept on top of a blanket, wrapped in the now too small hoodie he’d been given 3 years prior by a boy just like him, rebellious, strong, and kind-hearted. Just smarter dressed, with long strands of midnight black hair tied up in a bun, instead of Remus’ mousy shaved hair he was forced to have. He had saw Remus shivering in his cell and gave him the only thing that hid his features from the officers, the hooded black jacket off his back. He wasn’t supposed to be down there, Remus remembers. He got chased down by guards and hauled out as soon as they caught sight of him. He will never forget that boy nor the look of pure terror in his eyes as they dragged him away.
Setting down the piece of wood that now kind of resembles a crutch, he fiddles with the hem of his jacket and stares into the moonlight seeping through the window, dreaming about finally setting himself free.
12 months later
Sirius.
The table was deathly silent as per usual, only the sound of Sirius’ fork slowly scraping across his porcelain plate filled the ornate dining room. He was rather bored as a matter of fact, forced to act like a posh tosser all day was not his idea of fun. But the Black family need to keep up their appearance for the rest of the organization. When your relatives help develop a community such as ours, where people wouldn’t hesitate to kill for the cause we were ‘destined’ to obtain, it’s pretty much impossible to be yourself in public. Sirius looks over to his brother who has his head tilted, playing with his food. “Reggie, what you thinkin’ about?” Sirius asked, lounged back in his chair, trying look as unbothered by mother’s immediate reply, one she gives him with a glare, not even sparing a glance at her youngest son.
“Don’t you dare talk to him like that! You are not some uneducated filth that has no manners, I raised you better than that. You don’t deserve the privilege of this family’s name. Now pick up your silverware and sit the fuck up!”
A tame response, Sirius thinks, so of course he does the exact opposite of her words, this time snarking back, “What are these so-called privileges then, Mother? Because where I’m sitting,” Sirius pauses, swinging his legs up onto the table, not even caring of the consequences, he was sick of being controlled. “It looks an awful lot like the only thing we are privileged for is having more emotional capability than you. Oh, I almost forgot about the privilege of our parents punishing us every time we don’t act like their little dolly playthings.”
The colour had drained from Regulus’ face. He’s shaking, clutching his cutlery so hard his knuckles were turning white. Sirius’ guilt overlapped his anger for a second, pleading to himself that he hadn’t put a target on his back. His mother’s icy glare sliced into Sirius as she ordered Reg from the room.
“You and I are going to have a little talk; I am so incredibly glad your father isn’t here to limit my punishments this time. You’ll finally be taught a real lesson.” She stalked closer, grabbing the whip she keeps stored on the shelf near her as she prowls around the table. “Did you not wonder the reason for his absence tonight? No? Oh, well tomorrow you’ll find out. Best keep your face pretty for presentation, but other than that, you. Are. All. Mine.” She over-pronounces the last couple words, probably for dramatic effect, and then she strikes. As quick as the snake she is. Pain shoots down Sirius’ arm as he tries to dodge the blow. His hands are shaking, much like the rest of him. He’s seriously regretting his actions now, pun definitely intended.
“Are you scared? Does Mummy scare you? You are as pathetic as they come, Sirus. You do not deserve the Black name, but you know what you do deserve? All the punishment I can give. I’m just trying to make you better, you see? I’m trying to make you normal.” She spits out the words, hissing through her teeth. “You disgust me.”
And with that she continues with her assault, not stopping until his blood coats the floor and his piercing screams echo the room.