[Completed]
An alchemist who poisoned himself, an assassin who stabbed his own heart, an arsonist who burned herself, and a hero who couldn't defeat his inner monster.
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( A re-enact of Hades...
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Toujours pur─────the beginning and the end, the gate of their doom, and the core artery of the Noble House of Black. It began with magic, assimilation genetic properties that immersed to their blood as part of the fates' lucky draw. Proof of uniqueness, a natural gift twisted by mortals' egoistical mind into an intoxicating mindset of superiority. The Black depicted themselves as royals, elites—the exclusivity clouded their mind with lavish pride that enhanced the line of hatred to non-magical beings. Embracing and defined muggles as profane beings.
The pride was paid early, green lights out of hatred were cast centuries-ago, a must to settle for a new beginning; Grimmauld Place number twelve London.
Shrieks, locks, and wails were muffled beyond the emerald doors and three-stories estate became the home of the noblest, darkest and mirthful family in history. It was flashy in the elite London area yet secluded from the trailing nasty eyes of muggles. Years and years later, the pride, the darkness was contained inside the estate as babies first cry and laughter began to color the said home. Apples never landed too far from the trees, and with that, the hatred and superiority were preserved from father to sons, to daughters, and the family grew agrestal inside the stolen property of Grimmauld, akin to parasite conquering its host.
The Black viewed themselves higher than anyone as if sky-high deities, with that a family tapestry had become trees of stars parade. Pollux, Cassiopea, Alphard, Arcturus, in the hope they lived up to their names. Walburga and Orion continued the tradition and passed down the weight of hundreds of years worth of responsibility to their successors, their sons; Sirius and Regulus Black.
Brothers.
Chemically, blood was stronger than anything, it was liquid of life—a sinister and divine thing that could bond one into obeying and believing the same thing. But the brothers' innocence was sculpted by beliefs and tradition; blood purity. It was blood that reunited the brothers, and it was blood too that would break their chains apart.
The elder had the narky attitude of his father far too many in his bowl, he made anyone who dared to make fun of his younger brother bawling out to their mother. While the younger boy would grin back at him, silver eyes flickered of admiration—as if he was the blueprint of heroes. Perhaps, it was this heroes-role that sprouted the savior complex inside the young wizard. The eldest had a tad too much courage and rebellions that he earned the sorting hat's yell.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Sirius Black had ignited the first of his serials of mistakes, which he had no control of. The heir broke the mindset held high by the Noble House of Black; he was not in Slytherin. Whereas Gryffindors fashioned themselves as the house of roaring lions, where the courageous soul dwelled. To Walburga Black, Sirius was no hero, not a savior but a living failure, a disgrace.
