The Boy Who Killed God {Sirius Black | Marauders Era Fanfiction}

The First Spell

Regulus just laughed harder.

"Why, you little—" Auclair reached into the pocket of his robe for his wand, pointed it, and muttered a curse.

Sirius was ready. He leaped out of his chair, throwing the book in the general direction of Auclair, and dived behind the coffee table. Auclair's curse, having missed Sirius by quite a significant margin, hit the high-backed armchair in which he'd been sitting instead. The arm chair let out a shriek and contorted in what Sirius guessed was the chair-equivalent of constipation.

"Ah, Auclair," Sirius chided. "You aren't supposed to curse us. What would Mother say, if you deprived he of the immense pleasure of doing it herself?"

Auclair roared in fury, drowning out the shrieking chair.

Regulus howled, tears streaming down his face, grin wild and unable to cease his fit of laughter.

Auclair readjusted, aiming again for Sirius, but before he could mutter a spell, Sirius stood up, meeting his tutor in a well-practiced dueling pose. Except instead of a wand, Sirius Black had only his fingers and the magic coursing through his veins.

Another red bolt shot from Sirius's fingertips, once more hitting Auclair directly in the chest. This time, his once-expensive, dark green robes changed into a shade of neon orange that greatly clashed with his bright pink hair.

Regulus cackled and roared, clapping his hands when he had to stop laughing to catch his breath.

A string of French curse words flew from Auclair's mouth as he looked down at himself. Then, turning from Sirius, Auclair grabbed Regulus by the back of his neck, his wand trained on Regulus's forehead.

Instantly, the triumphant smile disappeared from Sirius's face. Regulus let out a small whimper.

"Don't you fucking dare," Sirius growled, trying to ignore the fact that his voice cracked when he spoke.

A wicked, twisted grin spread across Auclair's face. "Ah, there's that Slytherin fury. I knew it was there somewhere."

"Sirius—" Regulus choked out, but Auclair silenced him with a flick of his wand.

Sirius grit his teeth together. "Let him go. He didn't do anything. You want to punish me, so do it. Not him."

"And still with that brazen stupidity," Auclair sneered. "So unbecoming of the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

"ALPHONSE!" roared a voice from the doorway.

All three of them turned to see the looming, well-to-do shape of Walburga Black watching the scene unfold with something akin to hellfire blazing in her soulless, grey eyes.

"Release my son, Alphonse," she snapped, and instantly, Auclair obeyed. Even a cretin like Auclair knew better than to test the patience of Walburga Black. Regulus tumbled to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, brushing off his robes and hovering close to Sirius's side. Sirius didn't miss the tremor that went through his younger brother's body.

"Sirius!" Walburga said, her voice a little too loud, a little too grating on his already-frayed nerves for Sirius to entirely hide his flinch. His mother gestured at his tutor. "Fix him. Now."

Knowing better than to talk back to his mother, Sirius suppressed an eye-roll and flicked his wrist at Auclair. His robes instantly reverted to their original color, as did his hair, save for a bright pink streak, right down the center of his scalp.

Walburga gave him a harsh glare, her lips pressed in a thin line.

"Sorry," Sirius muttered, though he was not even remotely so. He gestured to the sparks of magic flickering between his fingers. "Best I can do. It's still a bit unpredictable."