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In families such as the Blacks, tradition was important. It was the foundation of the family's pureblood survival. Some called them extremist or even the occasional inbreed; however, the family didn't dwell on the monikers from mudbloods and blood traitors. They simply preferred to be called pure- their motto wasn't Toujours Pur for nothing.
The truth was the family hasn't been pure since the 1820s when the ex-family member was born a Squib and instantly blasted off the family tree at age 11. Over the years no one knew or cared what happened to the child.
By the late 1960s, the family's pureness was hardly there. Many members had married out of the family's ways. The only reason the Blacks were still respected and seen as members of the Sacred Twenty Eight was their reputation of being ruthless and wealthy.
That ruthlessness was the reason Sirius Black III was in his bed at 6 in the afternoon. He had been caught by one of the house-elves trying to put itching powder in one of the guest room beds for the visitors the next day.
The next day was supposed to be a great dinner filled with many respectable families to find Sirius a future wife.
Sirius is dreading tomorrow night; he was only eight and girls were the last thing on his mind. He was going to put itching powder in the beds to deflect any possible suitors, but he got caught before he could.
So here he was locked in his room at 6 pm with a hollow like pain in his abdomen. His eyes grew heavy and the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake.
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He didn't remember closing his eyes let alone falling asleep. He rubbed his tired eye looking around, Sirius found his room caked in darkness. Well, that and his little brother at the side of his bed.
