The Christmas holidays had always been a curse for Sirius. Each year, they meant returning to Grim.mauld Place, to stiff, cold rooms filled with people who hated everything he stood for. And as always, the Black family Christmas dinner was the same suffocating nightmare

But this year—December 25 1976—it was different

The air in the dining hall turned suffocating as his father spoke “You will take the Mark,” Orion announced, his voice calm, final “It is time you swear your allegiance to the Da.rk Lord, as is expected of a Black”

A sick chill crawled down Sirius’ spine. Across the table, his cousin Bella.trix sat poised, her husband’s sleeve pulled just enough for him to see the inked serpent coiling beneath his skin. He clenched his fists under the table. No. Never

His breath came short and fast, his pulse a violent drum in his ears. The walls closed in, the air heavy with the scent of spiced wine and roasted meat. The weight of generations of tradition, of duty, of pu.reblood honor, pressed on him like a chain tightening around his throat

And then he snapped

His palm slammed onto the table, silverware rattling. “I’d rather die”

The room fell silent

Walburga’s eyes gleamed with rage, and took her wand

He barely had time to move before the first curse flew past his ear, scorching the wooden chair behind him. A second spell seared across the room, missing him by inches. His body moved before his mind did—and he ran toward the fireplace. He didn’t think. He couldn’t

All he knew was that he had to get out

The moment he tumbled out of the Pott.ers’ hearth, soot and ash clinging to his clothes, the house was empty. He had forgotten—James had gone to a Christmas party. He was alone

His chest heaved, exhaustion creeping in as the weight of what had just happened crashed down on him. He had left. He had nowhere to go. He was shaking, furious, heart pounding against his ribs

Then a voice, yours, that of James's little siblings who weren’t feeling and hadn’t joined the their older brother for the party “Sirius?”