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Title: Defective Motivations
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: T
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Character death
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Sirius is the best brother in the world until he's not anymore, and Phineas won't let what happened to him happen again.
Author's Notes: This was written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
poetry_fic and is my first attempt at writing children under the age of ten. It's set far, far before the events of Harry Potter and was inspired by the first Sirius Black on the Black family tree - Phineas Nigellus' older brother - who died when he was eight years old.
Sirius stands with his back to the wall outside the drawing room door. He’s chewing on his lip in the way that mother always scolds him for and his eyes are shut. He’s listening to something, and he doesn’t like what he hears. Phineas joins him, creeping close and pressing against his brother’s body so that he too can listen at the door.
His parents are talking. He doesn’t understand the word “defective” yet, but he knows what they’re talking about when mother hisses “he can’t be a Squib” as if it’s the worst of words. He feels Sirius’ breath hitch, and he looks up at his brother with wide, wondering eyes. Sirius has magic, he’s seen it – and Sirius was given great-grandfather’s old wand two days ago to practice with – but it’s a subtle kind of magic. It slides under Sirius’ skin like a fish in a pond, barely causing a ripple and only visible at the strangest of times.
Sirius looks down at him, silver eyes as bright as stars and shining with tears that they aren’t allowed to shed because “Blacks don’t cry” and he presses a finger to his lips. Phineas swallows his questions and goes back to listening.
“…another chance,” father says.
Mother makes a soft noise, and Phineas thinks that she must be pressing her fist to her bodice to remind herself to keep breathing. She’s not allowed to cry either. “Of course,” she says.
…
Sirius’ magic is in his smile and his words. He can weave a story better than anyone, and for as long as Phineas can remember, it’s been Sirius who’s been telling him his bedtime stories. At first it was while sitting in mother’s lap and stumbling over the words, tracing them with his finger as he frowned in concentration. Then, as he grew, Sirius would come to read without mother, and he would slip into Phineas’ bed so that Phineas could follow the words.
Now, neither of them need the books, they know the tales so well, but Sirius still tells them. He does voices. Phineas curls into his brother’s side and listens to the Tale of Three Brothers for the hundredth time and smiles every time he catches something slightly different. The story is always different, and always in different ways – it stops them both from getting bored.
Some things are always the same, and those are the voices. His favourite of Sirius’ voices is Death. His voice goes soft and sinuous and gently cajoling; deeper than his normal voice and so much smoother, and Phineas thinks that when Sirius grows up that he’ll sound like that all the time. Ignotus Peverell sounds soft and shy; his brother Antioch is brash and blustering, and it’s only when he’s speaking through Sirius that the Elves ever has to look in on them to shush them; Cadmus is sneering and haughty and reminds Phineas horribly of Lord Prince, who comes to visit father sometimes.
Sirius lingers over Death that night, and he brushes a kiss over Phineas’ brow when he’s finished greeting Ignotus as a long-lost friend.
“Sirius?” Phineas asks when his brother slides out of bed. “What does ‘defective’ mean?”
Sirius takes a deep breath, and looks down at him with a smile. “Broken,” he says. “They were talking about great-grandfather’s wand. Some of them get temperamental over time, especially when they’re not used.”
Phineas frowns because that’s not what it had sounded like at all, but adults are strange and Sirius knows everything, so he nods and snuggles down into his pillow. “That’s a shame,” he says. “Goodnight, Sirius.”
“Goodnight.”
…
Phineas thinks that Sirius might be his favourite person in the whole world. Sirius is the kindest of their family, and the cleverest – he’s the one who slips frogs into teacups and strings pondweed from the chandeliers; he’s the one who can list the Lords of their House all the way back to Betelgeuse the Black, the fourteenth century Dark Lord who was poisoned by his son in exchange for a barony.
Sirius is definitely nicer than cousin Perseus, who struts around the house when he visits, even though he’s not a Black but a Nott. He’s at Hogwarts already – Slytherin, of course – and seems to think that they should lick his boots because of it, even though he’s only a second year.
Mother and father don’t seem to notice how Perseus shoves them into corners and stabs his wand into their ribs. They’re too busy talking to Aunt Myra and her husband, exchanging gossip and worries that make spots of colour appear in mother’s pale cheeks. He thinks he sees her mouth the word “Squib”, but he’s too distracted by the pain in his side as Perseus looms over him to be sure.
Perseus is smiling, and that’s never good.
…
Sirius is completely still. Phineas runs over to him, but he knows before he reaches him that there’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing that even St Mungo’s can do, with that much blood spreading over the grass. Betelgeuse the Black might have been able to make Sirius sit up again, but it wouldn’t really have been Sirius.
Sirius’ head is at a funny angle that hurts Phineas’ neck just to look at, and the side of his head is dented in. Phineas can see white and pink-grey through Sirius’ hair and on the rock that he’d fallen on and he feels sick but he can’t stop looking. There’s so much blood, there’s too much blood, and Sirius’ eyes are staring up at the sky where Perseus circles like a vulture on his broom.
He tells the adults later that Sirius fell when they were flying and it’s not his fault that Sirius was a filthy Squib. Mother slaps him and Phineas knows that she knows that Sirius didn’t get on a broom willingly – he hated flying and always did, and Perseus made him and he pushed him.
…
There are no more stories. There’s no more Perseus. Mother won’t stop crying even though she’s not supposed to, and Phineas gets smacked for taking great-grandfather’s defective wand and snapping it over his knee.
It’s worth it. Sirius’ magic is gone now, because Perseus heard the word “Squib” and thought he could get away with it, but Sirius was a wizard and he couldn’t.
Sirius was a wizard. Sirius never lied to him.
…
From his first year in Hogwarts – Slytherin, of course – he brings home a stone frog. Sirius liked frogs, especially when he made them materialise in teacups, and this one is the pink-grey of his clever brain as it leaked through his hair. Phineas places it on the rock where he fell and strokes his fingers over its bumpy back and tells the story of the Three Brothers.
He can’t do voices like Sirius can, so he doesn’t even try. He likes to think that Sirius listens. When he goes back inside, he repeats the story to Elladora and Isla, because they can’t remember Sirius telling it to them – they were too little, and to them he’s just a name on a tapestry and not a kind and clever wizard who was the best brother that a brother could be.
…
When Phineas was Sorted, he told the Hat that he wanted to be headmaster of Hogwarts. He didn’t say why, but the Hat understood and put him where he wanted – needed – to go.
The first thing he does when he sits behind his new desk, is to pick up his quill and write a new rule in ink as red as spilled blood.
All students must be in possession of their own wand. All pre-owned and second-hand wands are strictly forbidden.
He will not have another Sirius, not for as long as he’s headmaster – no student will be thought a Squib when they’re not.
nestled in curls of dead leaves,
a stone frog the color of your brain
prepares his leap. - Ted Kooser
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: T
Genre: Angst
Warnings: Character death
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Sirius is the best brother in the world until he's not anymore, and Phineas won't let what happened to him happen again.
Author's Notes: This was written for
poetry_fic and is my first attempt at writing children under the age of ten. It's set far, far before the events of Harry Potter and was inspired by the first Sirius Black on the Black family tree - Phineas Nigellus' older brother - who died when he was eight years old.Sirius stands with his back to the wall outside the drawing room door. He’s chewing on his lip in the way that mother always scolds him for and his eyes are shut. He’s listening to something, and he doesn’t like what he hears. Phineas joins him, creeping close and pressing against his brother’s body so that he too can listen at the door.
His parents are talking. He doesn’t understand the word “defective” yet, but he knows what they’re talking about when mother hisses “he can’t be a Squib” as if it’s the worst of words. He feels Sirius’ breath hitch, and he looks up at his brother with wide, wondering eyes. Sirius has magic, he’s seen it – and Sirius was given great-grandfather’s old wand two days ago to practice with – but it’s a subtle kind of magic. It slides under Sirius’ skin like a fish in a pond, barely causing a ripple and only visible at the strangest of times.
Sirius looks down at him, silver eyes as bright as stars and shining with tears that they aren’t allowed to shed because “Blacks don’t cry” and he presses a finger to his lips. Phineas swallows his questions and goes back to listening.
“…another chance,” father says.
Mother makes a soft noise, and Phineas thinks that she must be pressing her fist to her bodice to remind herself to keep breathing. She’s not allowed to cry either. “Of course,” she says.
…
Sirius’ magic is in his smile and his words. He can weave a story better than anyone, and for as long as Phineas can remember, it’s been Sirius who’s been telling him his bedtime stories. At first it was while sitting in mother’s lap and stumbling over the words, tracing them with his finger as he frowned in concentration. Then, as he grew, Sirius would come to read without mother, and he would slip into Phineas’ bed so that Phineas could follow the words.
Now, neither of them need the books, they know the tales so well, but Sirius still tells them. He does voices. Phineas curls into his brother’s side and listens to the Tale of Three Brothers for the hundredth time and smiles every time he catches something slightly different. The story is always different, and always in different ways – it stops them both from getting bored.
Some things are always the same, and those are the voices. His favourite of Sirius’ voices is Death. His voice goes soft and sinuous and gently cajoling; deeper than his normal voice and so much smoother, and Phineas thinks that when Sirius grows up that he’ll sound like that all the time. Ignotus Peverell sounds soft and shy; his brother Antioch is brash and blustering, and it’s only when he’s speaking through Sirius that the Elves ever has to look in on them to shush them; Cadmus is sneering and haughty and reminds Phineas horribly of Lord Prince, who comes to visit father sometimes.
Sirius lingers over Death that night, and he brushes a kiss over Phineas’ brow when he’s finished greeting Ignotus as a long-lost friend.
“Sirius?” Phineas asks when his brother slides out of bed. “What does ‘defective’ mean?”
Sirius takes a deep breath, and looks down at him with a smile. “Broken,” he says. “They were talking about great-grandfather’s wand. Some of them get temperamental over time, especially when they’re not used.”
Phineas frowns because that’s not what it had sounded like at all, but adults are strange and Sirius knows everything, so he nods and snuggles down into his pillow. “That’s a shame,” he says. “Goodnight, Sirius.”
“Goodnight.”
…
Phineas thinks that Sirius might be his favourite person in the whole world. Sirius is the kindest of their family, and the cleverest – he’s the one who slips frogs into teacups and strings pondweed from the chandeliers; he’s the one who can list the Lords of their House all the way back to Betelgeuse the Black, the fourteenth century Dark Lord who was poisoned by his son in exchange for a barony.
Sirius is definitely nicer than cousin Perseus, who struts around the house when he visits, even though he’s not a Black but a Nott. He’s at Hogwarts already – Slytherin, of course – and seems to think that they should lick his boots because of it, even though he’s only a second year.
Mother and father don’t seem to notice how Perseus shoves them into corners and stabs his wand into their ribs. They’re too busy talking to Aunt Myra and her husband, exchanging gossip and worries that make spots of colour appear in mother’s pale cheeks. He thinks he sees her mouth the word “Squib”, but he’s too distracted by the pain in his side as Perseus looms over him to be sure.
Perseus is smiling, and that’s never good.
…
Sirius is completely still. Phineas runs over to him, but he knows before he reaches him that there’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing that even St Mungo’s can do, with that much blood spreading over the grass. Betelgeuse the Black might have been able to make Sirius sit up again, but it wouldn’t really have been Sirius.
Sirius’ head is at a funny angle that hurts Phineas’ neck just to look at, and the side of his head is dented in. Phineas can see white and pink-grey through Sirius’ hair and on the rock that he’d fallen on and he feels sick but he can’t stop looking. There’s so much blood, there’s too much blood, and Sirius’ eyes are staring up at the sky where Perseus circles like a vulture on his broom.
He tells the adults later that Sirius fell when they were flying and it’s not his fault that Sirius was a filthy Squib. Mother slaps him and Phineas knows that she knows that Sirius didn’t get on a broom willingly – he hated flying and always did, and Perseus made him and he pushed him.
…
There are no more stories. There’s no more Perseus. Mother won’t stop crying even though she’s not supposed to, and Phineas gets smacked for taking great-grandfather’s defective wand and snapping it over his knee.
It’s worth it. Sirius’ magic is gone now, because Perseus heard the word “Squib” and thought he could get away with it, but Sirius was a wizard and he couldn’t.
Sirius was a wizard. Sirius never lied to him.
…
From his first year in Hogwarts – Slytherin, of course – he brings home a stone frog. Sirius liked frogs, especially when he made them materialise in teacups, and this one is the pink-grey of his clever brain as it leaked through his hair. Phineas places it on the rock where he fell and strokes his fingers over its bumpy back and tells the story of the Three Brothers.
He can’t do voices like Sirius can, so he doesn’t even try. He likes to think that Sirius listens. When he goes back inside, he repeats the story to Elladora and Isla, because they can’t remember Sirius telling it to them – they were too little, and to them he’s just a name on a tapestry and not a kind and clever wizard who was the best brother that a brother could be.
…
When Phineas was Sorted, he told the Hat that he wanted to be headmaster of Hogwarts. He didn’t say why, but the Hat understood and put him where he wanted – needed – to go.
The first thing he does when he sits behind his new desk, is to pick up his quill and write a new rule in ink as red as spilled blood.
All students must be in possession of their own wand. All pre-owned and second-hand wands are strictly forbidden.
He will not have another Sirius, not for as long as he’s headmaster – no student will be thought a Squib when they’re not.
nestled in curls of dead leaves,
a stone frog the color of your brain
prepares his leap. - Ted Kooser
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no subject
Date: 2014-01-31 08:00 am (UTC)From:Phineas' belief is touching, but the viewpoint is also very subjective. But the broom gives proof to his belief and Phineas might have been right about Sirius being a wizard. Which only highlights the tragic behind the story.
It's good that you mention that Perseus was punished, I doubt they would've accepted it just like that. And the mentions of their mother who obviously loved Sirius.
I like the new rule in the end. The wands never seemed so expensive to me considering everything else, so why did they force Ron and Neville to carry the old ones? Even though both produced lesser results at Hogwarts? The Weasleys did it, one can argue, because of the money and I think in Neville's case the explanation was to honour his father. Still, it never made really sense to me. I would support this ruling, no doubt.
no subject
Date: 2014-01-31 05:40 pm (UTC)From:Phineas is not the most reliable of narrators. I wanted Sirius' magical ability to be questionable more than anything, but while I was writing, I kept thinking that he was a bit like Neville with low-key accidental magic and the wrong inherited wand.
The new rule may seem sensible to us, but I think it would have caused a bit of a stir amongst the parents - tying Phineas in to Sirius' comment about him not being popular - because Wizarding society concentrates a lot on family traits and inherited wands may well have been a traditional thing because of that. I like to think that the rule was overturned after Phineas retired because of parental objections.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-01 07:24 pm (UTC)From:Yes, the ambiguity made it the extra-special bit of interesting. And it served a second purpose for me, to make clear that no one knows what Sirius really was or would have been - because he was murdered as a child. And the last fact ist he one that counts in the end.
I like that idea, it's so humane. It would be logical, but sometimes society is not logical or fair, especially concerning traditions.
And wands... there seems to be a good bit about wandlore. Ollivanders "the wand choses the wizard" seems to be in this context more like a fight against a tradition than a try to be mysterious.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-01 10:31 pm (UTC)From:There are so many shared/inherited wands that we hear of that it strikes me as something that can't have been rare. If you think about it, Ron's first wand was probably third-hand - he says it used to be Charlie's, but why would Charlie give up his wand to his little brother for no reason and go and buy a new one? It's likely that Charlie inherited it and then bought his own once he was in a position to afford it/not have a screaming argument with anyone about it. "The wand chooses the wizard" does seem to be a battle against the tradition, especially if people could turn around and say "well if it chose so-and-so because of this reason, then such-and-such must be able to inherit it because they're just so similar!" while forgetting that personal bias =/= fact.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-03 03:14 pm (UTC)From:Yes, I always had the suspiction that Ron's first wand belonged once Molly's brothers, the Prewetts. Charlie seemed to have bought his first real wand the moment he earned his first money.
Ollivander the unlikely revolutioner. I bet he is often very frustrated if people older than 16 come into his shop for their first wand.
Though, do we know how wands whose previous owner died define their allegiance? Or are they "neutral"?