SEPTEMBER 2, 1971
Sirius woke early, before sunrise from the looks of it, but that was hardly unusual. He'd always been an early riser. If he actually thought about it, he'd probably say it had something to do with finding sanctuary in the early hours of the morning. Before sunrise, all the responsibilities that rested on the shoulders of the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black seemed to fade into nothing.
Next to him, separated by a pillow, Remus Lupin snored softly. His lips parted, the top lip nicked by a tiny scar, and his eyes fluttered in a dream. The scars that lined his face seemed paler, too, silvery amongst the splattering of Remus's constellation of freckles. It was mesmerizing, really, Remus's face. More so than anything Sirius had yet seen at Hogwarts.
Despite himself, despite knowing the pain it would cause him, Sirius suddenly found himself wanting to touch, to trace the scars with his fingers, and perhaps once more beg Remus to tell him where they came from.
Shaking his head, mostly to clear it, Sirius stretched and stood, praying Remus wouldn't wake up. Remus didn't stir, so Sirius grabbed fresh clothes and made his way to the showers.
There were seven shower stalls flanking one wall, paralleled by seven toilet stalls on the opposite wall. Against the back wall, seven sinks and mirrors, as well as a closet full of towels. Sirius walked straight to the back of the room and pulled off his robes from yesterday. They were creased and wrinkled from sleeping in them, but they ironed out with a simple flick of his wrist. He unbuttoned his shirt and then stopped, staring at his reflection in the mirror.
Absently, Sirius traced the Toujours Pur, in his mother's handwriting, right above his heart.
He'd cried, when his mother carved the tattoo into his chest with her wand and the blood spell. It hadn't even hurt, but he'd cried anyway.
Eight years old, and he'd been marked for House Black forever.
Even back then, a part of him raged against the fate his parents had already written for him.
Sirius couldn't allow anyone in Gryffindor to see the tattoo. James Potter would know what it meant immediately. Remus, too, on a basic level. Remus spoke French, so although he probably wouldn't understand all the magical implications, a child branded with "Always pure" isn't exactly inspiring.
If he saw the tattoo, Remus would understand, once and for all, that Sirius was cursed and will remain cursed, no matter how much Remus might not want to believe it.
Sirius almost sobbed, but this time, he didn't allow himself to cry. He'd cried enough.
He was Gryffindor.
Now, he had to face the consequences, cursed or not.
When Sirius came back into the dormitory, fully dressed, he stubbed his toe on the poster of his bed. "Salazar's—fuck!"
On his bed, Remus jolted upright. Bleary and confused amber eyes looked about the room, almost on the verge of panic, until they landed on Sirius. His curly hair stuck out in all directions and there was an imprint of Sirius's pillow on Remus's cheek, right between his scars.
Remus blinked a few times. Then, seeming to realize where he was, Remus let out a moan. "Wha' time is it?"
Sirius cast a look at the other beds, praying James and Peter were sleeping in a bit more. Peter, for his part, was curled in the fetal position, snoring loudly, while the hangings on James's bed remained resolutely shut.
"It's about six thirty," Sirius said, glancing at the window. The sky was a pale grey and sun was just starting to think about rising. He'd been up for almost an hour already. "Breakfast won't start until seven."
"Merlin, Sirius, why are you up so early?" Remus moaned into his pillow.
Sirius just shrugged and opened his trunk. "Figured I'd get a head-start on the day. Nip down to breakfast to see if there's any letters waiting."
Plus, the fewer people heard the Howler his mother would undoubtedly send, the better. He didn't need to be the talk of the school on his first day. If he was going to be the subject of gossip at Hogwarts, he was damn well going to do it on his own terms.
Remus let out another long moan and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He tried to stretch, but was interrupted by an enormous yawn.
Sirius gave him a look. "You can go back to bed, if you want."
"No," Remus said, stifling the tail-end of his yawn. "I'm up. Lemme get dressed and I'll come with you."
"You don't have to—"
Remus glared at him. There was still crust in the corners of his eyes, but his gaze was as sharp as ever. "I'm coming, Sirius."
Damn, Sirius thought. He had hoped to keep the wrath of Walburga Black under wraps for more than a day. He could only hope that Remus would keep it to himself and not tell James and Peter.
"Alright," Sirius said, with a wave of his hand.
He reached into his trunk and pulled out the Slytherin scarf and tie his mother had selected at Madam Malkin's. He set both of them on the bed next to Remus.
Remus glanced between the scarf and tie and Sirius. "Bold fashion choice," he said. "Though, I'm not sure the color suits you."
Sirius smirked. "My thoughts exactly."
He waved his hands, his magic once again dancing between his fingers, and suddenly, the silver and green melted into gold and crimson.
"Impressive," Remus said, stifling another yawn. "How long will that last?"
"Not sure," Sirius said. "Transfiguring one color to another is pretty simple, really, but I've always been forced to reverse the spell before it wears off."
Remus's eyes began to droop a bit as Sirius talked, but scrubbed a hand over his face and stood. He stumbled a bit, but righted himself. "Right, then." He gave another look at Sirius's scarf and tie. "Best not let them turn back to green. Green doesn't seem to be a popular color around here."
Sirius huffed. "Understatement."
He wrapped the long, gold and crimson scarf around his neck all the same.
The Great Hall was almost empty when Remus and Sirius walked in, save for a few older Ravenclaws, who all had their noses buried in books. Breakfast still didn't start for another ten minutes and the charmed ceiling still showed the early moments of sunrise.
Next to him, Remus yawned, his scars crinkling all across his face as he did so. Remus stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck, following Sirius to the end of the Gryffindor table. Remus plopped down across from him and immediately laid his head on the table. Two seconds later, Sirius swore he heard a snore.
"You're really not a morning person, are you?" he asked.
Remus blinked up at him and lifted his head to rest on his folded arms. "No," he said, rather grumpily. "I'd prefer it if six o'clock in the morning would remain a theoretical concept to me. But you—" He gave Sirius a stern look. "—You're quite... chipper."
Sirius laughed. "Most nights, sleep is a theoretical concept to me," he said, hiding a grimace. He was used to nightmares and insomnia. "Mornings are a welcome interruption."
Remus frowned. "You slept fine last night."
Sirius shrugged. Honestly, he was rather confused by that fact, too, given everything that had happened the day before. "Some nights are better, I guess." He risked a glance directly into Remus's eyes. "Thanks for staying, by the way."
"You'd do the same if I were hurting," Remus said, through a yawn, then stopped, his brain seeming to register what he'd said. "I mean—Christ."
Sirius was rather taken aback. How could Remus have sounded so sure about that? How could he assume that Sirius was good enough, decent enough, to stop and—
"I would," he said, before he could think too much more. "Of course I would, Remus. I mean, you don't know me from Adam, but I'm your friend, so yes. I'd stay with you if you're hurt."
He meant it. Every goddamned word, he meant it, though he prayed he'd never have to see Remus hurt. A boy like Remus didn't deserve to be hurt. Clearly, from the scars on his face, he'd suffered enough as is.
Remus gave him a sad smile, and if Sirius looked closely, he'd swear he saw tears glistening in those amber eyes. "Thanks," he said, his voice quiet. He sat up a little straighter. "Looks like you're Gryffindor after all."
Merlin, that terrified him.
As the clocks struck seven, more students trickled in, but, much to Sirius's relief, James and Peter were not yet among them. Lily Evans, however, with her hair messy and eyes a bit bloodshot, stormed in and sat down, right next to Remus, keeping her back to the rest of the Hall.
"Morning," Remus muttered.
Lily ignored him and, instead, glared at Sirius.
Sirius, for his part, was a bit thrown by the intensity of those green eyes. "Um, hi," he said, while Lily continued to attempt to bore a hole through his skull. "Can I... help you?" he asked, figuring it was best to shoot for decorum.
"I know you were there, too," Lily snapped. "Severus told me."
"I—what?"
"On the train," she clarified. A lock of red hair fell in her face and Lily quickly blew it out of the way. "Severus said you were with James Potter, tormenting the Slytherins, but Malfoy said you weren't involved in the slightest. But you were. Severus said you were. You and James hurt him and—"
"Hey!" Sirius snapped, shifting in his seat and leaning over the table a bit. "Malfoy and Cissa were tormenting this... this Snivellus—"
"Severus."
Sirius huffed. "Fine. Severus. Malfoy and my horrid cousin shoved him to the floor and Malfoy kicked him, just because he was in their way. James hexed Malfoy for it—made his clothes disappear, quite brilliantly, if I may say so, never seen such a pale twat—"
"Sirius," Remus hissed. "Make your point."
"Right," Sirius said. "Then Cissa tried to stun James, he tried to block it, and it backfired a bit and hit Severus."
Lily's face scrunched up. "But—"
"Look," Sirius cut her off. "Whatever happened, it wasn't James Potter's fault. It was those damn Slytherins. They started it, not us."
"That's not what Severus told me," Lily said.
"Then he lied!" Sirius shot back. "Or he told you exactly what Malfoy told him to say. Either way, it wasn't our fault!"
"Severus is my friend!" Lily snapped. "He wouldn't lie to me. Besides, even in your own story, James Potter threw the first hex. You started it."
"Yes, fine. We started it because Malfoy was torturing Snivellus!"
"Severus!"
"We were trying to help."
"Potter knocked him unconscious!"
"By accident!"
"Then you turned half the train to ice!"
"Okay, well, that wasn't so much of an accident as it was a poorly conceived escape plan, I'll cop to that, but the rest wasn't our fault."
Lily was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward, a scowl on her face. "If you admit to turning the train to ice, then you were involved. So why is James Potter in trouble and you're not?"
Sirius looked away. "That's the question, isn't it?" he muttered.
Lily, however, seemed to already have an answer. "I don't care what the reason is or what Malfoy says, you don't get to get away with it just because of your name, Black. Whatever you do, just make it right, you arrogant prat."
With that, Lily stood and marched off to the other end of the table.
As she stood, food materialized in ornate serving dishes between Sirius and Remus. Remus, not hesitating for a second, reached for the tea and poured himself a cup, before pouring a coup for Sirius.
Sirius huffed and accepted the tea, taking a sip of it without bothering with cream or sugar. "Make it right, she says," he muttered. "Merlin's beard, she says it like it's that easy."
Remus was quiet for a moment, before he said, "Maybe it is easy"
Sirius looked him over. "It really wasn't our fault, Remus. We didn't mean to take out her friend."
"I believe you," Remus said. "I do, Sirius. Whatever you decide, I'll still believe you."
Just then, a swarm of owls flew in and Sirius's felt his stomach sink. It was barely seven in the morning and Sirius was already emotionally exhausted. He wasn't particularly looking forward to his mother's Howler. In fact, he was half tempted to leave the hall, march back to the dormitories, draw the hangings on his bed, and not come out until next Christmas.
But he was Gryffindor. He was supposed to be brave.
The same brown owl he'd used last night swooped down and perched on Sirius's shoulder, dropping three letters on the table in front of him. Much to his surprise, there were no red envelopes amongst them. Perhaps his mother hadn't heard the news, after all? Sirius could only dare hope.
"What's wrong?" Remus asked, seeing his expression.
"I was—um." Sirius paused, feeling himself flush a bit. "I was sort of expecting a Howler."
"A Howler?"
"Yeah," Sirius said. "Big, red envelope that screams at you and explodes if you don't open it. My mother's quite fond of them."
Remus looked a little confused. "And you thought she'd send you one for—oh."
"Being sorted into Gryffindor? Yeah."
Remus didn't have anything else to say to that. He reached for a plate and scooped himself a large serving of bacon.
Sirius grabbed the first letter—Andromeda's, by the handwriting, and thank Merlin for that—and opened it.
Siri,
Merlin! I thought I was the rebellious one in the family, what with my involvement with Feathers and all, but Gryffindor?! I do believe a proper congratulations is in order. Never much pegged you for a snake, anyway. You'll do brilliant, Sirius.
I know you must be terrified, given the circumstances, so if you want to meet me, I'd be happy to help you come with a strategy for coping with... everything. I'm staying a few days in Hogsmeade with Feathers, and will be up at Hagrid's hut tomorrow around noon, for lunch. I'd be happy to meet with you, then, if you would like to discuss things further.
I've got your back, Sirius. I always have. I'm ruddy proud of you, for sticking it to the Black family traditions like that.
Hope to see you tomorrow,
Andromeda
He read the letter through twice, rather surprised. Never much pegged you for a snake, anyway. Andromeda hadn't thought he belonged in Slytherin, after all. It was just an accepted fact in his family and she'd gone along with it.
Sirius felt an odd sense of relief wash over him. Andromeda was the person who probably knew him best, after Regulus. If she was proud of him, thought he belonged—if Remus thought he belonged—well. Whatever his mother may or may not have to say about how he was sorted suddenly seemed to matter a lot less than it had immediately after his Sorting.
Remus continued to munch on his bacon. Sirius took another swig of his tea before tearing into the second letter. This time, he didn't recognize the handwriting.
Mr. Black,
I'm afraid I seem to have missed the opportunity to introduce myself last night after the Sorting, a slight for which I would like to offer my most sincere apology.
I've known your parents for many, many years, as well as your aunt and uncle, and consider all four of them dear friends and close confidants. Your cousins, Bellatrix and Andromeda, were some of my finest students and, I'm sure, mentioned the mentorship I offered them on many occasions. I'm so glad to hear of Bellatrix's engagement to Lestrange—another one of my favorites, dear lad—and could not be prouder of her accomplishments.
It would be a great honor to get to know you as well, my boy, and I would like to cordially invite you to a small dinner gathering I'm having this Friday night, in my office. Your cousin, Narcissa, Lucius Malfoy, as well as another first year by the name of Michealo Avery will also be in attendance. I do hope to see you there as well.
Best regards,
Professor Horace Slughorn
Sirius grimaced. Immediately, after reading that, he knew why Andromeda hadn't ever mentioned Slughorn, despite what Slughorn apparently chose to believe. Slughorn, it seemed, was quite interested in the connections offered by certain families.
Sirius didn't particularly care to be collected on the basis of his name alone. Everyone, save for Remus, seemed to see him only as a Black, only as an heir to a long, pure-blood line: one with traditions and ideals, the least of which involved branding children at the age of eight.
The Hat had warned him about this, of course, and Sirius had known it even before he'd gone and gotten himself sorted into Gryffindor. Wizards both feared and revered the Black name. For some, like Slughorn, that reverence morphed into an opportunity for social advancement. For others, like James Potter, the Black name was synonymous with everything wrong with pure-blood families.
For Sirius, his goddamned name was the same as the fate already written for him. A fate he was certain he didn't want.
The last letter, naturally, was unmarked. It didn't even bear his name. He wondered, momentarily, if it had actually been intended for someone else, so he picked it up and—
Searing pain shot across his abdomen. He thought for a second that his ribs had snapped once more, but no. This felt different, more itching, oozing, burning—
Sirius let out a moan and bent over.
Remus's eyes snapped away from his breakfast. "Sirius? What's wrong?"
Remus reached for the letter.
"NO!" Sirius snatched it away, before Remus could be cursed as well.
Remus pulled his hand back. "What?"
"It's—" He gestured to the letter in his hand. "It's, ah. From my mother." Sirius grit his teeth, holding back another moan of pain.
"Are you okay? I smell..." Remus snapped his mouth shut.
Had he been about to say blood?
"I'm fine," Sirius managed.
Remus leaned forward and lowered his voice. "The letter's cursed."
It wasn't a question.
For a second, Sirius considered lying. There were certain... consequences for letting his mother's cruelty be widely known, but it would seem Remus had already deduced the truth.
Slowly, Sirius nodded. "Boils, I think. On my stomach."
Remus's nostrils flared. "We should get you to the hospital wing. We'll say it was one of the Slytherins who cursed you. Madam Pomfrey will help and—"
"No, Remus."
"What? Why not?"
"It'll wear off."
Really, he couldn't risk this getting out. He was still half relieved that his mother hadn't sent a Howler. He wasn't about to go to the hospital wing when, underneath the boils, there were still purple bruises from his mother's last punishment, let alone the tattoo that would forever brand him a fanatic. Sirius didn't need that kind of scrutiny, not when he was supposed to be doing everything in his power to distance himself from every assumption other wizards had about people bearing his name.
The boils, at least, he could deal with on his own. The pain was a solitary experience, and if Remus hadn't been here, then no one else would have had to know about it. It was the best possible scenario, though he wasn't about to explain to Remus why he greatly preferred boils to a Howler.
Remus opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Sirius beat him to it. "I'm fine, Remus. I swear. Curses like this won't last long after the source is destroyed. I'll burn the letter, and I'll be fine."
Remus held his gaze, then nodded. "Are you going to read it first?"
Honestly, he hadn't intended to, but with Remus looking at him like that, he supposed he'd better.
Sirius broke the seal. Two words stared back at him.
BLOOD TRAITOR.
Sirius felt himself go pale.
Blood traitor.
Sirius remembered what Regulus had said to Auclair—how he'd tormented Auclair first. The Blacks couldn't even stand to be touched by blood traitors.
Merlin, Regulus was going to hate him.
Blood traitor was a self-fulfilling prophecy. Even if his mother didn't burn him off the tapestry for this offense, she would eventually, down the road, for some other slight, for some other betrayal.
He knew exactly what his mother meant.
Sirius Black was no longer the heir.
He was the subject of a fate yet to be fulfilled.
Regulus was going to fucking hate him.
He squeezed his eyes shut. His breath came out in short, rapid bursts and invisible fingers tightened around his heart.
"Sirius?" Remus prompted quietly.
Sirius opened his eyes and held his breath, staring right back into Remus's amber eyes. He set the letter down on the table between them and watched Remus read the words.
"What's it mean?" Remus asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "I mean, I have a pretty good idea—James said his whole family were blood traitors to yours—but..." He trailed off, not quite sure how to finish his question.
"A blood traitor is a pure-blood," he said, his voice far more calm than he felt. Sirius took a deep breath and started again. "A blood traitor is a pure-blooded wizard, who's either got some Muggle blood somewhere in his family tree, like the Potters, or one who willingly associates with Muggle-borns and half-bloods. Anyone who's not strictly pure-blood, really. A blood traitor is someone who betrayed his name and his station."
"Oh," Remus said, looking down into his empty cup of tea.
"It doesn't matter," Sirius said, even though it did. (Of course it did. Regulus was going to hate him, of course it fucking mattered.) "It doesn't matter, Remus," he said again, forcibly this time, as if the dichotomy of it all wasn't eating him alive already. "They're wrong. There're ignorant and stupid for thinking that bloodlines matter like that. It should be about your choices, not your parents."
That, at least, he wanted to believe, more so, perhaps, than he'd ever wanted to believe anything.
Remus just nodded, slowly looking up again to meet Sirius's eyes.
Sirius flicked his wrist and his mother's letter burned up between them. The boils on his chest eased up, stopped oozing at least, though they didn't disappear completely. He guessed he'd probably have to deal with them the rest of the day.
"So," Remus said, snagging another slice of bacon. Sirius was grateful for the subject change. "Looks like we've got Transfiguration first, with McGonagall. Reckon you'll be quite good at that."
Sirius scoffed. "Just the wandless stuff. I need to practice more spells while using my wand." His wand, as it was, was dying. It was a bit finicky, to say the least, and Sirius wasn't entirely sure he trusted it not to backfire after every spell he cast.
They carried on a casual conversation, for the better part of an hour. Both Sirius and Remus were excited about Defense Against the Dark Arts (a subject to which Sirius's parents were vehemently opposed) and both had opted to take an extra hour of Ancient Runes, on top of their five other classes. Neither had opted for Divination.
James and Peter strolled into the dining hall about fifteen minutes before the end of breakfast. James pointedly ignored Sirius and went instead to sit by Lily and the other first year girls. However, from what Sirius could tell, Lily snapped something at James and he and Peter retreated, once more forced to sit by Sirius and Remus.
Sirius promptly shut up and took great interest in his tea cup, not bothering to say anything to James or Peter for the remainder of breakfast.
McGonagall was not in the room when the first year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs trickled into the Transfiguration classroom. Sirius sat on the bench seat next to Remus.
James and Peter sat behind them. "Slytherins have Transfiguration tomorrow, Black," James hissed.
Sirius flushed red and turned, but Remus reached out a hand. Seeing it, Sirius quickly jerked out of reach.
Remus sent him an apologetic look. "Sorry. I forgot," he whispered. "But just ignore him. He's just upset. He probably doesn't mean it."
Sirius wasn't so sure about that, but took his seat and kept his back to James all the same.
A silver and black tabby cat jumped onto McGonagall's desk and began licking its front paw.
Remus tilted his head, looked at the cat, curious, then leaned forward a bit. "No way," he said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Sirius didn't get a chance to ask Remus what he was on about, before the cat on the desk began to grow and shift, its fur retracting and bones reshaping in one fluid movement, until Professor McGonagall stood before them.
Sirius felt his jaw drop. There's not a whole lot of magic out there with which Sirius Black was unfamiliar—including varying degrees of Dark Magic—but he'd never seen anyone do that before.
Amidst gasps of awe and reverence, the class applauded. McGonagall smiled graciously and gave a slight bow. "Welcome to Transfiguration," she said. "Here, you will learn to change things from one form to another, not just in shape, but in essence, from the most basic—" She tapped an inkwell on her desk and it transformed into a hummingbird. "—to, should you desire and should you posses a great deal of skill, the most complicated transfiguration a witch or wizard can manage: that of an Animagus form."
Sirius's hand shot up.
McGonagall seemed rather surprised, as if she was not used to first years interrupting her opening lectures. "Yes, what is it, Mr. Black?" she said curtly.
"How do you become an Animagus, Professor?" he asked.
"Well," McGonagall said. "That is magic far beyond a first year, I'm sure. A majority of adult witches and wizards are not capable of performing the tasks required for Animagus transformation, and those that pursue the change spend many years in rigorous study before they earn their license. You need not worry about this for many years, Mr. Black." She turned her attention back to the entire class. "Now, this year in Transfiguration—"
"Yes, but—" Sirius said, before he could stop himself.
McGonagall glared at him. "Do you have something you'd like to contribute, Mr. Black?"
"How do you actually become an Animagus?"
"As I said," McGonagall began, her patience clearly reaching its limit. "It takes many years of study for—"
"Yes, but how do you do it?"
McGonagall glared at him.
"Surely you'd know, Professor," Sirius said. "Seeing as you are an Animagus, after all."
McGonagall's lips formed a thin line. "Mr. Black," she said, her voice calm and measured, "if you would like to teach this class, by all means, continue with your interruption."
Sirius's face scrunched up, offended. "But I was just—"
"Otherwise," McGonagall snapped, "I, for one, will not tolerate this kind of disrespect in my classroom."
"It was a question," Sirius huffed.
"Ten points from Gryffindor," McGonagall said. "Between you and Mr. Potter, I think this is the first time in recent memory Gryffindor has started the term with negative points. Another word out of you before you leave this classroom, save for the spell we shall be learning today, Mr. Black, and it'll be detention."
Sirius glared at her, but swallowed his protests. He knew better than to contradict an authority figure, especially in front of a group of people. If she forbade him from speaking, then fine. It's not like he expected her lesson to be particularly difficult anyway. He could shut up for an hour.
Remus gave him a sympathetic shrug, but that was about it. Sirius folded his hands on his desk and put his head down, his eyes fixed on McGonagall, and the tails of his scarf laying across his back.
"Now," McGonagall said, righting herself. "Transfiguration is a dangerous, complex form of magic, and I will not tolerate misuse of magic or—" She glanced at Sirius. "—insubordination in my classroom. Am I understood?"
The class nodded. A few students voiced their assent. Sirius scowled.
"I believe in a practical approach when teaching magic, so today you'll be transfiguring a thistle into a rose. It is a relatively simple transfiguration, given that the original form and the intended form are both plants, but it does require a certain amount of finesse. You will be graded on both your technique and the final result. You'll find the spell and the wand motion on page nineteen of your textbooks. Begin," McGonagall said. She flicked her wand at a vase full of ugly, purple thistles, and they floated out and landed on the desks, one per student.
Sirius and Remus both fished their transfiguration textbooks out of their bags. Remus's copy was clearly second-hand and was very nearly falling apart. When Remus thumbed to page nineteen, it appeared to have been ripped out. Without really thinking about it, Sirius shoved his brand new book towards Remus, already opened to the page.
Remus flushed red. "No, you don't have to—"
Sirius glared at him. Then, without looking from Remus's eyes, he flicked his wrist at his thistle and it levitated off his desk, immediately transforming into a beautiful red rose.
Remus's eyes went wide.
McGonagall, on the other hand, was not amused. "With your wand, Mr. Black!" she shouted. She then flicked her wand and his rose turned right back into a thistle and landed with a plop on his desk. "I will not have you showing off in my classroom!"
Sirius sneered at her, but took out his wand. It was so bloody unfair, the way she was treating him. He hadn't done anything, save for ask a question to which he genuinely wanted to know the answer.
Andromeda always said that the teachers played favorites, even though, strictly speaking, they weren't supposed to, and she'd repeatedly told him that, as Head of Gryffindor House, McGonagall was no exception. Clearly, however, she did not favor him.
Sirius would put Galleons on the fact that McGonagall thought the Hat had made a mistake, that like James Potter, she clearly thought that all Blacks belonged in Slytherin.
He couldn't help but hate her a little bit for it.
Sirius glared at the thistle in front of him, then looked at his wand. He knew that no matter how closely he mimicked the movement described in the textbook, whatever he managed to conjure with his wand wouldn't look nearly as flawless as the rose he'd made without it. His wand had a mind of its own, after all, and had never strictly obeyed him since he'd cast the Cruciatus curse.
He leaned a little closer to Remus to glance at the textbook, then pretended to practice the wand movement. He kept an eye on McGonagall, waiting for her to turn her back so he could cast the spell without a wand once more, but she seemed to be onto him and always kept one eye on him in return. At this rate, there was almost no way to cast the wandless spell without her noticing.
Next to him, Remus sat up straight and practiced the wand movement. When he kept getting it wrong, Sirius tapped the desk to get his attention, then demonstrated proper form. A few more tries, Remus had it down, and muttered the spell, pointing his wand at the thistle. The thistle grew petals, faded to red, and morphed into a perfect rose.
"Well done, Mr. Lupin!" McGonagall exclaimed. "Ten points to Gryffindor, for being the first to successfully complete the transfiguration."
McGonagall seemed proud, as she scrutinized Remus's rose and held it out for the rest of the class to see.
Remus, on the other hand, seemed quite embarrassed. He sent an apologetic look at Sirius and slouched a little in his seat.
Ten minutes to the end of the lesson, most of the other students had managed to transform their thistles into roses, with the exception of Peter, who had accidentally set his thistle on fire, thus earning a stern lecture from McGonagall and zero points.
Sirius, though, had yet to even attempt the spell with his wand. He knew he could do it, at least in theory, perfectly, but the unpredictable temperament of his wand was another matter entirely. He waited until he was the only student left, then, with McGonagall's full attention on him, Sirius flicked his wand at his thistle and muttered the spell.
The thistle turned into a rose alright, but it was black and shriveled and dead.
Sirius flushed bright red, whether in embarrassment or anger at the whole situation, he wasn't quite sure.
McGonagall strolled over and picked up the dead rose. She frowned. "Full marks for technique, Mr. Black. Zero for the end result."
He rolled his eyes. Honestly, it was the best he could have hoped for.
McGonagall turned her attention back to the class. "For next class, I want a two foot essay on the varying techniques of transfiguring the essences of objects that have similar forms to begin with. Good day." The bell rang and she disappeared into her office at the back of the classroom.
Sirius sighed. They had History of Magic next, followed by lunch. In all honesty, he was a bit relieved. He needed a bit of reprieve from everyone and everything right now. He pulled his textbook back from Remus's side of the desk and tucked it into his bag.
Next to him, Remus stood and drew in a sharp breath. "Christ, Sirius, your scarf!" he hissed.
Sirius glanced down. Half of the scarf had faded back into green and silver, while the other half remained gold and crimson. He flicked his wrist and it flushed back to Gryffindor colors, but not, unfortunately, before James Potter saw it.
"Ha!" James said, coming to stand in front of Sirius's desk. Peter stood behind him, looking sheepish and a little bit bored. "Knew it. You're bloody Slytherin, Black!"
"James, just leave it," Remus said, sounding tired.
James turned to Remus. "Give him a week, Lupin. He won't even be speaking to you. He can't stand to look at any of us."
Sirius just glared at James, but refused to say anything.
"Speaking of," James said, drawing his wand, "Slytherins don't have Transfiguration until tomorrow. I expect you can wait here for your housemates to rescue you." James muttered a spell and flicked his wand at Sirius. "Come on, Pete," James said, and the two of them left.
Sirius tried to stand, but found he rather couldn't. His eyes went wide, in sudden panic.
Fucking James Potter.
Remus, seeing Sirius's expression, slid back into the seat next to him. "Are you stuck?"
Sirius scowled and nodded. He waved his hand over his lap, praying it would undo the charm, but nothing happened.
"Merlin, let me try," Remus said, and drew his wand.
Sirius glared at him and took out Remus's ballpoint from his pocket. He scribbled on his hand, then showed it to Remus.
LEAVE. YOU HAVE CLASS.
Remus rolled his eyes. "So do you," he said. "And I'm sure they can do without me for one class. I've already read the textbook anyway and, from what my dad told me, History of Magic isn't exactly a thrilling experience. Let me help, Sirius."
Sirius held his gaze for a moment, then rolled his eyes and nodded.
Just then, McGonagall walked back into the otherwise empty classroom. Both Sirius and Remus straightened up and Remus immediately tucked his wand away. McGonagall froze when she caught sight of them.
"Mr. Black!" she snapped, ignoring Remus entirely. "What on earth are you still doing here?!"
Sirius glared at her, but didn't reply.
McGonagall scowled at him. "Mr. Black! Answer me!"
Still, Sirius didn't reply. He threw a glance at Remus, wondering if he'd caught onto Sirius's strict obedience to McGonagall's earlier order. He assumed he had, given how he'd taken the fact that Sirius wrote a message on his hand in stride.
"Of all the spoiled, insolent children, how is it that you, Mr. Black, found your way into Gryffindor? I will not tolerate—"
"Professor?" Remus said, cutting her off.
McGonagall seemed to acknowledge him for the first time. "Yes, what is it, Lupin?"
"You told him he couldn't speak until he left the classroom, or he'd get detention," Remus said, his voice remarkably calm and reasonable.
McGonagall huffed. "You may speak, Mr. Black. Why are you still in my classroom?"
Sirius sat up a bit straighter. Then, as politely as he could manage, he said, "Well, you see, Professor, it seems that I'm rather stuck."
McGonagall blinked. "Stuck?"
"Yes," Sirius said, keeping his voice neutral. "My arse is glued to this bench."
It was clear that whatever she'd been expecting him to say, it wasn't that. McGonagall turned to Remus. "And you, Mr. Lupin? Are you... stuck as well?"
"No," Remus said, glancing between Sirius and McGonagall. "I'm mostly here for moral support."
McGonagall sighed. "Mr. Black," she said, her voice far more measured. "Do you know who it was that performed this sticking charm?"
Sirius didn't hesitate. "No, I don't, Professor."
She narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure?"
"Quite sure," Sirius said. "My back was turned. And even if it wasn't, I'm not a snitch."
McGonagall frowned. "Mr. Lupin, did you happen to see who cast the charm on Mr. Black while his back was turned?"
Remus gave Sirius a look, but said, "No, I didn't. It seems my back was turned as well."
Sirius smiled.
"Well," McGonagall said. "Mr. Black, seeing as how you somehow managed to get yourself into this predicament in the first place, it's only fitting for you to sit for the duration of the charm. I shall notify Professor Binns of your absence. Mr. Lupin, off to class with you."
"Professor, I—" Remus started, then stopped at McGonagall's glare.
"Yes, what now?"
Remus glanced at Sirius. "I-I'm going to stay," he managed. "Sirius, well. He really is quite stuck and seems to be in need of..."
McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. "Moral support?" she prompted.
"Yes, exactly," Remus said.
"Very well, Mr. Lupin. I shall inform Professor Binns of your absence as well." She turned her attention back to Sirius. "One more finger out of line, Mr. Black, and I shall be writing to your parents and you'll be serving at least a month's detention. Am I understood?"
Sirius swallowed. He couldn't afford for any of this to get back to his parents. He was in enough trouble as is. "Yes, ma'am."
McGonagall nodded, and, with a swish of her robes, strolled from the classroom, leaving the two boys alone.
Remus waved his wand and tried a spell. Sirius tried to wiggle, but he wouldn't budge. He groaned and once more buried his face in his arms, folded on the desk. "Merlin, why'd I do this?" he mumbled.
"Do what?" Remus asked, trying another spell. Still no luck.
Sirius gestured to his lap. "This," he said. At Remus's confused look, he clarified. "I asked—no, well, I begged the Hat to not put me in Slytherin. It told me I'd be hated for my name, if it put me in Gryffindor and I asked for it anyway. Why the fuck did I do that?"
Remus just shrugged. "Because, for a second there, I think you were trying to be brave."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "I'm a Black, Remus. I'm not brave and I don't belong in Gryffindor. James can see it, so can Frank Longbottom and Professor McGonagall. Hell, even Lily Evans gets it. So why the hell don't you?"
Remus's lip twitched up a little. He muttered another spell and this one felt a bit like a bee sting. Sirius yelped. Remus, on the other hand, looked momentarily gratified and perhaps just a little bit smug. "I was raised mostly Muggle," he said, by way of explanation. "Well, I knew about magic, obviously, from my dad, but we lived like Muggles. I don't know anything about Black family traditions or these seemingly unreasonable expectations resting on the shoulders of pure-blood heirs. I don't believe in fate, Sirius. I can't. If I did, I surely wouldn't be here."
Sirius's face scrunched up and he turned to look at Remus. "What the hell do you mean by—"
"Besides," Remus said, ignoring him entirely, though Sirius noticed Remus's ears turn pink. "It sounds rather like the Hat laid out your options. You chose Gryffindor. That's all that matters."
Sirius didn't know what to say to that.
Remus gave him a smile. "Whatever happens, I think James will come around."
This time, Sirius snorted. "He hates me, Remus."
"No," Remus said. "I think he hates the idea of you."
"Thanks for that," Sirius scoffed.
"So prove him wrong."
"What?"
"Prove to him you belong in Gryffindor," Remus said, as if it were that simple. "Do the one thing a Slytherin would never do."
Sirius flashed back to James's words from last night, at the entrance to Hogwarts castle. He narrowed his eyes. "Are you suggesting," he said, his voice measured, "I go to Slughorn and tell him I was in on it with James?"
Remus shrugged. "At the very least, it couldn't hurt."
Sirius opened and closed his mouth. "There's a reason I didn't just do that last night, Remus. I can't just—"
"Why not?" Remus said. "Is it because you're scared of Malfoy? Or—" He lowered his voice a bit. "—your mother?"
Sirius looked away. "Mother. She'd kill me if she knew I'd cursed and humiliated Narcissa and Malfoy. They're family," he muttered, spiting out the last word as if it were poison.
"Well," Remus said, with a smirk, "it looks like you've already pissed her off, getting sorted into Gryffindor and all. She called you a blood traitor for that, so how much worse could it possibly get?"
Sirius very nearly laughed aloud at the pure innocence of that statement. Whether or not Remus understood it, there was almost an infinite repository of vengeance when it came to Walburga Black. She could beat Sirius senseless, not feed him for a week, use the Unforgivables on him, or all of the above. No one in his house or outside it would lift a goddamned finger to help him. No one in their right mind would risk raining down that kind of fury on themselves, not even a well-meaning, ignorant, half-blood Gryffindor.
His mother could burn him off the tapestry. Then he'd never see Regulus again.
It could get so much fucking worse than blood traitor, but he couldn't explain that to Remus Lupin.
Remus, however, seemed to have an uncanny knack for reading Sirius's mind. "Even if it did get worse, Sirius," he said, his voice unreasonably kind, "isn't it better to bear that burden with friends? James Potter was your friend on the train and he could just as easily be again, if he pulled his head from his arse and maybe you groveled a bit. It's your choice, Sirius."
His choice.
His fucking choice.
Sirius Black was not used to so many goddamned choices.
He wasn't much used to friends either.
"I'll think about it," he muttered. Then, he gestured down to his lap. "Now, have you got anything better than that stinger one you did? That fucking hurt."
Remus laughed, then muttered, "Reglutino."
Hesitating a second, Sirius stood up.
"HA!" he exclaimed, shoving the bench back and nearly toppling Remus off of it. "Oh, to be free at last!"
Remus rolled his eyes and gathered his books. "Come on, you," he said, nodding towards the door. "We're already excused from class. What do you say to an early lunch?"
The rest of the day was predominantly uneventful.
In their afternoon Charms class, Remus kept himself between Sirius and James at all times. It was subtle; Sirius didn't even think James noticed, as James continued to glare at Sirius straight through Remus, but something in Sirius twisted a little bit. Remus was protecting him.
It was a weird feeling. For all his life, he'd been in danger, at least to some degree. Sirius Black walked around with a target on his back, the unquestionable culprit for whatever slight, imagined or otherwise, that might piss off his father or mother, Kreacher, or tutor. Curses, hexes, and jinxes flew free and unhindered at Grimmauld Place, and Sirius had been the recipient of a great many of them.
No one ever tried to protect him before.
Sirius had defended Regulus, of course, more times than he truly cared to count. He always figured it was best if he bore the punishment, rather than his younger brother, even if Regulus was the one who'd actually been in the wrong. Regulus didn't deserve that kind of punishment.
(Sirius deserved it. He'd always deserve punishment, no matter how much he feared it, for as long as he lived. He'd done terrible things. Unspeakable things. Things that could earn him a sentence in Azkaban.)
At first, Sirius couldn't decide if it was kindness or stupidity or an stubborn refusal to acknowledge the apparent darkness inside Sirius that made Remus defend him from James Potter's wrath. Ultimately, he concluded that it was an odd combination of all three.
Perhaps, that's what made Remus Lupin Gryffindor.
By the time dinner rolled around, James Potter had taken to ignoring Sirius completely and went so far as speaking as if he weren't there at all. Remus, naturally, kept trying to bring Sirius into the conversation, despite numerous dirty looks from James, but Sirius mostly spaced out.
He couldn't stop thinking about what Remus said in Transfiguration.
His mother was going to kill him—or at least respectably maim him—for being sorted into Gryffindor. That much Sirius knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. On some level, he knew that should terrify him—and it did—but it was more of a disembodied dread than a cower-under-the-covers sort of fear.
Whatever actual punishment awaited him, aside from whatever curses she could deliver via owl or Malfoy, it was four months away. There was a chance, however minuscule it was, that the severity of the punishment would lessen slightly if he just kept his nose in the dirt and didn't do anything else to provoke his parents for the rest of the term.
Then again, the reasonable part of him argued, Walburga Black had a long memory and a burning desire to seek vengeance for even the smallest offense. There's no way he comes back to Hogwarts in January unscathed, no matter what he does. Even if Sirius made nice with Narcissa and Malfoy, he was still Gryffindor. He still shared a dormitory with a blood traitor, an idiot, and a half-blood. There was no possible universe in which Walburga would let that go.
Which begged the question: Was the cumulated wrath of Walburga Black, and all the pain and anguish that would undoubtedly entail, worth the effort of worming his way back into James Potter's good graces?
Was it worth being branded a blood traitor?
Was it worth the possibility that his mother might burn him off the tapestry before the year was up?
Or maybe it wasn't about cost-benefit analysis or fear of punishment at all.
Maybe it was about what was right and fair and just.
Sirius had been there, he'd been involved, just as much as James. The punishment, of course, was wildly unfair and was certainly brokered by Malfoy, but that wasn't something either Sirius or James could change. The fact remained: if James was to be punished for the incident on the train, it's reasonable to conclude that Sirius Black should be as well.
Sirius knew this. Objectively, he knew it. He also knew that the he'd only avoided punishment for the incident because of his name.
Perhaps, then, Remus was right after all. If he wanted anyone to look at him and see more than his name and family history, he had to prove he was nothing like a Black.
Maybe this was about doing what was right, and damning the consequences, however severe they may be.
Maybe that would make him brave.
After dinner, James Potter stood and left for detention.
Sirius waited five minutes, threw a half-smile at Remus, and followed James to the dungeons.
When Sirius pushed open the heavy door to Slughorn's office, James Potter was the only one in the room. It smelled a bit like mildew and potion fumes. Sirius tried not to breathe too deep. Instead, he strolled in, his head held high, and plopped into the seat right next to James. Sirius leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk.
"What the actual fuck are you doing here?" James hissed.
Sirius shrugged and looked at his cuticles, aiming for nonchalance, even though his heart was threatening to hammer out of his chest. "Serving detention, same as you."
Just then, Slughorn walked in, balancing two cauldrons in his arms. Sirius put his feet down and all four legs of the chair returned to the floor.
"Now, Potter," Slughorn said, teetering the cauldrons a bit. "I want these scrubbed and polished. They're full of chimera dung, which can be quite pungent, so I do hope you've brought gloves. If not, I'm afraid you'll have to use your hands."
James looked affronted and wrinkled his nose at the idea.
Slughorn set the cauldrons down and turned to look at James. His face brightened when he saw Sirius. "Ah, Mr. Black. What a pleasant surprise. How can I help you this evening?"
Sirius swallowed his nerves and but all the bravado he could into his voice. "I'm here to serve detention, sir."
"My word, whatever for? I don't believe I received a detention slip from another professor," he said, sorting through the mess of parchments on his desk.
"No, sir," Sirius said. "I'm here for the same reason as James. I was with him on the train. Strictly speaking, I'm the one who turned the corridors to ice."
Slughorn held his gaze for a minute, clearly surprised, then turned to James. "You put him up to this, didn't you, Potter?" he snapped, his voice rising. "I'll have you know, bribing other students into admitting guilt will not lessen, your punishment. That'll be another—"
James opened his mouth, clearly ready to protest, but Sirius beat him to it. "He didn't bribe me, Professor," Sirius said, a little insulted that Slughorn thought he was stupid enough to accept an offer like that. "I'm here because it's only fair. I was with James on the train when Snivellus or whatever-his-name-is was hexed and I helped him escape. If James is to be punished for it, so should I."
Slughorn sighed. "Mr. Black, are you sure that's what happened?"
"Yes, Professor."
"You understand, then," Slughorn continued, "that if you are to share in Potter's punishment, I will have to write your parents and inform them of your involvement in this prank. Are you absolutely sure you are remembering the events exactly as they transpired?"
Slughorn was offering him an out.
Sirius could walk away, no questions asked, and his mother would never hear of it.
He shoved down the part of him that was roaring for him to take escape route, the part of him that so rightfully terrified of the pound of flesh this would cost him.
With ever ounce of courage he possessed, Sirius met Slughorn's eyes. "I'm sure, Professor."
"Right, then. Twenty more points from Gryffindor, I suppose," Slughorn said. "It seems I have another letter to write. Both of you, take a cauldron. You're not to use your wands at all. When you're finished, you may leave, and I'll see you both tomorrow night."
Sirius and James both nodded, after a quick glance between them. To Sirius's satisfaction, James looked rather bewildered, if not a little cautious. Together, they walked up to Slughorn's desk and grabbed a cauldron each. Sirius very nearly gagged at the smell, as they brought the cauldrons back to their desks.
"I'll leave you to it, then," Slughorn said. He gathered a stack of papers and a few quills. Then, he paused, mid-shuffle. "Oh, and Mr. Black? That dinner I mentioned on Friday night...? Well, I'm afraid I'll have to reschedule. It appears something has come up."
Sirius could have laughed. He was uninvited to a dinner party he hadn't particularly wanted to attend in the first place. He hid his smile and said, "Alright, Professor."
Slughorn left the room.
After a tense moment, Sirius risked a glance at James over the brim of his reeking cauldron.
James stared right back at him, his expression decidedly blank. "Why'd you do that?"
"It was only fair," Sirius mumbled.
"Not good enough, Black."
Sirius shrugged. "I thought it might prove you wrong."
"What?"
"I'm not like them, James," Sirius said, looking away. "Or, at least I don't want to be. When the Hat told me it thought I might be suited for Gryffindor, I fucking begged it to place me there because I didn't want to be in Slytherin. My family is shit, James, and I don't want any favors or privileges just because I'm related to them. So, yes. It's shitty and unfair that you were punished last night and I wasn't. I'm just trying to make it right."
James stared at him, but didn't say anything.
"I, uh," Sirius mumbled. "I wanted to do the right thing. I thought maybe this might be the Gryffindor thing to do."
The corners of James's lips tugged upward and he snorted a genuine laugh. "You thought," he said, "turning yourself in for a prank that was neither your idea nor entirely your fault to begin with was the Gryffindor thing to do?"
Sirius fidgeted for a moment, before he realized James was teasing him. Actually, properly teasing him, as if they were friends. Elated at the thought, Sirius smirked. "Well, no. Strictly speaking, I think a true Gryffindor would have gotten away with it, but I figured that's problem for next time."
James shot him a wolfish grin. "Next time?"
"You really think I'm going to let Malfoy get away with all that? He should be the one scrubbing shit from cauldrons, not us. He's the one that hexed Snivellus in the first place," Sirius said.
"Snivellus?"
"The greasy bloke."
"Ah, yes."
Sirius grinned. "Regardless," he said. "Malfoy ought to be knocked down a few more pegs and I'm certainly open to suggestions. He's an arse."
"That he is," James replied. Then, he shot Sirius an appraising look. "So. You think you belong in Gryffindor then?"
Sirius shrugged. It was a fair question, after all. "I have rather dichotomous views on the subject, but yes," he said. James mouthed the word dichotomous back at him, clearly trying to work out its meaning from context. "I'd sure as hell like to belong in Gryffindor, especially if the alternative is Slytherin."
James considered this, then nodded. "Then I'm sorry for being an arse to you and for gluing you to a bench." He grimaced a bit, and Merlin, was that actually remorse on his face? "And for spilling peas on you. And shoving you against the door. Merlin, you're alright, aren't you? You sounded like you were in pain."
Sirius blinked at him, honestly rather taken aback. "Yes, James, I'm fine. I've had worse."
"That's not the point," James said, quickly. "And I'm sorry anyway."
Sirius didn't know what to do with that. He looked away. "Thanks," he mumbled.
"What, in Merlin's name, are you thanking me for?"
Sirius flushed red. He preferred not to answer that one.
"Sirius?" James prompted.
Sirius bit back a groan. "No one's ever, ah," he began. He took a breath. "No one's ever apologized. For hurting me, I mean."
James blinked at him. "Well, that's just bloody awful."
"What?" Sirius said, his face scrunching up in confusion.
"You felt guilty about something, you marched down here and made it right," James said, simply. "I was an arse to you, I feel guilty about it, so I'm apologizing. That's how these things work. In fact, this is all such a mess, so let's start over." James stuck out his hand, over the filthy cauldrons. "Hi. My name is James Potter."
Despite everything, despite the confusion and the underlying sense of terror for the punishment that would no doubt result from all of this, Sirius couldn't keep the smile off his face at the sight of James's proffered hand. He remembered doing the same thing to James in Diagon Alley.
Ignoring the pain, Sirius shook his hand. "Sirius Black," he said. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Potter."
James shot him an award-winning smile. "What do you say we scrub these clean and get the hell out of here? I'm not sure how much longer I can stand the smell."
"Ah," Sirius said, with a genuine smile of his own. "I might be able to do something about that."
He raised his hand, twirling his fingers and allowing his magic to spark between them. Then, deciding it best to test the spell on himself first, he pointed at his nose. It tickled a bit and Sirius almost sneezed, but when he inhaled, he couldn't smell a thing.
Without hesitating, he pointed his finger at James's nose. James, of course, did sneeze, but then barked out a laugh. "Fucking brilliant, you are," he said.
Sirius smirked. "See, I keep saying that, but no one ever believes me."
James rolled his eyes and went to Slughorn's desk to grab a cleaning brush. He tossed one to Sirius, who caught it.
"Hey, Sirius?" James said.
"Yeah?"
"Welcome to Gryffindor."