Chapter Text
Sirius was at a party, looking forlorn.
Remus was not there.
It was almost the full moon again, and he always became a bit hairy around those times. Or, at least that had been his excuse. Sirius suspected it was only partially the truth.
Their friendship had been a bit frigid ever since the Prank. Remus had said he forgave him and understood that it hadn't been malicious... but Sirius was not blind. He could see that his friend had become wary of him and his loose tongue. Moony wasn't the first to accuse him of acting before thinking. It tended to get him into trouble.
The guilt weighed on his conscience. The fact that Snivellus claimed he had almost been maimed and killed was inconsequential. Sirius had always been fond of the saying, 'play stupid games, win stupid prizes.' That dung deserved it. But with Remus, it was different. He was an innocent caught in the crossfire of what was supposed to be some harmless fun.
James insisted that he would eventually get over it—that he just needed some time—and he was usually right about these kinds of things.
But he hated the look of distrust in Remus' eyes. It felt like they said, 'I should have heeded the warnings,' for he knew there must have been some. He had overheard people whispering about him on more than one occasion; about his family who loudly declared their disdain for those 'lesser' than them; about his cousin who was rumoured to dabble in dark magic and running with an even darker set.
He knew in his heart of hearts that he was nothing like them, but sometimes doubt reared its ugly head. It didn't stop the guilt from surfacing, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it.
"Don't look so glum, Padfoot," James Potter nudged him. "We are here to celebrate, not sulk. Remus will be fine." As always, Prongs knew exactly what was on his mind.
Sirius gave him a glib smile in return. "Glum—me? I don't know that word."
"Well, don't feel bad. We can't all be prodigies like Dorcas, can we?" Peter Pettigrew sniggered, handing Sirius a much needed drink as he returned to them on the couch.
Dorcas Meadowes was the girl of the hour, and they were currently at her family's residence. They had received the results of their Ordinary Wizarding Levels the previous week, and Dorcas had claimed it was a reason to celebrate. Personally, he thought it was just an excuse to get plastered. Not that he was complaining, either way.
Although, he had to give it to her—eleven Outstandings was rather impressive. If she wanted to party, it was fully deserved.
His own results weren't shabby either; certainly nothing to sneeze at. He had passed all his exams with flying colours. He left his friends in the dust. Those poor lads. Not everyone could be gifted, he supposed. Happily, they did not begrudge him his success but rather celebrated it along with him. Although, he knew at least two people who wouldn't be impressed with him. They never were.
Suddenly, he thought he spotted a head of red hair in the corner.
"Oi—is that Evans? I thought she couldn't come?"
"What? Where?" James asked, suddenly looking very much like an eager puppy. When he looked in the direction Sirius pointed, he shot up from his seat—practically wagging his tail. And here Sirius thought he was the dog.
With a mumbled excuse, Potter left them to pester the Gryffindor prefect. It had been a fortnight since he had seen her last. The absolute horror.
"If I ever become whipped like that, I give you permission to kill me," Sirius said drily to his remaining companion.
"Oh, I don't think you ever would. What with all the birds that flock to you." Peter patted him heartily on the shoulder. "Any girl would be lucky to have you."
"Cheers to that, Wormtail!" They clinked their glasses together.
Some hours later, Sirius could barely feel his legs.
He yelped when they somehow knit themselves together and he had to wave his arms about like a madman to keep his balance and remain upright.
Sirius paused to regain his bearings and gracefully wobbled over to the bathroom door. He really needed to piss.
On his way there, he glanced at the time and swore.
He hadn't meant to stay out this late. But everyone had been having such a good time and nobody wanted to leave early.
He would have to be very careful when sneaking back into Grimmauld Place, lest he wake his mother or brother. It would be difficult in his current state to even get back in.
He hadn't meant to drink this much, either. He wasn't used to it, but Sirius was not the kind of bloke to step down from a challenge. When they had goaded him on, he had happily taken the bait with all the bravado of a young buck who thought he was king of the forest. But he didn't regret it. They had all been having a lark.
After making his round of goodbyes and making sure to hug Dorcas and congratulate her on her fantastic results, he finally retired for the night.
If one walked down Camden Street on a humid summer night in 1976, they might have seen the large, black dog strolling down it. Its tongue was hanging out, and it left a trail of drool behind.
There was something strange about its gait.
One could almost be forgiven for thinking that the dog was drunk.
But that would be preposterous. Dogs didn't drink alcohol.
However, they did pee on trees. So there was nothing amiss there.
Most people would have called Sirius crazy and suicidal for trying to climb into his room, especially in his current state. But that had never stopped him before, and a little inebriation would not stop him now, either.
Of course, he was successful in his endeavour, like with everything else in life. He supposed he was just gifted at everything, even drunkenly sneaking back into his parents' house after midnight.
He swung his leg over the windowsill, when an imperious voice froze him in his tracks.
"Where have you been?" The tone was colder than a goblin in a snowstorm.
Standing with her arms crossed and leaning against his bedpost was his mother, Walburga Black. She narrowed her eyes as she took in the sight of her firstborn son clambering into his own bedroom through the window. For Morgana's sake, they were on the fourth floor. Whenever she thought his stupidity had finally peaked, he always managed to surprise her.
When he stumbled forward and almost pancaked onto the floor, she simply raised her eyebrow, waiting for him to answer her.
"Erm—just needed some fresh air, 'ts all," he grumbled stubbornly, leaning on the bedpost for support.
Her eyes narrowed even further at this statement. It was a wonder she could even see anything through those slits.
"'Fresh air' that required you to climb out of your window, and drink?" she hissed at him.
He swore a string of silent curses. "Look, I—"
Before he could explain himself, she had flicked her wand and he felt a pounding pain in his head as he was instantly sobered up. The feeling was jarring and dizzying.
"Ah, shit—give me a warning next time, yeah?"
"Language, Sirius. And there won't be a next time, you hear me?" she said dangerously, her face flush in anger. "Now—explain where you have been. And don't try to lie to me. I don't have time to deal with your falsehoods."
Unfortunately, now he needed to deal with her while sober. It was probably a good thing. One needed their wits about them when dealing with a dragon.
Instead of answering her, he sat down on his bed and stared at her in defiance. This only served to vex her, and her volume increased as she demanded to know where he had been. Sirius wondered briefly if Regulus was asleep or not—he likely was since it was just past midnight. He might have felt guilty for waking his brother, if Reg wasn't such a suck-up. He bet it was he who had snitched on him in the first place.
He reluctantly tried to explain that he had only been at Dorcas Meadowes' place to celebrate with his friends. It was just a short stroll away from Grimmauld Place. There was no need to worry. Such a crab.
The girl's name was foreign and unknown to Mrs Black. No doubt of unsavoury origins.
The teenaged boy ignored his mother's usual spiel about him being irresponsible and disgraceful. It was nothing he hadn't heard before. She even admonished him for underage drinking, to which he wanted to roll his eyes at her. Uncle Alphard had given him his first taste of firewhisky when he was twelve. And Merlin, he was almost of age now. Who cared if he was a few months off? He could very well choose what was best for himself without mummy dearest breathing down his neck.
Soon of age... that was a whole 'nother can of worms that Sirius did not want to think about. He was keenly aware that his parents had already started looking at potentially fruitful matches for him, knowing that he would never do so himself. His mother was convinced that if only she could shackle him down with a wife, he would finally act like the heir she so desired.
The thought made him want to vomit.
"I see that your friends are clearly a bad influence on you. Not that that is a surprise," she sniffed haughtily. He detested the implication. "And I forbid you from meeting with them during the summer."
That raised his hackles.
"What?" he bellowed, rising from the bed. "You can't do that!"
He had finally overtaken her in height last year, but she still somehow managed to be the one looking down on him.
"Of course I can! I am your mother!" she stated, matter-of-factly.
"I'm almost an adult. You can't ground me!" he sputtered.
She let out a loud, "Ha!"
"But—"
"In the absence of your father, I shall have to inform your grandfather of your impertinent behaviour," Walburga continued even louder, ignoring his protests.
She might as well have announced she would throw him to the wolves—and not the good kind. That geezer made his mother's temper look like child's play in comparison. And Arcturus was not—to quote the man himself—weighed down by silly morals.
"He'll know what to do with you. His father was a drunkard too, you know. Maybe he'll fix you!" she sneered.
His hand shook in simmering anger. "Merlin's beard! I'm not a drunkard. I'm just trying to live my life and have a good time with my pals! Is that a crime? Must you always be such a stick-in-the-mud, Mother?"
He must have touched a nerve, for miraculously she became even redder. In the moment, she was very reminiscent of a Manticore—and he would much rather have faced one instead.
"I will not be insulted in my own house! You will NOT be allowed to leave here for the rest of the summer! And no visitors. That is my FINAL say, Sirius Black!"
Anger and panic seized his heart at the thought of being stuck in Grimmauld Place for weeks on end with only his wit to keep him entertained. If he and Walburga were stuck in close quarters for so long without respite, they would undoubtedly ravage the house with their rows. Nobody wanted that. Why couldn't she see it was for the best to just let him go where he pleased? His whole body trembled with barely-contained emotion.
In the back of his mind, he was also aware that his father would be livid when he had to break up their fights. That was somehow worse.
Having said her piece of mind, Walburga turned her back to him and gracefully stomped over to his door, taking her leave of him.
Did she think she could just waltz into his room, declare him a prisoner and then leave? This wasn't over!
It was then that he impulsively said the dratted words he would later come to regret—
"—Obliviate."
His mother froze to the spot, her hand on the doorknob.
He couldn't see her reaction, as she still had her back to him.
He hoped it had worked—if not he would surely get the drubbing of a lifetime. In his defence, he had been at his wits' end.
"...Mum?" he said eventually when she didn't move.
At the sound of his voice, she slowly turned around to face him.
Long seconds passed by.
Walburga blinked. Her face scrunched up in confusion.
Unable to stand the silence anymore, he attempted to continue the conversation, pretending like nothing had happened. "Mum, you wanted to go to bed?"
She gave him a weirdly blank look.
"What?" she asked, sounding unsure of herself. Not at all like the haughty, aristocratic woman he was used to dealing with.
"You wanted to go to bed... Aren't you going to leave?"
His only response was more blinking.
"Are you alright?" he asked—worry slowly creeped up on him at her strange behaviour.
"W-who... Why—Did you call me 'Mum'?"
"Wh-what?"
Now it was Sirius' turn to blink in confusion. What was she talking about?
He half expected her to suddenly erupt like a volcano and declare that he was no son of hers.
"Who are you? Where am I?"
"What are you saying?"
"I don’t know you... And I don’t know this place..." Now she looked horrified. Her pupils were impossibly large.
"Mum, are you having me on? This isn’t funny."
No answer.
"If you're going to yell at me, just do it already," he swallowed hard and braced himself for an onslaught.
Sirius was unforthcoming and not answering her questions, and Walburga was rapidly losing her cool. Her breath became laboured and erratic, and her eyes wandered wildly about his room. Her gaze went over his motorcycle posters and Gryffindor decorations, and landed on the bikini-clad Muggles. And she swayed.
It was lucky that Sirius was sober. Thanks to his fast reflexes, he got his arms around her as she dipped forward.
She had fainted.
It took a few moments for the realisation to fully sink in—he had royally screwed up.
"Oh, fuck—FUCK."
He had only meant to erase her memory of their latest altercation, but it seemed he had erased far more.
Fuck.
Remus always did say that Sirius had far more guts than sense.
Maybe he should listen to him more.