Palette

Letters come way too often for his parents’ liking and Sirius doesn’t have enough middle fingers to express the contempt for his parents’ opinion non-verbally. Verbally he can express nothing because they are not on speaking terms. Sirius is permanently grounded, and he would have used this as an excuse not to have dinner with his family but family dinners are mandatory. And so he has to sit through the dinners and listen to the words of wisdom his mother is eager to share with everyone. Those are the words that make food taste like shit, and sometimes Sirius wonders what would happen if he didn’t manage to hold back the urge to puke after another rant on Mudbloods, and Muggles, and the traitors of blood. He thinks about the letters in his bedroom, the letters from his friends, and doesn’t pay attention to Walburga’s discourse over the undoubted benefits of arranged marriages among the nobles of the magic world. He isn’t going to marry anyway. His idiot brother, on the other hand, might as well, just to please their parents. “Do you not have anything to share with your family, Sirius?” “Nope,” he keeps his eyes fixed on his plate. “Manners!” Walburga snaps. “You should take a lesson from your brother… Regulus?” “I have been closely following the newspapers’ coverage of the Dark Lord,” Regulus says quietly and to his own plate, without raising his eyes to meet mother’s glare. “I was wondering… about his ideas. Not all of them sound unreasonable, it seems.” “I disagree with the methods, of course,” Orion Black takes a sip of his drink, and it’s neither his first nor second whiskey. His eyes are not yet bloodshot but they will eventually be at the end of the day. “But someone has to do something with the non-maj that are getting out of hand, really. Since when is it supposed to be normal to spend our gold on their affairs? Since the witch hunt, I presume?” Sirius thinks about the envelopes under his pillow and tries to become temporarily deaf. Orinion Black uses the term “non-maj” because he has to speak to the officials and he is worried that a simple slip of the tongue will cost him reputation. He doesn’t want to be quoted by anyone as a person who says “mudblood”. It doesn’t matter, really, for him both terms mean the same. “The Dark Lord speaks the truth. And even if this truth cuts and makes some people bleed, it is truth nonetheless,” says Regulus and smiles faintly when he receives a warm look from his mother and an appreciating nod from his father. “He is a poet and he doesn’t know it,” snorts Sirius. “The truth that makes people bleed… is it from a romance novel or something?” Regulus turns red. “I am not surprised you can’t get it!” he says icily. “You and your peers from Gryffindor pay more attention to children’s games like quidditch and know nothing about politics!” “What politics exactly? This dark lord of yours is just another psycho with an army of fancy boys in black robes and masks who like to play pretend,” this time Sirius shows his teeth grinning, and it feels good. “Oh, you know lots about fancy boys, don’t you, Sirius?” Orion’s spell stops a curse that Sirius casts before he has time to think what he is actually doing. Sirius is on his feet, trembling with rage, and Regulus looks scared and angry that he got scared in the first place. “No curses during dinner,” Orion puts his wand aside, disinterested. “And I did not hear that remark, Regulus.” “Yes, father.” “I am done with this dinner,” says Sirius and gets out of the dining room without asking to get excused as his mother insists they do.

***

There are envelopes on his desk, all from his friends, people who help him stay sane during these long summer months. Peter writes a lot, too much, really. Remus writes three letters every week and they all are a mixture of his good wit, advice and interesting stories from his father’s work. Those letters are a good read. James writes often, and it is still not enough for him. Sometimes there are no letters in those envelopes, only photos. Those ones Sirius keeps under his pillow. James learned how to make photos move, and he also learned how to pose properly… The results are exquisite, and Sirius knows exactly what naked and panting James is trying to say in these photos. He can read lips now. Some messages don’t really need words.