DROP DEAD. Sirius Black

01.

THE LAWRENCE ESTATE HAD CHANGED OVER THE YEARS ONCE THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY, AUGUSTINE LAWRENCE, TOOK OVER. The house had burnt down, along with his parents and twin brother, and the Lawrence boy rebuilt it the way he wanted to. So now, with its spiralling staircases and even more gothic arches, this was a place to call home.

And it was home to Silas.

Silas Lawrence had never thought of anywhere else as home, this was where he had been born, and quietly killed, it was where his father had sewed him back together, piece by piece. Just like how he'd recreated his childhood home, piece by piece.

It should've been the Lawrence motto, Silas had thought, but his father had said it was too on the nose.

Silas slept in the biggest rooms of the manor, his dark hair a mess as he rose from another night of dreams. Though, his dreams were not the same as everyone elses. Thanks to his father and his talents for the art of necromancy as well as divination, it was passed down to his son as well. Unfortunately. Not very well. His father could see pretty clearly, through his chunks of flesh he'd claw out of dead animals, but for Silas, as he slept, all he saw was glimpses of things.

As well as the occasional feeling in his gut, which was usually right.

He stared up at the ceiling, counting the glow in the dark stars that stick randomly onto it. He had pleaded his father for them when he was a kid, having always loved the stars. He stared at them now, and smiled — he even made them into constellations for him.

He's not a spoilt child, so don't think that. He could ask and ask, and all his father would do in response would remind him that he was a gift in itself. Not in the same way as most children are gifts, born and kept breathing. That's a feat in itself.

Not being dug up from the ground to be remade.

His father had told him early on what had happened to him. He made it very clear that he must understand he would never be like the other boys. That he would be different for life and that he should never try to be the same, because it will never work, and that Silas should never ask for anything, seeing as he had brought him back to life. If he did, it was considered selfish and ungrateful.

Silas thinks this is his dads way of trying to make him feel better about himself, that he should celebrate these differences, albeit a little quietly. Seeing as the Dark Lord believes him to be dead, and that Silas is the twin that never was.

He grabs his dressing gown and exits his bedroom after feeling the hunger make itself known deep within the pit of his stomach.

He plods down the stairs with a yawn leaving his lips and a rub at his grey eyes.

His moment of peace doesn't entirely last very long. His leg freezes up, like always, causing him to clutch it in pain, leaning onto the railing for support. He squeezes his eyes shut, just for a moment, then the pain is gone. He opens them suddenly, letting out a gasp and he's slightly lightheaded, but other than that, fine.

He must tell his father about it.

He makes it to the kitchen staggering and takes out a bowl. He opens the cupboard clutching onto it for support.

"where's my cereal?"

yelling loud enough so that his voice carries to the man he calls his father from his study downstairs in the basement.

"Right here."

Another voice says causing him to jump lightly, almost forgetting that someone else lives with them, he rubs his leg once more before turning to see a stocky brunette man with a grin holding a box of cheerios.