A/N: All of the recognisable features/characters are the property of JKR, I simply borrowed them. Anyway, read and hopefully enjoy.
“Goodbye, you old hag!”
No. No that certainly isn't good enough. The sixteen year old boy elegantly shook his head of tousled locks and sighed up at emerald silk lined ceiling he hated so much. Perfectly undeniable indeed but a little to, Sirius searched for the perfect word, too civil, amiable, pleasant? Yes, far too pleasant a parting line and being a Black, of course, Sirius was king of lines. All those lessons in social pretence had set him up quite wondrously in terms of wit and charm but when it came to voicing emotions in the dry betraying air, he was an all-out no show.
Sirius stopped his pensive pacing and stood silently strong before his mirror. A grown man before his time. A face, he concurred, that was all he was to the oh so noble house of Black. He watched the boy reflected in the brilliant sheen of sparkling glass with a curious hauteur, hardly recognizing the features that stared so indifferently back. His grey eyes devoid of sentiment and dark like his name in the swathing shadows of his suffocating room. His suffocating life in this damn house. Sirus loathed the regal set of his jaw that demanded respect, hated the inherited porcelain of his skin.
Clichés.
His entire family, their distinct appearance and lordly air was a sordid cliché of brought esteem and aristocratic power. The boy in the mirror was not a reflection but a painting. No illustration of emotion, only stern arrogance displayed in the brush strokes of his face. Sirius was tired, sick and tired, of being nothing but a symbol of his family. Family, he scoffed at the word. A family was what James had. A mother and a father who were the very definition of adoration and love. Love for a Black was the cold set of practiced words, was a pat on the back once and only once a year and was the harsh brutal palm of a hand across a face.
“I'd rather be an outcast than stay under this roof, under the filth of this infernal name any longer.”
Still not right. Not cutting enough. God's he longed to just grab that woman he was made to call Mother by the neck and scream in her face. Longed to make her truly look into the eyes of her son and count the true cost of blood. Who am I kidding? Sirius berated himself. Who the hell am I kidding? Who was he kidding? Himself? Always the last to understand. Always the last to pick up on what Mother and Father wanted. Oh, he broke her heart, if indeed under that steely shell of fervent apathy she had one. How could a Black be friends with blood traitors and half breeds? How could a Black be a Gryffindor, a disappointment of all things?
Sirius ran a hand through his hair and answered those questions his Mother liked to mutter when he passed. He was proud to be a disappointment and proud to relish the hurt that being different delivered. In an inexplicable way it hurt, raged and burnt. The bruises, the acceptance, it was wonderful to feel. Love was precious and full of euphoric pain, an awakening, a royal shock to his system to feel his black heart beat for the first time in his life. And that was all down to his half breeds and blood traitors. All down to the impure as Bella put it. To feel again was a gift. Love was walking down those stairs and slamming the door on who he was born to be. Love was spitting on those ideals that cemented his family in archaic dark ages. Was there really a line to sum that up?
“Father’s having an affair, thought you ought to know, chow.”
A complete fabrication of course.
“Dramatic.” Sirius drawled with a smirk.
What a bang to go on though. Still, it didn't quite hit the spot. Sirius didn't exactly know what he was aiming for. The old witch wouldn't break down, she wouldn't cry until she was hysterical and she wouldn't beg him to stay. After all these years, all the arguments and poisonous words, he still needed that ring of acceptance. He still wanted to be a Black in a dark, tiny, battered inch of his soul, however sick it made him. Sirius could love and that, that was his curse. Time would eventually break all bonds with his blood family but he didn't feel ready. Then again, if he didn't leave now...would he ever?
Sirius felt a rush of resignation with his decision. This was the last time he would ever pace these wooden boards, the last time he would glance at his reflection in this mirror, the last time he would ever regret this action. However much this killed to do, however big a scar it would gouge, Sirius knew with every breath he had taken from the day he was born to this very moment, that he didn't belong in this house, with these people and these memories.
A flickering of distracted doubt brought his brother and his fate sharply to mind. Regulus, the boy who couldn't meet his eye, who clung to every word their parents sowed. Sirius would give anything to break him free, would give his life if it meant that poisoned boy could understand why everything he knew was wrong, were lies spoken carelessly and swallowed without thought. He longed to reach out and save him, but you couldn't save a soul that had already drowned in deceit. He couldn't pull his brother’s head above the water now without drowning himself. He'd left it far too late. No, he couldn't free Regulus, but he could get himself out alive. That much was clear in the haze of these times.
Unlike the offshoots of his blood, he was not chained to its history or its affectations. There was a whole wide world out there ready to embrace him, ready to sweep him up and soothe his wounds. The time had come to stop chasing threats around aimlessly. He was getting out whilst he still could. Line or no line because maybe this time words just weren't fitting.
“Imagine that, a speechless Black! Marvellous.” He cocked an eyebrow sardonically and shrugged into his leather jacket. New. Fresh. Adventurous. “Oh, mother won't like this one bit. Fantastic idea, Prongs.”
Sirius chuckled at himself. This was what it had all washed down to, him, his mirror and his supposed internal monologue slipping out. He liked it, it was...different.
“Right, I think I've spent quite enough time in front of this darn thing!”
He sighed again. Sixteen years old and insanity had found him already. He was getting as bad as Moony for talking to himself. That made a shadow of his usual grin slide onto his face. “Time to go break some hearts...hypothetical hearts that is.” He added with one last look over his shoulder at his messy room.
“Love to say it's been good but, well...I'd be lying. Terrible shame that!”
With a slam of his door and a deep breath of preparation, Sirius dragged his trunk alongside him and decided that really ‘good riddance’ was probably best left unsaid. After all...
Printer Friendly Version
