1- Good Riddance
Lord help anyone who stands in my way;
for I am not merciful, and I am not kind,
and I am not afraid to make you wish I was.
“You’re not all you pretend to be.”
That was what Regulus had said to him when it had just been the two of them in the corridors of Hogwarts.
“To pretend you are not a member of House Black, an heir, is like saying fire doesn’t burn. It is a part of who you are. Your nature.”
It had made him angry back then at only fifteen, to be told that no matter how far he tried to run, the ancient and noble house of black would follow him.
“And that part will never go away, no matter how much you try to bury it.”
He was condemned.
Sirius thought that following the man who seemingly fought so valiantly against those that threatened to tear the world apart, he was making a difference. He had believed that following in step with some of his best mates, on the path to good, that it’d erase who he was supposed to be.
But that’s not the case.
Sirius is not naive to the stares he receives from members of the order, the older generations watching him with distrust. Some of his schoolmates, his age, the ones younger, and even his seniors, flicker their gazes towards where he often stands shoulder to shoulder with James whenever the mention of his families name is brought up, having done another inhumane deed. Sirius Orion Black had chosen not to be his birthright but that’s all people ever saw.
Regulus was right.
Their name would follow him everywhere, no matter how much he tried to hide from it.
And now he stands before his childhood house of horrors with sweaty palms and bitterness on his tongue.
Dumbledore had asked him for this favor, asked him personally if he could offer up this forsaken house as a base for their dwindling numbers and Sirius hadn’t hesitated upon agreeing. Why wouldn’t he want to shove his good deeds Dow the throats of his prestigious family. Another fuck you to add to the list. But now that he stands here, rooted to the ground, and feeling bile rise from the back of his throat he wonders if that had been a mistake. He had run from these shackles, broken free, but now it feels as though he’s taken twenty steps back, thrown backwards into a time where all he ever felt was trapped in a house that was not a home. His shaking palms rub against the denim of his jeans before he raises one and flicks his wrist, a nonverbal command for the houses to part and reveal the secrets of Black. Looking left and looking right, he releases a shaky exhale and steps past the wards and feels a resonating boom ripple through his body, wind blowing past as the house welcomes him back.
The ancient magic residing in the house curls around his own and tugs at his core, recognizing it’s own.
It shouldn’t feel as good as it does.
His shoulder’s slump and he walks up the steps, dragging his feet until he reaches the door that swings open without prompt. Inside, the house remains the same as when he had left in all honesty and while it unnerves him, the fact that it remains unchanged comes as some sort of relief. No nasty surprises. No curses to hex him. No new threats. It’s all the same. Except for when he goes into the kitchen, the table is littered with clippings. News paper, scattered sheets of parchments and spilled ink. Sirius hesitates to peer closer, but his curiously beats it and he circles around, approaching with furrowed brows.
His lips set in a firm line as he recognizes the pristine handwriting belonging to his mother, notes in French and English alike are scattered about with information full of dates and people. Sirius wonders what in Merlin’s name the bat shit lady of the house was attempting to do before he saw a clipping scratched out.
Regulus ArcturusBlack declared missing on November 12th, disowned son set to carry on he name of The Most Ancient and Nobel House of Black?
His chest pocket feels warm as he picks up the paper, the rest rustling and falling back onto the table as he stares at the moving picture of his mother and father at Grignotts, stoic and a force of nature as wizard reporters swarm them without fear, feening for a story, for answers. It makes what’s in his pocket feel like it weighs a ton.
Regulus Black was last seen in Hogwarts before, during Holiday break, the boy disappeared without a trace. Gone as if he had never existed in the first place. As The House of Black remains silent, people begin to have their own speculations, some even saying that the young man had defected from the Wizarding school to proceed a path of darkness, much like his last name. Some state they’d seen the heir participating in the raids set by Death Eaters in mug-
That particular bit of he article had been torn out.
Sirius isn’t given a second to process much we when a shriek comes from behind.
“Filthy blood traitor!”
He whirls around just in time to see Kreacher in the doorway with a bony finger pointed at Sirius, a gleam in his eyes that Sirius cannot quite place nor does he have the time because Kreacher is faster than Sirius thought an elf his age could move. The clipping in his hand is snatched by an invisible force and Kreacher scrambles onto a chair so that he’s face to chest with Sirius and he sneers. “Disgrace! Mistress would be infuriated to find such filth in her home!”
Sinus had stumbled back away from the elf who had then, with a snap of his fingers, had taken the mess on the table and sent it elsewhere.
Leaving Sirius irritated and confused.
“Bloody hell!” Sirius matches the elf’s volume, “What is wiring with you?”
But he isn’t given an answer, only more hollers about Sirius is unwanted presence in this house. More insults and slurs and Sirius doesn’t recall Kreacher ever having been this… chaotic. This loud or vocal and he doesn’t know what to do other than-
“As owner of this house, go away!”
And Kreacher freezes, mid rant and slowly turns to stare at Sirius with a look so intense that Sirius is taken aback by so much emotion.
“Filthy scum..” he starts off quietly, “The owner of this home is dead.”
Sirius reaches his hand up to his pocket automatically but Kreacher cannot argue with the rules of the home dispite his opinion and he’s gone.
Heart racing, Sirius slowly takes out form his pocket apiece of paper.
Crinkled from being opened and folded consistently, shoved in a tiny space.
It’s an owing picture of a young man, dead eyed and straight faced, hands behind his back and shoulder’s squared. The date on the paper is set to four days ago.
Regulus Arcturus Black declared dead.