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Defiance


Grimmauld Place was a most excellent name for the street that the Blacks lived upon, Sirius decided one day, not long after having arrived back home for the holiday. It certainly was grim. Everything was dull, grey, colourless - especially now, in the winter, with all the leaves dead from the trees and the flowers in the square dead and buried under the dirty snow and patches of brown grass. It was downright dismal. Yet outside, even in the cold grey atmosphere, was still better than being inside, where the lanterns flickered in dim lighting and Kreacher roamed about, moaning and grumbling to himself as he creaked about, playing the slave for Master Regulus.

Walburga and Orion barely paid any attention to Sirius’s presence at all. Often times, if they needed to speak to him, Walburga would turn to Kreacher and tell Kreacher to tell Sirius something rather than saying it directly to him herself, even if he was in the same room. Kreacher would croakily repeat the message that Sirius had heard perfectly well when she told the elf what to say, and Sirius would ball his fists up in frustration.

“I ruddy heard her myself, you dim witted little creature!” he shouted at the elf one of the times that Walburga had done this, “I’m right here! And if she wants to speak to me, then she can tell me it herself!”

That had earned him a good dose of the Cruciatus Curse.

Sirius sat now, perched in a branch in the square, his feet up on the trunk of the tree, watching some muggle boys that were building a fort on the other end of the square. They didn’t know Sirius and hadn’t seemed much interested in letting him join in when he’d gone ‘round to talk with them.

One of the boys had crunched up his nose when Sirius introduced himself, “What sort of name is Sirius?” he asked, disdainfully.

“Where do you live?” another had asked, his eyebrows bunching together.

Sirius had remembered, then, that the charms on Number 12 Grimmauld Place rendered it quite invisible and the other children were suspicious of the strange boy with the funny name who, as far as they could see, didn’t live on their block. He’d retreated off to his tree then, but that didn’t stop him from watching them. They reminded him of James and Remus and even Peter. They’d made a snow fort on the ground of Hogwarts back when the snow had first fallen, and he remembered the way James sounded telling a joke when they’d sat inside, drinking butterbeers that Peter had knicked from the kitchens and warmed themselves by a little fire that Remus had conjured. He could almost feel the warmth of both the fire and the friendship and it made something inside him ache with longing to go home.

To Hogwarts, he corrected his thoughts.

He’d been doing that lately. Thinking of school as home and this awful place as - well, something else.

Hell, perhaps.

There were crunching footsteps below and he looked down to see Regulus, looking up at him with a sour look on his face. “Mother says you’re to come inside now,” Regulus said. He was wound up with a grey scarf with the Black family crest on the end. He turned and started back toward the house, beating his hands together to warm up as he walked, not waiting for his brother.

Sirius jumped down from the tree and flipped the bright gold and maroon scarf he wore ‘round his neck. The Gryffindor colours were the brightest things in the whole neighborhood. “What’d she send you out here for? Why not send Kreacher?” Sirius asked, quickly falling into stride beside Regulus.

“Kreacher in the square!” Regulus scoffed, “That would be a grand way of blowing the Statute of Secrecy, wouldn’t it?” He rolled his eyes, “What are they teaching you in that school? Obviously not any smarts.”

Sirius laughed, “It’s not like Father and Mother have ever given a damn about the Statute before,” he said.

“Well they sent me, alright?” Regulus snapped.

“Alright,” Sirius replied, “Blimey. What’re you so angry for?”

Regulus stared down at his feet, “I’m not angry.”

“So why are you snapping at me, then?” Sirius replied.

Regulus didn’t answer.

Sirius glanced across the square at the boys he’d been watching, but they’d finished their fort and were inside, no doubt having themselves a jolly time. He and Regulus climbed up the steps to Number 12 without any muggles on the streets to see them disappear. As they took the stairs, Sirius commented, “You know, of the two of us, it’s me who should be all sullen and moping about the place, not you.”

Regulus’s eyebrow raised, “Why’s that?”

“Why’s that?” Sirius guffawed, “Because everybody here hates me obviously! Even the damned house elf hates me.” If Sirius had hoped, even slightly, that Regulus might correct him, he was bitterly wrong. Regulus stared at his brother with a dull, unfeeling stare, his mouth set in a straight line that so looked like their father’s face that Sirius felt sick. “You know, last term, Father was going to kill me if the Dark Lord had told him to.”

Regulus’s words were flat and memorized from years of hearing it repeated - “You don’t question orders given by the Dark Lord.”

“Even when they’re to kill your own son?” Sirius challenged.

Regulus shrugged. “He didn’t order it, did he? If he had, it would’ve been for good reason. Nothing the Dark Lord commands is without good reason.”

Sirius snorted. “You don’t seriously believe that?”

Regulus shrugged again.

“You shouldn’t believe it. He’s ordered loads of terrible things, hasn’t he? Like the slaughter of innocent muggles and half-blood families, like they’re nothing! His followers killed one of my best mate’s mum over the summer, you know that? And they killed the captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team’s entire family.”

“The Bells?” Regulus asked.

A chill went through Sirius when Regulus said the name. There was no reason for Regulus to know who Sirius was talking about… “Who told you that name?” Sirius demanded.

Regulus’s eyes showed a flicker of panic, and then returned to their flat stare, “No one. I heard it. I hear things, you know, being ‘round here. I hear things. I’m not deaf. Mother and Father talk. They trust me.”

“Mother and Father talked about the Bells?” Sirius demanded.

They’d been standing on the stoop talking in front of the door, but now Regulus quickly shoved into the house and attempted to slam the door in Sirius’s face, but he caught it and pushed on behind his brother. Regulus broke into a run in the hallway, nearly knocking over an ugly old umbrella stand, but Sirius caught him by the wrist, making him trip and fall onto the stairs, smashing his nose against the steps. Blood spouted out and down his upper lip as he cried out and clutched at his face. “What’ve you done that for?” he wheezed around the blood. “You can’t! You can’t do magic outside of school! I’ll tell mum!”

Sirius had drawn his wand. He wasn’t technically allowed to, being underage, but if he had to he would hex Regulus into the next century. “Go on, tell her. If you can by the time I’m through with you.” He pointed the wand directly at Regulus’s neck. “What did they say about the Bells?”

Regulus struggled to get away but Sirius held tight and the wand pressed even harder against Regulus’s neck.

Tell me. Tell me now,” he demanded.

Regulus stopped and lay on the carpet, panting, staring up at his brother, his head bolstered by the bottom step. “They were assigned - by the Dark Lord - they had orders. They had to. The Bells were - they were bad wizards, they were --”

Sirius felt as though he’d been punched in the gut and he let his wand fall away from Regulus’s neck.

The boy scrambled quickly up the steps, escaping from Sirius, his feet thundering on the steps. “MOTHER!!” he bellowed, “MOTHER! SIRIUS ATTACKED ME!!”

Sirius felt hot and cold all over. His parents had been the ones who had murdered the Bells? It was them that were to blame for Derek’s anguish, for Alice being dead and gone? He turned and grabbed onto the ugly umbrella stand and emptied his stomach into the depths of it, his hands shaking as he clutched onto it. “Oh… no… no…” he groaned. He couldn’t bear it.

“Sirius.” Walburga’s voice echoed down the stairs.

Sirius was so weak from shock that his teeth were chattering and he looked up at her, looming above him like an unholy apparition. He shivered and tears stung his eyes, “You’re a murderer,” he said.

Walburga didn’t flinch at the word - as though she hadn’t even heard it - and asked, “Is it true that you attacked Regulus?”

Regulus peered around her, clutching to her skirts.

Sirius took a step forward, “No. I didn’t attack him. I knocked him down and I threatened him with my wand, but seeing as I’m underage, I can’t use it outside of Hogwarts, unless it’s an expulsion I want. And seeing as Hogwarts is the only place I can find anybody with any brains or heart in them, I’d be a real tosser to get kicked out of there, wouldn’t I? I’d have to stay here all the time, with you murderers.”

She stared down at him, her lip curled as though she’d found a bad smell.

“Come up here,” she said coldly.

“No,” Sirius replied defiantly.

“Sirius Orion Black,” she said, her voice hard as steel, “Come. Up. Here.

Sirius knew this may very well be the very last thing he ever did. He stared at her, his eyes locked right on hers - those dark holes of eyes - and he climbed the stairs, purposefully taking his time. Every step was an exaggerated pause as he made his way up to her on the landing, and he stopped right before her… and then he turned and continued up the next flight.

“Where do you think you are going?” she demanded.

“To my room,” he replied, “To get my things. I’m leaving.”

Walburga cackled, “Leaving?”

“I’M LEAVING, MOTHER!” Sirius shouted, “And I won’t ever come back to this filthy, disgusting place! I hate it here - I hate you, I hate all of you. I hate Kreacher and I hate Father and you and Regulus! I hate it all! You’re dark wizards - you’re murderers!”

Walburga stared, not a muscle so much as twitching in her face as he shouted all this. She didn’t move to stop him, either, as he raced up the steps to his room and grabbed his bag and the things he held most dear. He stuffed the bag full and flung it over his shoulder. She never said a word as he left, thundering down the stairs to the front door.

“Is Sirius really leaving, Mother?” Regulus asked.

“Yes,” Walburga said coldly. “And he isn’t welcomed back.”

Sirius slammed the door good and hard behind him.