fatal love

Chapter 14

Sirius was back at Grimmauld Place. His mother had collected him and Regulus from the train station and promptly sent him to his room, saying she'd speak to him later, and she hadn't looked happy. But apparently hearing about her favourite son's first term was more important than him, so he was in his bedroom, waiting for her to appear. He set about unpacking his things, trying to ignore the waves of anxiety in his stomach.

An hour later, his door opened, and his mother entered.

"Hello, Sirius," she said, in that awful formal voice, no emotion behind it. "It seems, yet again, there are some issues we must discuss."

"What issues?" he asked moodily, reclining on his bed, trying to appear unbothered.

"Do not address me in that manner," she snapped, "and stand up when I am speaking to you. Show some respect."

Sighing, he stood up. "What issues, Mother?" he repeated, in deference this time.

"I know that you have been letting down the family when you are away at school. Assorting with half-breeds, blood-traitors and mudbloods. Do you not remember our motto, Sirius? Toujours Pur!"

"Well, they're my friends!"

Her façade cracked, and a bit of anger started to show on her face. "Being in Gryffindor is embarrassment enough for the Heir, and yet you insist on lowering our standard even farther, befriending the lowest in society! You bring shame on the entire family!"

"I won't stop being friends with them," Sirius said stubbornly.

"And that's not to mention the disrespect you showed your father, the Head of our family! These are important times, Sirius, we cannot be looking fractured!"

Sirius took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "I'm sorry, Mother," he said, "I lost my temper, it won't happen again."

She sneered at him. "Not good enough. Lacero!" As she slashed her wand through the air, Sirius' chest was torn open. He fell to the floor in agony, his blood staining the carpet. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he figured he should at least be grateful that she didn't drag it out like she usually did. "Kreacher!" his mother yelled as he lay on the floor gasping. Kreacher appeared at her feet. "Make sure he doesn't bleed out," she said carelessly, striding out of his room.

Kreacher didn't help him, of course he didn't. He just glared at Sirius, as he struggled to his feet, grabbing another shirt and pressing it to his chest, trying to stem the bleeding. He should have brought dittany back this time as well. His vision was going foggy, and he knew from past experiences that that meant it wasn't long until he was going to pass out. With his remaining energy, he stumbled to the bed, just in time to stop himself sleeping on the floor.

When he awoke, it was dark outside, and his chest was healed as if it had never been sliced open to begin with. Not even a scar. Can't let the Heir have any scars, Sirius thought sarcastically. Heaving himself up, he wrote a letter to James, telling him everything was fine, knowing James would worry if he didn't. He was starving, so he went to go to the kitchen and get something to eat, but his door was locked. Perfect, thought Sirius, looks like we're doing this again.

He wasn't let out until Christmas day. Kreacher had been Apparating into his room once a day to deliver some meagre portions of food, but it was nowhere near enough, and Sirius was once again living with the constant dull ache in his stomach. But apparently Christmas meant seeing other families, and that meant they had to trot the Heir out and show him off, even if in reality they hated him. So mid-afternoon on the 25th of December, his mother opened the door to his room, surveying him as he was curled up on his bed, too tired to move.