Mischief Managed | Sirius Black

The Cane

*cover by sarsasstic

It was nine o'clock at night, on a warm Tuesday in August, and Sirius Black was in trouble. And as always happened when he was in trouble, he stood in his father's study, watching as Orion stood with his back to him, facing the wall. His father had an impressive display of canes – long canes, short canes, canes with curved handles, with rounded knobs. Canes of glossed oak or springy ash, canes with leather straps and elaborate carvings. His father kept them all lovingly polished and neatly arranged, with more love than he had ever shown his children. Orion's favourite was an especially long oak cane, and it was agreed between Sirius and his brother that it was the most painful of them all.

As Sirius watched, Orion fingered the curves of his favoured cane almost lovingly, but his son breathed a sigh of relief when he choose a short holly instead. The beatings from his father were a regular part of Sirius' life – it took very little to anger Orion Black, and the fact that Sirius had embarrassed the family during a visit from Gytha Bulstrode was enough to make him furious. The Black brothers rarely left home and had no friends apart from each other and their older cousins. Starved for company, Regulus had adopted a mouse he named Robert. Robert usually lived in a makeshift cage in the back of Regulus' wardrobe, fed on scraps, but unfortunately for everyone, Robert had made an appearance during Gytha's visit. It was hardly their fault, Sirius thought sulkily, that the old woman had reacted as she had.

Terrified of mice, she had screamed, made to jump back, tripped over her stupid ruffled skirts and ended up crashing into a table. It was fair to say that their parents had not been impressed. Gytha had left in a hurry, and Walburga was furious, thinking that their chances of ever again being invited to one of the Bulstrode's famous parties was destroyed. She had immediately blamed Sirius, of course, but Sirius quietly took all responsibility. Regulus was only nine to his brother's eleven, and they both knew their father would be harder on him.

"Bend over, boy," Orion said now, rolling up his sleeves.

Sirius did as he was told, fingertips on the carpet to keep his balance. Orion had caning down to a fine art. He knew exactly how hard to hit, and would position every whack of the cane over the bruising from the last to ensure maximum pain. Sirius was expecting the first hit, and heard the sharp swish of the cane, and the crack as it hit, but the pain made his eyes water, and he was thrown forward, but managed to keep his balance by catching himself on the palms of his hands. If he stood up he would get extra. He blinked hard, determined not to cry. His father hated tears. But it was hard to stop the tears when the burning pain spread over him. He gave a great gushing gasp, just as the next whack came. It hurt more then the last, and made his vision blur. Orion lowered the cane. Sirius stayed where he was, in agony. The red of the carpet swam before his eyes.

"I won't have mice in my house," his father said, his voice clipped. "Dirty rotten vermin. Do you hear me, boy? No doubt you thought it a humourous jape. Where is the creature?"

"I don't know, Father, I-"

The kick made him tumble to the carpet, and he gasped in pain.

"Do not lie to me," Orion said coldly. "Where is it?"

"It must have run away," he said, his voice quavering. He thought his father would kick him again, perhaps worse, but Orion simply picked up the cane again.

"Bend."

Every stroke seemed worse than the last, until finally, after what seemed like years, he put the cane down on his desk. "You can stand."

Sirius was shaking as he got to his feet, pain burning on his skin. His eyes were watery, but he blinked quickly. Orion took his pipe from his desk and began to fill it, and, almost as though he had forgotten his son was there, said dismissively, "Go on then."

Sirius half limped from the room.

He examined himself in the bathroom before he went to bed, and was shocked to see the violet bruising already blossoming. He knew better than to ask his mother for any potion. She had an entire cabinet full of them, but they weren't allowed to stop the pain of beatings. Walburga always said that they wouldn't learn their lesson otherwise. He could hear her downstairs now in the drawing room, thumping the heavy keys of her organ. It was habitually the only noise in the silent house. There were many rooms in Number 12 Grimmauld Place, but they were empty. No children's laughter ever rang through its dark halls, and the boys would have been caned if they ever so much as rolled a gobstone down the hall.

With a sigh, Sirius changed for bed, and had only been in it for twenty minutes when there was a knock on the door. It was Regulus. His younger brother was their mother's clear favourite, mostly because he was so neat and quiet. His dark hair had been combed so thoroughly that Sirius could still see the marks, and he wore his dressing gown and slippers.

"Was it awful?" He asked anxiously. "How many strokes did you get?"

"Not many," Sirius lied. "Barely hurt at all."

His throbbing buttocks protested at the lie, but he shut the door quickly, in case their parents heard them talking.

"Where's Robert?"

Regulus opened his dressing gown, and Sirius saw a lump in his pocket and sighed with relief. Part of him had worried that Robert had met his end in one of the traps now scattered around the house or the green jets of light that had been recklessly shot from Gytha's wand until Walburga had calmed her down. Regulus would have been inconsolable. "You'd better watch him from now on," he said, thumping onto his bed and wincing slightly at the pain.

"It does hurt," Regulus said, watching him. "I should have been caned instead. I didn't close the cage properly."

"You know Father would have been harder on you."

Though Walburga favoured Regulus, Orion held a resentment for the boy Sirius had never fully understand. Perhaps it was because his wife babied him so much, or because Regulus was so quiet and gentle. Regulus stroked Robert's little furry head as it peeped out of his pocket, and Sirus shook his head. "You and that mouse," he said. "You're daft."

Regulus bit his lip. "He's my best friend," he said, in a small voice. "Sirius?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think we'll make proper friends when we go to Hogwarts?"

Sirius had deliberately been avoiding thinking of the impending doom of September, and now his stomach dropped. "Well," he said uncomfortably, playing with the fringing of his bed's hangings. "Mother wants us to."

He knew exactly what kind of friends his mother wanted him to make, friends like Evan Rosier or Tiberius Nott, friends who would ensure invites to the right parties and a good marriage down the line. His stomach twisted.

"Aren't you scared about going to Hogwarts?" Regulus persisted.

"What? No, of course not," he lied. "It's our birthright, like Father says. It'll be a laugh. We'll make tons of friends."

"The other boys never want to play with me," Regulus mumbled. "Not even Barty anymore."

Sirius ruffled his brother's perfectly combed hair. "Well, they will at Hogwarts. They'll all love us, you'll see. We're Blacks, Regulus. We're Blacks," he repeated, more confident now. "And that means we win respect."

He wasn't entirely sure who he was trying to convince anymore, but Regulus gave a small smile.