#★ ∗ ∘ ∙ 026. sirius black ( asks )

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*    @mctherdearest​​    —    STRANGE  PLACE  TO  FALL  ASLEEP    (   WALBURGA  &  SIRIUS   ) 

SIRIUS   WAKES   WITH   A   START,   AND   IT   ONLY   MAKES   HIS   HEAD   POUND   WORSE.         the   light   from   his   mother’s   wand,   hovering   over   his   face   in   the   darkness,   makes   him   shut   his   eyes   immediately   once   again.      he   looks   around,   head   lolling   and   still   a   little   dizzy.      he’s   forgotten   to   clean   up   the   liquor   bottles   .   .   .      there’s   no   way   she   doesn’t   know   what   this   is   about      —      why   he   is   sleeping   in   the   parlor,   passed   out   on   the   chaise   lounge.      he   anticipates   nothing   but   the   worst      —      but   what   else   is   new?   

he   groans   as   he   sits   up,   running   a   hand   through   his   mussed   hair.            “      well,   this   was   closer   than   the   stairs,      ”            he   drawls,   raspy   with   sleep.   

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*    @mctherdearest​​    —    YOU  PITY  ME,  BUT  I  PITY  YOU  MORE  FOR  PITYING  ME    (   WALBURGA  &  SIRIUS   ) 

SIRIUS   CLENCHES   HIS   JAW   TIGHTLY.         his   teeth   grind   together.      he   can   feel   regulus’s   nervous   eyes   on   him   from   across   the   dinner   table.      if   they   were   permitted   to   sit   at   each   other’s   sides,   sirius   is   sure   his   little   brother   would   be   nudging   him   beneath   the   table,   begging   him   to   hold   his   tongue.   

but   he   hasn’t   through   the   beginning   of   this   dinner      —      why   start   now?   

his   silvery   gaze   snaps   to   his   mother’s,   down   to   the   end   of   the   table   where   she   sits   to   the   left   of   him.            “      the   views   you   have   of   people   you   have   never   even   met   are   antiquated   and   obscene,      ”            he   hisses.            “      you   do   nothing   but   show   your   stupidity   when   your   spew   them,   mother.      ”   

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*    @mctherdearest​​    —    I  GUESS  WE  BOTH  LOST  SOMETHING  WE  WERE  FOND  OF    (  WALBURGA  &  SIRIUS   ) 

HE   HAS   NO   SAY   OVER   WHO   PAYS   HIM   VISITS   HERE.         so   long   as   they   have   enough   influence   or   fortune   to   persuade   the   azkaban   wardens,   they   are   allowed.      and   he   can   do   nothing   but   sit   in   his   cell   and   listen.      not   that   he’s   had   many   visitors.      of   course,   the   first      (   the   only   )      is   his   mother.   

and   of   course,   when   she   opens   her   mouth,   she   only   spits   venom.      it   incenses   him   as   it   always   has,   but   with   renewed,   raw,   feral   vigor.      he   charges   the   door.      the   manacles   around   his   wrists   dig   in   deep,   pulling   him   up   short   once   he’s   six   inches   from   the   bars.      they   always   do,   don’t   they?      but   sirius   doesn’t   care;      he   doesn’t   mind   the   pain.      he   can   only   feel   the   fury.   

“      don’t   you   dare,      ”            he   snarls,            “      compare   our   losses.      you   gave   me   up!      if   you’d   ever   been   fond   of   me,   as   you   so   claim      —      if   you   had   ever   dreamed   of   caring   for   me   the   way   a   mother   ought   to   care   for   her   child?      you   never   would   have   let   me   go!      ”   

their   losses   are   not   the   same.      sirius   would   give   anything   to   have   his   family      (   his   true,   chosen   family   )      back;      walburga   did   everything   to   push   hers   away.   

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*    @mctherdearest​​    —    I  DON’T  KNOW  WHAT’S  THE  TRUTH  OR  WHAT’S  A  LIE  ANYMORE    (   WALBURGA  &  SIRIUS   ) 

HE   STANDS   BEFORE   HER   IN   HER   PARLOR,   NOW   THAT   HE’S   RETURNED   FROM   KING’S   CROSS.         it   has   only   been   since   september   that   he’s   been   here,   been   home,   but   it   feels   like   it’s   been   longer.      regulus   is   so   eager   to   have   him   back,   that   is   clear   even   though   their   parents   shush   and   hurry   their   reunion   in   the   foyer.      sirius   is   shuffled   to   his   mother’s   domain,   while   his   father’s   study   door   shuts   firmly   behind   him.      he   is   left   to   stand   alone   before   her,   and   he   is   not   sure   if   that   is   better   or   worse.   

“      i      —      i’m   not   lying.      ”            he   furrows   his   brow.      he   is   anxious,   of   course,   returning   home   this   christmas   of   first   year,   but   .   .   .      now   he   is   also   confused.      how   could   she   think   he   would   lie   to   her   about   all   of   this?            “      it’s   as   i   told   you   in   my   letters.      i      —      the   sorting   happened   so   fast.      i   had   no   time   to   make   a   selection   or   speak   to   the   hat   at   all.      ”

the   brim   barely   brushes   his   hair   before   it   shouts   ‘GRYFFINDOR’   to   all   in   the   great   hall.      sirius   sits   frozen   upon   the   stool,   terrified   in   the   silence   the   sorting   brings   to   gryffindors   and   slytherins   alike,   until   mcgonagall   gently   shoos   him   towards   the   gryffindor   tables.      he   sits   alone   until   james   potter   gets   sorted   as   well   and   chooses   the   seat   at   sirius’s   side   instead   of   all   the   others   that   are   available.      remus   lupin   and   peter   pettigrew   come   later,   over   the   next   few   weeks.      and   he   fears   his   parents’   anger   and   disappointment      —      fears   the   discipline   they   will   no   doubt   levy   his   way      —      but   .   .   .      he   cannot   regret   what   has   happened   either.      he   cannot   regret   any   of   it.   

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*    @lupiinee​​    —    I’M  NOT  GOING  ANYWHERE  UNTIL  YOU  GET  SOME  SLEEP    (   REMUS  &  SIRIUS   ) 

THE   ICE   CLINKS   IN   HIS   GLASS   AS   HE   MOVES   THE   SCOTCH   BACK   AND   FORTH.         still   the   same   place      —      still   the   same   order,   the   same   gaudy   decanters.            “      well,   you   ought   to   have   a   drink   with   me   then,      ”            he   replies   with   a   sharp   grin.            “      courtesy   of   my   dearly   departed   father.      ”            if   he   has   to   stay   here      —      if   he   has   to   live   in   this   house   again      —      he’ll   find   ways   to   enjoy   himself.      stealing   from   his   father   beyond   the   grave   helps,   even   if   only   a   little.            “      a   miserable   bastard,   of   course,   but   he   always   had   fine   taste   in   drink   .   .   .      ”   

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    *    @melnchly​​    —    PHYSICALLY,  YES.   I  COULD  FIGHT  A  BIRD.   BUT  EMOTIONALLY?   IMAGINE  THE  TOLL    (   marlene  &  sirius   ) 

THEY’RE   BOTH   WAY   TOO   HIGH   FOR   ANY   SENSIBLE   CONVERSATION.         marlene   proves   that,   doesn’t   she?      sirius’s   eyes   are   wide   as   saucers   as   he   nods.      the   smoke   around   them,   emanating   from   the   joints   between   their   fingers,   is   hazy   and   colorful.            “      you   can’t   fight   a   bird,   marls,      ”            he   replies,   serious   and   genuine,   even   as   his   words   contradict   the   movements   of   his   head.            “      you   can’t   fly!      you   won’t   be   able   to   catch   them,   and   .   .   .      they   have   coconspirators   everywhere.      ”   

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*    @melnchly​​    —    [  PATCH  ]   MY  MUSE  STARTS  TO  HEAL  /  BANDAGE  YOURS    (   MARLENE  &  SIRIUS   ) 

GETTING   MARLENE   TO   SIT   STILL   IS   ALWAYS   A   CHALLENGE.         luckily,   sirius   has   plenty   of   practice   when   it   comes   to   james.      he   keeps   one   hand   on   hers,   folding   in   her   lap,   while   the   other   dabs   at   the   bruising   and   blood   on   the   side   of   her   face   with   a   cool,   damp   cloth.      moony   is   better   at   this   sort   of   thing      —      good   with   healing   spells,   good   at   that   sort   of   magic.      but      —      well,   sirius   knows   how   to   handle   a   blow   to   the   face,   at   least.            “      i   must   admit,   you   took   that   bat   to   the   face   quite   well,   mckinnon,      ”            he   comments   with   a   smirk,   concentrating   on   his   work   while   they   sit   face   to   face   in   the   gryffindor   changing   rooms   off   the   pitch.            “      i   thought   you   might   forgo   the   whole   of   the   match   to   run   down   parkinson   on   your   broom.      ”   

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*    @mctherdearest​​    —    CAN  YOU  LOOK  AT  ME?  PLEASE?    (   WALBURGA  &  SIRIUS   ) 

ONE   HAND   ON   THE   BANNISTER,   SIRIUS   PAUSES.         he   keeps   his   mother’s   portrait   covered   up   for   a   reason.      they   can’t   remove   it      —      sirius   isn’t   the   only   black   in   this   house   with   a   gift   for   sticking   charms      —      and   she   is   heinous   to   most   who   pass   through   these   halls,   not   just   her   son.      but   he   is   alone   tonight,   trudging   downstairs   in   the   middle   of   the   night   for   a   drink   when   he   wakes   from   a   nightmare,   and   her   voice   .   .   .      is   soft.      it   is   how   he   has   not   heard   it   in   years      —      since   he   is   sorted   into   gryffindor.      and   perhaps   it   is   the   lateness   of   the   hour      —      perhaps   it   is   the   film   of   drunkenness   over   his   mind   and   vision      —      but   he   wants   to   do   as   she   says.   

he   is   ten   years   old   again   for   a   moment,   craving   his   mother’s   love   and   attention   and   affection   before   it   is   forever   snatched   away      —      before   he   begins   to   push   it   and   her   away   so   he   has   some   control   over   the   inevitable   he   cannot   change.      his   hands   tremble,   but   he   tugs   back   the   sheet   hanging   over   walburga   black’s   portrait,   standing   before   her   in   the   halls   of   grimmauld   place.   

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*    @iinmortales​​    —    I  KNOW  YOU  FEEL  LIKE  YOU’RE  ALONE,  AND  I’M  NOT  GOING  TO  INVALIDATE  THAT.  BUT  I  CAN  TELL  YOU  THAT  I’M  HERE.  AND  I  KNOW  THERE  ARE  PEOPLE  WHO  WANT  TO  CARE  AND  HELP  IF  YOU’LL  LET  THEM    (   LILY  &  SIRIUS   ) 

MUGGLE   CIGARETTES   AREN’T   AS   HARD   TO   GET   YOUR   HANDS   ON   AT   HOGWARTS   AS   THE   FACULTY   WOULD   HAVE   YOU   BELIEVE.         sirius   takes   a   drag,   sitting   out   by   the   black   lake,   facing   over   the   waters   alone   as   sunset   approaches.      well,   alone   until   evans   parks   herself   beside   him.      for   awhile,   she   doesn’t   speak.      but   when   she   does   speak,   of   course   she   knows   exactly   what   to   say.      and   of   course,   sirius   can’t   be   angry   with   her.      he   takes   another   drag,   letting   out   the   smoke,   before   leaning   his   head   onto   her   shoulder.

“      was   i   really   that   bad?      ”            he   knows   he’s   a   monster   ‘round   the   holidays      —      when   time   ticks   down   until   he   has   to   leave   hogwarts   and   return   to   grimmauld   place.      sirius   just   wishes   he   knew   how   to   keep   the   monster   within.      as   it   stands,   he   just   lashes   out,   crackling   and   sharp,   at   any   who   love   him,   it   seems.            “      i   must   have   been.      they   had   to   send   you.      ”            he   extends   the   pack   of   cigarettes   to   her      —      a   peace   offering.   

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*    @marblecarved​    —     💬    (   EUPHEMIA  &  SIRIUS   ) 

SIRIUS   SITS   ON   THE   POTTERS’   COUCH,   AS   HE   HAS   DONE   BEFORE.         not   many   times,   but   enough   to   know   its   warmth,   its   smell,   its   softness.      this   time   is   different      —      this   time   means   and   matters   more.      head   in   his   hands,   with   euphemia   gripping   his   shoulder,   he   feels   for   the   first   time   a   mother’s   touch   that   doesn’t   hurt.      and   he   thinks   about   all   of   it      —      about   everything   that   brings   him   here,   everything   he’s   leaving   behind,   everything   that   has   cast   him   aside,   too,   made   final   by   the   shipped   and   packaged   belongings   arriving   on   the   potters’   doorstep.      school   things   only      —      books   and   uniforms,   nothing   personal   from   the   house,   nothing   that   mattered,   nothing   from   his   old   life.      and   even   though   he   runs,   this   is   the   final   blow:      the   final   demonstration   that   they   do   not   want   or   love   him,   and   that   they   likely   never   have.

“      i   just   want   a   nice,   easy   life,      ”            he   mumbles   into   his   hands,   hot   tears   choking   and   clogging   his   throat.            “      what’s   wrong   with   that?      ”            everything,   so   it   seems,   when   you   are   a   member   of   the   noble   house   of   black      —      when   you   are   a   son,   an   heir,   who   fights   the   reality   of   it   all   at   every   turn.      he   is   here,   and   they   are   there,   and   one   day   he   will   be   thankful   for   that.      but   for   now,   it   breaks   him   open,   raw   and   bloody   and   sad.

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    *    @melnchly​​    —    I  DOUBT  I  HAVE  ANY  CHOICE  IN  THE  MATTER    (   andromeda  &  sirius   ) 

ALL   OF   THE   CHILDREN   IN   THIS   FAMILY   ARE   STUCK   ON   A   CAROUSEL   FROM   BIRTH.         round   and   round   they   go,   decorative   and   gilded,   nailed   to   the   spot   they’re   placed   forever   and   forever   .   .   .      unless   they   leap   off   themselves.      the   two   of   them   manage   it,   but   their   siblings   are   left   behind.      most   of   the   time,   sirius   can   convince   himself   that   he   doesn’t   miss   regulus      —      that   he   doesn’t   worry   about   him,   or   wish   he   could   see   him   and   speak   to   him   like   old   times,   or   regret   not   doing   more   to   grab   his   little   brother   and   take   him   with   him   when   he   runs   away.      but   when   he   visits   andromeda,   it’s   hard   not   to   think   of   his   blood.      it   might   make   it   harder   for   her   as   well.   

“      i   suppose   you’re   right   about   that,      ”            he   replies   after   a   beat   of   silence,   taking   another   sip   of   his   beer.      ted   offers   him   one   before   he   takes   nymphadora   off   to   bed,   leaving   the   cousins   on   their   own      —      a   warrant   for   bellatrix   black’s   arrest   in   the   paper   between   them.            “      i   don’t   know   why   you’d   want   to   talk   to   any   of   them   again.      but   if   you   tried,   they   wouldn’t   reciprocate   the   efforts,   i’m   sure.      ”   

he   thinks   about   frank   and   alice   .   .   .      about   their   newborn   son,   and   all   the   other   friends   and   family   he   and   his   own   have   lost   in   this   bloody   war.      he   thinks   of   regulus,   too,   dead   and   gone   by   now,   as   much   as   he   tries   not   to.      and   he   drinks   again,   the   alcohol   burning   back   the   unshed   tears. 

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*    @mctherdearest​​    —    SENDER  LIFTS  RECEIVER’S  CHIN,  INVOKING  EYE  CONTACT    (   WALBURGA  &  SIRIUS   ) 

REFLEXIVE   TEARS   STING   HIS   EYES,   AND   HIS   CHEEK   SMARTS.         it   won’t   bruise   this   time      —      doesn’t   hurt   so   badly,   isn’t   such   a   sound   blow      —      but   he   can   feel   his   skin   heating,   turning   red   at   the   sight   of   impact.      when   his   mother   grips   his   chin,   raising   his   face   to   hers,   it   forces   sirius   up   on   his   toes.      he   grits   his   teeth,   clenching   his   jaw   tightly,   along   with   his   fists   at   his   sides.      he   is   twelve   years   old,   and   he   is   entirely   different   from   the   boy   who   leaves   grimmauld   place   for   hogwarts   not   even   a   year   before.      when   he   departs   that   day,   he   never   imagines   he   will   dread   summer   holiday.      but   now,   all   he   wishes   is   to   be   back   at   school.   

“      i’m   not   sorry   for   what   i   said,      ”            he   replies   in   a   hiss,   gaze   burning   into   hers.      he   won’t   take   it   back      —      not   after   what   she   says   first.      he’ll   get   into   even   more   trouble   for   refusing   to   beg   for   forgiveness,   for   not   attempting   to   make   amends,   but   .   .   .      though   he   is   anxious   over   punishments   he   may   receive,   further   than   what   has   already   been   levied,   he   almost   wishes   for   it      —      wishes   for   something   to   break   the   monotony   and   loneliness   of   being   back   here. 

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*    @melnchly​​    —    I  JUST  WANTED  TO  MAKE  SURE  YOU’RE  OKAY    (   MARLENE  &  SIRIUS   ) 

SIRIUS   TIES   OFF   THE   LAST   OF   THE   BANDAGES   AROUND   HIS   ARMS.         he   looks   up   at   marlene   without   rising   from   his   seat   on   the   headquarter   steps      —      the   ones   that   lead   upstairs   to   the   makeshift   infirmary   that’s   already   too   full,   but   that   just   keeps   getting   fuller.            “      why?      ”            the   question   is   sharp      —      accusatory.      he   sees   the   way   they   look   at   him   after   the   battle      —      after   seeing   the   way   he   and   his   cousin   go   head-to-head.   

“      don’t   i   look   like   i’m   alright?      ”            the   follow-up   is   not   so   piercing,   more   silken   and   drawled,   though   his   smile   is   certainly   sharp      —      sharp   enough   to   cut.      he   chuckles   to   himself,   fishing   out   a   cigarette   and   lighting   up   without   bothering   to   go   outdoors.      moody   can   kiss   his   ass   right   now.      sirius   is   not   in   the   mood.   

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*    @melnchly​​    —    HOLY  SHIT,  YOUR  HANDS  ARE  FREEZING!    (   MARLENE  &  SIRIUS   ) 

QUITE   A   LOT   OF   SIRIUS   CHANGES   WHEN   HIS   ANIMAGUS   TAKES   ITS   FORM.         his   cold   hands   do   not.      he   rolls   his   eyes   and   tugs   his   hands   from   marlene’s,   shoving   them   into   his   coat   pockets.            “      shhh,      ”            he   shushes   her   sharply.            “      we’re   working.      do   you   mind   attempting   a   semblance   of   professionalism?      ”            he   winks   there.      he   is   one   to   judge,   isn’t   he?      mad-eye   almost   wouldn’t   let   the   two   of   them   go   on   assignment   together   after   the   firewhiskey   incident   last   time.      they’ve   got   to   ‘behave   themselves’   tonight.      they’re   off   to   a   great   start. 

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tag drop :  sirius black,  anti jkr harry potter 

★ ∗ ∘ ∙   026.  sirius black ( starters )

★ ∗ ∘ ∙   026.  sirius black ( replies )

★ ∗ ∘ ∙   026.  sirius black ( asks )

★ ∗ ∘ ∙   026.  sirius black ( portraits )

★ ∗ ∘ ∙   026.  sirius black ( about )

★ ∗ ∘ ∙   026.  sirius black ( inspirations )

★ ∗ ∘ ∙   026.  sirius black ( desires )

★ ∗ ∘ ∙   026.  sirius black ( aesthetics )

★ ∗ ∘ ∙   026.  sirius black ( dynamics )