Sirius slammed the door to his bedroom, his heart pounding with familiar anger. He couldn't take it any longer—he wouldn't. He didn't care if it was Christmas: he simply couldn't spend one more night in that damned house. They could rant and rave all they wanted about their Muggle prejudices and pure-blood politics, and even rail on him for his lack of support, but when they started insulting his house and his friends, he couldn't take it. He'd rather spend Christmas alone than with his family; they were officially unbearable.

Grabbing a bag from the floor, Sirius began to throw as many of his belongings into it as he could, as violently as possible. He had no idea where to go, but he had to do something, and packing seemed as good an idea as any. He was shaking and swearing and finally had to stop when the bag burst its seams. Cursing again, he threw it across the room, sending his clothing flying, and kicked the door. He froze when there was a knock from the other side.

"Who is it?" he finally demanded, when the knock refused to go away. He was fairly certain it wasn't one of his parents and hoped it wasn't one of his cousins. He was slightly surprised to see Regulus push open the door. His younger, more obedient brother raised his eyebrows questioningly as he stepped over the mess.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, sitting down on the only free space on the bed.

Sirius knocked over a stack of books and looked away. "We haven't even finished the appetizers, and it's already started," he grumbled, turning back to his dark-haired brother. "I can't stand them, Reg, and they can't stand me."

Regulus shrugged. "They can't stand that you are a Gryffindor. You mucked that one up pretty bad."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Why does it matter what house I'm in? I'm still their son, their nephew! They don't have to act like I’m invisible."

"But you bought into it, became friends with them, plastered Gryffindor posters around your room," Reulus pointed out, inclining his head at the walls. "If you still believed in their way of life, they might feel sorry for you instead—you know, the poor little Black Sorted into the wrong house, stuck with all those horrible Gryffindors."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “They are not horrible. They are far more decent people than anyone at that table downstairs. You’re the one I feel sorry for, stuck in that cold, slimy dungeon with a bunch of pure-blood prats.�

“Actually, it’s quite a nice dungeon. And I’m not the one being ostracized and insulted, am I?� replied Regulus, ignoring the insult to Slytherin. “You could at least pretend to follow family tradition, you know.�

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Family tradition? You mean believing in their high-born sense of moral superiority owing to the blood flowing through their veins?� When Regulus nodded, Sirius replied with a snort. “Reg, it's bollocks. How can you not see that? What makes us any better than a Muggle-born? What gives us the right to tell them they can't use their magic, let alone exist?"

Regulus looked away. "That's just how it is, Sirius. We're pure-bloods. It's our legacy." He shrugged again, unwilling or unable to defend the inherent point of view in their family that blood was everything.

"And you believe it?" asked Sirius. "That half-bloods and Muggleborns and even Muggles don't deserve to be treated decently and fairly?"

"I believe in loyalty to my family," said Regulus, irritatingly calm. "My own personal thoughts don't matter. I don't want to lose my place on the tapestry like Andromeda. I'll do what's right by my heritage."

"What if what's right is wrong?" Sirius exclaimed. "How can you be so blind?" He paused and grinned, unable to resist provoking his younger brother. "Maybe you should have been a Hufflepuff with that overdeveloped sense of loyalty. Mum would have loved that."

Regulus bristled and stood up. "Better than Gryffindor. I'll take duty and loyalty before their overdeveloped sense of justice and empty declarations of courage any day." He turned to go, but stopped at the door. "Mum wanted me to tell you dinner is about to start."

Sirius blew out his breath and nodded as Regulus pulled the door shut. As soon as he left, Sirius kicked at his trunk and swore once more. It was the same every time he came back; he didn't know why he even bothered, especially now that Andromeda had been blasted off the family tree. It would never change: his family would continue to bleat their sense of wizarding supremacy, and he would continue to buck against it. He should have just gone home with James.

Andromeda was the only one of the lot with any sense, and she was no longer welcome at Grimmauld Place. He often wondered how she managed to stay in the family for as long as she had. She had done her duty and gone about her business quietly, never opposing them outright but not exactly supporting them with enthusiasm. Yet when she had run off with a Muggle-born, she had irrevocably chosen her side, and now Sirius was the only one left to roll his eyes and cover his grin at family dinners.

Regulus was right: being Sorted into Gryffindor was a big part of the problem. Every time Sirius came home, he felt the stigma hanging over his head like an evil omen, announcing his status as a blood traitor every time he stepped into the house. He enjoyed throwing it in their faces most of the time, but found their constant insults and put-downs were becoming tiring.

Staring at a Gryffindor flag he had fixed to his wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm, Sirius stopped and grinned: blood traitor. He suddenly liked the sound of it. It was the truth, after all—in their eyes. He may as well accept it and embrace it…and perhaps have some fun with it. It was better than joining the swelling ranks of pure-bloods claiming ignorant support of their so-called Dark Lord.

Ditching his stuffy dress robes, Sirius pulled on a Gryffindor red sweater instead and mussed up his hair. He took a deep breath before heading out into the hallway. He could hear the ringing tones of his parents downstairs, lording over their small gathering. He almost turned back and grabbed his ripped bag, ready to leave; yet his Gryffindor courage came through, and he decided he might as well put on a show, for he had certainly had enough practice at Hogwarts over the years.

The dining room was decorated with elegant garland and lit with expensive candles. Heavy drapes covered the windows, lending the room a darkly claustrophobic feeling; a large oak table set with the finest silver and china stood in the center. Sirius stopped in the doorway to get his bearings.

Orion and Walburga Black sat on either end of the table; Regulus had returned to his mother's left side while the seat on his father's right remained empty. His brother glanced up, eyebrows raised, and gave him the smallest nod before turning back to his conversation with Narcissa, who was sitting on his left. Next to her sat Bellatrix and her bull of a husband, Rodolphus Lestrange. Across from his cousins were their parents, Cygnus and Druella Black, and next to them on his father's left hand side sat Ignatius Prewett with his priggish wife, Lucretia. Sirius shuddered at the very sight of so many relatives gathered together; the only thing worse would be his grandparents joining the celebration, but they had elected to stay in after the previous night's festivities.

The conversation stopped as Sirius stepped into the room, his clothing and hair rumpled, an impudent grin on his face. No one smiled at him. His aunts and uncles glared at him while Narcissa ignored him; Bellatrix turned up her nose and whispered something to her husband. Sirius imagined any number of unflattering comments and smiled even wider.

His father stood up, an extremely unpleasant scowl on his dark face. "What an honor for you to grace us with your…colorful presence." He sat down abruptly, not even waiting for Sirius to find his seat; the insult was clear.

"You're welcome, Father," Sirius replied, dutiful words betrayed by his insouciant tone. He was rewarded when his father's face began to purple.

"Mind your manners, boy," Orion hissed as Sirius took his place. "Or there will he hell to pay later."

Sirius gave him a bland look as dinner was served. The house elves scampered around the table, placing napkins and pouring wine and setting out the first course. Sirius tucked his napkin into his collar, earning an exceptionally disapproving look from his mother. He tipped his head to her as he began to sip his soup. He didn't try to make noise on purpose, but was nonetheless pleased when he found the entire table staring at him.

"Isgoo," he mumbled, mouth full. "It's good," he amended. "Always is. Thank Merlin for house elves, eh?" The guests twittered a bit, and Sirius hid a grin as he continued eating. Conversations sprung up around the table, each a variation on a theme: the increasing rise to power of the Dark Lord and the growing number of followers he counted as loyal.

Bellatrix was telling his father about the Dark Lord. Sirius noticed immediately that she talked about the madman as if he were an intimate friend or lover. She was clearly infatuated with him, a fact which was apparently lost on her husband, who gazed at her with hungry adoration as she spoke. As the house elves took away the first course, Sirius turned to Rodolphus. He was a large, dull-looking man who had hardly spoken all night, though whether from lack of intelligence or lack of interest, Sirius was unsure.

"So what does one have to do to get in with Voldemort?" he asked brightly. He was immensely satisfied when his cousin hissed at him.

"Do not use his name! Only those who are worthy may call him anything but the Dark Lord." Her eyes were a bit wild; Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose I wouldn't want to be called Voldemort with a name like that either," he remarked. When she flushed, he grinned and continued, speaking directly to Rodolphus instead to irritate her even further. "So what does a man have to do?" he asked again. He had heard rumours at school, and was suddenly curious to see if his cousin could bear them out.

Rodolphus looked between Sirius and his wife, unsure how to respond. Drusilla Black answered instead. She was a wheezy old woman with watery eyes and thin lips, and she spoke with a dry rasp; Sirius had always assumed it was from yelling at her daughters so much.

"The Dark Lord accepts both witches and wizards into his ranks," she croaked proudly. "You have only to prove your loyalty. Show him, Bella. Show him how far you've come."

The conversation at the table stopped once more as Bellatrix glanced around. Seeing that all eyes were on her, she pulled up her sleeve and showed them a gruesome tattoo on her forearm: a snake slithering from the mouth of a skull. Sirius recognized Voldemort's Dark Mark; it was not uncommon for certain Slytherins to doodle it on their notes or occasionally draw one in the air with their wands. Now he understood why. He whistled appreciatively just to irk her.

"Very nice, cousin," he drawled in the way his parents hated most. "He's branded you, just like cattle."

Bellatrix jumped up, eyes blazing; Narcissa looked scandalized, and Drusilla Black began to shout at him. Sirius's father began yelling in a familiar duet with his mother. It was his uncle, Ignatius Prewett, who cut through the clamor.

"Silence!" he shouted, long white mustache bristling with offense. "Orion, I'm shocked at you, allowing your son to say such things."

To Sirius's surprise, his father simply raised an eyebrow in much the same way Sirus liked to raise his. His words, however, were terse, and Sirius knew his father was working hard to keep his temper under control; there would indeed be hell to pay later.

"Had you any children, Ignatius, you would recognize the fact that they often have minds of their own," he said. "This one," he continued, inclining his head disdainfully toward Sirius, "has a rather more thick one than the other. I fear he may follow in his cousin's footsteps, at times."

"That stings," murmured Sirius. He'd heard it often enough that it didn't bother him anymore. He had come to the conclusion that earning his father's love and respect would mean giving up his own sense of self, and he would never compromise his beliefs for a man like Orion Black. As for the implied insult to his cousin, he only hoped he could stand up to his family like she had when the time came.

"Don't you talk like that," his father whispered under his breath as the table began to resume their conversation. "You are an embarrassment to our family name."

The house elves brought out a second course of pasta and fish and poured more wine around the table. His aunt and uncles were now talking about what a good daughter Bellatrix was—she had married well, she had received the Dark Mark, she upheld the family name with pride. He learned Narcissa was engaged to be married to a respectable pure-blood who had taken the Dark Mark as well.

"To Lucius Malfoy?" Sirius exclaimed, once more stopping the conversation at the table. As all eyes turned to him, he quickly decided he would not insult the arrogant Slytherin and waste his dwindling opportunities to rile them before being thrown out; instead, he swallowed the crass comment on his tongue. "Um, congratulations," he offered lamely. He tried to smile, but unfortunately, even that was taken the wrong way.

"You'd do well to show some respect, Sirius," his mother snapped haughtily from the other end of the table. "Merlin only knows what kind of match we can hope to make for you in a few years."

Sirius almost dropped his fork. "Match?" he echoed.

His mother smiled wickedly. "Of course, dear. It will have to be the best, in order to carry on the purity of the bloodline."

Sirius nodded slowly and put his fork down; this was an opportunity he would not pass up. "Because blood purity is all that matters. Never mind if she's a hag or a whore?"

"Sirus Lycoris Black, you will respect your mother!" snapped his father.

"I'll respect her as long as she respects me," Sirius responded, suddenly feeling reckless. Though he had long suspected his parents would attempt to arrange a marriage for him, he had not heard open talk of it and had almost hoped he might escape such a fate. Yet apparently he was nothing more than a breeding stallion; marriage would be for one thing only and nothing else.

As his father stood and loomed over him, Sirius's uncle Cygnus Black interrupted. "Let him speak, Orion. Having arranged two marriages already, as well as disowned a third, I'm curious to hear what he has to say." He was a large man with a paunchy face and beady eyes that drilled into whomever he was addressing.

Sirius felt his confidence crumple. He had never got on with his uncle and suddenly felt his fifteen years were not nearly enough to engage in a debate on arranged marriages. Yet he also knew his feelings about their obsession with blood purity, and now was as good a time as any to open the proverbial jar of slugs and let them loose.

Pushing away his plate, Sirius sat up straighter and quickly gathered his thoughts, ready to speak his mind. He was understandably nervous, yet also resolved: he had listened to their condescending attitude for years and was ready to be rid of it.

"I don't want to talk about marriage, since I'm far too young to dwell on such a thing, not to mention happily single." He saw Narcissa bristle; she was only a few years older than him, after all, and engaged to be married in the spring. His aunts and uncles wore skeptical looks, while his parents kept straight faces. For the first time, Sirius noticed that his brother looked nervous for him.

"I do, however, take issue with maintaining the 'purity of the bloodline.'" He punctuated his words with his fingers. "If and when I marry, I see no reason why I can't marry and procreate with whomever I please. A witch is a witch; a wizard is a wizard. Blood purity is an obsolete issue, a outdated prejudice." It was obvious he was referring to Andromeda as much as his own future. He glanced at Bellatrix, who looked positively furious. It made her heavy-lidded eyes even more shadowed and her thin lips even more unattractive. "It's ugly," Sirius added, looking straight at her.

"How dare you!" she hissed; even her imbecile husband finally looked angry. Walburga Black started yelling and was quickly joined by his aunts and uncles, everyone throwing their wrath into the center of the table in a blind fury. Sirius could have left and no one would have noticed. He sat back and watched his handiwork, nodding to himself. Christmas at the Black house, he thought. It was like watching both a comedy and a tragedy at the same time.

Bellatrix finally jumped up, black hair framing her wild face as she pointed accusingly at him. "You are a blood traitor!" she cried. "You should be disowned for such words!"

Sirius rocked back on his chair and grinned. "I am, and I probably will be."

"You will go to your room," barked his father. "I am disgusted by your attitude and will have no more of it here at the table. Not at Christmas."

Sirius stood, glad to finally be dismissed. "Funny how important this holiday is to everyone. You'd think us pure-bloods would have moved beyond Father Christmas by now."

His mother sucked in a breath to screech some more; his father's hand twitched, as if he meant to strike. His aunts and uncles simply stared at him, struck speechless at his brazen audacity. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and watched him as he inclined his head to each and every family member gathered around the table. He did not receive one smile in return; Regulus looked positively terrified. Turning his back, Sirius left the stuffy dining room and made his way upstairs. He felt curiously free, although he was shaking from head to toe.

He had just reached his room when he felt an excruciating pain in his back. He fell to the ground as the pain coursed over him, leaving him too stunned to yell; he dimly recognized that it was a Cruciatus Curse, an Unforgivable, and was slightly stunned to find it was happening to him, in his own house. Yet he was not surprised when he looked up through stinging eyes to see his cousin standing above him, wand raised. Bellatrix's eyes glinted with a fierce light, and for a moment, Sirius thought she had gone mad, and that he would soon be dead.

"That's for using the Dark Lord's name," she whispered, leaning down and whispering in his ear. She hissed the Unforgivable again. "And that's for your ignorant posturing, you foolish whelp. You may be a Gryffindor, but you were a Black first. You would do well to follow your brother's better example, cousin."

"Sod off," Sirius gasped, wincing and out of breath.

Bella stood and looked down at him with undisguised contempt. "We don't have to be enemies, you know. I would be happy to introduce you to my master and let him explain the advantages of changing your mind, lest you find yourself a blasted off the tapestry like my dear sister."

Sirius stood and faced her. Downstairs he could hear the conversation continue as if no one had noticed that Bellatrix had followed him upstairs to torture him; more likely they were perfectly aware of it and approved whole-heartedly. He took a deep breath and plunged forward; he had not choice but to continue his break from the Black family, or else face a lifetime of living hell.

"You can tell your master to sod off as well, cousin," he said, putting as much false bravado as he could into his voice. "I have no intention of changing my mind. You're the one who is wrong."

"We'll see," she whispered, almost seductively. "The Dark Lord will prevail." For a moment Sirius thought she was going to curse him again, but she simply inclined her head and left him standing at his door, still breathing hard.

Before she turned the corner, he whipped out his wand and sent as strong of a Stinging Hex toward her as he could. "Happy Christmas, bitch," he called down the hallway, and was rewarded when he heard her shriek maniacally. Consequences be damned: he had wanted to do that for years and found it immensely satisfying, if only small payback for what she had done to him.

Sirius stepped back into his room, strangely calm, and began gathering his things again. Since he had already used underage magic, he ignored the ban and repaired his ripped bag. When he had fit as much as he could into it, he grabbed his cloak, scarf, and gloves and headed back into the hallway. He paused at the top of the staircase, gathering his courage: he would feel worthless if he didn't leave now, and might even fear for his life with his cousin still around.

Taking another deep breath, he made his way to the first floor and stopped in front of the dining room. The meat course had arrived on schedule, completely unaffected by his dismissal. The table was slightly subdued, and Sirius was glad to have disrupted their holiday. If his Christmas was going to be ruined, he might as well take a few people with it. He was extremely pleased to see Bellatrix nursing a swollen cheek; she glared daggers at him, and he knew from the look on her face that she would remember it for a long time to come.

"I'm going back to Hogwarts," he announced. There was dead silence; no one even blinked. "Right. See you in June, then."

And he turned and walked out the door.

He was somewhat surprised and slightly disappointed that no one tried to stop him, not even his brother. Yet as he stood on the cold stoop and breathed in the chill air around him, he felt himself finally relaxing. The Black house was like a prison, stifling him every time he returned home for holiday, and just stepping out the front door was like escaping from a long, dark captivity.

It occurred to him, however, that he had no way of getting anywhere. He wasn't supposed to use magic. He couldn't Apparate, his broom was at school, and there was nowhere he could Floo from. Checking his pocket, he found several Galleons, and with a shrug, he stuck out his thumb.

A large purple bus appeared beside the curb almost immediately. Grinning to himself, Sirius hurried down the snowy walkway and climbed aboard, relishing the freedom. He might pay for it later, but at that moment it was completely worth it.

"Where to?" asked the ancient wizard at the door. He barely gave Sirius a second glance, as if it were a normal, everyday occurrence for an underage wizard to show up on the Knight Bus at Christmas. More likely he simply didn't notice or care; Sirius smelled a good deal of Firewhiskey on the old man's breath, and wondered if the sussed-up wizard could even see his newest passenger.

"Hogwarts, please," said Sirius, handing over several Galleons. He glanced around the bus: there were only two other wizards on board, both sleeping on the second level. Finding himself a bed near the back, Sirius was abruptly thrown backward when the bus took off. He had heard about the erratic nature of traveling on the Knight Bus, but had never experienced anything quite like it. He almost felt like crowing with glee, if it hadn't been quite so nauseating.

Watching out the window at the passing countryside, Sirius shook his head as he thought about the scene at dinner. And yet, he regretted nothing, not even the Stinging Hex he had thrown at Bellatrix. He had cast his lot and would follow through wherever it led. If he was disowned someday, so be it; he would not be the first. He would return home for the summer, yet as soon as he was of age, he would no longer set foot in number 12, Grimmauld Place.

The snowy countryside sped by in quick jerks and jumps. Somehow, he started to doze in between stops. When the old wizard at the front cried out, "Hogwarts!" Sirius blinked sleep out of his eyes and gathered his things. Stepping onto the road that lead to the gates, he turned to wave at the bus, but it had taken off once more, leaving him alone in the cold and snow. It seemed appropriate, somehow.

With a shrug, Sirius pulled his cloak tighter and set off for the gates. The distant castle was dark; the Great Hall alone shone bright with Christmas cheer, and with a warm feeling, Sirius realized that he was finally truly home.

* * *