Chapter Text
It was April 30th. Which meant the end of the school holidays. Which meant Sirius had to go home.
He’d spent the past three weeks with the Potters’, though it was a miracle his mother had ever allowed it.
“Now, remember, you are to make yourself scarce for the duration of your stay,” Walburga had told him sternly as he practically sprinted out the front door of Grimmauld place. “And I want you and your clothes looking exactly as they do now once you return. D’you hear me? If you do anything to drag me through the dirt, you’ll regret it.”
Shaking slightly - more from excitement than fear, for once - Sirius nodded obediently and left without looking back. Who cares what she thought anyway. The Potters loved him; they wouldn’t snitch on him to his mother, no matter what sort of trouble he inevitably got into.
*
Now, as Sirius dragged his suitcase back down the narrow terraced road, he realised that there was one major thing he’d forgotten about. In his defence, he hadn’t actually done anything that bad whilst staying with James. Nothing that he got caught for, anyway. He’d managed to get rid of the smell of cigarette smoke that had started clinging to his clothes; he’d made sure the hip flask James had given him was safely tucked away in his coat, where his mother would never look. He was wearing the same outfit he had done when he left in an attempt to look presentable, and though his clothes were a little creased, he figured he would probably get away with it. As long as he went straight upstairs and unpacked it all before his mother noticed him, he should be fine. All-in-all, Sirius had managed to Walburga-proof his entire person. Except for one thing: over the past weeks he’d let his dark hair grow out so that it lay thick and messy on his head and below his ears. Sirius had never been allowed to grow his hair out before, but being away from home made him forget entirely about looking “proper”. He loved the way he looked now; it was what he’d always wanted - rugged and dark like some guy off the front page of NME (if you asked Sirius). It hadn’t hit him til he caught sight of his reflection in the window of Mrs. Potter’s car. His mother would throw a fit when she saw him looking like this. But there was nothing to be done about it now, so Sirius could only pray that she wouldn’t notice.
Seconds after stepping through the front door, it became clear that this wasn’t going to happen.
“Sirius Orion Black!”
His mother practically swooped into the hallway, elegant face contorted with disgust and rage. Sirius winced like he always did when she used his full name. Perhaps his new hairstyle was a little more obvious than he’d hoped. Walburga loomed over her son, glaring at him with eyes that could kill. Sirius knew his mother would never hit him - that was his father’s job - but he couldn’t help flinching when she reached out and grabbed at a tuft of hair, pulling Sirius painfully closer.
“What in heaven’s name have you done to your hair?!”
“Uh, I just-”
“Kreacher! Kreacher!”
Before he could protest, Sirius was being dragged into the lounge by their butler, Kreacher, who was surprisingly strong for someone so thin and ill-looking. Shoved into a wooden chair with his hands pinned behind his back, Sirius struggled desperately against Kreacher’s grasp, though they both knew there was no point. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. There was no escaping this, Sirius knew.
“Let go of me!” the boy screeched, shaking from side to side as he tried to knock himself off the chair.
“Sit still, would you?” Kreacher muttered, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw Walburga returning with a large pair of scissors in her hand.
“No!” Sirius yelled, his voice hoarse as tears began brimming in his eyes. “No, no, no! Don’t touch me, don’t fucking touch me!”
“Watch that vile mouth before I wash it out with soap,” Walburga hissed, each word dripping with venom. She made for Sirius’ hair with the scissors open wide and began tugging at the thick black locks, shearing them off so carelessly that now and then the blade dug into Sirius' scalp and made him yelp.
“It hurts!” he protested, the ferocity all but gone from his voice, replaced instead with pleading. “Stop it, it hurts!”
What gave her the right to do this? She didn’t own him. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. Fuck this.
With a mighty heave, Sirius wrenched his hands out of Kreacher’s and went to push his mother away. He probably should have thought this through, but Sirius was seeing red, and nothing could make him stop. In a split second he lifted his hands above his head, straight into the path of the scissors, which cut fiercely at his fingers and made several thick gashes in the skin. Sirius cried out in pain and pulled away; he was about to jump from the chair when Kreacher seized him once more and held him still. The butler wasn’t as strong as Sirius’ father - the beatings and punishments always came from him - but the way he dug his nails sharply into the boy was enough to keep him from moving again.
“Garçon stupid,” Walburga seethed, shaking her head in annoyance, practically snarling when she saw the blood trickle from Sirius’ hand and onto the black and white tiled floor.
“Regulus! Regulus!”
She continued to hack away at Sirius until his hair was patchy and cropped down to nothing more than bristles. A small boy with wide, green eyes emerged from the hallway, and the look on his face made it clear that he’d heard everything.
“Yes, mother?” he said softly. Walburga was trimming the hair on the back of Sirius’ neck, not taking her eyes from the scissors.
“Do not mumble, Regulus,” she scolded. “I’ve told you a million times.”
“Sorry, mother,” Regulus said, still not daring to step into the room.
“Be a good boy and fetch a towel from the airing cupboard and help clean this mess up.”
Regulus nodded and dashed off in the other direction, thankful for an excuse to escape the scene. Sirius, by this point, had given up his fight, head drooping, shoulders slumped, and tears streaming silently down his face. He tried to focus on the past two weeks with James - his brother, his best friend. The Potters were his real family, and they would never do this to him. One day, he’d get away from here, and he grow his hair as long as he wanted. He’d live with James, wearing what he wanted every day; listening to Bowie and staying up late. One day, he told himself. It wouldn’t be like this forever.