People do surprise us: Solitary Tear
Title:Solitary Tear
Character:Sirius Black
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer:I own nothing
Word Count:200
A/N: The more originally planned fic for nosmutforyou's challenge. Sirius doesn't hate his mother as much as he would like to think he does.
It took him months of mundane cleaning and frustrated meetings to force him up the staircase he had tried too hard to forget was there. His dead eyes scanned the room, hardly changed from the last time he was there, being reprimanded about something or other, some twenty years previously. It seemed like more and yet no time had passed since then. His mother’s hairbrush, hand mirror and comb still sat on the dressing table, undisturbed by Molly’s cleaning. He moved into the room, his muscles tensing as if he expected to hear her behind him, wheezy cough in her throat as a stinging hex left her wand to remind him who the room belonged to. But it never came. He would never feel that sting again. Much worse in the brewing war perhaps, but not that. That hurt part of him, a part he strived to deny, the part of Sirius that was still a child who just wanted his mother to love him, no matter the house he was placed in, the friends he kept or the opinions he held. That part of him brushed dust from the bed and sat down, that part shed one solitary tear.
Character:Sirius Black
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer:I own nothing
Word Count:200
A/N: The more originally planned fic for nosmutforyou's challenge. Sirius doesn't hate his mother as much as he would like to think he does.
It took him months of mundane cleaning and frustrated meetings to force him up the staircase he had tried too hard to forget was there. His dead eyes scanned the room, hardly changed from the last time he was there, being reprimanded about something or other, some twenty years previously. It seemed like more and yet no time had passed since then. His mother’s hairbrush, hand mirror and comb still sat on the dressing table, undisturbed by Molly’s cleaning. He moved into the room, his muscles tensing as if he expected to hear her behind him, wheezy cough in her throat as a stinging hex left her wand to remind him who the room belonged to. But it never came. He would never feel that sting again. Much worse in the brewing war perhaps, but not that. That hurt part of him, a part he strived to deny, the part of Sirius that was still a child who just wanted his mother to love him, no matter the house he was placed in, the friends he kept or the opinions he held. That part of him brushed dust from the bed and sat down, that part shed one solitary tear.