Chapter 1
Sirius Black often felt like a painting. Perhaps a Monet, or a Picasso. Something large and egregiously expensive, the likes of which the owners hung in their front hallway for the visitors to observe. A symbol of privilege, of having the means to hang such an ornate feature so casually upon their walls. He often wondered if the other Heirs shared in this sentiment, though he would really never know- it wasn’t as though those subjects were commonly discussed among those vying for power. Then again, nothing of much interest to him ever was. He certainly felt like a spectacle in the present moment, as the visiting House Emissaries observed his duel from above.
Sirius scowled, flexing his wrist and aiming a counter-spell at his circling opponent. The match was laughable, really. He danced around the wizard in the centre of the duelling pit, a painfully simple feat, twirling his wand along his pale knuckles and grinning at the man. He supposed it was all just a performance, anyway, and rather enjoyed playing into it. The idea was to show any visiting purebloods that the Heir to House Black was perfectly capable of holding his own in a duel. Rather better than just capable, in fact- and if anything, Sirius Black was always one to put on a show.
On impossibly light feet, he leapt around the pit. This wasn’t saying much, really; the duelling pit didn’t have much space to account for, consisting of a single circular arena with a sandy bottom that couldn’t have been more than ten metres across in total.
The wizard across from him held his wand with stark white hands, his tattered robes flying around him wildly as he panted. He was not a regular opponent of Sirius’- they never really were. Regardless, he followed the same rudimentary duelling style that was so typical of ordinarily trained wizards and witches.
Finish it.
The thought made its way through the back of his mind as he deflected yet another disarming spell (there had yet to be anything remotely offensive from the opposing party). Echoes of his father’s words, reminiscent of the unyielding pace at which the Blacks were expected to move throughout their lives. Sirius gripped his wand, spinning to deflect the wizard’s charm that had previously been progressing along an alarmingly precise path towards him. He tucked a stray hair behind his ear, which had been disturbing his line of sight. Then, rolling forward onto his knees, he shot his spell of choice directly at the wizard in front of him, who had begun looking at him with enough malice that Sirius had become rather concerned. The man stumbled back, swearing.
Sirius glanced up at the watching crowd. He couldn’t make out faces, not from this far- but he caught a glimpse of the dark colours of the Houses and a flash of tawny hair. He wondered what sort of an ending they expected from him; a death blow? A stun? He couldn’t be sure.
Without anything to prompt his decision, Sirius made a very expeditious choice (which he would later regret).
“Petrificus Totalus!” He performed the spell quickly, drawing his hand through the familiar motions of the circle and flick. The spell had its desired effect, of course. Sirius had never been one to produce a faulty charm. The man fell to the ground, all of his natural movement violently ripped from his body. Sirius stood up, carefully dusting off his once-black fighting gear (long since marred with dust and spots of his blood), and marched directly for the pit exit, waving a hand lazily at the watching audience. He never once looked back at his Petrified opponent, lying alone in the dusty centre of the pit. Vaguely, he could hear the clapping from the onlookers.
~
Sirius sat in the dressing room alone, as the various wands and reinforced steel weapons lining the walls stood in silent guard. He stripped off his fighting gear; a dragonshide vest and pads layered over a tightly fitted black bodysuit. He became engaged in a battle with his zipper, which had unfortunately become tangled in his hair (he often refused to tie it up- he liked it when it snapped around his face). His mind was pleasantly empty. It was easier, afterwards, to reduce his actions to a simple step-by-step process. He found that it required very little thinking.
Through the thin walls of his dressing room, he could hear the screaming. It was always this way, after a duel. The opponents were brought in by force, or bribery; half-blood wizards and witches never willingly walked through those gates, not if they had an alternative. It was all part of the show, part of the power scheme that dominated the wizarding world as of late. Half-bloods were often among those used as training dummies, as methods of displaying the brute force of the children of the pureblooded Houses. Sirius didn’t know where his opponents went after the screaming stopped. He figured he probably wouldn’t like the information, if he so desired to ask for it.
Sirius stood up, feeling a sudden and very urgent need to remove himself from anything reminiscent of fighting. Despite what he let his parents think, he had no love for brutality.
Relax your face. Calm your mind. Whatever you’re thinking, the rest of the world doesn’t need to know about it.
It was almost ironic, the talent with which he twisted his mother’s words to serve his own purposes. He schooled his facial muscles into submission, wiping any hints of the grimace out of his eyes, his mouth. As he sauntered out of the dressing rooms, clad in the deep purple robes that were traditional for the sons of the Houses, he was the very picture of cold power. He was rather proud of this, his own personal brand of shapeshifting. That day’s Sirius Black was ruthless, unforgiving. Exactly the type of Heir one would expect from one of the notorious Blood Houses.
A pale hand snatched at his elbow, yanking him quickly into a small alcove. The Manor was littered with them- strange little indents in the stone walls that conjured images of secret societies, of hidden lovers. Sirius had always been intrigued by them- and had quickly discovered they made excellent impromptu meeting places.
He turned to the lithe figure beside him, clad in the same purple robes that pooled off his own shoulders. The boy seemed to drown in them. “Sirius!” His brother whispered, eyes slightly wide.
“What is it?” Sirius raised an eyebrow, examining the boy.
Regulus Black was no foreboding presence in House Black. Sirius wanted to believe there wasn’t a hint of malice in the boy at all. Although his messy black hair and pale skin blended aesthetically with the dark drapery of the Manor, Regulus managed to stick out. He was very nearly an inverse to Sirius; where Sirius had receded into the dark, becoming further embroiled in House politics, Regulus had managed to remain comfortably situated in the outskirts. This was no coincidence, of course. Houses produced a single Heir. Where Sirius was involved, Regulus was forced to the side- and Sirius knew it was better that way.
Regulus looked up at him. “I heard about your duel. Mum said we needed a good show today- something about the Blood Magic. Just thought you ought to know…” He trailed off at that, unsure of how to continue. Sirius knew he suspected his true feelings about their House, and chose to tiptoe around difficult subjects. The boy shuffled his feet, clearly struggling for something to convey comfort.
For his sake, Sirius shrugged. “It was fine. I’m sure it was an adequate performance.” He grinned a little, lightly elbowing his brother, even as cold nausea flooded his system. He had nearly forgotten.
Stupid, he thought, ruffling his brother’s hair as Reggie smiled. Fucking stupid to forget, to choose to ignore. Those feelings mean nothing here.
Blood Magic was his birthright, and he knew it. No one ever said he had to agree, and it had been evident in the past that the magic could still be given, regardless of the status of the receiver. The ability to manipulate blood, and therefore manipulate the bodies of wizards and witches, did not have to be allowed into a vessel. It melded with them, became them. It was not to be taken lightly. Everything Sirius did ushered him closer to being one of a select few in possession of Blood Magic, and he was painfully aware of this fact. At 18, he drew ever closer to an unavoidable fate. Despite his futile attempts to file that knowledge away, to make himself forget, it remained a constant warning bell in the back of his head, pealing at his every move.
As the Heir, it was Sirius’ burden to carry. Regulus, having the good fortune to be conceived just a year after Sirius’ birth, would never wield that magic, so long as Sirius did his job well. Blood Magic was sacred to the Twelve Houses, considered to be solely available for pureblooded Heirs to draw upon. Only a firstborn could be an Heir, and Reggie had only ever been a backup. A spare.
The younger boy sighed. “I knew you’d be fine. I just wanted to see you- you know how it’s been.”
Sirius did know. Fuck, it was painfully obvious in every aspect of their lives that tension had been building for some time. They had had to tighten the reins on their kingdom, grappling for power over the other Blood Houses. The atmosphere had become more sinister, and the Houses had begun to resort to extreme measures to climb up the ranks. Not that it mattered, anymore. The Twelve Houses were cemented in their positions at the top. Regardless, emotions had been running high, and his parents were running thin.
“I’ll come see you tomorrow, ok? I’m off for a meeting with Mum.” He smiled at Regulus, patting him on the shoulder as he withdrew from the alcove, the scent of dusty stone clinging to his skin. He looked back, once, at his brother- his shape shrinking into the distance until Sirius rounded the corner of the long hallway and Regulus disappeared from sight.
~
Walburga Black was a violent and frightening woman. Known throughout the Twelve Houses as an entirely merciless soul, she had cemented herself high in the ranks of the pureblood wizards and witches. Sirius was rather frightened of her, although he refused to bring this to her awareness. He stood outside the huge oak doors that marked the entrance to the study, tugging at his robes and smoothing his hair. His spine extended, his chin tilted upwards, until Sirius became the malicious Heir he presented to the public. From that point on, it became a waiting game.
He was beginning to shift from foot to foot when a voice carried through the cracks in the door, reminiscent of steel and the sounds of battle.
“Sirius. Come in.” Walburga’s voice was cold.
This won’t be good. Sirius put his hand to the door, feeling the magic interwoven within the bands of wood twist and undulate in response to his touch. He could feel the carved symbols under the skin on his fingertips. With a soft snick, the door opened in a single smooth motion.
The high, arching windows of Walburga’s study, though far exceeding her small height, were dwarfed by her presence. Despite her small frame, Sirius was forced to concede that she took up space in a room, without a doubt.
Her study was a cavernous place, lined with massive paintings of the Black ancestors and various chests filled with ornaments of sorts. The walls were a dark shade of grey, and the wallpaper boasted whorls of menacing fog. To the left, a personal library stood, the huge shelves reaching towards the high ceiling. Sirius turned back to his mother.
“I should have liked to see a more dramatic finish- a Petrification is a show of mercy, not strength. Regardless, the Emissaries were pleased.” Walburga drawled.
“Yes, Mum. My success can only be attributed to your recent push for a stronger training program.” Sirius responded as usual. There was an unspoken script that had been drilled into him, a dance of words and intonations. He followed it dutifully.
Walburga grunted. “With the recent riots, people are beginning to look to the Heirs for a guarantee of House power. You must keep this in mind. We cannot falter here, and this is not the time for paltry endings to your duelling. ”
Sirius took a moment to think. The wizards and witches of England had certainly begun to push back- whispers of unrest were not uncommon in their streets. The Houses had buckled down on enforcing ‘peace’- using all means necessary. They were in no danger of being shaken from their thrones. Despite this, Sirius was expected to partake, and as the Heir to the strongest House at present, all eyes were on him. The Emissaries, sent by the other ruling families, reported back on his every move- every slash of his wand, every breath that left his mouth.
“Of course, Mum.” He couldn’t think of much else to say. Speaking with Walburga often felt like walking barefoot- the constant fear of pain, of injury. Though his spine was straight and his hair was combed, his heart fluttered erratically in his chest. He felt like a caged bird.
“You’re dismissed. I suggest you pay the duelling pit another visit- you’re becoming rather rusty. I expect more from you; you know I hold you to a higher standard than this.”
Just once, you cannot offer praise? Sirius thought. He could have voiced his concerns, could have asked for more news from the other Houses. Yet, after years of chagrin at Walburga’s hands, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but nod. He retraced his steps with his eyes locked on the faded carpet.
~
Sirius stalked to his rooms, halting at the sight of the two guards stationed outside his door. Blake stood to the right as always, his glittering black uniform impeccably clean. His silver eyes even matched the steel embellishments on Sirius’ door. Sirius had never liked him much, although his parents were fond of him. Some cousin from the Crabbe family tree, expected to serve in another House since he would be effectively unable to claim the Heir position in his own. Blake gave him a slight nod, which Sirius returned. He kept his face bored- you could never know who was reporting back to another House. The figure on the left of the door, though, was someone new.
Funny, he thought. The old one barely lasted a month.
It was highly unusual for Walburga to bring in a new guard so soon- just that morning, the older boy had been standing attentively outside his door. Such a quick turnover surely meant that his family had been eagerly awaiting the arrival of the young man now standing in front of him.
Sirius made a series of quick observations (a force of habit).
First, the boy was taller than him. Significantly. For someone who appeared to be just his age, it was infuriating.
Second, he did not nod. He did not bow, or smile. The boy merely watched him. This was unusual- any chance to show respect was usually taken.
Third, he was strikingly out of place in Sirius’ home. He had a head full of mousy brown curls, which were wildly untamed and seemed to reflect the lamplight. His eyes were the kind of brown that shifted as the light passed through them.
Fourth, he had most definitely seen this boy before. In the stands, during his duel. He knew his guards were not permitted to watch him fight; to reveal his feints, his weaknesses, would be a death sentence. With so much distrust among the young Houses, they could take no risks. It was intriguing, although the appropriate reaction would have been suspicion.
He looked at the boy. He ought to report him, ought to inquire as to the origins of the strange newcomer. It was for his own safety, at the end of it all. What good was he to his brother if he was dead? Despite this, there was something more to the young guard- something so unlike the cold, unfeeling wizards that usually haunted his door- and this made a small part of Sirius perk up.
“You’re new. Name?” The boy’s eyes narrowed, and his posture changed- it was almost imperceptible, a shifting of the shoulders and a lifting of the chin. Regardless, Sirius had been trained to perceive exactly those sorts of imperceptible mannerisms. It was easy enough to read someone’s body language, particularly when they were having a difficult time disguising it. The boy was pissed.
“Remus Lupin.” The boy said this carefully, as though he were placing something rather delicate in the air between them, rather than just words.
Secretly, Sirius really was intrigued by the boy. If he was so sought after, why was he having such apparent difficulty keeping his emotions out of his face, his posture? He wanted to know more; wanted to ask where he had trained, where he had come from. Regardless, he was a Black; curiosity had no place in his House, and maybe that’s why he said what he said. He wasn’t really sure. He would later regret his words, the way they emerged from his mouth. He hated the way they reminded him of his mother, hated that it shaped him into the Heir he had tried so hard not to become. It didn’t stop them.
“Well, Lupin. Welcome to House Black. I expect you already know how things work around here, so I won’t lecture you on the workings of this House. Stay out of the way.” Sirius turned away, yanking open his doors and shutting them quickly behind him, leaving the Lupin boy and Blake behind in the cold stone hallway.