Chapter Text
Sirius pushed the box of blades shut, taking in deep breaths. Blood trickled slowly down his forearms, but he couldn’t work out what was from the cuts lining his wrists and what was from his shoulders.
The letter shook in his hands, words blurring together as he tried to read it.
Good evening Sirius,
I hope your holidays have gone well and you are well refreshed for your second term at Hogwarts.
The uniform you gave me has been placed back in your dorm, alongside all your books. As per request, I have asked the house elves to avoid your bed however I expect it to still be kept tidy.
I would remind you there is a transfiguration essay due in on the first Friday back and if you are having any issues please come see me for help.
On the train back, I will be in compartment three. There is something that came out of the bag you gave me that I would like to talk about.
Regards,
Professor McGonagall
His hands shook harder as he folded the letter up, the paper scraping against his fingers as blood blotted the edges.
Pushing himself up off the wall was more difficult than he’d expected. His legs were weak under him, shaking and betraying him, and he almost tripped several times while trying to remove the false brick from the wall.
Carefully, he tucked the letter into the matchbox alongside the one from James. It was worn out, carefully wrapped in tissue paper. Hidden alongside his wand and the notes Remus, James, and Peter had written to him in class.
Slotting the fake brick back over the hole, he pulled the dress shirt off the rack, trying not to cough as dust was scattered across the room.
He buttoned it up slowly, hair pins in his mouth. He was careful not to pull too hard on the fresh cuts as he fixed the cuffs.
As he pushed his feet into the dress shoes, he pulled down the mirror. He had a blackeye, and his lip was slightly swollen, but it’d be fine.
He fixed the last pin in his hair. The bun was not messy enough to call it attention to it, but just messy enough to be a statement of rebellion.
He could feel the footsteps from the crowds downstairs and the voices discussing every piece of latest gossip. It rattled the black iron railing that ran down the halls and made the doors creak and shudder.
The staircase was long, and windy, and in full view of anyone in the ballroom. He could see the guests floating around in the candlelight, whispering to each other. He knew most of them by name, and all of them by deed. He could see Lucius showing off something on his arm, and Bellatrix carefully adjusting the hem of her skirt.
It took everything he had to stop his hands from shaking. He gripped the railing as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes scanning for the safest corner to hide in.
How Lucius managed to cross the room in the span of milliseconds, Sirius would never know.
“If it isn’t our little blood traitor,” Lucius sneered.
Lucius was taller than him and broader than him and older than him. His white hair was pulled back off his face, held in place with a slytherin clip, and his fingers were dripping with rings.
“Fuck off.”
Lucius caught Sirius’ wrist, nails digging in deep, stepping closer and closer. “What did you say to me, runt?”
“I told you to fuck off. Go suck a dick or something.”
There was an art in keeping a cocky grin on his face. A sort of rhythm in the way he ignored the irregular beating of his heart and focused his eyes squarely on Lucius’ cold ones.
Lucius twisted his arm back, pushing him up against the railing of the stairs. It pressed against the cuts on his wrists and sent fresh flames of agony through his shoulders and back. On such an awkward angle, he couldn’t even stand up straight.
He leant in and whispered against Sirius’ ear, fist tightening around his wrist. “Do you want me to show you what we do to blood traitors?”
Sirius kicked at Lucius’ shins. “Get off me, you jerk. I’m not in the mood.”
“Oh, Lucius,” Andromeda draped her arms over his shoulders. “Don’t you have better things to be doing?”
She had a fading bruise under her cheek bone, and her eyes were tired. Brown hair had been gathered meticulously into a silver bun net and her fingers were worn.
Lucius shrugged her off, digging his nails in deeper until he drew blood.
But he didn’t even look at her.
She gave Sirius an apologetic look, but walked off, her fingers twirling the loose strand of hair.
The punch hit Sirius in the chest before he even saw it.
“Fucking mudblood lover,” Lucius snarled. “Do you really want to make a mockery of us?”
“You do that just fine by yourself.”
Another blow caved Sirius’ stomach in.
He didn’t get a chance to breath before Lucius’ wand was pointing under Sirius’ chin, digging in sharply.
Pain burst through his body. It twisted patterns, igniting every bruise and cut. It laughed and snarled, biting at his skin and gnashing at his bones. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to focus on anything but Lucius’ grin and the pain that ran through his bones.
“Oh Lucius!” Sirius’ mother fawned. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. How long has it been?”
The wand left Sirius’ throat instantly, and his wrist was released. But the pain wasn’t gone. His mother’s voice kept everything on edge- fists clenched, heart racing.
“Far too long, I’m afraid,” Lucius sidled. “I haven’t seen you since the end of school last year.”
Sirius’ breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t open his eyes, they wouldn’t work for him and he couldn’t make them. They were fixed firmly shut, unwilling to cooperate. He could feel his hands shaking and he hated it. He couldn’t show weakness. Especially not here.
His mother slapped him across the face, nails digging into his skin.
His vision was blurry. His mother’s pearls seemed to reflect the too bright light, her black netting obscuring his view of the room. Her snake headed cane tapped against the marble floor.
“What took you so long? Do you exist to ridicule me?”
“I couldn’t bring myself to watch whatever scene you were making,” he shrugged.
He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He was tired, and sore, and school started again in a couple of days.
Lucius’ smug smile said it all.
“I should’ve locked you up in the attic,” she growled lowly. “Be grateful I’m too kind to do what I should’ve. If you had any parent but me you wouldn’t be here, you can bet on that.”
“I don’t want to be here.”
“Do you want a taste of what responsible parents do to their blood traitors?”
The head of her cane hit just under his chin, tilting his head up slightly.
He raised his chin to look her in the eyes, words turning bitter and painful before he spoke them. “How bad could it be?”
The cane sent a sharp burst of pain across his chin, hitting his split lip. He could taste blood, feel it trickle down his chin.
He didn’t even have time to focus on it. Time and time again his mother’s rings scraped across the skin of his cheek, drawing blood, and the cane sent bruises blossoming across his body.
She stayed detached, upright, observing with cold eyes. Sometimes he thought it’d be better if she yelled or screamed or snarled.
He fell into the routine he’d perfected over the years. Taking shallow breaths, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor, biting his lip to keep the tears from forming.
The room was spinning around him in a blur of light when the blows stopped. It took all of his willpower to stand up straight and look his mother in the eye.
He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He could see Cygnus nodding in approval, and Lucius’ smug, aloof grin.
The only one looking away was Andromeda. She was staring at the ground, hands shaking in her lap, whispering something to Regulus.
But he wasn’t listening.
He was watching Sirius with wide eyes and fists clenched around his robes. His chest was rising and falling jaggedly, with the trained restraint of someone who couldn’t show fear.
Sirius caught his eyes, trying to fix his face into an easy going, reassuring smile. Everything was going to be ok.
But Regulus looked away, his face quickly going blank.
Sirius leaned back against the railing, ignoring the shots of pain from the not quite healed gashes on his back, and laughed as best he could through the raspiness.
“Is that all you’ve got, you old bat?”
Shots of pain pressed against the skin of his wrist, carving patterns and letters he couldn’t bring himself to look at. Bursts of purple and red cut through his mind, blocking out his vision entirely, and he could feel his throat constrict. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see. He was numb except for the blinding white pain that became his only tether to reality.
This was it. This was how he was going to die.
He couldn’t remember anything after that. He’d be able to feel the agony in his veins for the rest of his life, or the feeling of his skin splitting open and his bones splintering. He’d be able to say how hoarse his throat had been for days after or how the fury in his mother’s eyes was permanently ingrained in his mind.
But the details were gone as soon as it had happened. A massive dark gap in his memory that stretched for an indeterminable amount of time and hid images that haunted him in nightmares.
He could remember the aftermath, though. He could remember falling to his knees, face a mess of tears and blood, body shaking and breath trapped in his chest. He could remember the cold marble against his split skin and how he hit his head on the railing.
He could remember that one last glimpse of Regulus’ pale face before everything crumbled into an empty, unforgiving darkness.