Chapter Text
Blue, blue, electric blue
That's the colour of my room
Where I will live
Blue, blue
Pale blinds drawn all day
Nothing to read, nothing to say
Sound and vision - David Bowie
There were some things in this world that never changed. Objects fell when you dropped them, water was wet, fire burned.
Number twelve, Grimmauld Place was just one of those things. Sirius couldn’t imagine a time it wasn’t dark, depressing, and silent. Where portraits didn’t mutter horrible things as you walked past, or the suit of armour beside the study door attempt to strangle you. For Sirius Black, home was a fixed point in space and time, a prison he was forced to return to every year, to live out a sentence for a crime he had not committed.
But not this year. This year, things were different.
Padfoot,
I’ve settled everything with my Dad, he says we’d love to have you come and stay for the rest of the holiday! You know you’re always welcome here anyway. Pete is around obviously, and Moony said he might come and stay for a week too, we’ll finally have enough people for two a side quidditch! I’ll be there to pick you up at midnight in two days, so get packing, and maybe practice that soft falling enchantment in case you have to climb down the drainpipe again, Mum says she doesn’t want to fix another broken ankle.
See you soon,
James
He had been reading and re-reading this letter since it arrived that morning via the Potter’s family owl, Saffie. Summer at the Potter residence meant lazy mornings eating as much breakfast as Euphemia could make, afternoons spent in the expansive garden, playing quidditch with James and relaxing under the shade of an oak tree. It meant evenings with Remus in a place where no one cared who you loved. Only two weeks spent in the company of his wonderful family, and it seemed he’d be getting away once and for all. For Sirius came of age during the next school year, meaning he was legally free to go where he liked and do as he pleased, and he would never return if he could possibly help it.
And the Escape (as he had mentally labelled it) could not come quickly enough. There was a feeling in the air, Sirius felt it on those rare occasions he ventured outside his bedroom door; like a storm about to break and rain chaos down on them all. There had been more visitors to the Black residence as well of late, silent figures in dark robes and darker masks, snatches of conversation overheard as he made his way to the kitchen for a late-night snack.
“Moving into position-“
“-family legacy assured-“
“the Dark Lord guarantees-“
It wasn’t hard to put together the pieces. His family had always been on the edge of such things; it was inevitable that the allure of yet more power had sucked them in. He had made sure not to get caught eavesdropping, however. His mother’s punishments had become more extreme of late, and he still bore the marks from where her last slashing hex had got him in the side, slicing cleanly through his favourite Queen shirt on the way. It didn’t matter though, the effect on the shirt was quite cool, and pain was temporary.
Sirius had been lying on his bed in an apathetic haze for who knew how long, shooting down flies with sparks from the end of his wand. He did not dare put on a record, for the last time his mother had heard the beginning guitar solo of Rebel Rebel filtering through his bedroom door, she had crashed in and send a blasting hex at the record player. It had taken him days to fix it.
So here he was, lying in silence, thinking about what he'd do when he got to Potter cottage. He couldn't wait to be back in his room, the one with the bright blue walls and the window looking out over the garden, just two doors down the hall from James. He held the memories of the easter he'd spent there like a talisman against the Darkness of Grimmauld Place.
Peter lived nearby, and could be found every morning like clockwork climbing over the ornate ironwork fence into the garden, coming to partake in various mischief. Remus too had joined them in the second week, coming on the train all the way from Wales. Sirius had met him off the train at Paddington Station with a bunch of slightly dishevelled flowers (that he'd picked from various gardens along the way) and a sheepish grin.
"Hey Moony."
"Sirius, what’s all this?"
"Missed you didn’t I?"
"Pads, I saw you less than a week ago"
"So?"
"So... I missed you too"
And he slid his hand into Sirius' and squeezed, just for a second, before picking up his bag and jerking his head towards the expansive doors, leading out in the morning London air. Sirius had grinned and followed him, thinking about all the time they'd have together that holiday. And what times they'd had...
CRACK!
Sirius was brought unceremoniously out of his reverie by the sound of someone apparating right next to his ear. He sat bolt upright, swearing fluently, and turned to face the short, stubby, hairy creature now glaring at him.
"What."
"Kreacher has a message from Master Black's Mother." Croaked the house elf, with the sour look on its face it always adopted when looking at Sirius.
"Well get on with it then" he snarled, falling back onto his bed with a sigh.
"Mistress Walburga requires your presence at a family dinner tonight. Dress robes will be worn and matters of the future shall be discussed."
“Yeah yeah.”
His begrudged mutter seemed to be good enough for the house elf, for it vanished a second later with another ear-splitting crack, leaving Sirius staring at the ceiling with a pit in his stomach that hadn’t been there before.
Matters of the future?
There was only one option. His parents had decided to act on their plans earlier than anticipated. He’d always known they’d try and recruit him eventually, or else cast him from the home in disgrace. This threat would, of course, prove to be completely meaningless, but they didn’t know that. All the gold in the Black’s sizable Gringotts vault couldn’t sway him towards their side, nothing could. But that did mean he was going to be without anywhere to stay for a couple days until he went off to James’. Didn’t Marlene live somewhere in London? Maybe he’d crash at hers, if she wasn’t too busy with her (slightly scary) new girlfriend. This thought put him in a slightly better mood as he rose from his bed to dig around in the back of the wardrobe for something resembling a dress robe. It was only leaving two days earlier than he’d planned, not a big deal.
Except… he’d wanted to talk to Regulus before he went, and that was looking less and less likely. He and his brother had never been particularly close, growing up in a house where being neglected by their parents was often better than the alternative had wrought a change in both boys. The older they got, the more they grew apart. Sirius had rebelled, plastered his walls with Gryffindor banners and naked muggle women, turned the music up loud and stuck a rhetorical two-fingered salute to the pureblood initiative. Whereas Regulus had done his best to play the good son, do anything and everything they asked. His room was neat and ordered, hung with the green snake and silver trimmings of his house. He associated with the right people, licked the right shoes, always dressed prim and proper. In short, he was every bit the heir that Sirius had been trying not to be all his life.
Sirius had never blamed his brother for following the ‘right’ path, it was safest, but as time went on it got harder and harder for them to relate. Their last conversation in the first few days of the holiday resulted in a shouting match that could very well have turned into a duel if they hadn’t been sitting in the drawing room, surrounded with irritatingly expensive and breakable furniture. The fights were always the same these days, Regulus asking him to see sense, to stop ‘acting out’ and just behave the way a pureblood should, Sirius refusing to hear it. They hadn’t said a word to one another since then, mainly due to Sirius’ self-imposed isolation. He wanted to try though, attempt to make his brother understand why he could never just fall in line. Maybe there was a way out for them both, if he was prepared to take it.
Funny how far the distance felt between them, when Regulus was only a few steps down the hall. The fussy little plaque was still there, hanging on his brother’s door, and it made him grin a little. Do not enter without the express permission of Regulus Arcturus Black. How he’d teased Reg when he put it up, only nine and with ideas far above his station. “Who’d want to get into your room anyway?” he’d asked, ruffling up his hair the way he knew Regulus hated “It’s got you in it, that’s enough reason to keep away.”
“Get off!” he had batted Sirius’ hand away with a scowl “you’re missing the point.”
“Oh, and what is the point exactly, Mr Clever?”
“That it’s my room, and I’m the only one who can let people in.” Regulus had snapped, before proving the point by slamming the door behind him.
Here he stood, six years later, wondering if - for once - his brother would bury the hatchet and let him in. But before he had the chance to knock, the door swung open, and there stood Regulus in a set of dark green dress robes with silver accents. Clearly, he was not the only one who had been summoned. Understandably, Regulus wasn’t expecting to be standing there, and jumped, before glaring at him suspiciously.
“What were you doing outside my door?”
Several flippant responses flitted through his mind, before he ignored them and settled on the truth “I wanted to talk to you, before dinner.”
“Why?”
“Jesus, Reg, is this an interrogation or what? I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Well, we don’t have time now. And don’t call me that, my name is Regulus.” He snapped, and Sirius had to repress the urge to roll his eyes
“No, really? I thought it was Daphne.”
“You’re hilarious.” Regulus responded, deadpan, and indicated that they should take the ornate main staircase down to the dining room. Sirius followed him, deciding they’d just have to talk later. He wasn’t going to let Regulus dodge this one.
Orion Black, ostensible head of the most Noble and Ancient House of Black, was sitting at the head of the unnecessarily long dining table, deep in a newspaper, not saying a word. He did not even look up when his two sons entered the room, not that they had expected him to. Their father rarely said anything if he could help it, preferring to bury himself in his work and try and forget the creature he was married to. Said creature was sitting beside him in an ornate black gown that made her look like she was at a poorly attended funeral, and was wearing an unnervingly triumphant smile. “Ah. Sirius, Regulus. Sit down.”
They did so, on opposite sides of the table. Sirius sat as far away from his mother as he dared without it raising remarks, as past experience told him to stay out of arms reach if he could possibly help it. as soon as they had settled, Kreacher walked in, bearing a large silver dish on which rested a whole pheasant. He settled it on the table, bowed, and vanished back into the kitchen with a supercilious smile at his mistress, and a glower and Sirius (which he returned with interest.)
Everyone began serving themselves, picking up the silver embossed cutlery and ancient crockery. He knew the score by now; things of import wouldn’t be discussed until after dinner was complete. They still had decorum, don’t you know. And slightly irritatingly, the pheasant was very good. Sirius had been living of cold leftovers and greasy kebabs from the shop two streets away for the past few weeks, and couldn’t resist piling his plate high. Eventually though, the sounds of knives against plates ceased, and the plates vanished in a superfluous puff of smoke. He eyed his mother cautiously as she wiped her mouth demurely on a napkin, and looked over at her two sons.
“Well, now the pleasantries are out of the way, we have much to talk over.” She began, in that tone which meant a lecture was coming, and they may as well strap in for the ride. “The world is changing, and we – as a family – must change with it, to ensure our legacy and bloodline remain strong. Mudbloods and halfbreeds run rampant among us, spreading discord and uncertainty.” She spat out the word ‘halfbreed’ as if it personally offended her, and Sirius clenched his fists in his lap as she went on. “Our leaders pay less and less heed to what really matters, the purity of blood, and the influence of a family name. But it seems a new world must soon emerge. The Dark Lord has already taken great strides towards the eradication of such filth, and it is my opinion – and your fathers of course – that you should both adhere to his ideology.”
Here it was. All he had to do was look her in the eye, tell her exactly where to shove her ideology, and he’d be out on his ass in no time, maybe with a couple of bruises into the bargain. As he opened his mouth to do just that when his mother rounded on him. Although her voice was perfectly calm, it had taken on an edge of steel which he had long since associated with pain.
“However. Due to Sirius’… unsatisfactory mudblood leanings, I find this a very unlikely scenario. You have proved, time and again, that you are not the kind of son we wanted.” She eyed him beadily, and although it was clear her words were meant to sting, they did anything but. In fact, Sirius felt a vague sense of pride at managing to do the complete opposite of what everyone wanted him to do.
His mother was not finished however, she turned to Regulus next, looking at him with a sort of detached pride. “Unfortunate as this is, there is always your brother. He embodies the name of Black, and he shall be the one to secure our futures.”
Sirius was starting to get a very bad feeling about this. Regulus was staring at the luxury tablecloth in silence, hands shaking on the cutlery he still clenched despite dinner being over. There was something going on here, something Sirius must have missed while skulking away in his room all this time.
“Tomorrow night, the legions of the Dark Lord shall gather here in celebration, and Regulus shall take up the mantle of heir, and join their ranks. Our places in the shining future shall be assured at last!”
“What the fuck?!” Sirius exploded, unable to stop himself despite the danger “He’s barely fifteen, you can’t-”
“This is not an argument, Sirius.” Walburga sneered, hand twitching to the wand on the table “You should be grateful we are giving you notice at all. Upon your brother’s induction, the family heirship will be transferred to him, and you shall leave. I’m sure one of your little blood traitor friends will house you for the holiday, will they not?”
“That’s not the point, you’re gonna let him join now? He’ll get himself killed!”
“That is enough.”
He fell silent, only because he had little choice. Walburga was now brandishing her wand with a quiet fury that he knew all too well, hand trembling. He’d had the cruciatus put on him enough times to not want a repeat.
“You shall go upstairs and pack your things, so you are ready for tomorrow. You shall not speak to anyone. You shall not disrupt our plans in any way. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mother.”
Regulus didn't look at him on the way out, grey eyes so like Sirius' own still fixed on the table. Like if he stayed still enough, everyone would forget he was there. Like if he tried hard enough, he'd stop existing at all.
Sirius knew the feeling all too well. And he wasn't about to let it happen.
He'd stop this, somehow.