Born A Weapon

avoiding is easier

(Tw: mental illness, Stockholm syndrome, agressive language, physical fighting, applied child abuse, family issues)

There is a music start in there i suggest Either
Running with the wolves by aurora
Or
To ashes and blood from arcane

_______________________________________

Sirius Black woke before sunrise.

That, by itself, was enough to make the feeling in his stomach worse.

Sirius never woke early unless something was wrong. He could sleep through shouting, explosions, arguments, children running through the house, and on one memorable occasion, a cupboard collapsing directly outside his bedroom door.

But that morning his eyes opened before the sky had even properly begun to lighten.

His heart was already beating too quickly.

For several seconds he lay completely still beneath the blankets, staring into the darkness.

Something was wrong.

He could feel it.

The Burrow was quiet.

Too quiet.

There was no shouting downstairs. No clattering from the kitchen. No footsteps. No Molly complaining about someone leaving their shoes in the hallway.

Then he heard it.

A sharp metallic sound.

A buckle hitting wood.

Sirius was out of bed before he had consciously decided to move.

He reached for his wand.

S: "Bloody hell."

He was halfway down the stairs when he heard Tonks.

T: "Delphini, stop! Just stop for one bloody second and listen to me!"

Sirius froze.

Then something heavy struck the floor.

He ran the rest of the way.

The sight waiting downstairs stopped him dead.

Delphini was standing in the middle of the room.

She looked terrible.

She was still wearing yesterday's clothes. They were wrinkled, stained with dried blood and grass, and hanging awkwardly from a body that clearly hadn't recovered from the previous night.

Her hair was tangled around her face.

There were dark circles beneath her eyes.

The bruising around her throat was still visible.

But none of that was what made Sirius tighten his grip around his wand.

She had escaped.

The restraints lay in pieces across the floor.

One leather strap had been torn completely apart. Another had been sliced through with magic. A metal fastening was embedded several inches into the wooden table.

And Delphini was packing.

Not calmly. Not rationally.

She was throwing things into a battered black case with frantic, jerking movements.

Books. Potions. Clothes. Parchment. Coins.

Anything her hands touched was either shoved into the case or thrown aside.