It was late when Euphemia heard the knock on the door. Late enough that the last streaks of the pinky-orange sunset had long since disappeared, and there was nothing visible through the rain-streaked window but an endless stretch of inky black sky, and Euphemia was about to curl up on the couch with one last mug of tea before retiring to her bedroom for the night.
She paused when she heard the knocking, her wand in one hand and the tea kettle in the other, almost not entirely sure she’d heard it, for it was barely audible over the whistling of the wind and the rain slapping against the pavement. She waited for a moment to see if the person would knock again, but all she heard were the continued sounds of the raging storm outside.
She placed the tea kettle carefully onto the countertop, her grip tightening on her wand. Could it be an intruder? She’d been reading stories in the newspapers lately, stories about mysterious masked figures roaming around at night and attacking people, both out on the streets and inside their homes. But, she reasoned with herself, an intruder wasn’t likely to knock, right? Even though it was unusually late to be receiving visitors, whoever it was had to be harmless…
Wand still clenched tightly in her fist, she slowly exited the kitchen and made her way into the foyer, eyes trained on the front door. It was probably just someone who wanted directions, that’s all, or perhaps a very dedicated traveling salesman…
Bracing herself, her wand held aloft, she swung open the door, only for her arm to immediately fall back to her side, unable to keep a soft gasp from escaping her lips.
Sirius Black was standing in her doorway, hunched over and shivering. His chest was heaving, and his normally beautiful hair plastered to his forehead with rain. “Sirius!” she exclaimed, momentarily overcome with shock. “What are you doing here?”
There was nothing angry or accusatory in her tone – she was more surprised than anything else – but Sirius flinched anyway, recoiling as if she’d shouted at him. "I–I'm sorry for just showing up without warning," he mumbled, voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. He was staring firmly down at his shoes, refusing to meet her eye. His broomstick was dragging on the ground behind him, the handle held loosely in one fist– had he flown here? "I don't want to intrude, I just… I didn't know where else to go–"
"You could never intrude, Sirius.” Euphemia said, her mind racing as she took in the flat, downcast look in his stormy eyes, the tremors that ran through his body. She shook herself– what was she doing, letting him stand out in the rain? "You know you're always welcome here. Come inside, please, before you catch a cold."
Sirius made no move to step over the threshold. In fact, he showed no signs that he'd heard her speak at all. He just continued to stand right outside the door and let the rain drench him, arms wrapped tightly around his body, hunched over and miserable.
Euphemia was way out of her depth here. She’d known Sirius for years now, seen him in every emotional state– happy, boisterous, shit-eating Sirius; moody, brooding, lashing-out Sirius; pensive, withdrawn, just-left-Grimmauld-Place Sirius. But this was completely uncharted territory. She didn’t know how to deal with this Sirius. But she was spared of having to think of what to say next by the sound of footsteps coming from the living room– light, youthful footsteps that could have only belonged to her son.
"Who's that at the door, mum?" James called curiously as he strolled into the foyer, a dressing gown hanging loosely over his shoulders. "Can't be anyone sane, not at this time of–"
He stopped just short of the doorway, his words dying in his throat. His smile slid suddenly off his face, his breath hitching as he caught sight of Sirius. “Sirius?” he whispered.
The sound of James’ voice was enough to make Sirius finally raise his head and meet James’ eye, something raw and despairing flashing in them. Euphemia saw a silent understanding pass between the two boys, and her son’s face fell.
“So, she really…?” James began, his voice trailing off nervously.
Euphemia had no idea what James was trying to ask, but apparently Sirius did, because he gave a single, shaky nod. Without another word, James grabbed Sirius by the shoulder and pulled him inside, wrapping him in a fierce hug. Sirius went rigid, but eventually allowed himself to lay his head on James’ shoulder, his damp hair soaking James’ bathrobe. “I’m so sorry, Padfoot,” James murmured to Sirius, so quietly Euphemia was sure she was not supposed to have heard it.
Eventually James pulled away from the hug, but he still kept one arm firmly around Sirius’ shoulder. “Mum,” James said, his voice soft but firm, like he was leaving no room for argument, “Sirius needs to stay with us for a while.”
“I don’t want to intrude,” Sirius said again. His gaze had found the floor once more. "I can try to find my own place if I need to, I just need a few days to get back on my feet…"
Euphemia had about a thousand questions– what was going on? Why couldn't Sirius go home? Why did James seem to already know? What was she missing? But now wasn't the time to ask them. So she just said, "don't be silly, Sirius. You can stay for as long as you need to. Now, let's get you warmed up in the living room, yeah?" This, combined with James’ presence at his side, seemed to finally be enough to convince him, and he nodded again, stiff but determined.
Euphemia quickly cataloged Sirius' appearance as James gently steered him by the shoulder into the blessedly warm and dry living room. Now that he was out of the dark and the rain, several worrying details were thrown into sharp relief by the soft overhead lights in the hallway; there were streaks of blood mingling with the rainwater on his face that seemed to be trickling from his nose, and the beginnings of a dark purple bruise were starting to form around his left eye. One of the sleeves of his robe was choppy and singed, and Euphemia thought she could see something angry and irritated on Sirius’ arm peeking from beneath the charred remnants of the sleeve. And he was still shaking, so hard and uncontrollably that he could barely walk unassisted– James quickly moved his hand from around Sirius's shoulders to under his armpit, shifting some of Sirius' weight onto himself before Sirius collapsed. Euphemia had assumed before that he was shivering from the rain, but… cold people didn't shiver like that.
They reached the living room, where Fleamont was sitting in his armchair next to the window. He glanced up when he heard them enter, then did a double take when he caught sight of their unexpected guest. “Sirius!” he exclaimed, leaping from his chair and striding towards them all, worry clear in the lines on his face. “What are you doing here, son? Are you alright? Is… Is that blood?” Sirius raised a hand to wipe at some of the blood under his nose, like he’d only just realized it was there. His fingers came away crimson, and his face twisted into something like revulsion. “Sirius, what–?”
“Monty,” Euphemia said in a voice of forced calm. She was growing increasingly aware of the fact that she needed to tend to Sirius’ wounds. But she also knew that getting Sirius to admit he was injured was like pulling teeth, and the last thing he would want right now was an audience. “Why don’t you go make Sirius some tea?”
“Tea?” Fleamont repeated, bewildered. But Euphemia gave him a pointed look, and his eyes widened. “Tea! Yes, of course, I’ll make tea. Great idea, dear.” And he bustled away awkwardly into the kitchen.
She took a deep breath, then turned to look at her son. She knew he would not be convinced to leave so easily. “James,” she said gently. “I’m sure Sirius would like some pajamas. Would you mind grabbing him some from the dryer?”
Predictably, James scowled, tightening his arm around Sirius. “Not happening,” he said firmly.
“James. I’m not really asking.”
“I’m not leaving him!”
“Mate, it’s fine,” Sirius mumbled, his cheeks coloring.
James’ face softened at once. “Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll be right back, yeah?” He clapped Sirius reassuringly on the shoulder before disappearing up the stairs.
"And put on some dry clothes yourself!" she called after him. She received a loud, irritated huff in response.
Now Euphemia was alone with Sirius, who seemed extremely reluctant to break the silence between the two of them, fidgeting with the blackened sleeve of his ruined robes. “Sirius,” she began cautiously, but Sirius cut her off, in a voice so quiet that she had to strain to hear:
“I guess you want me to tell you what happened, huh?”
Yes, desperately. But as impatient as Euphemia was to know what events had led to Sirius Black turning up beaten and bloody on her doorstep, that could wait for now. “Not yet. But I do need to know where you’re hurt, love. You don’t have to tell me how you got them, but your injuries need to be healed.”
It was a mark of how bad things were that Sirius didn’t even protest, just gave a defeated sigh and sank onto the couch, folding his hands in front of him. Euphemia flicked her wand in Sirius’ direction, and the water began to steam from his robes, making him give a little sigh of relief. She gave another wave of her wand and summoned the first-aid kit from the bathroom, kneeling in front of Sirius and examining his face more critically. She winced when she looked closer at his nose– the bridge was crooked and swollen, and a steady stream of blood was trickling from both nostrils.
“I think my nose is broken,” Sirius said, echoing Euphemia’s thoughts. He rolled up his sleeve, and Euphemia had to resist the urge to grimace again at the angry red blister he exposed. “And my arm got burned. With a spell. It only skimmed me, but it still hurt like a bastard. And, ah…” Sirius hesitated, ducking his head, before adding in a mumble, “...the, er… cruciatus curse was used. But there’s nothing you can do for that.”
Euphemia felt nausea rise in her stomach. That explained the shaking. Forcing her face not to betray her emotions, she nodded. “I’m afraid there isn’t. But the symptoms shouldn’t last long; you’ll likely feel better within the hour.” It was taking everything in her not to demand to know who did this to him. Fix now, ask later.
She raised her wand to Sirius’ nose. “This may be unpleasant. You ready?”
Sirius nodded, squeezing his eyes shut tight and bracing himself.
“Episky!”
With a loud crack, Sirius’ nose was set back into place. Sirius grimaced for a moment, then put his hand to his face again, touching his nose experimentally. “Feels better,” he said after a moment of deliberation.
“Good. It’s been a while since I’ve performed that spell, and I think my son would go ballistic if I accidentally broke your nose again.”
A ghost of a smile flashed across Sirius’ face, but it was quickly replaced with a grimace as Euphemia started applying a burn salve to his forearm. There was silence for a few moments while Euphemia gently doctored his wound, just barely keeping a thousand different questions from passing her lips. She was wrapping gauze around Sirius’ arm when the boy spoke again in a mumble. “I… do want to tell you what happened,” he said, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. “You deserve an explanation, after I just barged in here.” Euphemia opened her mouth to protest, but Sirius plowed on, "I just– I need to tell all of you at once. I don't know if I'll be able to say it again."
Before Euphemia even had time to ponder the implications of that, James reentered the room, now in blessedly drier clothes. He was holding a set of his own pinstripe pajamas, which he tossed on the coffee table in front of Sirius before throwing himself onto the couch right next to Sirius, as though daring his mother to try to evict him again. Fleamont was close behind, and he presented Sirius with a mug of tea and a kindly smile. "This ought to warm you up a bit, eh, lad?" Sirius accepted the mug silently. His still-trembling hands rattled against the chipped porcelain.
When Fleamont took a seat next to his wife, across from James and Sirius, Euphemia cleared her throat gently. "So, Sirius. Do you want to tell us what happened, love?"
It was very apparent that Sirius didn't; his eyes darted all around the room like he was looking for an escape route, his gaze anywhere but Euphemia's face. But then he let out a long sigh, his whole body slumping.
"I, um… I got… my mum kicked me out."
The rattling grew louder, Sirius' grip growing dangerously unsteady on the mug. James quickly eased it out of his hands and placed it on the table, then wound his arm around Sirius' shoulder. Euphemia could feel her blood start to boil already, and she had to take several deep breaths to calm herself.
This was the work of Walburga Black. Sirius’ own mother had used the cruciatus curse on him. But why?
The contact from James seemed to comfort Sirius a bit, so he took a deep breath and continued; “I was surprised she actually went through with it– I mean, she’s threatening to disinherit me since I was eleven, but I thought she was making empty threats. I guess I finally did something horrible enough for her to make good on them.”
“It’s not horrible,” James cut in immediately. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Sirius. Nothing.”
Sirius made a noise that was almost amused, a small smile gracing his lips. “Thanks, mate. But the worst crime a Black can commit is befouling the family name. And, well… I guess that’s exactly what I did.” He quickly sobered again, quickly glancing at Fleamont and Euphemia before looking down at his own hands, swallowing nervously. "It started after Christmastime. Over the holidays she searched my room and found letters from…” a faint blush started to creep up his cheeks, and he coughed. “...from somebody I'm seeing. Somebody she didn't approve of. So she sent me a howler about it at school. She told me if I didn’t end things with the person I’m seeing and find a pureblood to get with instead, I shouldn’t bother coming back home.”
Euphemia furrowed her eyebrows. She knew that marriage in traditional pureblood families could be strict, but was that really what had caused all of this? Sirius had been beaten, tortured, and thrown from his home because he was dating a girl that wasn’t good for the Black image? There had to be something Sirius wasn’t saying.
Fleamont, however, was nodding grimly, like this made perfect sense to him. “A Muggle-born?” he asked Sirius sympathetically.
Sirius shook his head, and Euphemia’s confusion only grew. What could possibly be worse than a Muggle-born in the eyes of the Black family? Sirius took a deep breath, closing his eyes and balling up his fists like he was bracing for something. It was several long moments before he replied:
“... A boy.”
Euphemia felt her mouth fall open.
A boy.
Sirius was a homosexual.
Not just a taboo subject for traditional pureblood families like the Blacks, taboo everywhere. That explained why he was so reluctant to say it– he never would have been this nervous to tell them he was dating a Muggle-born. With how much society – wizard and muggle alike – looked down upon homosexuality, Sirius was probably terrified of how Euphemia would react.
Which really just begged one question: how was Euphemia reacting?
The first time James had begged her to let Sirius stay at their house for a few weeks over the summer, Sirius was thirteen years old. Euphemia was reluctant, of course – she knew about the Black family, knew their reputation, knew all of the bigoted and depraved things they stood for, and her instinct was to tell her son that nobody from the Black family would ever step foot in their household. But James had been so earnest, so insistent that Sirius was nothing like the rest of his family, that he was a good person that could be trusted, that Euphemia eventually relented, never having possessed the ability to deny her son for very long.
When Sirius arrived by floo a few days later, he was well-dressed and stiff-backed, posture radiating pureblood haughtiness. But he had eyes full of mischief and a smile like a jack-o-lantern, just like James, and she knew at once that she’d misjudged him. She had no way of knowing then, however, how much she would grow to care for the young Black heir. How she would watch him grow from a boy to a young man in short, week-long bursts over each summer holiday. How she’d start to buy him Christmas presents and write him letters at school. How she’d add him into the family chore rotation and pester him to do his summer coursework.
How she’d start to treat him like a son.
It didn’t matter what the rest of the wizarding world thought. It didn’t matter what Orion and Walburga Black thought. As long as Euphemia was still alive, Sirius Black was going to be loved unconditionally.
Through this realization, she dimly registered that Fleamont looked just as surprised as she felt by Sirius’ confession, and that James didn’t look surprised at all– how long had he known about this? Sirius had gone white as a sheet. Catching sight of the looks on Euphemia and Fleamont’s faces, Sirius hastily continued, like he thought if he talked fast enough everyone in the room would forget the bombshell he'd just dropped. “A-anyway, erm– so, yeah. She wasn’t too chuffed about that. Neither was the rest of the school, once they found out. I wasn’t who they thought I was, I guess. They started pulling all these stupid pranks on me–”
James scoffed, seemingly incapable of staying silent any longer. “Bloody bigots.”
Sirius shot James a brief, appreciative look. “Yeah, well. Things started to escalate, and after this big prank on the Quidditch pitch…” Sirius faltered, swallowing, like the memory was still painful for him. “...er, my boyfriend and I ended up going public to the whole school, because he didn’t want me to have to face all the heat alone. Word must have gotten back to my mother that I hadn’t broken things off like she wanted, because as soon as I stepped foot in the door, she slapped me. I tried to stand my ground – y’know, tell her that nothing was gonna change who I am, that I’m standing by the person I love no matter what – but it’s not super easy to talk under the Cruciatus curse.” He gave a humorless laugh. James was shaking now too, but it was from barely suppressed rage. “Anyway, after that she blasted my picture off the family tapestry. That’s how I got this.” He vaguely waved his injured arm. “Regulus was bawling his eyes out. Begged my mum to give me one more chance. Funny, how the rotten bugger can spend years pretending I don’t exist but still cries for me when I get kicked out.” Sirius laughed again, a cold, bitter thing. “She didn’t let me hang around much longer after that. Couldn’t pack, couldn’t say goodbye. Barely had time to grab my broomstick before she threw me onto the curb. I had my money pouch in my pocket, so hopefully that’s enough to get me by until I find a job. But I–I promise, if you let me stay for just a few days, I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I find a place to stay.”
“Out… of our hair?” Euphemia repeated faintly.
“Yeah. Like… out of your house. I obviously don’t expect you to let me hang around forever, especially now that you know about my… now that you know I’m…” he swallowed harshly, looking down at his hands. "I mean, you've got a son. I'm sure you'd rather not have someone like me around him."
James turned to glower furiously at his parents, as if they were the ones who’d insinuated that there’d be a problem with Sirius’ sexuality. But Euphemia barely paid her son any mind; with purpose, she rose from her seat and strode towards Sirius, kneeling down in front of him until the two were at eye level. Sirius looked rather startled, and when she raised her hand toward him he flinched, his eyes squeezing shut, as if bracing for an impact.
But Euphemia gently grabbed the boy's shoulders and pulled him into a hug.
For just a moment Sirius' whole body went rigid, and Euphemia almost thought he might push her away. But then he let a shuddering exhale, his whole body going limp and his head landing to rest on Euphemia's shoulder. "I'm so proud of you, Sirius." She whispered, reaching up to stroke Sirius' hair, pushing some of the dark flyaways out of his forehead. "I promise, this doesn't change a thing between us all. Not a thing."
"She's right." Fleamont, who'd been silent almost the entirety of Sirius' story, suddenly spoke, making Sirius startle and jolt back. He'd also risen to his feet, and he reached out to put a firm, reassuring hand on Sirius' shoulder. “You’re always welcome in our house, son, you hear me? You’re like family to us, and nothing’s gonna change that. Especially not something like this.”
It seemed like that was finally too much for Sirius. He gave a small sniffle, muffled by Euphemia’s shoulder, and suddenly he was full-on sobbing, his whole body shaking with the effort of it. Euphemia pulled the boy closer to her chest, letting him continue to cry into her shoulder, knowing that she would not be the first person to let go of the embrace.
She’d be damned if she let this boy go on feeling unloved for a second longer.
*****
It was a long while before Sirius’ cries finally died down into sniffles, after which Euphemia gently but firmly insisted that he go up to their guest room and get some sleep, it had been a long day and he must be exhausted after flying all the way here. Fleamont went to bed not long after, giving Euphemia a kiss on the cheek and James a clap on the shoulder.
Now Euphemia was alone with her son, who was still sitting across from her on the couch. He stared at the staircase Sirius had just disappeared up for a few moments, looking pensive and thoughtful, before turning back to face his mother. “...Sorry,” he said after a moment.
Euphemia frowned. “Sorry? What for?”
“For… getting defensive, I suppose. For thinking you’d react badly. I don’t think Sirius could handle it if you and dad looked at him differently.”
Euphemia sighed. “I understand. I know it comes from a place of care.” Euphemia hesitated for a moment, eyeing her son carefully, before speaking again, something that had been niggling the back of her mind ever since Sirius had dropped the bombshell. "The boyfriend that Sirius talked about in his stories, the one that sent him letters– is it you? You can tell me, dear, you know I love you no matter who you like–”
James gave a chuckle– a slightly sobered one, not accompanied by his usual pumpkin grin – but it’s a smile nonetheless. “No, mum. That’s lovely and all, but I definitely don’t fancy blokes. I love Sirius, he’s like a brother to me, but– no.”
“Alright, alright, just making sure.” Euphemia held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. Then she glanced at the clock above the fireplace. “It’s getting late. You should probably be in bed too, James.”
But muuuuuuum, I’m seventeen, I shouldn’t have a bedtime–”
“James. Bed, now.”
James groaned and rolled his eyes, but he eventually complied, but not without a lot of huffing and dragging his feet as he made his way towards the staircase.
“James, wait!”
James turned around, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”
Euphemia’s face softened. “...I'm really proud of you.”
James grimaced. “Ugh, mum, don’t be proud of me. I didn’t do anything special by staying friends with Sirius, it’s just being decent.”
“Decency can be hard to come by these days, it seems. I’m glad you didn’t give up on your friend.”
“I never would,” James said firmly, puffing out his chest. “I never will.”
“I know,” said Euphemia. “Neither will I.”