Chapter Text
Sirius Black had many riches, those were the very few perks that came with being the heir to the French throne of the House of Black. Sirius, however, wanted none of it.
No, Sirius yearned to be free. To be free of the restraints that came hand in hand with the throne, with responsibilities. To Sirius Black, to be free was to be rich, to be free was the real treasure. Though, the throne seemed like a future so far that his crowd failed to wear him down anymore, and though his people said he was ready, his family said he was immature, that he wasn't ready. Sirius didn't want to be ready, but he knew better than to deny that with what his family knew about him, they were absolutely correct.
To the public, Sirius was exactly as he wanted them to see him. He was intelligent, possessed grace and skills like no other. To the public he was an angel, he did no wrong and he was a carbon copy of young Regulus Black. To the public, Sirius Black was beloved by all, as was his brother.
Regulus Black. Regulus Black had no facade for the public, he was exactly who they wanted him to be.
The only person who truly knew who Sirius Black was, was his best friend, Marlene Mckinnon. Marlene, the simplest village girl, who possessed no remarkable talents, and had barely a pound to her family name. People assumed the very best of Sirius, the village came to the conclusion that 10 year old Sirius Black took pity on the farmer's daughter, that Marlene had an incurable disease, that Marlene's company was simply out of pity, that the charming young prince was being charitable to a family going through a loss. This was still the case, even now that Sirius was 19, and there were no signs of illness in Marlene, nor Sirius, the whispers never stopped.
Sirius spent all his free time in the village, all his free time with Marlene. The guards knew just where to find him.
*
The farm was dainty, and congested. Marlene’s room was no different. A box of cigarettes scattered over her bed sheets, one pressed between her lips as she dug through her drawers for a match. Rain hammered down on the roof, leaking down the wall and into a bucket in the corner.
A loud bang thundered from downstairs, knocking hard on the door. “Dad! Dad, get the door! Shit-” the cigarette fell god knows where. Marlene crouched to look for it, but no luck. “Shit,” she chanted, tugging at her hair.
There was a faint chuckle, and then the voice cooed, “Alright there, Marls?”.
Dripping, head to toe, was Sirius Black, dressed in the finest cashmere wools, soaked to the bone.
“Fine.” Marlene propped herself up on her bed, lighting a cigarette, the last one from the box. “Fuck, that was my last pack.”
Sirius dug through his jacket pocket, pulling out half a pack of cigarettes. "I'll get you another pack tomorrow, have these for now. It's all I've got on me." he said, pressing the box into her palm.
"Thanks. So, how's your dad?" She asked. He had been ill for a while and didn't seem to be getting better, Sirius would probably never say it aloud but he was glad the fucker was dying. Orion made his life a living hell. "He still giving you a hard time?" she pushed.
No answer.
“You really should start letting me know before you get here.” Marlene said. Still no answer from Sirius though, but she was sweet enough that she never pushed him too far. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“Will Michael mind?”
“Who, Dad? Not as long as you help.” she quipped.
“Yeah, not bloody likely.” Sirius crawled beside her on the bed; which gave out a small creak under the weight, then Sirius pecked his lips to the corner of her mouth, bringing the cigarette to his.
Marlene caught her lips on his, inching into his lap. Her body was small and soft, easy to hold.
Sirius had pulled her closer. His hand framed her face, their mouths meeting, tongues intertwining. Marlene’s hands tangled in his hair, and there were teeth, uncomfortable biting of tongues and lips. Sirius moved a hand to her waist, seeming unsure of himself.
“Not like you to be so timid, Black.” she teased, murmuring under her breath, lips brushing his with each word.
*
By the time that they were downstairs, Sirius had agreed to help and stay for dinner. Marlene, Michael and Sirius sat around the table. Marlene only lived with her dad, since her mother had passed when Marlene was young, and her father never did remarry.
Sirius was almost always at the farm, when he wasn’t, he was running errands or had been dragged back to the castle.
Sirius was chopping potatoes, paused briefly to wash his hands and tie his long black curls into a neat, but loose bun at the back of his head.
Marlene set the table, Sirius helped cook when he felt like it. But regardless of who did what and how much was done, they ate together every day, without fail.
Today was beef stew. Sirius helped chop the vegetables, all carrots, celery, potatoes and beef, saturated in bone broth. The slippery mixture in a dish in the middle of the table.
Sirius dished Marlene a bowl, then Michael too. As Sirius picked up his bowl to dish himself some, Michael suddenly had enough to say.
“What ‘av you done with your ‘air, boy?” called a gruff voice, as Michael gestured to the loose knot Sirius had tied into his hair.
“I think it looks alright.” Sirius murmured indignantly.
Michael snorted out a laugh, “Reckon you look like a fag.”
“Dad!”
“Can’t your boy take a joke? Whatever makes you ‘appy, son. Lemme ge’ you a beer.”
Sirius let out a chuckle despite himself, but took what he was offered.
Just as Sirius, Marlene and Michael were drinking their beers together, there was a loud bang on the door, but the thunder had stopped. The guards were outside. Sirius knew that was his cue. He lifted his head from Marlene’s chest.
“Right, I'm off. See you, Marls.” He placed a kiss on her cheek. He stepped outside, feeling the breeze, and cold splatters of rain splay over his face. Sirius was immediately greeted at the door by two masked guards, neither of which he recognised by their voice, which made Sirius feel awfully guilty. Beside them were two teenage boys so lanky that you would laugh if they told you they were knights. Both boys were younger than Sirius, and rather scrawny and gangly. Sirius knew who they were before needing them to stop grabbing each other and realise that he was there too. What Sirius didn't know was why were they there? These were Regulus' knights, not his. Where were his Dames? "Barty? Evan? Why aren't you with Reg? Where are Emmeline and Dorcas?"
Barty was a rough looking boy, even as a child. His features were sharp, sharp enough to cut you, and boy did Sirius get cut. Barty was always sickeningly pale, which contrasted with the dark colours of his hair, always green or black, but usually both. Sirius hated him most, because whenever Sirius and Regulus would argue when they were young Regulus got lonely, and it was always Barty he ran to. What Sirius hated most about Barty was his piercing. Sirius remembers distinctly the day
Evan, on the other hand, was a very soft looking boy, very handsome, but needless to say, he was just as bad as Barty in his ways. Regulus was nothing but an angel to them, and it made Sirius ill. Regulus Black was no angel, he was a devil in disguise. Evan was a very lovely looking boy, with warm, brown orbs, and rich, golden skin. Evans' hair contrasted just as much as Barty's, because Evan's platinum curls fell over his forehead, framing his face.
Barty and Evan never were much help though, and now it is no different. They gave each other a knowing look that made Sirius' stomach feel wishy-washy and within moments the royal guards were dragging Sirius out of the village, and up the steps of the castle. Sirius would pick the comfort of Marlene's farm over the emptiness of their castle, any chance he was given.
The second he was through the doors of the castle, he felt his hair stand up on his neck. The eerie atmosphere hit his skin immediately, goosebumps scattering his arms.
The large mahogany doors slammed shut behind him with a deafening thud. Welcome home. Sirius thought. He stared up at the ceiling, doing his best to avoid recognition. This place, a place he wanted nothing to do with, a home he had no use for, was the place he knew better than anywhere.
Chandeliers, paintings, family portraits , with eyes so clear and judgmental that they felt alive, that felt as though they followed you. God, no. Sirius felt sick, his insides turning in his stomach as he recognised the smell of musk and old flowers. It could have been haunted.
Sirius placed a foot on the step, waiting for the creak that occurred when he was younger, it never came. It hadn’t come since he was 15 and his parents decided to pay someone to repair it, to repair the stupidest little fault. Too much money. Too much money to know what to do with, so they spent it on stupid, nostalgic faults. Sirius could scream.
Sirius stepped up the stairs, the heads of deceased childhood pets, mounted on the wall. Their eyes, like lifeless orbs peering down at him. “I’m sorry.” Sirius muttered under his breath, out of mere instinct. Sirius had done that since his first dog, Stella’s head had been mounted on the wall.
Stella was an amazing dog, a Great Dane, with the heart of a whale. She ate the foods he didn’t like under the table, she served as a big soft pillow for his younger self, and she even slept at the end of his bed. Her death hit him hard, he was 9 when they told him.
“Stella was old. You mustn’t get attached to things less permanent than you, Sirius.”
“But mama, I want to keep her.”
Ever since, it was tradition.