Painted Scars // WOLFSTAR

Summer Break, 1973 (Part One)

Whenever Sirius would return home from Hogwarts, he would test himself with a little challenge. He would see how long he could go without lashing out. Usually, this game was short-lived; his mother would say something about his friends, his father would nitpick the way he talked, or his brother would let it slip how much distaste he now held for him, and he would break. However, this time, he had an incentive–getting his Hogsmeade slip signed.

This challenge was easier than normal at the start, due to his exam scores. He'd done rather well, successfully securing five galleons from James, and the small victory kept nasty comments about his intelligence at bay for the time being, but he wasn't sure how long it would last. The large, grandfather clock against the wall tempted him with every tick, tick, tick to fight against each of their lambastes.

A week or so into the break, he had almost convinced himself that the little challenge of his would be a breeze, and his slip would be signed without any trouble. It was when his father called him into his office that he knew his attempts would be futile.

Orion was sitting at his large mahogany desk that faced towards the door like a throne, piles of neatly stacked paperwork and pens atop it. Sirius wasn't quite sure what the man did for a living, but whatever it was, it required him to stay inside his office throughout the entirety of his childhood, so it must have been important.

"Yes?" Sirius asked, answering his father's calling by peaking his head in through the door. Orion gestured towards the chair in front of his desk. Sirius refrained from sighing, choosing to sit without a word. The chair was a few inches shorter than Orion's, and it had the ability always to make Sirius feel small when he sat on it.

"Son," he began gravelly, pulling his rectangular framed glasses off of the bridge of his nose and setting them on top of a yellow folder. "Do you remember why you were not welcomed home for the winter?"

Sirius cleared his throat. "I do." Hard to forget, that. Sometimes the Death Eaters would hold these dinners where they'd all get together and talk about plans for the future, and it had been the Black's turn to host. They hadn't required him back, on the idea that he would shame the family in front of them. Likely correct, though he didn't say that.

"Right, well, that was several months ago, as I'm sure you're aware. If it were an option, your mother and I would have you stay at Hogwarts over the summer as well, to protect ourselves from any further embarrassment."

"I'm not sure I'm following," he said. His father sighed and looked him in the eye for the first time that evening.

"We're holding another dinner, tonight. It would not bode well to have you miss another one as it's sure to raise questions, so you are required to go." Sirius' mouth dropped. "Before you protest, I'd like to remind you that Regulus has attended several more of these meetings than you have, and you're a year his senior."

Sirius gripped the armrests of his chair. "If I'm such an embarrassment, let me stay in my room. Regulus can fill in for the both of us," he bit.

"Don't be difficult, Sirius."

"They're creeps!" he said, almost yelling. "Every single one of them, I don't know how you could be friends with them!" Orion held his hand up to stop Sirius from talking. He was upset that it worked.

"This is not about friendship, Sirius. With this mark," he unbuttoned the sleeve of his crisp, white dress shirt and showed the black ink engraved in his skin, "comes a great deal of responsibility. I don't expect you to fully understand these duties as of yet, but the time will come when you'll need to get in line. This dinner is a perfect opportunity for you." Sirius turned his head away in disgust at the tattoo on his forearm.