Painted Scars // WOLFSTAR

Summer Break, 1976 (Part Two)/Help!

The floor creaked loudly as Sirius's head slammed against the tile and pain blossomed wildly from the point of contact. His father was screaming — the words unintelligible, but licks of flames erupting with each shout.

Sirius laid motionless as his blood was replaced with a thick sludge, pumping viscous heat through his arteries and slowing his heart to a near stop.

Somehow, despite it all, the pain stayed docile outside his rib cage. Everything that hurt was kept on the inside, and even after waking up with a gasp, the pain did not fizzle.

Slowly, as he gained consciousness, his heart sped up again. His chest was still buzzing, however, and his eyes rapidly shot around him.

The room was cold, but not in the same way Sirius's home was. It was cold in the way that a hotel room might've been — walls blank and beige, bedsheets freshly pressed and mattress chilly.

Memories began to flood back at once, and Sirius worriedly wondered where he was. Had his brother sent him through the floo as he'd asked? Or had he passed out and been dragged back to the kitchen; his parents so enraged that they'd kicked him out? Perhaps the Knight Bus came and purchased him a room in the Leaky, and he was declared an orphan overnight.

Sirius pushed himself up on one arm, his torso twinging with pain. With a gasp, he looked down at his shirtless chest and realised the deep cuts against it were almost entirely healed. Left behind were only small red marks, akin to the ones Remus would have after a particularly bad moon. He scratched his fingernails over them curiously.

Belatedly, he realised there was light snoring coming from the other side of the room. Sirius's head jerked in the sound's direction, and light filled his chest as he realised he was back at the Potter Manor.

His brother had sent him to James's.

Then, his chest was promptly filled with dread. He and James hadn't spoken for months, and the last time they had, James had very few choice words for him. Now, here Sirius was, turning up in his fireplace and burdening his family — a family who very likely hated him just as much as James seemed to.

But then, he was at Sirius's bedside, asleep in what appeared to be a very uncomfortable chair...

No. He wasn't allowing himself to hope that he and James's relationship had been magically repaired overnight. He didn't want to earn his forgiveness this way.

"James, honey," a voice called from outside the bedroom door that could only belong to Mrs Potter. A soft knock. "It's time for bed."

Sirius's voice stuck in his throat. Briefly, he thought of hiding. She couldn't be mad at him if he weren't there.

When she received no answer, she opened the door, eyes going wide as she saw Sirius peering back at her.

"Oh, Sirius!" she exclaimed, barreling over to him and wrapping him in a bear hug.

She pulled back, placing a hand on his forehead, though he didn't feel feverous at all. "My God, how are you feeling? Are you sick? How are your arms?" She lifted his arms and inspected the mostly healed cuts.

"Er, fine," he said, voice cracking from lack of use. He cleared his throat. Merlin, how long was he out for?

"We've all just been worried sick. I have to grab Monty, he'll have some questions for you, but you don't have to answer anything you don't feel comfortable with, do you understand me?" Her eyes bore into him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt loved.

The tears that welled in his eyes were sudden and involuntary, and Sirius immediately tried to force the surprised sadness away.

"Oh, sweet boy," she mumbled into his hair, pulling him in for a second hug. This one lasted much longer, and she held him tightly as if she were afraid he would fall apart if she loosened her grip. He wasn't sure whether or not she was wrong about that. "I'm going to kill that woman."