The Worst Sort of Sorrow

She was at it again. Sirius had tried to drone it all out, tried not to cause a fuss. That was what Remus always suggested he do, when he made the effort to tell his friends about the problems with his parents, none of which, of course, had they encountered first-hand. At the moment, Remus' suggestion seemed far less helpful than James', which had been to jinx or hex her.

"You could conjure something," James had said on the last day of school, patting Sirius heartily on the back. "Didn't you say she has a phobia of Augureys? You did get an A on your Charms O.W.L.; you could pull it off..."

Sirius had been completely unable to rejoice that O.W.L.s had come to their conclusion, though it was not as if he'd actually wasted any time studying for any of them. His mind was instead occupied with what to do about the impending unpleasantness that went hand-in-hand with returning to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place: the problems with his mother.

James seemed to have all-right parents; he didn't exactly talk of them much. And Remus, well, Sirius envied Remus' parents most of all. They were fully aware of the boy's condition and loved him nonetheless.

'I'll bet if I were a werewolf, my parents would disown me,' Sirius had thought on numerous occasions. What troubled him most of all was that it was likely true. He would have preferred to fool himself into thinking that whatever love his parents harboured for him was purely unconditional, and, regardless of what he did or what form he took, they would love him just the same. Sometimes when he was at school he liked to get his hopes up that his mum might have changed just a wee bit, become a bit more understanding. Whatever hopes he had had been dashed away the instant he walked into the house.

Things always seemed to elevate whenever he mentioned visiting any of his friends or having them pop by Grimmauld Place for a bit. They were off school, after all, and simple things in writing did not often satisfy Sirius. Letters would not do. His father had convinced his mother to let him out on rare occasions in the past, but this summer was an unfortunately different story.

Tonight, it had started at dinnertime.

"Mum," Sirius said, in between spoonfuls of soup. It was two weeks into the summer, and he had been trying to think of a way to break the question. He knew James would be getting impatient.

And surely she might have changed her mind... surely. Regulus was out more often than not, and he was a few years younger than Sirius. Surely, Sirius thought desperately, surely she would see the gross injustice of the situation. Regulus wasn't even here at dinner, Sirius reminded himself. Likely out parading with Bellatrix.

"Yes?" Mrs. Black said, her voice ringing its typical cynical yet almost endearing tone. Endearing, Sirius thought, only if he were to follow everything she said blindly. His pride was not something he was willing to freely distribute at the drop of a hat. The woman's pale eyebrows arched.

"Could I have James, Remus, and Peter over sometime this summer?" It tickled his insides to sound polite.

Mr. Black glanced at Mrs. Black from over his bowl of soup. There was still a great deal of the pale green liquid left, and Sirius wondered how much of it would be ingested by the end of the discussion. Mr. Black was strictly averse to eating while discussing important matters; it made him anxious.

"You know we've discussed this before," Mrs. Black said icily, blowing a spoonful of soup broth lightly to cool it down.

"Yes," Sirius somehow managed to curl his lips into what might be considered a smile. "But I'm older now, and it's not as though they'll cause any harm to the house; it's really big, after all, and if you don't want them here we could hang around Diagon Alley or something, just for the hey of it." Sirius had already finished his bowl of soup. He found it much easier to be argumentative on a full stomach.

Mrs. Black shovelled the silver spoon into her mouth and swallowed the broth in one gulp. "We've discussed this, Sirius," she said. "My problem is not with you having friends; my problem is simply with the friends you have chosen."

Though he was fully aware of what her answer would be to his next question, Sirius tried to proceed calmly and predict when she might explode. "What's wrong with them?"

"The problem, young man," Mrs. Black snarled, dropping her silver spoon into the china plate at her place setting, "is that they aren't purebloods. If you're not sure of their parentage, they aren't pure. You either are or you aren't, Sirius. We are. I only want you to be friends with people like us; the others are dirt. Grime on the underside of the wizarding world, that's what they are." Her voice had risen so high that the chandelier above the dinner table was shaking animatedly. "Utter disgraces, the lot of your friends! You know your father and I are terribly disappointed in you for being sorted into Gryffindor; the least you could do for us is make some nice Slytherin friends!"

Sirius cringed. This was what he had been expecting, though that didn't make it any more palatable.

"I didn't ask to be sorted into that house." Sirius clenched his fists at his sides. "And even if I had, so what? It's not as though it really matters a terrible amount, is it? People are people; you can't just dismiss them because they come from someplace else or because they're different." His words sounded harsh. He was trying incredibly hard not to just scream at her, as he had in the past.

Mr. Black glanced at his son, and Sirius met his gaze, hoping for at least some sort of supportive paternal expression. He found none and looked angrily to his mother. 'I'm not going to fool myself about this anymore,' Sirius thought determinedly. 'I'm not going to lie to myself, and I won't lie to her.'

"It's an enormous disappointment, Sirius, and it is a big deal!" Mrs. Black leaned over the table at her son, who was still seated. "You're the first who hasn't been sorted into Slytherin in our family." This wasn't exactly true, Sirius knew, but perhaps she'd been referring to the bits of their family that she considered relevant. Anyone who didn't prescribe to this pureblood-driven mania, of course, wasn't someone Mrs. Black proudly associated herself with. "Do you have any idea how much ridicule I've faced on behalf of your disloyalty? Have you any idea?"

"So bloody what," Sirius said. "If you're so easily affected by what other people think of what I do, that's pathetic, Mum." His temper steadily rose. "You'd know that my friends are good people if you'd just give them a chance! You haven't even met them, Mum; you've got no idea what they look like."

"Oh, I've heard plenty about the scum you call your friends," Mrs. Black said, her fingers firmly gripping the old tablecloth that was draped over their ancient dining room table.

"More rumours," Sirius spat. "Come on, you won't know for sure unless you give them a chance, and if they're prats I won't pester you about this again." His eyes narrowed. "Or"--he paused--"are you just too afraid that I'll be right and you'll have to admit that some non-purebloods are worth talking to?"

"Mudbloods," Mrs. Black said. "Anyone who isn't pure is a Mudblood, and you're above them! Filth, all filth! I will not have them in our home, despite how 'nice' they are, Sirius! Half-bloods, mutants, freaks, the lot of them! You're a traitor, a traitor to the noble House of Black--"

"A traitor, just because I'm not a blind idiot, fancy that!" Sirius rose to his feet. "I regret ever being born to this family, lousy lot you are."

He shook his head, trying to regain his composure.

"What a waste," Mrs. Black spat. "A waste! You're a disgrace to the Black name, a shame of my flesh! That's all you are, boy, that's all you are."

She looked as though she was unsure of whether to burst out into tears or to pull out her wand and curse the child.

"Old hag!" Sirius screamed. He didn't know what else to say. Whatever wasn't an insult seemed to bounce off her, and whatever was an insult did nothing but make things worse. She never listened to what he had to say. Never. 'Sorry excuse for a mother,' he thought ruefully. 'Sorry excuse for anything.'

"Sirius," Mr. Black said hesitantly, not sure if it was the best idea to intercede and attempt to discipline his son. It didn't often work, anyway. He'd not touched his soup at all since the discussion had begun.

Sirius ignored his father.

"Up to your room!" Mrs. Black yelled. "I will not tolerate your sticking up for those Mudblood vermin, much less your little half-breed friends! You're just as bad as them, you despicable traitor, you disgrace to our family!"

Sirius slid his left hand into his pocket and gripped his wand for comfort, ideas spinning about his head. Surely the best course of action would be to...

"Get a move on, traitorous filth, or I'll put you upstairs myself!" Mrs. Black pulled a dark wooden wand out of a pocket in her vast black robes.

"Dear, you don't need to point that at the boy," Mr. Black said, though he seemed unsure whether or not his wife's threat was appropriate. "You're right, of course, in principle, but we don't need to--"

One glance from Mrs. Black, and Mr. Black closed his mouth and took to staring at his bowl of cold soup.

"If you don't go upstairs to your room," Mrs. Black flared, "you'll get nothing in our wills, nothing! No dinner for a week, Sirius, how does that sound?"

Sirius glanced from his mother to his father. "All right," he said. "I'll go."

He smirked all-knowingly and strode in what could only be considered a completely confident manner out of the dining room, down the hallway, and out the front door. Sirius stood there on the front steps of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, waiting for his mother or at least his father to come after him, follow him, tell him they were sorry and could he please just come inside? When no one came, Sirius walked down the front walk, the unattended blades of green grass brushing against the old grey cobblestone.

Sirius pulled his wand out of his pocket, and, in trying to remember how to summon the Knight Bus, could have sworn he felt a tear or two trickle down his cheek.