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Hey, hey mama, said the way you move, gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove.
The piercing guitar riff mostly drowned out the insistent knocking on the door. Sirius smirked, purposefully ignoring the would-be intruder, and took a step back to admire his handiwork. The scantily-clad babes on the posters didn't move, but they still contained a certain charm.
"Master Sirius," came a scratchy voice from behind, and the young wizard frowned in irritation, though he didn't bother acknowledging the house-elf. He really ought to start locking his door; apparently the Muggle music wasn't enough to keep annoyances out anymore. "Mistress wishes for you to come down for dinner," Kreacher continued, trying to out-yell Led Zeppelin.
"You can tell that old hag that I'm not hungry," Sirius replied nonchalantly, performing the well-trained Permanent Sticking Charm on his new posters. Let her try to take them down now.
"Mistress insists," Kreacher shouted over the drumbeats.
With a frustrated sigh, Sirius walked over to his cassette player and pressed the stop button. "Fine. I'll be there in ten minutes."
"Mistress wishes for young Master to put on his new clothes," Kreacher said, bowing deeply as he backed away. "Mistress has guests tonight." Then he muttered under his breath, "Good-for-nothing blood-traitor, breaking my Mistress' heart and dragging the Black family name through the mud…"
"I got it!" Sirius exclaimed irritably, slamming the door in the servant's face. He really, really hated that racist, two-faced, grovelling house-elf. At least his parents were honest about their disdain, instead of playing polite and heaping praise upon him only to viciously slander him as soon as they thought no one could hear.
Running a hand through his black locks with a sigh, Sirius threw a look at the disorganized mess that was his room. A spark of pride flared up in his chest at the sight of the Gryffindor flag above his bed, which, along with the motorbike pictures and other muggle paraphernalia, had survived his mother's cleansing while he was at school, all thanks to his amazing proficiency at Charms, of course. Now the room looked less like a depressing prison and a bit more like his dormitory at Hogwarts, his real home. The one place where he was accepted for who he was and where he found friends who loved him for that, instead of casting him contemptuous glares over the centuries-old silverware. But he had to go and sit down with all the other members of his family tonight, acting 'respectably' with whatever stuck-up pureblood they had invited over. Not that Sirius cared much about their opinions, but he knew that when his mother 'insisted' on something, that meant that she would show up here in the flesh if he didn't comply, resulting in a lot of shrieking – which in turn would lead to a headache – and a long, dragged-out argument. It just wasn't worth the effort.
His eyes hovered over to the bed where the brand new black and silver robes that Kreacher had delivered this morning – on his mistress' orders, of course – still lay untouched, then soared to the pile of clothes on one of the chairs, and the smirk returned to his lips. His mother said he had to go down and put on new clothes… but she never specified which ones. As James would say, that rule was open to interpretation.
As soon as Sirius entered the room, Regulus dropped his fork.
The elder Black was known for his rebellious attitude, but he had never displayed such blatant insolence before.
"Uncle Alphard," he said with a slight bow, barely containing his laughter at his family's faces. "Uncle Cygnus, Aunt Druella. Dear cousins." Counting the people sitting at the long dinner table, Sirius noticed that only Andromeda was missing, though her sisters, Narcissa and Bellatrix, were both there, despite Bellatrix being a Lestrange now. Rodolphus, Bellatrix's husband, was also present, sitting on her left and doing his best imitation of blinking through a sand storm.
"What… are you wearing?" Narcissa asked, her delicate nose scrunched up in distaste.
"My new leather jacket," Sirius replied with a grin, straightening up. Then he turned around to show the logo on the back, a falling angel with spread-out wings. "You like?"
"What's that symbol?" Uncle Alphard asked, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.
"Led Zeppelin. They're my favourite Muggle rock band," Sirius replied, flashing him a one-hundred-carat smile. "Pretty far out, huh?" Without waiting for an answer, he approached the table and sat down next to his brother, on the chair that had obviously been left empty for him without even trying to hide the smirk at his mother's expression. Mrs. Black looked like she'd been forced to swallow a whole lemon, and had they not been surrounded by noble guests, her harpy shrieks would undoubtedly be shaking the walls right now.
"So... Regulus," Uncle Cygnus started stiffly, trying to move on from his nephew's scandalous attire. "How is school? As I understand it, you will be getting your O.W.L. results soon?"
Regulus nodded, but it was his mother that spoke. "Oh yes, we have great expectations. Sirius scored rather highly on his, despite his... questionable activities."
"I have told you a thousand times, Walburga, you really need to owl that teacher and have her exert more control," Uncle Cygnus continued, shooting his sister a look over the potatoes. "Look what has become of your son! Wearing Muggle clothes to dinner, getting detention every other day, conspiring with Mudbloods and blood traitors; if this continues, he's going to end up blasted off the tapestry!"
"As if I give a toss about the stupid tapestry," Sirius muttered into his peas, but the adults were too busy to pay him any mind.
"Everything went down hill when that hat put him in Gryffindor," Mr. Black said, matter-of-factly, cutting up his steak. "His whole academic future was sealed as soon as he donned the red and gold."
"Are you implying that great wizards cannot come from Gryffindor?" Uncle Alphard joined in. "And as you just heard, Sirius has kept up his grades. I don't see how his future is ruined by his house."
"It's his friends," came a quiet voice from Sirius' right, and he whipped his head in its direction so fast the juice in his goblet almost stained the pearly-white tablecloth. "They're filling his head with misguided ideas and Muggle sympathies," Regulus continued, voice full of contempt.
Sirius just stared at his brother with a mixture of surprise, hurt and anger, the last of which was quickly gaining dominance. "Leave them out of this," he growled, fingers tightening around the goblet.
"You're too lenient, Sister," Uncle Cygnus said, disregarding him again. "If he were my son, I would have written Dumbledore directly and insisted that he be kept apart from Potter and the Mudbloods that drag him down to their level."
Sirius felt something hot and poisonous bubble at the pit of his stomach. "Don't talk about them like that," he said quietly, but was thoroughly ignored.
Mrs. Black shot her brother a cold glare. "Don't you think I've tried? That demented old Muggle-lover denied me!"
"Then take it up with the Board of Governors! The Ministry, if you have to!" Aunt Druella chimed in, finally looking up from her plate. "For Merlin's sake, Walburga, exercise some control!"
"Like you exercised control over Andromeda?" Mrs. Black shot back. Aunt Druella's face immediately turned white as a sheet; Bellatrix growled.
"I don't know of anyone by that name," Uncle Cygnus said calmly, returning to the very important task of cutting up his food. "But your boy is not a lost cause yet. What he needs—"
"Is a large dose of curse therapy," Bellatrix muttered.
"—is direction. He has proven himself both capable and intelligent," Uncle Cygnus continued, as if she hadn't said anything. "All he has to do is change the attitude and channel that towards a more noble goal."
"Intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings," Aunt Druella pointed out, bringing a fork of mash up to her thin lips. "There are plenty of respectable wizards he could have chosen to spend his time with, but he chose the scum of the school."
"I said, DON'T TALK ABOUT THEM LIKE THAT!" Sirius exploded, surging to his feet.
His mother finally lost the tight grip on herself, yelling in return, "Then what should call them?! You've chosen to conspire with dirty half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth! If you had just been a normal child, you could have achieved greatness, brought honour to our house—"
"I don't want greatness!" Sirius shouted. "Has it ever occurred to you that there are more important things in life? That maybe I don't want to treat people like dirt just because of who their parents are? That blood has nothing to do with a person's magic?"
"H-how dare you—" Mrs. Black sputtered, eyes bugging out in anger.
"I know a Muggle-born without a drop of magical blood that is ten times the witch you are!" Sirius yelled, knocking down the fruit bowl. Rage was thumping in his ears, and the whole room was starting to gain a distinct red tint. "One of my best friends' mother is a Muggle, but he knows more spells than our entire year!"
"A half-breed!" Mrs. Black shrieked. "His father might as well have mated with a hippogriff!"
That was it. Before Sirius knew what he was doing, the wand was in his hand and a spell formed on his lips.
"Incendio!"
CRACK!
A big oak tree and part of a grey stone fence jumped out of the way of the purple triple-decker that appeared out of thin air and ground to a sudden halt, its blinding headlights illuminating the dark street. The door opened and Sirius staggered out of the bus, fighting the urge to spew what little he had tasted of dinner.
"'Ave a nice evening!" the pudgy conductor yelled from inside. The bus launched forward at full speed just as abruptly as it had stopped and disappeared once again with a loud crack, leaving only the wailing alarms of Muggle cars behind.
Sirius straightened up, turning to look at the Potter Mansion looming before him, and a cold, uncertain feeling slowly crept up his chest. What now? He hadn't really been thinking when he'd given the address to the teen aboard the Knight Bus – it was just the first place he could think of. But where could he go from here? 'Not back there,' he thought bitterly, his hands balling into fists. 'I'm never going back.'
That path was blocked as far as he was concerned, and all he could do was move forward. So, with a deep breath of the heavy summer air, Sirius gathered his Gryffindor courage and walked up to the door, raising a fist to the lion-shaped knocker.
"And you really cursed her?" James laughed again, the sound reverberating through the empty Potter kitchen. "You're mad, mate! Completely mental! You could have set the whole place on fire!"
Sirius couldn't help but smirk slightly as he reached for another of Mrs. Potter's home-made biscuits, still cooling in a plate on the table. "It could all burn to the ground for all I care." He shrugged nonchalantly, biting into the treat. "The old hag was asking for it."
"I think you were itching for it," his bespectacled friend said, still chuckling, and took another sip of his tea. "Still can't believe you got away without a scratch. I don't imagine they'll be very happy when you come back."
Sirius' face grew dark. "I'm not going back."
James' hand froze mid-motion, and he slowly put the cup down. "What do you mean, 'you're not going back'?"
"Just what I said. I swore I'd never step foot in that hellhole again, and I meant it." Sirius' grey eyes locked with those of his best friend, his expression grim and determined. "You don't know what it's like, Prongs. When you leave Hogwarts, you get to come home to biscuits and tea, and I'm greeted with glares and disdain. Everywhere I look I see the Dark Arts, every cousin or family member I speak to can't wait to sing the praises of that loony that keeps making the first page of the Daily Prophet with his atrocities, every day I get a reminder of how I should act and what company I should keep! Well, I'm sick of it!"
Sirius' voice grew more and more passionate as he spoke, and the biscuit crumbled to bits in the palm of his hand. "I never asked to be a Black, to be the eldest, to be the heir! Screw them and their arrogant, self-important attitude; screw their stupid motto they keep parroting off like it's a bloody prayer, and screw their rubbish pureblood mania! I'm not like them!"
His fist banged loudly on the wooden table, startling James almost out of his seat. Sirius kept staring unseeingly in front of him, panting heavily. The rage that had flared inside him was almost blinding, and for a minute or so all he could hear was the deafening pounding of his own heart.
"I know you're not."
Trying to control his rage, Sirius looked to his friend.
"I have always known who you really are," James continued, eyeing him calmly, "and that's why you're my best friend." He reached forward and clapped Sirius on the shoulder. "You were born a Black, so what? It's how you act that matters, not how far back you can trace your family tree. Moony is a werewolf, but he's never ripped out our throats in our sleep, just like you've never lifted your wand against a Muggle-born for the crime of not having wizard parents." His so-far serious expression morphed into a slight grin. "There's plenty of better reasons to hex people. Remember Oliver Rickett?"
Almost against his will, Sirius felt his bad mood dissipate like the smoke of a forgotten cigarette and barked a laugh. "I couldn't just let him get away with it! That snitch still told Slughorn that Wormy copied his homework, after he got well compensated for it! All those Chocolate Frogs – wasted!"
"Well he couldn't very well unwrap them with those cloven hooves for hands, could he?" James snickered, getting up. "Come on. You can have the guest bedroom for tonight; I'll see what my folks can do about getting your stuff from your parents tomorrow. Probably won't go too well, considering how you left." He shook with silent laughter again. "Once we put up the bikes on the walls again, it'll be more or less the same."
"You mean… you want me to stay here?" Sirius asked in bewilderment.
James shot him a look like he wasn't sure he was right in the head. "Of course you're staying here. Unless you want to share a room with Wormtail at his mum's tiny flat? Got to admit though, Mrs. Pettigrew makes some mean waffles."
"I—I… uh…" Sirius didn't know what to say. His throat felt tight all of a sudden.
"You're welcome." James grinned, pouring what was left of his tea in the sink. "Now let's go, before your loud cries of gratitude wake up the neighbours."