Sirius Black hated his life. He hated his family and everything it stood for. He ran away and cut all ties he could. But you can’t just erase sixteen years of your life. So Sirius decided to ignore it instead. Ignore the beatings, the family, the curses, the starvation, the abuse and ridiculous rules. But he could only do that for so long. Every once in a while, the nightmares would come back. And they wouldn't go away for weeks. They didn’t let him ignore it, no. They forced him awake, and kept him on edge for weeks on end.
They refreshed his memory terribly well.
Reminded him of what he truly was, his mother’s son. Every word that came out of her mouth, he would hang on to. She wasn't sane, he knew that, but he was still her son and who does a child have if not his mother. From what Sirius had seen outside of that death seeking house, mothers protected their children, gave them sweets to reward them and hugged them when they were feeling down. Mothers cried with their children and didn't want to let them go out into the big bad world.
He never would have guessed.
After all, his own mother wasn't exactly an example of loving and decent or fair and kind. She never protected him, never awarded him or did anything near to nice for that matter. He’s fairly certain the woman has never hugged anyone in her whole damn life. He’d never seen her shed a single tear, not when Regulus died, not when he left, not even at his father’s funeral. Most people believe that all mothers, no matter how cruel or strict they seem, love their children deep down. But Sirius didn’t, because he had seen the proof of an unloving, strict, cruel and absolutely heartless mother first hand.
In fact, he had experienced it everyday for the first sixteen years of his life. That so-called mother of his was not stable, and no matter how many times that little voice in the back of his head tried to convince him otherwise, that woman did not have a single kind bone in her body, not even pity. Walburga Black was nothing like a mother should have been. Of course every mother is different and has their own ways of discipline and such, but the one thing all mothers should give to their children is love.
Neither of the Black brothers ever got that, no matter how desperately they wanted it. Craved it. Trying to get a word of approval out of her was like talking to a dull and grey brick wall with violent snakes shooting out of it. You could never get too close, you could never make that dull and poisonous demeanour shift, not even the slightest bit. Because you never knew when one of her snakes would come and bite you. And when she did, her words hit hard.
One could say that she was simply harsh. Sirius believed she was a vile, violent, creature who gave birth to him. He believed he was just as awful deep down, so he spent his life trying to hide it, suppressed it. Because Sirius Orion Black was a gryffindor with a terrible fear. Gryffindors have to be brave and good-hearted. But this gryffindor’s worst fear was becoming like his mother, to become as cruel and heartless as her was his greatest fear.
Walburga Black never missed an opportunity to tear her sons down, bit by bit, chipping away at them like porcelain figures. Slowly and painfully and harshly. Sometimes she would start slowly, continuously questioning them to make them nervous with that scrutinising look in her eyes. She would know when things aren't as they should be, so she would punish them. Whether it was crucio, or imperio, or sectumsempra, or dark curses the ministry were not even aware of, Walburga never once failed to make her kids feel like shit.
Not even so many years after her wonderfully celebrated death did she fail to make Sirius and Regulus want to die. They both had come so far, individually of course but so far from before.
When Regulus would get changed after a shitty day making potions, he’d spot the bruises that covered his whole body, the dripping blood that covered the side of his face. Except it wasn't actually there anymore, those were just the memories, the fears that Walburga had ingrained into her youngest’s mind
Sirius would get ready to go out but then his eyes would sweep over the fucking ginormous scar that spread diagonally from his left shoulder down to the right of his chest and stopping at the center of his lower back. And just like that, he was back there in that suffocating hell hole. It didn't matter how much he tried to forget nor how well he did to try and heal. At each corner, at every single turn, she was there. A murderous flame in her eyes that Sirius knew all too well.
Even at the tender age of ten, Sirius knew that look. It meant he was a disgrace, a disappointment, her greatest mistake. That was back then, but now when he saw her, whether it was in his nightmares or flashbacks, it meant he never truly escaped. That there was a possibility that she was going to come back and break him down all over again. In his memory, Walburga was always there, at the top of the unnecessary high marble staircase at Grimmauld Place. Dressed in her long black robes with green accents and adorned with the Black family crest in the middle, hair tied up in a way that spoke discipline and wealth.
Then she would taunt, continuously tell Sirius everything that was wrong with him and remind him of his greatest flaws, his deepest scars. He came to believe that the woman who gave birth to him simply took joy in opening his deepest, darkest wounds and her favourite part was always rubbing salt on those wounds just to make it worse. To break him again.
She never used her wand in his dreams, only her sharp venomous words and her rough hands.
Somehow that always scared him, because it was always worse hearing her thoughts rather than taking her beatings. It stung far greater than any bruise or cut she ever gave him.
But before she could strangle him, the memory stopped. Abruptly, just like that. And then he was back in his boyfriend’s arms in the comfort of their bedroom in their very own house which was far, far away from twelve Grimmauld Place.
She’s gone, Sirius would reassure himself.
She’s gone, he kept repeating.
And he continued to do so until he could feel the tears streaming down his face.
Until he could hear how heavily and shakily he was breathing.
And how terribly his body was shaking.
One of his hands still on the scar, the other hanging onto Remus for dear life, all while missing the person who used to reassure him before.
See, no matter all that happened between them, Sirius never forgot about his little brother.
Guilt was so evident in him that day. But he wasn’t ready to have that conversation with himself just yet.