My father died three weeks later.
The doctors and investigators never did figure exactly how he died: was it a heart attack, conniption, aneurysm? All we knew when we walked into his study and saw him sitting back, dark blood pouring from his nose and mouth and his cold blue gaze fixed unseeingly on the ceiling, was that he was dead. And that was all I needed to know.
I didn't want to go to the funeral, but my brother made me. Walden, who looked so like me, yet so different. His hair was darker even than mine, his eyes narrow like my father's were and slate-gray instead of blue, his face not so round. But the same mouth, same nose, same eyebrows, same chin.
He, unlike me, had no scars.
"Seirian," he had said to me coldly when I stared down at my one black dress in distaste, "you must go. Think of the disgrace it would be to the family name."
"This name is already a disgrace to me," I had hissed, glaring.
Walden had grabbed me roughly by the shoulder. "You're going if I have to drag you there myself, and no more of this nonsense about blaspheming our family name!" And then he had left.
Which was why now I stood in front of the coffin, watching it sink into the ground, an act far more peaceful than any my father had committed in life.
"No more," I whispered to myself as it disappeared from my sight. "No more will you hurt me. Go to hell where you belong."
There was a reception at my house after. I sat in a corner, bored, watching everyone else mingle. There were several teenagers my age there, but I didn't want to talk to any of them. They were all huddled in a group: a tall, exceedingly handsome blond boy was deep in discussion with an equally beautiful blonde girl. Both my brother and a boy I knew to be Rodolphus Lestrange were vying for the attentions of a raven-haired girl who resembled the blonde in the same way I resemble Walden: one can tell that we're related, but that's where the similarities end. Two boys were standing together, looking more like mountains than sentient humans. A greasy-haired, sallow-faced young man was idly conversing with another boy his own age. I knew there were others too, but I didn't know where.
The only person who appeared to be as bored as I felt was a teenage boy my own age who sat in another corner, gazing moodily into a glass of water, as if wishing it would turn into something else more savory. He himself was even more handsome than the blond boy: his thick, rather long black hair fell into his alert blue-grey eyes and half obscured his perfectly-featured, ivory-white face. I would have gone to talk to him, but was far too shy. Instead, I tried to catch his eye, but he remained obstinately staring into his mug.
"Excuse me." A large, formidable woman sat in the chair next to mine and stared down her nose at me. "Is this seat taken?"
"No, ma'am," I said, gazing up at her wildly and desperately racking my brain for some excuse to leave.
Before I could, she settled herself and asked me, "What's your name, girl?"
Steeling myself for sympathy, I answered, "Seirian Macnair, ma'am."
"I'm sorry for the untimely death of your father," she said. Her tone was nice enough, for her, but her eyes remained flinty and devoid of any such sentiments.
Outwardly, I nodded dumbly. Inside, I screamed, It wasn't untimely, he's long since had it coming, you fool!
"You don't go to Hogwarts, do you?" she queried disinterestedly.
"No, ma'am, my father taught me at home."
"Ah. Fine of him to give up his time like that, but keeping you home like that was going a bit too far, if I do say so myself. It's made you somewhat subservient, if you don't mind my saying. My sons go to Hogwarts," she informed me.
Even if I didn't like your saying it, that's obviously not going to stop you, I thought rebelliously. "Really?" I said, as pleasantly as I could.
"Yes. Regulus is over there, fine boy he is, pride of my heart." She gestured at the knot of teens.
When she did not continue, I ventured, "Ma'am? I thought you said 'sons.' Who is your other son?"
A look of disgust crossed her face, although, I gathered, not at my expense. "Oh, yes," she said slowly, in an altogether different tone of voice. "Sirius. He's over there in the corner." She nodded curtly at the handsome boy.
"Oh, I see, ma'am," I replied uncertainly.
"He's a disgrace," she told me in ringing tones that I thought, cringing, would carry to his ears. "He's in Gryffindor." She said it as if it was a curse.
"I see, ma'am." I couldn't understand what was so terrible about Gryffindor, but I didn't want to ask.
The woman cast me a cold glance, then turned back in the direction of her son. "Worthless, a waste of time and space." She was nearly yelling by now.
The young man jerked his head up, as a dog does when it's heard a rabbit rustling around behind it, then relaxed when he realized it was only his mother. Rolling his eyes — I envied his carefree defiance — he sauntered over us. "Talking about me again?" he asked. I caught from merely these four words a hint of mischief.
She stood up, pointedly ignoring her son. "I'm sorry, Miss Macnair, but I must leave to find…other company. I'm sorry about your father. And if I were you, I would seek better accompaniment elsewhere as well." And with that, she left without a backward glance.
I felt my cheeks heating up, and tried to hide my face. When I blush, I do so furiously and without abandon.
Sirius, not meeting my eyes, said quite grimly, "I apologize for my mother leaving us in this highly awkward situation, and also her general lack of tact."
"It's no matter," I responded quietly and politely, staring at my hands. "If you wish to, you can go."
Sirius finally looked into my face. "Do you want me to?"
I gazed up at him, trying to discern any ulterior motives. "I don't want you to have to stay here against your will."
Sirius seemed to reflect on this, then sighed and sat down in his mother's vacated seat. "I daresay you're better company than the corner," he explained, grinning winsomely.
I smiled a bit at that.
His smile faded, and abruptly, he said, "I'm sorry about your father."
"Don't be," I muttered, my own smile disappearing.
A glimmer of commiseration, and a bit of hope, lit his face. "You didn't like your father?"
I sighed and said, "Let's just say we didn't have a very loving relationship, which included a lot of pain on my part. Of course, no one here is allowed to know that from me, or I'd disgrace the family name."
Sirius chuckled. "True enough. I hate my family, and they all know it, so it doesn't really matter what I say. They hate me, too," he added, rather proudly.
"I'm sure they don't," I murmured.
"Oh, no, they out and out despise me," he contradicted cheerfully. "In fact, I ran away last summer, and they were only be angry because they thought I was an ungrateful brat." Catching the shocked expression on my face, he asked, "Why would you want to be loved by this lot? They don't really care for anything at all, mind you, but say they could love. Wouldn't that make you just as bad as they are, to be loved by them? You'd have to have done something nasty to make them have any appreciation for you."
He had a point, I reflected. But I shrugged. "I just want people to like me," I told him in a small voice.
Sirius stared at me hard. "You remind me a great deal of my friend Remus."
"Remus?" I repeated. "It's a, er…interesting name."
"So is Seirian," Sirius shot back playfully. "What ethnicity is that, anyway?"
So is Sirius. "It's Welsh," I informed him. "My mother liked it."
"I see." He fiddled with his empty cup for a bit, then blurted out, "Why don't you go to Hogwarts?" His face turned red and mortified, and he added, "Not that you have to answer, I'm so sorry, Seirian — "
I interrupted him gently. "Sirius, it's all right. And call me Seiri, please."
Sirius smiled, relieved. "You really are like Remus. James would punch me in the head for being so insensitive."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Friends? What were they? Instead, I just said stupidly, "My father homeschooled me. He – he didn't want me going to Hogwarts."
Sirius made a face. "That's a load of…manure. Dumbledore isn't contagious. And if he was, it would make the wizarding world a much better place."
I frowned confusedly. I had been told all my life that Dumbledore was a bad man, a horrible person who was leading my world into decline. And Sirius, one of the first reasonable people I'd ever met, was telling me he was improving us?
Who to believe?
"Miss Macnair, pay the botheration no mind."
The harsh voice snapped me back to reality, and I saw Mrs. Black and my mother staring down at the two of us.
"Miss Macnair, how old are you?" Mrs. Black asked.
"Seventeen," I replied, rather curiously. "I just turned so a few weeks ago." Two days before my father had sent me flying down the stairs.
Mrs. Black turned to my mother. "She has only this one year to go to Hogwarts. Surely you cannot say no? I will make sure she is looked after. It's a difficult time to be stepping in, because of the N.E.W.T.s, but she can handle it." Mrs. Black glared at me, probably angry because I wasn't as nasty to Sirius as she would have liked me to be. "Can't you?"
I nodded desperately, silently pleading my mother, who refused to meet my hopeful eyes. "Mother, I could do it," I begged. "Honestly."
She sighed helplessly, obviously feeling trapped by Mrs. Black's words and my entreaty.
"After all, Julian, who will teach her, now that her father is gone?" Mrs. Black continued. I raised my eyebrows at her terms, but said nothing.
My mother's green eyes widened. Clearly, she had never thought of this. "Well…I suppose…that is, we'll have to ask the Headmaster, but if he has no objections…"
I couldn't contain myself, and jumped up, flinging my arms around her rigid form. "Oh, Mother, thank you!" I gasped. Those assembled around us began murmuring agitatedly, saying thing like, "So soon after her father's death too!" "Most unseemly at a funeral!"
My mother struggled away from my embrace, a horrified expression on her face. "Seirian, control yourself!" she hissed frantically. I stepped away, hurt and retreating into my shell again. I was aware of Sirius frowning concernedly out of the corner of my eye, but I would not look up at him.
My mother saw him. "Oh, Sirius. What brings you here? I had thought…" Her eyes darted to Mrs. Black, who looked highly affronted and walked away with great dignity.
He shrugged easily. "My cousin Andromeda passed the news to me, and I thought I'd come to…er, grieve."
Liar, I thought amusedly. Putting my embarrassment aside, I leaned over and whispered, "Why did you really come?"
"To annoy my mother," he whispered back, grinning. "Also…well, Andromeda sent me an invitation via the Potters, and they insisted I come. Thought it might seem terribly indecent to refuse a funeral invitation. They're proper like that."
We sat down again, and I asked, "What's Hogwarts like? Is it as wonderful as they say it is?"
"Better. Don't worry, the Marauders will make sure your first, last, and only year at Hogwarts is one to remember," he assured me, winking. I could almost see wheels turning in his head, but I didn't want to ask what he was thinking about.
"The Marauders?" I repeated timidly.
"My group of friends," he explained happily. "Best people to ever walk the sod, mark you."
"But…you're in Gryffindor. I-I have to be in Slytherin."
Sirius gave me a long look, then broke his gaze and muttered, "Right…if you want to end up like your father."
I drew a deep breath. "Slytherin's like that?"
Sirius gestured vaguely around the room, taking in everyone. "How many people here do you like?" he inquired, seemingly off-topic.
I thought, but only for a moment. "None."
"They were all in Slytherin, every last one of them. Pray, instead, that you're not in Slytherin. From talking to you, you should probably be in Hufflepuff."
I stifled a laugh. "Because I'm polite?"
He nodded.
"That means nothing. Even I know that. I don't belong in Hufflepuff. Not with such…such hate inside me."
Sirius gazed at me levelly, then nodded. "You're right. Somehow, I can't see you in Hufflepuff. How are you at schoolwork?"
"Not that great," I admitted.
"Well then, Ravenclaw is right out. That leaves only Gryffindor, and you belong there, if I do say so myself."
I couldn't stop a sardonic snort. "Right. I'm brave. That's why I always speak up for myself, and people never walk all over me, and I'm never sweet and quiet and polite."
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "On the contrary, my dear. I would have broken under seventeen years of beatings, as it seems you've had to deal with. You survived."
I drew in a breath to contradict him, then stopped. He was right. I never thought of my toleration as brave, but put in that light…I had survived, somehow.
Sirius smiled at the dawning comprehension on my face. "Ticket straight to Gryffindor, Seiri," he murmured.
He glanced at the timepiece over our mantle and made a face. "I was supposed to be home twenty minutes ago. And frankly, though you're a sweetie, Seiri, I've had enough of this lot."
"I understand," I agreed wryly. "I'm sorry you have to leave, though," I told him frankly, on impulse.
He grinned, then very gallantly — in a highly fake way — bent over my hand and kissed it, light goatee scratching my hand. "Try to go on without me." He winked at me.
I hope he's not flirting with me, I thought frantically. That would just ruin everything. Beautiful and charming as he was, I didn't feel at all attracted to him.
I realized just then that he had already gone, and again, I was surrounded by strangers.
We moved to my grandfather's house within a week: my family couldn't afford the large manor we had been living in. Also within a week, Dumbledore sent a letter to my mother, saying he would be delighted to welcome me to Hogwarts, and would make sure my year would be pleasant one. I was reminded of Sirius.
My harsh grandfather sneered at the letter, ripped it to little pieces, and burned it, as if he couldn't even stand to a sheet of parchment that had once had Dumbledore's hands on it in the house. Then he turned to me, glaring under his bushy gray eyebrows. "Listen to me, girl, and listen well. You get into Slytherin, or else you'll not be welcomed back into this house ever again."
I nodded, trapped. I knew in my heart that, no matter how much I wanted my family to like me, I would rather have Sirius and his friends accept me, and if that meant being in Gryffindor and being cast out of my family, then so be it.
Walden took my aside one night in July and spoke to me sternly, and I suddenly realized how like our father he was: dominating, abusive of power, and destined for a bad end.
"Seirian, I want you to listen to me." He couldn't even call me Seiri anymore. "You must be Sorted into Slytherin. Think of the shame to the family."
I watched him pace the room irritably with cool eyes. "I will do my best, brother," I informed him in a pleasant monotone.
He whirled and strode over to me, grabbing a handful of my collar, and pulled my face close to his. I could see a vein throbbing in his forehead, seeing it pulse with the movement of his rapid, angry heartbeats. "You'll not just try, you stupid wench," he hissed. "You will do it."
I stared up at him, face contorted with horror. "My God, Walden," I whispered, hanging limply in his hold. "Don't you see what you've become? You're becoming our father."
Walden stared at me, eyes hard under the thick, arched brows so like mine. Without saying a word, he flung me to the floor, bruising my side, and left me there.
I crawled to my bed, trying not to wince at the pain. I lifted my shirt and saw an ugly, purple-green bruise spreading over my left side.
I sighed and used my rapidly-burning candle — no underage magic outside of school, I remembered with relish — to heat a pad of cloths. Then I held them to my side. The gentle warmth relaxed me, allowed my eyes to close.
I would never be free of my father's curse. I knew that much. But perhaps, with this prospect in front of me, I could have a new beginning.
Drop everything
Start it all over
Remember more that you'd like to forget…