Chapter Text
Walburga Black was expecting many things from her volatile, emotional teenage son - but his incredibly docile and meek response had left her, to put it simply, speechless. A quick glance at Orion confirmed that he, too, was at a loss for words. Because Sirius Orion the Third had never, not since he was a young child, acknowledged them like that - automatically, instinctively, and in a manner Walburga had only ever seen in Regulus.
Good, sweet, obedient Regulus. Courteous and loyal to his name. Still, Walburga was going to see it as a success. Ha, if Sirius kept up with the niceties next summer…well, Arcturus wouldn’t have all that much to say now, would he? What had he said to her just a month ago? Yes, that’s right, something along the lines of Sirius Orion being an impossible child, an unsuitable heir. She allowed herself a small, controlled smirk (in Sirius’s direction, of course) as the immature voice in her head let out a big, fat and highly improper, “HA! In your face, you conniving, old bastard!”
Sirius cringed as soon as those words slipped from his lips. Ach, old habits die hard. Merlin, the whole school was going to hear about this once term started, if the furious whispering from the group of students in the corner of the Great Hall was anything to go by. And it was all THEIR fault. Why the hell were they even here? It was bad enough having to deal with that great disgusting swarm of cousins that invaded his turf and infested it with their repulsive opinions, Dark Magick, wait a minute - was Walburga Black smiling? Oh hell no, she was gloating! What, so he said “Yes, Ma’am” and that meant she had won? Well then, OVER HIS DEAD BODY!
So he pulled himself together and summoned all his Gryffindor courage and in the coldest possible voice he could manage he hissed:
“What are you doing here?”
It came out as more of a high-pitched, childish whine. McGonagall snorted, Dumbledore’s eyes were irritatingly twinkly and those stupid witnesses in the corner were giggling. GIGGLING! If Sirius had been a registered Animagus, he would have turned into Padfoot and bolted - fuck Griffyindor-ism. Worse of all, Walburga was still grinning like that weird purple cat - the Cheshire Cat? - from that Muggle show Wormtail loved. Sirius wished she would stop that. It was hella creepy.
Walburga lifted her chin smugly. One shouldn’t take delight in their child’s failures but please, how often did Sirius get embarrassed? Pulling a hand fan out from her purse, she flicked it open and fanned herself, indulging in a rare moment of triumph over her heir.
What the hell was that? The court language of the Versailles?! So not only did Sirius have to deal with that bitch’s insane obsession of one-upping him, he also had to interpret her FANNING? Merlin, this was just too much. Scowling ferociously and blushing uncontrollably, Sirius folded his arms tightly against his chest and tried to ignore the pounding in his head.
“Oh stop that, will you?”
Gryffindor foolhardiness truly knows no bounds. The smile slid straight off her face and was replaced almost instantaneously with an ugly sneer. Snapping her hand fan shut, Walburga fixed her eldest son with a steely gaze. Never mind what she said - he truly was quite the lost cause: dark hair all mussed up in an untidy mop atop his head, school robes carelessly tossed around his shoulders, shirt half-buttoned, trousers wrinkled and shoelaces untied. Well, if he truly wished to antagonise her, two could surely play this game.
“Stop what, Sirius Orion?”
“That - that smile. It’s creepy as fu-”
A stern look from McGonagall was more than enough to silence him. Sirius’s puerile pout deepened as he glowered at his mother. Orion was growing increasingly uncomfortable as he stood at Walburga’s side. Merlin, was it really necessary for them to hold a who-can-get-angrier-faster competition now?
Walburga grinned inwardly. Never had there been a better chance for her to practice occlumency. Pollux had always claimed that to win over the, ah, ‘opposition’, one should first understand their thinking. So she stretched her magic out, all the way, until it had wound itself tightly around its target and with a whispered Legilimens, Walburga smashed through the thin walls of Sirius’s mind, all the while cackling in delight.
Sirius was confused. Just a second ago, he had been exercising his perfect vision on that lousy excuse for a mother and then he suddenly found himself flung into the air. It was only until Sirius crashed through the double doors of the Great Hall that he realised exactly what had happened. That HAG had used Legilimency on her own son! But, you must understand, being hurled into the nearest hard object to satisfy one’s sadistic mother’s appetite for violence overtook any opportunity for Sirius to get mad. He could scream and rage all he wanted later.
Now, as time seemed to slow down and Sirius seemed to be out of sight of the vast audience witnessing this once-in-a-lifetime spectacle back in the Great Hall, he started thinking. Quickly, of course. But thinking does not fit all that nicely with Sirius. And thinking quickly did not fit at all. Which was exactly how Sirius found himself turning into Padfoot a mere centimeter before touching the ground. Or rather, he hit the ground so hard that he was sure he made a dent in the floor.
Like before, sliding a good three metres from the area of impact certainly took precedence over little things like the fact that Sirius hadn’t had breakfast yet or the pressing issue that took up far too little memory space in his mind called “Being An Unregistered and Therefore Illegal Animagus And Having Your Mother Find Out”. And the issue was even more important if one had such poor luck that your mother happened to be Walburga Black.
Unfortunately for Sirius, it seemed that rotten luck was in his blood. Before Sirius could change back into his much handsomer human form, Walburga stormed out of the Great Hall and found a great big black dog staring at her in horror. Or at least as horrified as a dog can look.
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“I, uh, I can explain.”
If Sirius had not hurt his head three times before ten in the morning, he might have thought to simply run away from this catastrophe of a Christmas breakfast as Padfoot. But he had, so Sirius transformed back into his human form in front of a visibly stunned Walburga.
“Oh…you had better.”
And that was it for now, because Dumbledore and Orion and McGonagall and everyone in the bloody Great Hall came running out. Walburga was unnaturally calm - serene, almost as McGonagall started yammering on about getting him to Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore was going on about Walburga being a rather strong witch - to which the woman snapped at him to ‘shut his trap’, the spectating students were gaping AGAIN at Sirius, and Orion was looking extremely out of place and so very lost.
Then Sirius opened his mouth and yelling over the din, he reminded everyone of a question that had yet to be answered:
“Oi! Will someone please tell me WHY IN THE BLOODY HELL are they here?”
Jabbing his thumb at a fuming Walburga and discomfitted Orion, Sirius pushed himself to his feet and ignored the increasing intensity of the throbbing in his temples. Dumbledore did those annoying twinkly eyes again and replied in that dreamy, I’m-94-and-expectedly-better-than-you voice:
“Ah, of course. Shall we continue this conversation in my study? Away from prying eyes - or in this case prying ears - ho, ho!”
Sirius stared at Dumbledore. McGonagall stared at Dumbledore. Walburga glared at Dumbledore. Orion copied everyone else and started staring at Dumbledore.
“No? Not funny, then? Well, alright, never mind then!”
The elderly wizard shrugged and unwrapped a lemon drop. Sirius swore he heard the man mutter ‘spoilsports’. Or maybe he was hearing things, because his blasted headache was still there, hammering away behind his ears. Perhaps he was seeing things too. Merlin knew what firewhisky did to you. Reaching out a cautious hand, he poked Walburga in the arm.
“What do you want, brat?”
Yup, definitely real. What a shame. Sirius sighed loudly and shoved his hands into his robe pockets, scuffing his shoes against that unnecessarily hard ground. Oh shit, not now, not now not now not now -
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Orion Black had been perfectly content to leave the drama to his overly emotional wife and son, but of course the boy had to pull some stunt. He had barely managed to catch Sirius after his shockingly real fainting episode. Merlin, he and his mother seriously needed to cut down on the theatrics! He snickered. Ha, siriusly.
“What in Salazar’s name could you possibly be laughing at?”
“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
Walburga huffed testily at his response. Sirius was lying unconscious in Orion’s arms, looking so young, so peaceful, so - EW! Was that saliva? Good Godric, that boy was drooling on a custom-made, Italian silk, hand-embroidered cloak imported from China! Or was it Germany? France? Either way, the cloak cost him a good 150 Galleons and saliva does not -
“Give him to me.”
“Excuse me?”
Orion blinked owlishly at his wife. Walburga’s lips curled as she gestured wildly at the oblivious child in his arms. Ah, so she was jealous. Orion smirked and adjusted his grip on Sirius’s arms.
“No.”
“What did you say?”
Her eyes flashed dangerously. Shoots, Orion probably should have gotten his wand out before trying to play with that woman. His unease must have been rather obvious because Walburga pressed her lips together in a grim smile. Uh-oh. That was a combination of Look Number 210 - the infamous “Do You Really Want To Mess With Me” and Look Number 689 - “I Highly Recommend You Rethink Your Life Choices Starting From When You Foolishly Married Me”.
Under normal circumstances, Orion would have cowed immediately to the empress that was his wife. But today, he had an unusual amount of Gryffindor bravery. So Orion tightened his grip on his son’s arms, looked the demon Walburga squarely in the eye and said:
“No.”
Then as an afterthought, Orion tacked on a:
“My darling sweet, wonderful wife - “
Unfortunately, he was interrupted by a satanic scream from Walburga who proceeded to try and pull Sirius from his grips. And because Orion realised Pollux wasn’t here to make him act gentlemanly, he countered her surprisingly strong pulls with half-hearted ones of his own.
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In all her years teaching at Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall had come across some of the most absurd predicaments one could ever think of. But nothing could have prepared her for this completely rubbish start to Christmas Day. Who in the right mind threw their child across the Great Hall like that? Well to be fair, none of the Blacks had normal minds.
But to see the same woman who flung her son seven meters into the air playing tug of war with that said son, who was currently unconscious, against her husband over who should be carrying him… Surely this warranted an official Ministry investigation into the mental sanity of inbred purebloods? Minister Minchun certainly couldn’t bar her from her research into the twisted minds of those high-class, snobby oafs now, could he?
But now there was a more urgent matter on hand than the neurological mutations of blood purists, and that was the decision whether or not to stop the human mishandling occurring right in front of her.
A quick glance at Albus confirmed that the old fool (Minerva feared he was facing mental decline into insanity) was paying no heed to the situation at all. Horace, Filius and Pomona were all at a loss. She let out a weary sigh. Looks like she would have to handle this… whatever you call it.
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Regulus Black was having a fairly good Christmas morning. There were hardly any students staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, and the Slytherin common room had been blessedly empty. He had woken up later than usual, lounged around in his pajamas and enjoyed a few moments of quiet bliss before grudgingly getting ready for the day.
It was snowing gently, and Hogwarts was looking breathtakingly beautiful today. Winter was Regulus’s favourite season because he could easily tell Lucius or Barty or Evan that it was much too cold to leave the house and then he would have a whole day of alone time in Grimmauld’s library.
Sirius used to tease him for being such a bookworm - always reading, reading, reading. Curled up in the leather armchair next to the fireplace, behind the thorns and brambles of Grimmauld’s overgrown gardens, Regulus would plow through book after book, much to their mother’s delight.
“Smart, brilliant Reggie!”
Walburga would praise him endlessly when in a good mood (or if she had enough whisky in her system), and the next minute Sirius would comment:
“You’re gonna grow a beard at this rate, like that Aristotle dude.”
Which only ever elicited a screaming match between the two vocal powerhouses of their family. Sometimes, Regulus wished he could be like his father. Orion had the refuge of his study, stocked with bottles of wine and plenty of books - a haven in Regulus’s eyes.
But all Regulus had were his thick volumes to bury himself in. The walls were too thin and too few, never truly separating him from Sirius and Walburga, and so Regulus dreaded returning home every holiday, for he would most probably be dragged in the middle of some trivial battle the second he set foot into Grimmauld.
He inhaled a large lungful of winter air. Sharp, cold and with that faint pine-tree smell he so loved. Regulus rounded the corner and then he saw it.
McGonagall trying to calm Walburga down, Orion hugging an unconscious Sirius against his chest, Dumbledore spouting rubbish and a gaggle of students and teachers hungrily watching the chaos ensue.
He didn’t swear as frequently as Sirius did, but sometimes you were hard-pressed for things to say other than a ‘what in fuck’s name is going on”.