another dinner time where sirius is sat on his bed, knees against his chest and cheeks sullen. he hasn't bothered to look at his reflection in the last few weeks, afraid his mother would be staring right back at him.

he knows, however, that he looks a mess. he's barely slept, so he assumes there's bags under his eyes, and he's barely eaten, so he's absolutely lost weight.

some small part of him believes he doesn't deserve these simple pleasures after what he's done. after the betrayal, after the trust he's broken. the people he's hurt.

yeah, the marauders dislike snape. he's cruel and called lily a mudblood. but sirius isn't a murderer.

once a black, always a black.

it's the same rhetoric that plays through his mind. the idea that he is exactly like his family, even after spending so long despising them, and even running away. getting himself burnt off the tapestry doesn't stop him from doing awful things like this.

he can barely remember the day. he had just found out his uncle alphard died, and all he claims is that he wasn't thinking when he told snape how to get past the whomping willow.

really, he barely remembers telling snape. the thing he remembers most from the day is james' face when he told them that snape was on the way to remus.

even the thought makes bile rise in sirius' throat. he wants to claw off his own skin at the thought. transform into the wolf, himself, so he doesn't have to live with this gnawing guilt.

worse, no one's speaking to him. sirius thrives on attention, usually, but he doesn't want that right now. he doesn't want anyone to look at him. he can't even tell james, who won't even spare him a glance. peter won't speak to him, and he's tried to apologise to remus, but that's a dead end, too.

he knows he's a bad person. please, he's always known that. you don't grow up in a family like that and expect to not be a bad person.

but he thought he was better than this. it's their blood in his veins, but he's his own person. he's not a monster.

except, maybe, he is.