Chapter Text
April, 1967
A shriek could be heard radiating across Grimmauld Place.
"Sirius!" His mother's voice was like nails on a chalkboard, filled to the brim with blind fury. Sirius barely flinched, all too used to her daily fits by then. When was she not blowing a fuse? Her anger was a constant in their household. His mother was calling him a second time when he did not respond immediately. "Sirius! Answer me, you incorrigible brat."
Sirius was feeling less motivated to reply the longer she hollered. If the shrieking had not given her mood away, the insults she was already spitting at him sure were clearing up any confusion. The wretched old bat was angry with him more often than not those days. Truly, he was pretty sure that his mother had thrown a fit every day the past year.
"Sirius!" She screamed again, a distant thud accompanying her words. It sounded like she had thrown open a door to a neighbouring room as she sought him out. She wasn't directly outside the library, but the noise was drawing closer. He knew it was only a matter of time before she found him.
Sirius leaned back in his chair, trying to catch a glimpse of her in the corridor beyond the doors to see how much time he had to develop an escape route. Figures that the rare afternoon he willingly spent time in the library, she'd corner him. There was only one exit to their family library, and she did not sound far from the gaping opening. Both doors were thrown wide open, not providing him with any shield whatsoever.
Sirius could try to make a run for it while she was preoccupied searching a different room, he figured, but how much time would that save him? There were only so many hiding spots he could crawl into. His mother was all too familiar with his favourite hiding spots those days, anyway.
As if she could read his thoughts, his mother was shrieking a new threat. "Answer when your mother calls, you worthless miscreant. If you dare to hide from me, I will flay your skin off!"
Sirius giggled, unwittingly, the noise more audible than he intended it to be.
The heavy silence that followed was far more daunting than her usual screaming, and he immediately knew that his luck had run out. When she started moving again, and he could make out the sounds of her skirt brushing as she marched up the corridor, she was no longer shrieking. She was not saying a word, only laser-focused as she stalked over, like a predator trapping her prey. She was standing at the library doors within thirty seconds, glaring at him with the heat of a thousand suns.
Sirius could not restrain his smirk at the sight of his glowering mother, nearly shaking in her rage. Boy, she was just too easy.
"You," she hissed, moving forward so rapidly that he could not even see her legs moving. Perhaps she was not walking anymore, only floating after him like some deranged dementor. Goodness knows she'd make a terrific dementor. She sucked the joy out of his life daily without getting a knut for her trouble.
Sirius did not bother fleeing. It was too late once she already had him cornered. His mother was standing between him and his only escape from whatever telling off she felt like hurling at him that day. She would not hesitate to use any tools she had at her disposal to stop him if he tried to get around her.
It was easier to just sit there, feigning innocence and denying everything. She loathed that rubbish even more than him running from her, really. And nothing on the whole ruddy planet was as fun as riling up his nutter of a mother.
She snatched him up the moment he was within her reach, roughly tugging him to his feet by her hold on his upper arm. "Did you deface your great-grandfather's portrait?" She was hissing at him, frantically, as though he had murdered a real person or something, "Tell me the truth of it!"
Sirius was not certain what 'deface' meant, the word being beyond his eight-year-old level of vocabulary, but he had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with pouring ink over the ghastly portrait and throwing it into a fireplace. Anyone who ever had the misfortune of speaking to the nasty old git in that portrait would know why he had done so. The bastard deserved to burn a hundred times over for the harassment he inflicted on them. Phineas must be one of his least favourite family members, which was saying something when they were all horrendous, and the bugger wasn't even alive!
"I do not have the slightest clue what you're talking about, honest, Mum," Sirius chuckled, his amusement making his lie all too apparent. Oh, he was going to drive her mad.
Her cheeks were developing a red hue as her eyes bulged. "Don't you dare engage in deceit!" She gave him a shake from her grip on his arm. "I know very well that you were behind this!"
Naturally, she went straight to blaming him. No one was in any rush to call his little brother, Regulus, inside from where he was collecting leaves - a terribly boring habit of his. His mother was right to blame him, of course, but that was beyond the point!
Sirius tried to tug his arm free, since the shaking was swiftly becoming irritating, but her anger-fueled grip held fast. "I thought his portrait belonged in the fireplace," Sirius wisecracked, "Where else would the rotten prat go?"
"Mind your tongue," she hissed, her fury reignited every time he spoke. Her grip on his arm was becoming painful. "Must I seal every last portrait to our walls to cease your insolence?"
"Probably," Sirius agreed with a cheeky smirk. If he was in trouble either way, he might as well have a good time with it.
His attitude got the desired reaction. She nearly shrieked with irritation and cuffed him across the ear with her opposite hand. Then she started toward the door, dragging him along as though he did not weigh a thing, raging all the way. "Must you be supervised at all times to quell these destructive fits of yours? How dare you disrespect your great-grandfather? For shame!"
"Great, great grandfather," Sirius corrected as he hurried to keep up with her. She moved at a horribly quick pace when she was truly worked up. "He is so old."
His mother yanked him in response, nearly forcing him to collide with the nearby wall. She seemed too angry to care that she was tossing him around, still shrieking up a storm. Her lungs must be exceptionally gifted to manage such a feat. "Shut your mouth, you foul child. Goodness knows what compels you to act so horrendously! Where this willfulness stems from, I do not know. Your brother would never act in such a way!"
Sirius snorted, knowing that was not true. His brother would not throw it in their mother's face as he had, sure, but he would not rule out the possibility of Regulus destroying one of the countless nagging portraits in every corridor of their home.
Regulus was not the saint his parents made him out to be - his brother was simply more gifted at eluding detection. His brother had done loads of things that would drive their mother bonkers. He visited the muggle town with Sirius several times, nicked a book, gave Kreacher snacks after the house elf was forbidden from eating as a punishment, and gave Sirius a pillow after their mother confiscated his for hurling one at her.
Regulus had even broken into his father's study to retrieve a toy Sirius had gotten confiscated once. It had been his brother's toy, but Sirius had been caught flinging it down the stairs. His brother had refused to accept that his toy was confiscated for reasons beyond his control, and stubbornly sneaked in to retrieve it one night. It took a few weeks before his father realized the toy was missing from his drawer, but its disappearance had been blamed on Sirius, as neither parent could ever fathom that his brother was capable of disobeying so gravely. They were strictly forbidden from entering their father's study without permission. That was a rule even Sirius typically abided by, knowing how painful it'd be to break it.
Sirius had not bothered to deny that he was to blame for the whole mess. No matter how often the boys got on each other's nerves, they looked out for each other in their home, and Sirius could never leave the boy at the mercy of their parents.
He did not reply to his mother's misguided tirade, instead digging his heels into the carpet and going dead weight in her arms. Their march came to an abrupt halt as his mother struggled to keep him upright.
"Walk!" She commanded. She placed her hands under his armpits, trying to tug him to his feet, but he remained slumped, letting her bear his full weight. "Stand up, now!"
Sirius declined to cooperate, instead letting himself slump closer toward the floor as his mother's grip slid. He was not so easy for her to throw about now that he was eight years old.
Their impending battle was interrupted before it could begin.
"What is the meaning of this racket?" Orion called from the entrance of his study down the hall, annoyance clear in his tone. "A man cannot hear himself think in here."
His mother whirled, nearly on the brink of exploding. "Your son means to drive me to an early grave!"
Sirius stood up swiftly, bracing himself to be teamed up on by both parents, but his father only turned back toward his study. "Whatever he has done now, I am sure you can handle it."
Sirius gasped in pain when his mother's nails dug into his arms without warning. She had not seemed to realize that she clenched her fists around his arms, too busy shrieking at his father then. At least she found a new target for her strop.
"You are his father! He behaves horrendously because you fail to properly correct him," she was spitting words out furiously, "You do not even wish to hear about how he defiled one of your ancestors' sacred portraits? You will simply bury your head in the sand and allow your son to run this household into the ground with his ceaseless misbehaviour?"
"Who cares about a stupid portrait?" Sirius argued, but neither parent paid his weak protest any mind, too caught up in the argument brewing between them.
His father paused halfway through the doorframe of his study. His eyelids closed, and he took a long breath before he turned back, fixing his son with a stern look. "Very well. At the very least, bring this into my study instead of polluting the entire home with your madness, woman. If we had neighbours, the ministry would be at our doorstep within the hour."
They moved the conversation into his study, as though that made it any better. Sirius was led over to stand before his father's desk, where he was able to finally free his arm and scoot further from his mother. He could see angry, red imprints of her fingers on the skin of his upper arm.
"Well?" His father asked once he paused at his side. The man towered over him as his dark eyebrows furrowed in a stern expression. "What is happening here?"
"She is losing it," Sirius retorted, haughtily. "What else is new?"
His mother gasped, holding a hand to her chest as though her heart was failing her, ever-dramatic. "Do you hear how he speaks to me? Would your father have allowed such disrespect toward your mother when you were a boy?"
His father rubbed two fingers on his temple, as though he already had a headache. He did not address her comments, only speaking in Sirius' direction once more. "Answer my question without any cheek. What did you do to the portrait?"
Sirius frowned, twitching on his feet. He didn't want to tell him, imagining his father would not be pleased to hear he had messed up the portrait. If they had to listen to that horrid man's rants all day, though, they'd try to burn him, too!
"I found Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait dirtied by ink and cast into the drawing room's fireplace," His mother replied before Sirius could think of a way to explain himself. She was pointing an accusing finger at him, her other hand clenching her skirt. "And your intolerable child has not shown a flicker of remorse or contrition for his unbecoming behaviour! He spits on his own ancestors and our family's values and traditions."
His father’s cheekbones clenched as the man scowled at him. "You burned my great-grandfather's portrait?"
"He is indestructible - it did not do anything," Sirius argued, crossing his arms over his chest to shield himself from his father's sharp look. "Besides, he was telling me-"
His father held up a hand, cutting him off. "I do not care. You have been reprimanded for toying with those portraits before."
Sirius sulked, annoyed. "Can I explain what he said?" He huffed.
"No," his father said, "There will be no excuses made for your conduct. You were told to quit meddling with the portraits. You disobeyed me and disgraced yourself before our ancestors."
"I do not care what my deceased great, great, great, great, great-grandfather thinks of me!" Sirius spat back at him, his temper flaring when his father refused to allow him to explain himself. "He is a lousy loudmouth who loathes fun..."
"Enough!" His father shouted at him, a hand rising threateningly, as though he was barely resisting the urge to smack some sense into him. "Not another word out of you."
Sirius fell quiet, scowling at his father petulantly. It wasn't fair that the portrait was allowed to chew him out something wicked, but if he dared to insult the man in return, he was hollered at. His father knew how daft that old git was, too, which only made him siding with their mother worse. His father had cussed the man out under his breath once after an unpleasant encounter with the ghastly portrait. His father didn't air his complaints anywhere near the portrait, but Sirius had realized they shared their dislike of the nasty old fellow.
"Something is wrong with this impertinent child!" His mother was kicking up a fuss again, her hands shaking her skirt furiously. "He only grows more vexing by the day. He does not have a shred of loyalty to his family and disgraces us all. A Black with nothing but contempt for his ancestors, for shame!"
"Oh, do one," Sirius huffed, hotly, sick to death of her ranting and raving. He was going to have a headache to match his father's soon. He wished he could silence her with that spell she used on him sometimes. That would be marvellous.
His words sparked a fresh flash of anger in both parents. He was swooped in on from both sides, their voices raising to scold him, overlapping words being indistinguishable. Sirius backed away, flustered by being teamed up on.
"Do not back away from me." His father spat, grabbing him by the ear in one fell swoop. The man twisted his grip viciously, eliciting a yelp. "I have heard enough of your mouth today."
Sirius squirmed helplessly in his grip. "Okay!" He gasped, all of his bravado fading, "I will be quiet!"
"Wash his mouth out with soap!" His mother was shrieking, sounding indistinguishable from the howler version of her his uncle had shown him once, as though it was entertainment. "He now speaks like a mudblood, oh, good heavens!"
"Walburga, please," His father barked, sounding beyond exhausted by both of them. "Move!" He said next, presumably to Sirius, as he then started walking, still maintaining his iron grip on the frail skin around his son's ear and forcing him along.
Sirius stumbled after his father, having no other choice, really, when it felt as though the man was seconds from removing his ear from his body. His eyes were stinging as his father led him down the corridor, then up the stairs toward his bedroom.
"You do not understand!" Sirius tried to argue with his father as he was led upstairs. He needed to talk quickly, as he suspected he would soon be locked in his bedroom for the rest of the day, a punishment he commonly been given in their household. His parents must enjoy getting a break from him, he wagered, as both trapped him in his personal cell often enough. He had become well acquainted with his four walls over the years.
His father was in no mood to listen. "I do not care to hear yet another excuse from you after that performance."
"Mum started it!" Sirius choked out. He knew his wails were falling upon deaf ears, but he couldn't help but whine anyway.
His father only twisted his ear further, earning another whimper for his trouble. "I said enough out of you."
His father finally released his death grip when they reached the top floor. He gave Sirius an undignified shove toward his bedroom door. Sirius whirled to face him, his hands clenched into fists as he glared back at his father with all the stubborn pride and defiance an eight-year-old could muster.
"I have had it up to here with you!" His father berated him, properly disgruntled, hollering as much as his mother. "You have no right to defile the home of your forefathers – no matter what the portraits say to you. And child, if you do not quit goading your mother on and driving her up the wall, I will wring your neck myself! My patience has been worn thin with your behaviour."
"If you just let me explain..." Sirius tried again, his voice rising to keep up with his father's shouting.
His father still refused to give him an inch. "Shut your mouth!" He bellowed. "The next time I must repeat myself, I will thrash you within an inch of your life, boy."
Sirius' vision was blurring in his frustration. Anger was burning through his veins like a fever in endless supply. "I hate you and this whole lousy family!" He shouted, belligerently.
His father's eyes widened ever so slightly. He took one step forward, then cracked a hand across Sirius' face so hard that the hallway whirled. Sirius stumbled back a few steps, throwing his arms up to catch himself mere moments before he hit the wall. He turned back to his father once he composed himself, a mixture of anger and shock swelling in his chest. He did not know if he'd rather cry or curse his father out.
His father looked downright ticked then, annoyed by the final statement. He pointed at the door. "Get in there before I do something I will regret." He threatened mercilessly.
Sirius hesitated, not moving right away. The storm raging inside his chest didn't want to fester away in his bedroom – it wanted to fight his father right then and there.
"Now!" His father shouted, at his wits' end. The volume and fury embedded in his tone stirred Sirius into action. He knew his father was very close to losing it. Sirius had experienced the true extent of his father's temper a few times in the past, and he was not eager to bear the brunt of it again anytime soon. His father could be just as unhinged as his mother once he was angry enough. It was as though he became a completely different person. While he often expressed regret for losing control of himself and being so hard on Sirius after the fact, that hardly made it easier to stomach the whirlwinds.
Sirius bolted into his room, whirling to slam the door behind him with all of his adrenaline-fueled rage.
His father did not leave - instead scolding Sirius through the door in a cold and unforgiving tone. "You will not set foot out of your room until you apologize for your words."
"I will never apologize!" Sirius screamed back, emphasizing his words by smashing his fists against the door. His emotions were boiling within him, desperate to find a way out. He wished he could throw something. Ideally, directly into his father's smug face, no matter the consequences for doing so.
His father's tone was nasty. "Enjoy starving then." His voice grew fainter as he moved further away. "Learn how to master your emotions, or rot in there, for all I care. I am your father! I will not tolerate this disrespect after all I have done for you."
Sirius was tempted to scream that he hated his father a second time, but when he opened his mouth, only a choked sob came out. He could not let his father hear him crying. His sire had long loathed any hint of tears, perceiving it to be a weakness he was determined to train out of his son. He also might see it as proof that he had gotten to Sirius, and that simply could not be allowed to happen. Never, ever, ever.
Sirius turned on his heel and darted to his bed instead, climbing onto it and scrambling across to his pillow. He pressed his face into the pillow until his cheeks hurt, letting it muffle his cries.
His father's footsteps could be heard descending the staircase until it was quiet on the top floor once more.
His cheek was aching when Sirius withdrew his face from the pillow. He rubbed at his eyes furiously with the back of his fists. He was angry as all hell, both at the situation and at himself for being upset. The whole thing was so stupid. Over a blasted portrait that could not even be burnt. The bugger was probably absolutely fine, stalking around his frame as though nothing had happened. It wasn't fair - any of it. Sirius did hate his father then with all of his might! How could he do that to him?
His father wasn't supposed to take his mother's side without question. Sure, his father would give him the same rubbish speech every senior member of his family would at times. That he needed to respect his mother, and it was not his place to challenge her, blah blah blah. At the end of the day, though, his father had typically sided with Sirius over his erratic mother. He had overturned consequences and got his mother to back off when she was going overboard many times before.
His father did not go easy on him, by any means. He was always happy to dole out a correction the second Sirius was getting on his nerves, but still, his actions felt less malicious.
His mother never had a shred of love or warmth to offer him, nor had she ever bothered to hear him out. All she would do was lash out at him. Things were different with his father. When he had his temper in check, his father was fond of him, desired to get to know him, and gave him opportunities to explain himself. All of that only made his father's betrayal harder to stomach. His father being unfair only made him want to be absolutely vile to get back at him. If he could chop off his own arm to spite his parents, he would. All they cared about was their ridiculous family, being the perfect heir, and their stupid image. He wished he had the power to spoil it all for them.
Sirius had few options for returning the kindness his parents had shown him. Being a kid was daft. His parents could knock him around, lock him up, and take his things on a whim, and there was nothing he could do about it. That is, except for doing the only thing he knew would surely make them as miserable as they made him. He needed to think up something real rotten to do to irritate them. His regular mischief had become too expected. It would not anger them the way he wished to anger them. No, he had to be truly wicked and vile.
Sirius stared out his window as he contemplated his options, a plan slowly developing in his mind. He could climb out of his window and slide down the gutter's downspout. He had done it once or twice before when fooling around with his brother, and his parents had yet to catch him in the act. He was not certain if his father had the foresight to seal his bedroom or the front door with a hex to keep him in, but going from his window made it easier to go undetected either way.
The longer he contemplated making a run for it, the more his excitement grew. They would be infuriated. He could imagine their faces when they realized he was gone. They would regret treating him so horrendously. He would make sure of it.