This story is also posted on a xanga that goes by the name of Mischievous(underscore)Marauders, so don't be alarmed if you see it there. I posted it.

I have a few thank yous for this one:

Thank you Meli, for helping me make this story better, and suggesting to listen to Evanescence while you read - it really does add a cool effect!

Thank you Super Shayde, for writing "Only Cowards Cry". That poem helped me out a lot.

And last but not least, thank you my Moony, for making me write this in the first place.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.

Run Away

Sirius walked through the streets alone, his back hunched over due to the heavy trunk he was dragging behind him. The rain pounded down on his shoulders, painfully beating him like a boxer with no mercy. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his left cheek, he trudged on, determined to distance himself from what used to be called his home.

"Stop seeing those young men."

"But they're my friends!"

"It doesn't matter. A Black should never be seen in such company."

He vigorously shook his head to get their voices out, spraying water everywhere in the process. They didn't matter anymore; why should he listen to them?

Continuing his pace, he silently trekked through the quiet, dark streets of London, hoping that he would not run into any Muggles. He didn't want to have to explain a trunk full of spell books and a broomstick to the police; that was for sure. He didn't think they would quite understand his situation.

What kind of Muggle would sympathize with a sixteen year old who was just thrown out of his house for being friends with people who weren't purebloods?

Sirius let out a low growl, a warning that his patience was wearing thin. He watched with annoyance as his father served himself a glass of brandy, sipping it once before calmly placing it on the dark wooden table beside him.

"Why does it matter who I'm seen with? Why should anyone care?" Sirius inquired boldly, holding his head up high.

"Because," said his father impatiently, sounding as if he was explaining something very simple to a stubborn child, "we are a part of the most ancient and noble House of Black. We have certain standards to uphold."

"Apparently, that standard includes unfairly labeling most of the world as inferior," he spat.

"Precisely!" shrieked his mother, clutching a lace handkerchief to her chest so tightly her knuckles were white. "You were born into this family, and with that honour - "

"'Honour?'" repeated Sirius scathingly. "Since when is being in this family any sort of honour?"

The rain was coming down harder by the minute, not only adding strain to his neck and shoulder blades, but also blurring his vision. He could barely see a foot in front of him, let alone where he was. He was lost.

"Fuck!" he yelled, dropping the trunk roughly onto the concrete and throwing his broomstick on top of it. Roaring, he kicked his trunk repeatedly before seizing his broomstick and beating the trunk with the thin wooden instrument.

His father's eyes were narrowed into thin black slits, his irritation beginning to show through.

"As long as you are a part of this family," he said, enunciating each word, "you will follow its rules."

"And what if I don't want to be a part of this family anymore?"

After a couple of minutes of this, the rain wore him down and Sirius found himself slumped down next to the trunk, gasping for breath and holding the broomstick limply in his right hand. His left cheek was pulsing quite painfully now, but he didn't have the strength to lift his hand and touch it.

There was a ringing silence as the words hung in the air.

"W-what did you just say?" breathed his mother furiously, her nostrils flaring.

"You heard me," Sirius replied brazenly, gaining more and more confidence.

"Why…why you…" She dropped her handkerchief, flexing her fingers as if they were itching to wrap themselves around Sirius's throat. Noticing, he whisked his wand out of his pocket. The look of loathing in her eyes deepened.

Sighing in exhaustion, Sirius unwillingly pushed himself back up, using the trunk as support. Lazily taking his broomstick in his right hand and trunk handle in his left, he continued toward what he hoped was north.

Suddenly, he heard a scraping sound. Whipping out his wand and ignoring the crick in his neck the rapid movement caused, he searched blindly in the rain for whoever had caused the noise, fervently wishing that he could use magic.

"Are you going to hex us, too?" said a voice from behind Sirius.

Turning around, he saw Regulus leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a slight scowl on his face.

Frowning, he saw nothing. Slowly putting his wand back in his pocket, he gave the street one last suspicious look before plowing on.

"What do you want, Regulus?" asked Sirius, trying to keep his voice civil. This was his little brother; sure, he wasn't known for defending him against their family, but Regulus had never really attacked him, either.

"Do you really want to leave the family, Sirius?" he asked quietly.

Sirius looked away; he couldn't bear to look his brother in the eye.

The rain had gotten worse, something Sirius hadn't thought possible. The temperature dropped, bringing an unseasonably cold wind and more than a few hailstones. They pelted his head and arms, as if punishing him.

Suddenly, a strangled cry came from his mother and he jerked his head up, surprised. Eyes wide, she staggered over to her youngest son and embraced him.

"Why can't you be more like Regulus?" she cried, stroking her boy's hair. Sirius had to quell the flame of anger threatening to overcome him; when was the last time she ever held him like that?

"Sirius, you should think long and hard about the consequences of your actions," said his father seriously, lifting the cup of brandy off of the table and pointing it at Sirius.

"I have," said Sirius in a hard voice, closing his eyes in attempt to calm down, "and I do not want to be a part of this arrogant, reclusive, biased, melodramatic family any longer!"

"Leave me alone," he muttered, cursing his memory. "Go away, I'm not a part of you anymore."

The rain fell harder.

There was a loud crack, then a sharp jolt of pain. Sirius froze, eyes wide open in shock, trying to register what had happened. Slowly, he raised his hand to his left cheek and gingerly touched it. With each passing second, the pain grew more and more. Unwillingly, he looked up.

His mother was standing in front of him, her arm still in the air, shaking with anger.

Blindly stumbling through the dark streets, he hoped that he was going the right way. He stumbled and fell a few times, the left side of his face burning along with the stinging in his palms which had been scraped against the concrete to break his fall. He ignored the pain and kept going.

"Leave this house," she whispered furiously, her eyes bright. "You are no longer my son."

Sirius gaped at her, the world frozen in time.

"I - "

"LEAVE!" she shrieked, grabbing a nearby vase and hurling it at him. He ducked, and it shattered against a wall. "LEAVE THIS HOUSE!"

"Forget them, they're nothing to you," he told himself, trying to fight down the urge to throw his things down and cry. "They don't care about you, so you don't care about them. You know better people."

He looked to his father, wondering what his reaction to all this was. When Sirius caught his eye, he simply averted his gaze and took another sip of brandy.

"Father?" he said cautiously.

"Don't call me that anymore," he said sternly, still refusing to look at him. "I only have one son, and his name is Regulus."

The trunk's handle was digging into his hand rather painfully, and he felt a warm, thick liquid start to flow from his palm that definitely wasn't rain.

Turning, he glanced at his younger brother. He was looking at the floor with a stoic expression.

"Regulus?" he ventured.

"Go away, Sirius," he said in a soft voice. He raised his head and met his older brother's eyes. "You're not welcome here anymore."

He growled as he stopped and checked his left hand; it was bleeding. He kicked open his trunk, forgetting that everything would get wet, and rummaged through it before finding an old pair of socks. He closed the trunk with his foot as he wrapped his wounded hand, wincing. When he finished, he took a hold of his belongings and kept on going.

He had expected a surge of pride, a rush of freedom, when he finally left the house, but instead he felt his heart jump and stomach swoosh, as if he had missed a step going down the stairs.

And as suddenly as the feeling of despair had come, it was replaced with a sheer and utter sense of loathing.

"Thank God," he snapped, stomping out of the room and up the stairs. "Thank God I get to leave this hell hole."

He packed his trunk in silence, throwing in everything he would need for school and a few items he couldn't bear to leave behind. Grabbing his broomstick and dragging his trunk out of the room, he looked back through the threshold. This would probably be the last time he ever saw this room.

"May it be the last" he muttered, and slammed the door shut behind him.

Time passed; Sirius didn't know how long he had been walking – if it had been an hour, two, or five. Finally, the rain started to let up, and he could see where he was. Looking around, he was pleased to see that he had indeed been going in the right direction, and was now in familiar territory.

He trudged on, his spirits a little higher.

When he got downstairs, he saw that everyone was in the sitting room, acting as if nothing had happened. His disgust for his family intensified.

He wrenched open the door so hard it ricocheted against the wall. Throwing his trunk out into the street, he turned back one last time, taking in the place that he had once called home.

"Good riddance," he mumbled, quietly closing the door behind him.

At long last, he was there. Dragging his trunk up to the front door, he rang the doorbell and waited, slightly giddy but still rather sober from the night's events.

A few minutes passed, and then the sound of someone running down the stairs. The door flew open and there was his best friend, James Potter, looking surprised and a bit disheveled.

"Sirius?" he said incredulously. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" Then he noticed the trunk and broomstick.

"What happened?" James asked, a concerned but puzzled look on his face as his eyes traveled back and forth from Sirius to his luggage.

"Can I stay here tonight?" Sirius asked in a hoarse voice.