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Summary
“It’s an honour to be chosen,” his mother had said, her voice so sickly sweet it had made Sirius’ stomach churn. So artificial in its affection, a counterfeit of the love he had always craved from her. “Don’t you see the example you’ll set? The privilege to be remembered this way?”
It doesn't feel like a privilege. Whatever fancy words his mother used to dress this up as, he has been ostracised and left for dead. Worse than left for dead—willingly carted out to be devoured by the beasts that prowl the mountains and the forests.
For Padfoot Fest 2025, prompt A37.