Chapter Text
The Grimmauld Place was a blemish on the vibrant Islington borough, where the houses hunched together in greying heaps as their shadows slipped through the cracks in the pavement. Time had not been kind to them. After decades of neglect, the rot clung to the mortar like grief to a dying man, and the stench of refuse oozed from every crevice in the walls. Paint peeled from the doors in curling tatters as the rubbish festered at their feet. Broken glass caught the streetlamps in sallow specks, and every now and then the mongrels’ bark would cut through the stillness dampening the street.
Only one house stood proud among the others. With yellow brickwork like a beacon and creamy plaster covering the ground floor, Number 12 was a glaring reminder of Grimmauld’s better days. Quite a shocking sight in such an unbefitting neighborhood, and yet people passed by unfazed, their eyes sliding past it, leaving only the faint impression that something was missing. They would note in humour that the numbering had leapt from eleven to thirteen, but only those welcomed could will away the mirage and watch the house emerge between the others, and only those with magic were granted entry.
Inside, a tight hallway stretched towards a grand staircase, caged by twin black doors leading to the dining room and the basement. Green wallpaper curled around a pair of old-fashioned gas lamps as flickers of light danced over ornate portraits, their somber eyes tracking every shadow. A heavy chandelier swayed gently overhead, its lightbulbs swallowed by six pitch-black serpents. Upstairs, the study, drawing room, and bedrooms echoed the same charred argentine and emerald, all in reverent uniformity—all but one.
At the topmost landing, the oldest son’s room burned like an ember pressed into ash. It was large and cluttered, with a wide bed dressed in deep ruby sheets and overstuffed pillows, twin wardrobes flanking the door, and tall windows veiled in black velvet. Red and golden banners hung on the wall, surrounded by glossy posters of motorcycles and bikini-clad women. Above the desk sprawled a photo collage infused with magic, so vast it nearly climbed the ceiling. They weren’t still images, but rather a flurry of motion, seconds captured in celluloid and rendered in an endless loop.
Most of them showed the same group of boys, each sporting school robes and red neckties in various states of disarray. Peter was short and plump, with blond hair and watery eyes that gave him the appearance of a rodent, magnified by the way he hovered near the edges of every frame, either to hold the camera or gaze toward the others with a devotion bordering on worship. Remus, a lanky boy with hunched shoulders, was the only one bothering to keep his clothes prim and proper, and like Peter, he could be found at the edge of the group, sometimes even trying to step outside the frame, only to be pulled back in. Pictures of him reading or eating in a great hall speckled the collage along with another boy, James, flying on a broom or playing with a golden, winged sphere. He was tall and fit with round glasses slipping down his nose and dark, rebellious locks. James was often in the center of the photos, a cheeky smirk playing on his face as he grabbed the shoulders of another boy, broader and sharper, with jet black hair falling into smouldering eyes, caught between challenge and delight.
Sirius was lying on his bed surrounded by piles of parchment, long forgotten. He stretched his legs, tapping gently on the headboard in a mock imitation of the knock on his door. He shifted, resting his head on his forearm, and raised a piece of broken mirror to shield his eyes from the light. It wasn’t his face that stared back at him, but James, hunched over the twin piece as he worked on his Astronomy homework.
“Blasted things,” he groaned. “Calculate the conjunction of my balls.”
“Maybe if you weren’t so busy staring at Evans,” Sirius said with a hint of affection, earning a foul hand gesture from his friend. “And to think I wanted to let you copy off my homework, tsk.”
“Master Sirius…” came a croaky voice from behind the door, but Sirius paid it no mind.
James rolled his eyes. “It’s not as if I’m ever going to use this.” He tilted his mirror to show a set of elaborate diagrams covered in chicken scratches. “Would you stop torturing him and see what he wants? I can’t concentrate with all that noise.”
Sirius wanted to point out that he couldn’t concentrate on a good day, but instead he shoved the mirror under the covers and barked, “Enter!”
He glared at the small creature dragging his ratty apron on the carpet. The old house elf placed a pile of neatly folded clothes on the desk chair, and his pig-like eyes fell on his master, full of contempt.
“If you’re done with my laundry, you can fetch my dinner,” Sirius snapped.
“Master Sirius, the mistress insists–”
“I’m not coming, so stop pestering me.”
The elf’s nostrils flared, and his lips pursed as if ready to spit in the boy’s face. "The mistress has allowed Master Sirius to miss Master Arcturus' celebration. She would be heartbroken to know her ungrateful son is taking advantage of her kindness so shamelessly.”
Allowed was a generous way of putting it. Sirius had faked being bedridden with dragonpox, and it had been an easy choice for her to leave her oldest at home instead of risking making a scene in front of all the ministry officials at his grandfather's gala. This time, though, it was just a family dinner, and Sirius doubted his mother would let him wallow in his room.
“Fine,” he huffed.
The elf bowed and left the room in a hurry. Sirius waited until the footsteps faded, then pulled out the broken mirror.
“What’s this about?” his friend asked.
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Malfoy proposed. My aunt wants to bring out the goblin wine and get sloshed.”
“Sounds tough. Is anyone else coming?”
“Nah, just the housemates.”
The Black family no longer lived together, scattered as they were across England, with the women vanishing into their husbands’ households, while the eldest withdrew to the seashore to die slowly in comfort. Uncle Alphard, the lucky bastard, had chosen to travel the world as a perpetual bachelor. The only members currently residing at Number Twelve were his parents, his brother, his uncle Cygnus and aunt Druella, and their youngest daughter, Narcissa. Sirius allowed himself the small, bitter hope that once Cissy moved out, her parents would follow, if only to be spared from seeing his uncle’s acrid mug first thing in the morning.
“So business as usual,” James concluded.
“Give me an hour. Maybe less if my mother gets drunk,” he said, making the other grimace.
James had witnessed his family's arguments through the mirror more times than he could count, since they often happened in his bedroom when — and especially because — he tried to hide from them. His friend would often suggest spending the summer with him again, but Sirius didn’t want a repeat of that fight . He just had to grind his teeth and bear it for two more years, then he could spend the rest of his days drinking cocktails on sunny beaches while waiting for his family to die off one by one so he could inherit their fortune.
Sirius quickly dressed in pressed black trousers and a white shirt, then went downstairs, flicking the elf heads on his way. He entered the dining room, greeted his family with a curt nod, and took his place at his father’s right.
He would never admit it, but Sirius quite liked the dining room. The ceiling was high, the windows wide and welcoming, and the walls crowded with paintings, sculptures, and old furniture from some great-great-grandparents Sirius couldn't be bothered to remember the names of. Here, the light filtered in more freely, dulling the sharper edges of the room, though it never quite managed to erase the imprint his family left on it.
“I see you have decided to grace us with your presence,” his father said, voice flat and incurious.
Sirius bit the inside of his cheek and kept silent.
The sun was already settling between the buildings by the time Kreacher brought their meal. Sirius inspected the contents on his plate and scrunched his nose — fish again. Ever since he became an animagus, he had only craved red meat and the occasional poultry. He had been very vocal about his preferences, but as always, it had fallen on Kreacher’s ridiculously large, deaf ears. Sirius was surprised to see a glass of wine placed beside his dish. He had tried alcohol before, the occasional sip of firewhisky from his older housemates, but never in front of his family. His hand hovered next to it for only a moment before grabbing it and taking a generous gulp. The goblin wine was spicy, with a strange tang that lingered on his tongue, and it left his mouth dry. He decided to sip on it for the rest of the evening, noting the gentle buzz and growing drowsiness that came with it. Soon, his eyelids grew heavy and his head began to sway.
"At least she follows our family values, not like that girl," his mother said after her third glass. "No one respects the purity of our blood anymore. Now we have to walk among mudbloods and half-breeds as if we're equal! To hide from muggles! To hell with the statute of secrecy!" She banged her fist on the table, the wine threatening to fly over the rim.
"Let's have another toast," slurred Druella, "for Narcissa.”
She raised her glass and beamed at her daughter, Sirius’ parents repeating the gesture with far less enthusiasm. Narcissa gave them a strained smile, hidden by the red wine.
"Cheers," Sirius grumbled, playing with his vegetables. His fork scratched the plate and he winced, feeling the beginning of a headache in his temples.
His brother kicked him under the table, but nobody else noticed. Sirius glanced at him from the corner of his eye as Regulus took a bite with a blank expression, seemingly uninterested in the conversation. Whether his brother meant to rein him in or simply annoy him, he didn't know, but all Regulus did was give him the urge to pull on his ear like he used to do when they were kids. His brother never liked when Sirius made a scene, claiming it ruined his meal. But why should he get to enjoy his food while Sirius had to listen to his family insult all of his classmates?
"And congratulations for not marrying one of your relatives,” Sirius blurted, ignoring the shoe crushing his toes. “Merlin knows if the blood gets any more pure, this family will become too inbred to have children."
He knew it was a low blow. His aunt Lucretia had been complaining for years that she couldn't conceive, and rumor had it that uncle Alphard couldn't either, but that was the legacy of their family whether they wanted to acknowledge it or not.
"What is wrong with you?" gasped his mother.
"I'm just glad I don't have to marry her," said Sirius, scrunching his face. Regulus pinched his thigh, earning himself a kick in the ankle. "But I suppose you wouldn’t have minded. You married your cousin, after all."
His father’s eyebrows furrowed in warning. "Sirius."
"We're walking past that tapestry every day. I thought we were supposed to be proud of it."
"We're damn proud, boy," said his uncle, his face ruddy from his forehead all the way down to his neck.
No one tried to contradict him. Even Regulus and Narcissa kept their eyes glued on their plates, sinking into their seats with every word.
"And so should you! What they're teaching you in that house– I told you that poof will turn him into a blood traitor! If Dippet were still–”
His mother pointed a finger, spilling her wine in the process. "My child didn’t marry a mudblood!"
"Are you still friends with those boys?" asked Narcissa suddenly. The corners of her mouth twitched, making Sirius want to reach across the table and pull her hair.
"Boys? What boys?" asked his aunt in drunken confusion.
"The Potter boy," sighed his father. "We told you to stop wasting your time with the likes of him."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "I can hardly do that when we're dormmates."
"Then we will send a letter to your Head of the House and demand she place you in another room!" said his mother.
The air became too thin all of a sudden, and Sirius opened the collar of his shirt. "That's ridiculous."
“Ridiculous?” asked his mother. “Look at yourself! Talking back, disrespecting your family, getting into detentions with that blood traitor–”
“That blood traitor is my friend,” he said, baring his teeth.
“Your friend! Do you think a friend would turn you against your family? Get you in trouble and keep you away from your studies? Do you have any idea how many letters I have gotten from your Head of the House last year alone?”
“Speaking of letters,” said Narcissa, her smirk widening with every word, “I heard Rabastan was made Prefect. Who did you say was Gryffindor’s new Prefect? You?”
“Prefect? You both told me you haven't received any letters yet! How could you lie to me?!” His mother turned towards his brother, whose face turned ashen.
Regulus' eyes widened owlishly, and Sirius couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt in his chest.
“I– well–” Sirius cleared his throat, but to no effect. The words were stuck in his throat.
Cold sweat rolled down his spine under the scrutinous gaze of his family. The only one who wouldn’t meet his eyes was Regulus, who looked pleadingly at their mother, mumbling ”I’m sorry. He made me.”
“Fine!” Sirius cried, raising his arms and dropping further into his seat. “I’m not a Prefect. Happy?”
The plates shook when his father slammed his hands on the table, then shot out of his seat. Sirius could count on one hand the times he had witnessed his father losing his temper, and for the first time that night, he felt sober.
"I've heard enough.” His father left the dining room and marched to his study. “I hoped you would grow out of this, but now you’re corrupting your own brother–"
Sirius tried to follow him, but the room kept spinning with every step he took. ”I’ve only asked him–” He tripped over his feet and hit the edge of the stairs. A sharp pain shot from his knee up to his hip, punching his lungs. He grabbed one of the elf heads to pull himself up. “He’s lying! I didn’t force him to do anything–”
Inside the study, he found his father at his desk as he began to write vehemently on a piece of paper.
”It was a mistake to allow you to continue studying at Hogwarts. From the moment you had been sorted, I should have known– But no more, do you hear me?"
”Father, what is this?” asked Sirius and leaned over, trying to read the letter, but his father was quicker.
He grabbed Sirius by the collar, pushing him towards the door. ”I will send you to Durmstrang, where I know you will learn the values of a proper wizard.”
”Proper? You mean a blood purist?” Sirius spat out, twisting and grasping at the bookshelves. ”Should I go kill muggles like those maniacs in the Daily? That will make you proud, won't it?”
His father snarled and struck him. Hot pain flared across his cheek, his vision blurring. His bad knee buckled under his weight, and he fell into a tight grip. The fingers dug into his meat as they pulled him away from his father. Someone screamed, but it barely registered, the sound swallowed by the roaring in his ears. Sirius grabbed his cheek and pressed on the ache as he regained his footing. The hands on his biceps trembled, and when he looked to his left, he saw his brother’s eyes, wide and unsure.
"Go to your rooms, both of you," shouted his father, then pointed his finger at Sirius. "I'll deal with you later."
"No! You can't send me– "
"Sirius, just go!" snapped his mother. "You've done enough."
The shock drained him. He couldn't find the strength to resist as his brother dragged him into the hallway. His knee screamed with every step, and he bit down hard to keep from making a sound. His uncle, now red with glee, watched them leave, while his cousin stared stubbornly at the floor, pale as a ghost. Sirius took a shaky breath and let Regulus haul him up the stairs.
“I told you this would happen,” Regulus exhaled slowly as Sirius opened his bedroom door.
“You didn’t say he would hit me! Or that he would send me away,” he growled, his chest heaving as he tried to fight back his tears. “And don’t you dare defend him!”
“I’m not defending him, I just–”
"Save it!"
Sirius slammed the door and braced himself against it, the room tilting with every shallow breath. His stomach lurched as a wave of nausea rolled through him. He squeezed his eyes shut and planted his forehead on the cool wood, waiting for the sickness to pass. It didn’t.
The silence pressed in on him, and for a moment his hand reached for the handle. He pushed himself away and grabbed his bags, shoving things inside them till the seams threatened to burst—money, books, clothes, anything that would fit. His Charms textbook slid from his grip and fell on the carpet. He tried to pick it up, but his knee flared again. He left the book on the floor.
He was reaching for his broom when a soft knock froze him. His heart slammed against his ribs, but he didn’t bother hiding the bags. There was only one person in this house who would bother with these fake pleasantries.
The noise downstairs rushed in as the door opened, blurred voices meshed with the thump in his chest. Regulus’ gaze dropped on the mess on his bed. His brow creased as the realization settled, and when he looked up, his eyes were strikingly like their father’s.
“You’re leaving?” Regulus whispered. “You can’t possibly think this is a good idea.”
Sirius’ throat tightened. He turned away before he could stop himself, shoving the last of his belongings in his bags. “And why should I stay?” he snapped. “So they can send me away from everyone who ever gave a damn about me?”
Sirius grabbed his bags and stepped forward, but the boy wouldn’t budge. He shoved him without thinking. Regulus’ back hit the wardrobe with a dull thud, knocking the breath out of him. Sirius yanked the door open.
Regulus grabbed him and spun him around. “Won’t you stop this nonsense already?”
"No, I’m done with this family." Sirius pushed his wand into the boy's chest, earning a pitying look. "Now you can either come with me or stay out of my way."
“To come with you? Why the hell would I do that?” The boy scoffed. “They were right. All you do is drag me down and get me into trouble.”
A cold weight settled into Sirius’ chest and he snarled, ”You’ll always be a suck-up, won’t you?”
”Better than a blood traitor.”
Sirius opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He let the wand fall to his side and didn’t look back, taking one careful, aching step after another. The stairs stretched out endlessly, and when he reached the door, the hallway felt impossibly empty behind him. Regulus hadn’t followed; the rest of the family had already returned to the dining room.
He slipped into the night, the tip of his wand glowing against the biting summer air. It was only after he boarded the Knight Bus that he let himself inhale fully, the tension rolling out of his body in shaky gasps. He pulled out the mirror from his pocket, stroking the edges as James’ face shimmered into view.
“Do you still want to spend the summer together?”