Walburga has always been cruel enough to hurt her sons. But, shockingly, she’s been kind enough to invite Sirius to pack his bags, retrieve all that is important to him. Sirius is suspicious.
When he arrives, she’s standing in the doorway, a small red suitcase in hand. Another is behind the door, and he hopes- for a moment- that she’s letting Regulus free too.
“Mother.”
“Son.”
“Is that my bag?”
She nods tightly, but when he goes to take it, he cannot. Her grip is too tight. Her knuckles whiten. He lets go, and lets his hand drop to his side. He may as well take the opportunity to say all that has simmered within him throughout the years.
“Not letting me leave, huh? Still trying to keep up the Black name?”
The urge to laugh tickles up his throat, but he fights it off- fearful of her response. He gets nothing though, only a hard stare, so he continues with caution.
“Do you remember the stories you used to tell us? About running away. You never liked your dad, your husband. You were going to run off to the circus with us. Regulus doesn’t remember.”
The look begins to crack, her eyes now hold piercing fear that is easily mistakeable for anger. Sirius knows the difference as he knows his reflection.
“Why do you want this malicious compliance to continue? You said you had more potential; more chance at the life you wanted, without children. And now you hesitate? Give me the bag.”
A single tear falls from an eye. She is deadly still, except for a trembling hand.
“You wanted to escape this life, now you ridicule me as I do! You’re only a fucking hypocrite.”
“Are you finished?” She speaks sternly, but her voice wavers on the final word.
Sirius' face falls slack as he realises. His eyes flick to the second suitcase, but hers do not move from his face. She swallows.
“You. Hater of your father, and your husband, and all the men that tie you down. You. You let me- your son- decide if you leave or not.” He says this slowly, with a building enlightenment.
The suitcase shakes under her grasp now. Emotion melts from her face, it’s destruction and vulnerability and understanding and it’s nothing Sirius has ever seen before. She opens her mouth to speak, raw feeling bleeding from her eyes now, but he gets there first, “The fucking red suitcase? The fucking code word from when I was 5. And you were going to wait for me to say it! I was a child. It was never my responsibility to save you, it was your responsibility to keep me safe and you couldn’t even do that halfway! Why would anyone want to save you?”
“I’m sorry.” The words break around a sob, and they haunt him even as they are still being spoken. They are a memory he dares not visit but he knows the sound of the words in her mouth, as he understands he will always know them, without having to remember.
They mean she wasn’t just a villain. They mean he doesn’t get to just be a victim. They complicate his hatred. He hates her for it.
She’s sobbing wetly but this does not stop him as he says, “No, no you don’t get to do that. Let go of my stuff and get your fucking Red Suitcase.” he spits out the two words with disgust, and she flinches, “Get out of here. It’s pathetic that you fucking hurt us so many times, and you can’t even walk out of a door without my permission. Go join a circus, and I'll be happy with Effie. I call her mum, you know? She’s more of a human than you ever were, so why not? I hope you fulfil your dreams and realise that it’s made you no less miserable you fucking waste of a body.”
He laughs now.
The suitcase before him falls to the floor as she drops her hold. Her face is wet as she turns and grabs the other suitcase. The Red Suitcase. The one she’s been hiding under her bed all these years. The one Sirius forgot about, assuming that one day it unceremoniously got unpacked.
Sirius turns with his own bag, now finally in his control. He pulls it along, a wheel squeaking and turning as he does, away from the house. He hears following footsteps and then quietening ones. The rush of pavement under wheels and the clicking of those Black heals fades away and Sirius turns and watches his mother walk away in the opposite direction.
A lump that will never leave his throat finds itself lodged between the words ‘goodbye’ and ‘I love you’ as she disappears from view. A bruise on his hip aches, where one of her spells hit yesterday, as he walks in the direction of James’ house.
He thought this could fulfil him, but he feels empty. The fight is over. The defense deemed unnecessary. All anger that resides in him has no place to live now. Sirius is different, altered; his mother is gone.