Prologue
The first time Sirius Black drank was when he was 12 years old.
He had just gotten the snot beat out of him by his own mother for dropping a plate when he was putting up the dishes. One would think that a crazy rich family like the Blacks would have staff to do such menial tasks for them, but Walburga and Orion liked to find new, interesting ways to torment their children, to give their sons new, exciting reasons to be fuck ups.
As soon as Sirius could pull himself off the floor and find his way up the stairs, he went straight to stitch himself up. It was an old, tired routine. He clawed through the first aid kit kept in his father’s study. The burn of the peroxide was practically refreshing on the now dried blood which marred his body. The artist in him, which his parents had squashed years ago, found it rather pretty. The boiling burgundy stood out against his almost too pale skin.
Just as he was leaving his eyes had been drawn to his father’s liquor cabinet. The Black Family had many secrets which built their empire, but the most well kept one, other than their abuse, was Orion's love of that good old liquid courage.
Sirius found himself in need of a bit of courage.
He picked the lock on the ornate doors, a skill which he had learned when he was barely 7 years old, and stole a bottle of whiskey. The burn of it in his throat quelled a fire within him which he hadn’t yet noticed. It satisfied him in a strange way.
From that moment, Sirius Black did whatever he possibly could to find that escape again.
He kept stealing from his father’s liquor cabinet, no matter how many times he was caught, no matter how many times he was beaten. After a few years of begging him to just stop, Regulus embraced his own wild streak and began to join Sirius on occasion.
It was nice. It helped them stay close as their parents repeatedly tried to pull them apart. Sirius was Regulus’ safe space, and Regulus was
Sirius’s.
If they were self destructing they would do so together. Who could possibly blame them? After all, their parents had done nothing but fuck them up.
When Sirius was sixteen, this changed. After years of homeschooling and private tutors, their parents decided that Regulus ought to go to private school.
Sirius begged and pleaded with them to let him go with his little brother. Of course, it was no use as Regulus sat there silently, taking their side in his complacency.
Suddenly, Sirius had no safe space. His Reggie was gone and he was facing the world all alone for the first time in his life. Soon, the liquor stopped cutting it. He needed something stronger, something that let him escape.
He started sneaking out to the skate park a block away from Grimmauld Place. He bummed cigarettes and learned how to skate. He taught himself how to be like all of the kids there, taught himself how to be fucked up without anyone noticing just how much. He got drunk on liquor and high on his acceptance into the group.
Then, Reggie came home for Christmas. Sirius had nicked enough spare cash from his parents to buy a pack of Marlboros and a bottle of tequila just for the occasion, but when he knocked on his brother’s door the response was lackluster.
“I don’t think I want to, Sirius. Pandora says that if I keep it up it’ll kill me someday. Her uncle’s liver stopped working because he drank.”
Sirius was baffled. “Father’s been drinking since before you were born and he’s doing fine.”
“No, Sirius,” Reggie was firm. “I’m not going to drink with you. I don’t think you should, either. It’s self-destructive.”
“Jesus, Reg. When did you become fucking boring?”
He received a lovely sneer for his comment.
“I’m not boring just because you’re a fucking alcoholic at 16. Now, fuck off,” he slammed the door in his face.
That night Sirius got shitfaced and chain smoked the whole pack. It still didn’t feel like enough. Though, what could possibly be enough when you lose your little brother when he’s right in front of you?