The room was cloaked in shadows, the only source of illumination being the silver glow of the moonlight filtering through the heavy velvet curtains. The air inside the Potter Mansion was still, as if holding its breath in the late hours of the night. Sirius stirred in his sleep, disturbed by an insistent tapping on the window.
His eyes blinked open, adjusting to the darkness. A frown creased his forehead as he sat up, the surroundings of his room gradually coming into focus. The elegant furniture, the muted colors, all designed for comfort and opulence. Confusion knit his brows as he followed the persistent tapping to the window.
"What the bloody hell?" With a groan, Sirius swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet meeting the cool marble floor. He crossed the room, his steps muffled by the thick carpet. The tapping continued, more urgent now, and irritation flashed in Sirius's stormy grey eyes as he opened the window.
He yanked the curtains open, revealing the cold night outside. There, on the windowsill, perched a majestic eagle, its eyes locked onto Sirius. A mixture of irritation and confusion crossed his face as he hesitated, then reluctantly slid the window open.
His irritation turned to momentary shock when a large eagle swooped in, landing gracefully on the desk. Sirius stifled a scream, a hand flying to his chest, his eyes widening when he recognized the distinctive features of his brother's eagle.The eagle fixed him with an intense gaze, and then, with a deliberate movement, extended a claw towards him.
A folded piece of parchment was attached to the eagle's claw. Sirius hesitated, eyeing the bird warily. His mind raced with questions. Why was his eagle in Potter Manor? More importantly, why was it delivering a letter to him?
"What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" Sirius questioned, his voice low but laced with annoyance. He tentatively reached out and took the letter, the eagle giving a dignified nod before launching itself back into the night. Sirius watched it disappear into the darkness before turning his attention to the folded parchment in his hands.
His brother's handwriting stared back at him, and Sirius felt a pang of nostalgia. It had been two years since he had set foot in the Black family home, even longer since Regulus and him had spoken. His fingers traced over the letters of his name before he unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the familiar handwriting with growing disbelief
I screwed up. I need your help
Reggie
Sirius frowned, the muscles in his jaw tensing. His brother had signed as ‘Reggie’. Regulus despised that nickname, allowing only Sirius to call him by it, and that was back when they were children.
A mixture of concern and confusion played on Sirius' features as he stared at the letter. Regulus seeking help was unusual, but using that nickname was downright alarming. Something serious —no pun intended—must’ve happened for his little brother to set aside his Black pride and reach out to him in such a vulnerable manner. Sirius sighed heavily and muttered to himself, "What have you gotten yourself into, Reggie?"
The main hall of Potter Manor gleamed softly in the dim light as Sirius navigated the polished floors, suitcase in hand. The opulent surroundings seemed almost surreal in the quiet of the night. He moved with practiced stealth, avoiding any creaking floorboards that might betray his movements to the sleeping household.
Down the hallway, he approached the stairs leading to the main living room. Sirius descended with careful steps, his bare feet barely making a sound on the plush carpet. The air was thick with anticipation as he reached the main hall, where the large fireplace stood as a silent sentinel.
Sirius set his suitcase down with a muted thud, glancing around to ensure he was alone. His eyes gleamed with determination as he whispered "Lumos," casting a gentle glow around the room. The soft light illuminated the mantle, revealing the jar of Floo powder.
Wand held firmly between his teeth, Sirius leaned over to grab a handful of the shimmering powder. The fine grains slipped through his fingers as he steadied himself for the upcoming journey. However, just as he was about to step into the fireplace, the lights in the main room flickered to life. Sirius froze, his heart skipping a beat. A sleepy voice cut through the silence, shattering his hopes of a quiet departure.
"Where are you going at these ungodly hours, Pads?"
Sirius turned slowly, like a deer caught in headlights, to find his best friend, standing there with a glass of milk in hand. James's normally untamed hair was even more disheveled, evidence of interrupted slumber, and he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wake up fully.
Sirius swallowed hard, his mind racing for an explanation that wouldn't betray the urgency of the situation. He pulled the wand from between his teeth and tried to conjure a casual smile.
"Prongs, mate, you should know by now I'm a creature of the night. Just felt like taking a stroll, you know?" he said, attempting nonchalance."Didn't wanna wake you or your folks." Sirius tried to sidestep James and head toward the fireplace, but the questioning look in James's eyes told him he wasn't getting off that easily.
James raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched on his face. "A stroll with a suitcase and Floo powder? That's a new one, even for you, Pads. Plus, you love to sleep in. Try again."
Sirius's eyes darted to the suitcase at his feet, then back to James. He sighed, realizing he couldn't brush this off with a casual excuse. "Alright, fine. I got a message from Reggie. Something's up, and he needs my help."
James’ expression hardened, his frown deepening as he set his glass on a nearby table . "Him? The brother you haven't spoken to in ages? You’re going back to them?"
A wry smile played on Sirius's lips. "He used his childhood nickname to sign the letter, James."
James's hazel eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and concern, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. "What if he used his fucking nickname from when you were kids, Sirius?" His words hung in the air, heavy with frustration. "Don't you remember what that family did to you?" The anger in his voice was palpable, each syllable spat out as if they were poison.
Sirius's expression tightened, jaw clenching as he met James's furious gaze, the words rushing out with a fiery intensity. "But it's my fucking family, James! As twisted and sick as it sounds, they are my fucking family, and my fucking little brother just told me that he screwed up big time and needs my help!"
James's frustration deepened, and he took a step closer, his eyes darkening. "Are you listening to yourself, Sirius?" He ran a hand through his hair in disbelief, as if trying to make Sirius see the mistake he was about to make. "Going to Grimmauld is a mistake."
"He's my little brother," Sirius whispered, defeated. "And he needs my help. You wouldn't understand."
James's features contorted with a mix of empathy and exasperation. He couldn’t fanthom what tied his best friend to the House of Black. After all they had done to Sirius, why was he still going back to them? Why did Sirius feel he owed something to them, when they had done nothing but belittle him?
"You left that place for a reason, Pads. You don't owe them anything." James argued, his voice a low murmur.
Sirius shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips. James would never understand. He could run away, insult them, scream until he was blue in the face, but he’d still be a Black until the day he died. It was their blood coursing through his veins. If Orion Black died, he’d inherit everything, no matter what his mother claimed about disinheriting him or blasting him from the family tapestry.
“There’s no changing your mind, is there?” James sighed, realizing the futility of arguing further. When Sirius shaked his head, he gripped Sirius's shoulder in a show of support, hazel eyes reflecting understanding mixed with worry. "Just be careful, mate. You don’t know what you're walking back into."
With a curt nod, Sirius squared his shoulders and stepped into the fireplace, Floo powder in hand. The flames roared to life, swallowing him in green luminescence before he vanished, leaving James alone in the room with a heavy sense of foreboding.
The oppressive atmosphere of Grimmauld Place wrapped around Sirius like a suffocating cloak as he stepped into the main living room. The air seemed stagnant, filled with the memories of a family he tried so desperately to escape. "Home sweet home," he thought grimly, his eyes surveying the disgustingly antique Victorian furniture that adorned the room like relics of a bygone era.
A sense of nostalgia mixed with revulsion swept over Sirius as he took in the room. Memories of his tumultuous childhood collided with the oppressive atmosphere, making him acutely aware of the reasons he had distanced himself from this place.
Shaking off the unsettling feeling, Sirius ascended the creaky staircase, the ancient wood groaning beneath his weight. He reached his room, the door opening with a reluctant creak. To his surprise, the space within was frozen in time, just as he had left it two years ago.
The walls were still painted Gryffindor red, a silent rebellion against the cold, dark aesthetic that defined the rest of Grimmauld Place. Posters adorned the walls, featuring half-naked women in bikinis—relics of Sirius's teenage rebellion. A cynical smile played on his lips as he surveyed the room. "Mommy dearest might've hoped I’d come back one day," he scoffed, the bitterness evident in his tone.
He lay on the bed, the worn mattress yielding slightly beneath him. The juxtaposition of his Gryffindor-themed sanctuary against the oppressive backdrop of the Black family home created a disorienting sense of duality. Sirius closed his eyes, attempting to shut out the memories that threatened to surface.
Tomorrow, he thought, a sense of weariness settling over him. Tomorrow, he would confront his brother, delve into the mess Regulus had managed to entangle himself in. The very idea made Sirius's stomach churn, but family bonds, no matter how strained, held a certain power over him. Grimmauld had a way of pulling him back, forcing him to confront the demons he thought he left behind.
"Merry fucking Christmas," Sirius thought bitterly, eyeing his reflection in the mirror as he gathered his long hair into a tight ponytail at the base of his neck. There was a time when a beautiful woman with raven hair and gray eyes would comb his curls, showering him with praise and aspirations. The memory seemed like a distant echo, drowned out by the symphony of insults, screams, slamming doors and empty threats, which yet, in some way he couldn't understand, continued to hurt.
"Typical Black family gathering," Sirius sneered at his own reflection, adopting the haughty look that characterized his lineage. He saw not Sirius Black but the heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.
Exiting the bathroom, he was met with the reddened gaze of his little brother. Dark circles marred Regulus's eyes, and his usually perfectly gelled hair was disheveled, as if chaos itself had taken residence on his head.
"Looking good, little brother," Sirius said with a wicked smile, observing the flicker of surprise in Regulus's eyes.
"Fuck you, Sirius. Today I'm not in the mood for your shit," Regulus retorted, attempting to enter the bathroom. Sirius, quicker, seized his brother's arm and led him to his room, closing the door behind them.
"Your insults fly over my head, something I learned from Mother. Now tell me why I received a letter from you at four in the morning."
Regulus nervously scratched his left arm, a strange telltale sign of distress in him that didn't escape Sirius's notice. The letter had been a desperate plea, and now, facing his older brother, Regulus couldn’t bring himself to speak.
"Reggie, it's me. You know you can tell me anything," Sirius reassured him, a rare softness in his voice.
Hearing the childhood nickname after seven years brought Regulus to the edge. He crumpled to the floor, hugging his legs, attempting to make himself small and unseen. Sirius, without hesitation, enveloped his little brother in a comforting embrace, a rare moment of vulnerability for the usually composed Regulus.
"I've screwed up," Regulus whispered brokenly through sobs.
"I screw up constantly. I'm the black sheep of this family, remember? And I take my role very seriously" Sirius quipped with feigned seriousness, attempting to lighten the mood, earning a smile from Regulus.
“Well look at that, Regulus Arcturus Black smiling, someone call the Witchly Weekly, Regulus, now slightly composed, elbowed Sirius playfully. "Now, why have you written to me? "
"You're going to hate me even more when you know," Regulus whispered, avoiding eye contact, his left forearm receiving an unconscious second touch.
"Reggie, please tell me you haven't—" Sirius shook his head, a hollow laugh escaping his lips. His brother was a fucking Death Eater."Show me your arm," he demanded,
Regulus extended his trembling arm, and Sirius carefully rolled up his sleeve, revealing the pulsating Dark Mark, fresh and mocking. The sight made Sirius's stomach churn, a potent mix of guilt, anger, and the painful realization that he had allowed his brother to slip through the cracks.
Sirius's blood boiled with a furious rage, his thoughts a tumultuous storm of anger and disbelief. "It was Bella, right? It was that twisted and sick bitch that convinced you of this madness, right?" He muttered the words under his breath, a promise to himself that Bellatrix Lestrange would pay for whatever influence she had wielded over his little brother. The image of her sitting at the dining table made Sirius's fists clench.
"I...I'm so sorry, Siri," Regulus stammered nervously, guilt etched across his features. "I didn't want to, but she insisted that this would make Father and Mother proud."
Sirius gritted his teeth, struggling to contain the rage boiling within him. A mixture of frustration and concern flashed in his eyes as he regarded his younger brother. "This is what we are going to do," he declared, his tone firm but measured. "I’m going to go down to surprise us with lunch with our 'loving' and not at all toxic family, and you are going to stay here, resting."
He closed the door gently behind him, cutting off the glimpse of Regulus's apologetic eyes. Entering the dining hall with forced composure, Sirius summoned a chair, sat down, and placed the napkin on his lap. The murmurs in the room ceased as eyes turned to the unexpected guest. Sirius, with an air of casual indifference, looked to Kreacher with disdain and requested lunch be served to him.
"What are you doing in my house?" Orion Black's deep voice boomed through the dining hall, a thunderous presence that commanded attention.
Sirius, maintaining a façade of indifference, met his father's gaze with a cold smile. "I thought this was the annual Black Christmas dinner, and last time I checked, much to your dismay, Father—though, honestly, I couldn't give a flying fuck—I am still your heir. I have the right to be eating at this table." Sirius's words cut through the air like a biting wind, his eyes locking onto Orion's with an unyielding intensity.
"You've got some nerve sitting at this table, boy," hissed his uncle Cygnus, his eyes narrowing in pure loathing and disdain.
"You are the one who has some fucking nerve sitting at this table,"Sirius lifted his glass, sipping the wine with a cruel smile, "especially after what Bella has done to Reggie," he said the latter, savoring each syllable, observing how his cousin turned pale and his mother, Walburga, pursed her lips—a clear sign that she was about to yell at him.
"Imagine, dear family, my surprise when I receive a letter from my little brother saying that he has screwed up and that he needs my help," Sirius began to narrate.
"Since when are you and my son on speaking terms?" Walburga's voice screeched; for her, Sirius did not exist—only Regulus.
"Not relevant, Mother," Sirius rolled his eyes dismissively. Determined to continue, he addressed Uncle Cygnus, turning to face him directly. "Your precious eldest daughter has made my brother, and I cannot stress this enough, my little brother, join those fucking sociopaths who call themselves Death Eaters. My brother has allowed himself to be branded like cattle because your daughter has convinced him to bow before a megalomaniac half-blood supremacist because he thought that it would make Father and Mother proud." Sirius watched as his uncle Cygnus swallowed hard and nervously looked everywhere but at Sirius.
"Is it true?" Orion roared angrily. "Where’s Regulus?"
"Unwell, as you can see, given the circumstances. His appearance right now would not meet Mother's pureblood expectations for a family gathering," Sirius smiled wickedly behind the rim of his wine glass.
Suddenly, the air was filled with threats and furious shrieks —a typical Black family gathering, Sirius thought happily as he continued eating. A new presence ceased the uproar; Regulus stood at the door nervously, fiddling with the cufflinks on his jacket.
"Regulus, what were you thinking?" Orion's voice cut through the room, heavy with a mixture of concern and frustration. His gaze seemed to purposefully avoid looking at his youngest son's left forearm.
"I thought... I thought you would be proud of me," Regulus murmured, embarrassment tinting his voice.
"Did you think your mother and I would be proud if you took the Dark Mark?" Orion spoke with unusual softness. It was in moments like these that Sirius remembered why he had fled from Grimmauld Place; the blatant favoritism.
"Bella said," Regulus accused, casting a resentful glance at his cousin. "You wanted me to take it," he then looked accusingly at his father.
"Honey, we would never have allowed it," Sirius felt a pang of nausea watching his mother gently brush a strand of hair from Regulus's forehead.
"CAN YOU STOP FUCKING LYING?," Sirius exploded, his patience worn thin by the elaborate charade.
"Sirius Orion Black, watch your tone, young man" Walburga scolded, her voice condescending.
"You can all go fuck yourselves. Everyone knows you support Voldemort's ideals. You don't have to be very smart to guess that we're expected to have the honor of receiving that fucking mark on our forearm," Sirius hissed mockingly. "Fuck it, you're all fucking deluded. I left this sick house because Bella tried with me too."
"EVERYONE OUT, NOW!" roared Orion. Nervously, the family members rose and moved toward the fireplace knowing how volatile the Black temper could be.
Cygnus attempted to approach, perhaps to apologize on behalf of his daughter, but Walburga stopped him with a cold warning. "Cygnus, better not see you or Bella for a while, lest the aim of my wand slip."
"I'm sorry, Father," Regulus whispered, head bowed in remorse once everyone had left.
"We Blacks bow to no wizard, I don't care if it's Merlin himself, Regulus. We are above that, we always have been," Orion stated, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. Despite his serious and cold expression, Orion's eyes looked calm, not tumultuous as usual.
"Regulus, wash your hands and sit down," Walburga ordered, her authoritative tone cutting through the lingering tension.
As the room settled into an uneasy calm, Sirius and Regulus exchanged mischievous glances across the table. “Typical Christmas in the Black family”, they thought simultaneously. Despite their sick, twisted nature, the haughty raging god complexes, and the toxic inbreeding, they were family—a concept that, twisted as it might be, held a peculiar warmth for Sirius and he wouldn't change it for anything in the world.