Beyond the Darkness

Beyond the Darkness

By: Twin_Angst

Tears fell from his face, silently onto his white pillowcase where they became a small puddle. He wouldn't sob, he wouldn't scream, and he wouldn't call for help no matter how much it hurt. The salt from his tears mingled with the cut on his cheek, and made him want to scream. Finally he could bear the pain on his face, or in his abdomen, any more and he buried his face in his pillow.

"Jamie, Remmie, Peter, where are you now? Why can't you be here now?" Even as he said, he knew it was only a half wish. He didn't want them to see him like this, curled up and sobbing like a child because of the pain. He squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, imagining how his friends would react if they knew. James' dark unruly hair, round glasses, and bright brown eyes swam in his minds eye. He could almost hear his friend's angered response, and hear his knuckles crack as he clenched his fist.

"You're just going to take it Sirius? Just let him knock you around like that? You'd never let anyone do that at school, never! You're made of tougher stuff than that Sirius, I know you are!" But James didn't understand, couldn't understand. The kids at school were not his father. They weren't as big, they weren't as strong, and they didn't knock him around just because they'd had to much to drink with their buddies after they went and did who knows what, who knows where. But Remus would understand! Remmie always understands.

Instantly his friend's soft green eyes with long dark curly lashes, always full of compassion, and curly light brown hair wiped James' image away. He could almost feel the weight of his ever gentle and patient friends hand on his shoulder.

"You can handle this Sirius, I know you can. You were put in Gryffindor weren't you, and with good reason. When all the rest of your family was Slytherin, there had to be a reason you were in Gryffindor other than history right? Come on Sirius, hang on a while longer. You'll find a way out of this." Good old Remus, always there to listen. He was the only one of his three friends who knew of his family's Slytherin history. All four were pure bloods, and all knew that at least half of their own family had come from Gryffindor. Yet as far back as Sirius could trace, they had been in Slytherin. His dad had been furious when he'd found out where his son had been placed. They were just part of the blows he'd felt tonight...Remmie did have a point though. He could hang on a while longer, and then he'd be with his friends, his brothers, again.

The final of face of his trio of friends came into his minds eye. Peter's startlingly blonde hair, dark eyebrows, rather pointed nose, and bright light blue eyes. He could just see Peter pulling on his ear in that annoying way he had.

"Sirius come on. He has no right to do this to you, never! You should tell someone! Write to Dumbledore, or to Professor McGonagall! Don't let him do this too you Sirius. We care about you to much!" A small smile tugged at the corners of Sirius' mouth. Peter, always willing to listen with a sympathetic ear, or race off to get help. If you needed someone to help you, you could always count on Peter to go get someone when he didn't know what to do himself. But he couldn't tell Dumbledore, or even Professor McGonagall. If they would care at all, his father would be taken away and then where would he go? The idea of living in an Orphanage over the next six to seven years, until he was a full-grown wizard and of legal age to look after himself wasn't a mood brightening thought.

After all, he had not mother to look after him. There was only his father and himself, in the whole mansion. That's what he thought of it as too, the mansion. It wasn't home, and never would be. Hogwarts was home, where his friends were was home. But not here. Never, never, here!

He longed for his friends, the only ones he could remember actually considering his family save one person, so badly it made his chest ache more than it already was from the heavy blows his father had landed on his chest with a broomstick. He wanted his friends there to tell him they'd see him through it. But they didn't know, they couldn't know because he wouldn't tell them. It would hurt them to know.

James would feel responsible, like he always does. He would try to find a way to help his friend, his brother, his twin, like he had all last year. When he'd come back from Christmas Vacation, dark bruises on his face and long ugly cuts on his back, James had asked questions. He'd made up some excuse, something about breaking a picture and falling down stairs, but he knew James had been suspicious. He couldn't afford to make that mistake again, getting beaten the day before he had to go back to school. He wasn't a very good liar, and James wouldn't believe an obvious lie twice. No, he couldn't afford to have intuitive James find out.

And Remus, what about him? His friend was so compassionate, so gentle, that Sirius was sometimes sure he could feel their pain just as much as they could. He couldn't bear to bring any more pain into those gentle green eyes, or anymore lines to his too old thin face. Remmie was so small, so young, so gentle, the little brother of the foursome. Sirius knew he'd rather die than have to hurt his beloved little Remmie. He just, couldn't bring himself to have anything ever happen to Remmie.

What about little Peter? Could he tell him, if he had to? No, he couldn't. Peter would want to help, want to do anything he could to make Sirius' burden a little easier. That would only bring more pain onto himself, and Sirius couldn't stand that. No, all he could do was bear this pain alone and in silence, as he'd done from the time he was four years old.

One trembling hand wrapped around a thin, almost threadbare, piece of fuzzy cloth and he pulled it toward him. His blanket, the one thing that had ever been a constant in his life. The only object that had ever been there when he needed some comfort the most. The feather light touch on his cheek pulled his mind back to when this horrible ordeal began.

He'd been four then, and had a slight stutter. His mum had just died of a thing Muggles called cancer; one of the few things magic couldn't cure. He remembered very clearly his mother holding him close, cradling his head in her thin arms and whispering for him to be a good boy and mind daddy. And he'd promised, promised he would always mind Dada and look after him while mummy went to sleep for a bit. He didn't understand then that mummy would never wake up, ever again.

That night, for the first time, his father had gone and gotten drunk. Not just a little junk, but seriously drunk. When his father had come home stumbling, in child like innocence, he didn't understand. He'd asked his father about it, and the only response he got was told that it wasn't any of his business and he got punched in the jaw. He, being the child he was, had let out a cry that was more surprise than pain. His father seemed to somehow find some kind of pleasure in his little son's yelp of pain, and hit him again. He'd hit him over and over until Sirius had broken down into tears, curled up in a fettle position on the floor. His dad had given him another good kick in the side, to remind him who was in charge, and left him there. Hurt, confused, and not daring to move because he might displease his father, Sirius had laid there curled up on the cold floor all night.

His mind wandered furiously to other times when he'd been betrayed by the ones he loved after that. A favorite uncle who, up until that point, had always brought him presents turned around and joined his father in beating him. Some of his best friends, or those he'd thought as friends, had found out about his family history and turned around and started teasing him. Stinking Slytherin Sirius became a name he got accustomed to, and he stopped crying over it before to long.

The worst one, though, happened the summer after his mother's death. From that fall until the next summer he'd dealt with his father taking things out on him with the innocent silence of a young child. Except for during the summer, because over the summer Orion would come home from school. Orion was his older brother, and Orion could make anything right. Orion was going to his second year at Hogwarts then, and when he'd come back, Sirius had latched onto him. His father didn't dare hurt Orion, because Orion was a lot bigger than Sirius and was on the house Quidditch team. Orion was in Slytherin, but he didn't seem to belong there. Orion was nice, Orion could sooth any wounds. And while he was big enough to save himself, Orion could do nothing to save his little brother. So Orion would hold him, and cradle him, and whisper soft words to him after his father had his way with him.

Then, during that next winter, something happened that Sirius could never forget and never forgive. Orion had gone out in the Forbidden Forest, as a dare from some Slytherin boys his own age, and been killed. Orion had abandoned him too! Orion, who with his dark green blue eyes, and light brown blonde hair, looked just like Remmie. After Orion's death, the amount of beating and the ferocity of them increased. Some had even left lasting marks on his chest and back.

The very worst beatings, however, hadn't started until about two years ago. His dad met some friends at the bar. Now he went out some nights during the week, dressed in a dark cloak and white mask. He'd come back, stone drunk and exhilarated, covered in mud. Sirius learned very quickly not to ask where his father had been, because that only brought the beatings that would come eventually faster.

When these memories became haunting dreams, he wasn't sure, but he must have slipped off to sleep, because when he opened his eyes again pale sunlight was streaming through the window, and reaching sounds were coming from the bathroom down the hall. It was deffinatly morning.