Chapter Text
Year 1
September, 1971
When Sirius Black walked on to the Hogwarts Express, back stiff, clothes pressed to smooth perfection, short hair forcefully combed into what even he could admit was an obnoxious style, he desperately hoped the discomfort wasn’t too visible on his face — though he doubted it could be, after eleven years of practice. He tried not to watch as mothers with bitter-sweet smiles bent down to kiss their sons and daughters on the cheek, fathers gave final hugs while not-so-subtly holding back tears, and younger siblings shouted their goodbyes.
His own family had allowed him a curt and lukewarm farewell from outside Kings Cross station before apparating away once again. The Blacks didn’t bother with disgraceful matters such as dirty muggle train stations and bustling platforms, even if it did mean sending their eldest son off to the Hogwarts Express alone. If Regulus had tried to shout after him, it would have earned him a very stern… talking to, so Sirius didn’t blame him for the silence. Still, every solitary, echoing footstep of his felt like a dull knife was being dug deeper into his chest. It wasn’t a sensation he was unfamiliar with.
Sirius carefully strolled up and down the aisles of the train in search of an empty compartment. His father had given him strict and specific instructions on how to achieve success at Hogwarts, and it all began on the train.
It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to follow his father’s orders, in fact, a large part of him had always wondered what would happen if he didn’t. But besides a few (mostly) harmless pranks at home, he’d never really had the chance to find out.
He had been distracted, mentally running through step 3: find suitable (Slytherin) acquaintances prior to sorting, when a compartment door opened right in front of him and he promptly ran into the person who had been inside.
“Oi, watch where you’re fuckin’ going—” the boy said crudely, massaging his right shoulder and wincing.
Sirius was rapidly deciding whether to apologize or demand an apology when he took in the full figure in front of him. The sight was exhilarating.
They must have been the same age, for he was a bit small and slender, but this was not what was most peculiar about the boy. He was covered almost head to toe in scars — encircling his wrists like bangles and disappearing in the bunched-up arms of his slightly-too-large sweater, peeking out of his socks and under the cuffs of his jeans. He was wearing jeans. Muggle fashion.
Sirius had no scars. Well, no normal scars, like the kind you got from tripping on the pavement one too many times, or falling out of a tree, or petting a not-so-friendly stray cat. The Black family did not run on pavement, nor at all if they could help it. They did not permit their young sons to climb trees, or play sports, or act in any sort of fashion that would result in a gruesome scar, like the one stretching down the cheek of the freckled boy in the sage green sweater. Sirius could only imagine there were more, letting his mind wander to what might be hiding under the curls which fell in front of his forehead, beneath the sweater, spiraling constellations over his back, on his knees — all over.
His parents would hate this boy, just from one look alone.
“Uh, hello?” The scarred kid asked, snapping Sirius out of his momentary trance.
It was a split-second decision — as many eleven-year-old boys’ decisions are — to throw caution into the wind and stray from the stuffy life he had grown up loathing, recklessly abandon the steps to be a good and proper Black and seek something new, something adventurous. He had always wanted to, and here was his chance, in the form of a gangly young boy with the mouth of a sailor. A broad grin spread across Sirius’ face, and without a word, he walked into the other boy’s compartment and promptly took a seat.
It took a moment for the curly-haired boy to re-enter and sit across from Sirius, evidently forgetting whatever it had been that had inspired him to open the doors in the first place.
“Hi, I’m Remus Lupin.” Remus offered Sirius a shy smile that very much contrasted the quite aggressive and foul language he had just uttered. He tugged on the ends of his sweater, and his scarred hands disappeared into his sleeves. Sirius almost missed the sight.
“I know, I read on your luggage.”
“Right.” Remus’ cheeks tinged pink underneath a mass of freckles.
“Sirius Black.” He extended a hand formally.
Remus raised an eyebrow but pulled back the arm of his sleeve to shake his hand.
“Those are wicked by the way.” Sirius gestured at the still-healing cuts by Remus’ jawbone. The only response was a sheepish smile, so Sirius pressed further, “How’d you get ‘em? I bet you’ve got loads of wild stories—”
But, to Remus’ relief, he was cut off by a plump, young, blond boy knocking on the door. Peter Pettigrew slid open the doors and stuck his head in the compartment. “I’m sorry, but do you think we could sit here? Everywhere else is full—”
Another boy, taller, more confident if his walk showed anything, with messy dark hair, strode through the doors, pulling his companion in behind him.
“James Potter — and this is Peter.”
“Hi,” the smaller boy squeaked.
“Bit rude of you to just barge in, isn’t it?” Sirius asked before he could stop himself. For a moment, he wondered if he would even be able to untrain all he had learned at home, or at least enough to make, and keep, some decent friends.
James didn’t seem too bothered though — it was not the first time he’d been accused of some well-meant rudeness. With a bump to Sirius’ shoulder with his own, he said, “What’s got you all prim and proper? You know we’re headed to Hogwarts, you don’t have to be mummy’s good little boy all the time anymore.” Then he laughed, and it was simply contagious.
Another terrible influence. Sirius couldn’t have wiped the smile off his face if he’d tried.
“It’s a pity your jumper’s green,” James noted obnoxiously, nodding at the scarred boy and snapping Sirius back to reality.
Remus furrowed his brow, “Why’s that? My mum says it brings out my eyes,” he added defensively.
“It does,” Sirius agreed before he thought about what he was saying. He gave the slim boy a supportive smile, which grew broader when Remus returned it.
James just rolled his eyes, “Because,” he began, as if what he was about to say was the most obvious thing in the world, “the green house at Hogwarts is Slytherin, and that’s the bad one, ya know?”
Sirius bristled, a sinking feeling dawning in his stomach. He knew.
Remus seemed to pick up on the shift in Sirius’ behavior. “Don’t be daft, there’s no bad house.” He swung his legs up onto the table, “and besides, maybe I’m an evil genius who’s off to wreak havoc at Hogwarts. A little chaos never hurt anybody.”
“Now that’s something I can get behind,” James agreed. They dropped the subject of sorting in favor of tall tales of James and Peter’s reputation back home as notorious bad boys, and thoughts of Hogwarts Houses promptly flew out of Sirius’ mind.
And so it was, the four boys in one compartment, swapping stories of accidental magic and mundane pranks, eating their weight in candy from the trolly.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Sirius felt completely and totally free. He could laugh at James’ crude jokes and Peter’s face when he ate a rotten egg Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Bean. He didn’t have to pretend he couldn’t hear when Remus uttered the foulest words and explained their meanings. Hell, he could even try out the cusses without worrying his mother was right behind him with a strict expression, wand in hand.
By the time they arrived at Hogwarts, all thoughts of his family and their impossibly high standards for him had dropped out of his mind. That is, until the Sorting Hat was presented in front of them and all their talk about houses came back to him. His face fell.
Sirius had spent a precious few hours with three of the funniest, most genuine — and genuinely terrible (in the best way possible) — people he had ever met, but it was time for all of that to stop, to reassume the persona he had worn for years. It was inevitable. All good things must come to an end. All things wonderful and exhilarating.
He straightened, fixing a perfectly neutral expression on his face as his thoughts tumbled about in the mess of his mind.
James would be in Gryffindor — that was obvious. Everything from his brash demeanor to his maroon t-shirt pointed to that fact.
Peter seemed like a Hufflepuff — a bit more quiet and self-contained, but exceedingly kind and loyal, if you could count hanging on to every single one of James’ words like it was scripture as loyalty.
Remus was a clear Ravenclaw — intelligent and curious. He told the boys he had already read Hogwarts: A History twice, just in case. Peter hadn’t even known Hogwarts: A History existed before Remus mentioned it.
And Sirius. Well, if his bloodline had anything to say for it, he would be in Slytherin. Every single member of his family had been, going back generations, as long as records had been kept. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the four boys would be splitting up, only to ever become passing “hello”s in the corridors and faint, fading memories of a single train ride.
So one could imagine how incredulous he looked when “Black, Sirius” was called and the Sorting Hat shouted “Gryffindor!” before it even touched his head.
Cheers erupted from the red and gold table, consuming all his senses. He didn’t dare look at his cousins at the Slytherin table. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, in time with the quick footsteps that led him towards the other Gryffindor first-years.
Sirius’s surprise only grew, as “Lupin, Remus,” “Pettigrew, Peter,” and “Potter, James” all hurried to join him at the long table, far far away from the sea of green.
James held his hands up for high fives all around the table, “I knew it!”
“Mr. Potter, if you could please quiet down so we can finish the Sorting,” the stern voice of Professor McGonagall sounded over the crowd of first years.
“Sorry professor!” James shouted back. He then leaned in and whispered to his friends, “Did you see that Evans girl? I think her name’s Lily…”
This was bad. Really bad. The train ride, the new friends, the thought of changing the course of his life — those had all seemed like mere fantasies, daydreams to escape the dark and decrepit hell hole that was his family's history. But Sirius was in Gryffindor now. For real. And the Black family would not like that one bit.
***
It was the first day after the Sorting Ceremony, Sirius had been on edge all morning. He’d been placed in a dormitory with his three new friends, which should have made him excited, but really just shoved his rebellion in his face a little more. What would his parents do? What would they say? His insides tightened with worry.
That was, until something distracted him, even for the tiniest of moments.
“Your tie is crooked.” He noted passively, nodding in Remus’ direction.
Remus groaned in annoyance, “Damnit, I didn’t think anyone would be able to notice.” He turned back toward the mirror and tried to fix it again, fumbling around with the fabric. The others had already left for breakfast, too hungry to wait for their friends.
Sirius watched for a moment, “You’ve never tied a tie before.” It wasn’t a question, simply a bit of a shocked observation.
“I’m not in the habit of wearing them often, are you?” Remus grumbled, still wrestling with the tie around his neck.
Sirius didn’t respond. He was, in fact. It was one of the first things he’d learned to do on his own, along with tying his shoelaces and reciting the names of the ‘proper’ wizarding families. But instead of explaining this, and therefore bringing up the topic he least wanted to discuss, he stood and crossed the room, meeting Remus by the mirror.
Placing his hands on Remus’ shoulders, he twisted the boy around to face him. His hands silenced Remus’ and swiftly took over the process. Within a matter of seconds, a perfect knot laid neatly around Remus’ neck. With one final adjustment, Sirius stepped back.
“There.” He said, looking Remus up and down. He found a stray thread, looped it around his finger once and tugged.
Remus hesitated, “Thanks.”
The pair headed down to breakfast without another word.
***
Mr. and Mrs. Black didn’t send a howler when their eldest son was placed in the house that they, by all standards, considered to be the lowest of the low, the weakest link — the enemy. No, howlers were not the Black’s style. No need to have the whole school aware of the family turmoil, the shame, any more than they already did. Instead, it was radio silence. And somehow, in a way, that was worse.
By the end of their first week, Sirius sat at the breakfast table, surrounded by James, who was quite loudly and obnoxiously opening a congratulatory gift from his parents — a heavy, colorful book of Great Gryffindor Quidditch Players of the Ages — and boasting about how he was sure to make the team next year, and Peter who was opening endless letters from his extended family wishing him well. Even Remus had been sent a modest box of chocolates with red and gold wrappings from his parents.
Nobody asked why Sirius never got any mail. He suspected James and Peter just hadn’t noticed — too busy digging through their own pile of letters to keep track of anyone else’s. Remus seemed too clever to have missed it, but with his brilliance, he’d probably also connected the long line of Slytherins with the Black name and figured it would be best not to mention it. He did offer Sirius one of his chocolates, which was kind.
Sirius tried to hide his disappointment when the owls came swooping in the Great Hall every morning. He hadn’t expected much from his parents — maybe a very curt letter at the very most — but he had hoped at least Regulus, his younger brother, would have something good to say about his sorting. After the second week, Sirius gave up looking.
The other boys’ mail eventually slowed down, and he could pretend it never happened at all. After all, a year without contact to his parents — wasn’t this what he had always been silently begging for?
***
One of the first things Sirius did on their first free day from school was climb a tree. They’d escaped the castle, the sky was light and the sun was warm on their cheeks, still early enough in the autumn season to be outside without a jacket. He stood at the top of a long hill that stretched from the castle down to the Great Lake and the edge of the Forbidden Forest, breathing in the crisp air as though they were his first ever full breaths.
When his friends had gathered around him, Sirius challenged, “Race you down the hill!” He didn’t stop to let them process his words. No, Sirius took off running, shouting, “Last one to the forest has to kiss the Giant Squid!”
Remus, James, and Peter tore after him. It was exhilarating, the breeze blowing through his hair, legs flying beneath him, friends swiftly catching up behind him.
With every step, he felt like a rebel on the run from the law. The sensation burned bright in his stomach. With every step, he felt less of a Black.
The Blacks didn’t climb trees. They didn’t race down hills and risk grass stains on a new white button-up. They didn’t hang upside-down and let their shirts untuck from their pants and expose their stomachs to the world. They certainly didn’t let all the blood rush to their heads as they laughed, open and freely.
So that’s exactly what he did. He reached the forest first, grabbing a strong-looking branch and twisting himself upside-down, swinging by his knees. From the warped viewpoint, he saw James sprinting toward him, then Remus right behind him. Peter followed a few moments later. And Sirius smiled. He didn’t have to be a Black, not with them.
***
October, 1971
Creaking floorboards, the ones by the door. Remus sat up in his bed, heartbeat pounding heavily. He was too small, his young eyes not yet familiar with the intense darkness that lay thick over his room. They didn’t have time to adjust. He blinked. A figure was lunging at him —
Every inch of his body was in pain. Someone was screaming, and it was a bit before he realized the harrowing cries were escaping from his mouth. The hall light flicked on, but too late.
Too late.
Remus awoke suddenly in his four-poster bed, panting slightly and covered in a thin layer of sweat. For a moment, he forgot where he was, looking around frantically. The almost-full moon shed light into the dormitory, but he didn’t need it, wolfish eyes rapidly adjusting to the darkness. When his pulse settled a bit, he listened intently.
Two resting heart rates, one just a touch faster, someone else who’d just woken up—
“Sirius?” Remus whispered into the night.
A head peeked out from behind the curtains beside him. Sirius smiled sheepishly, glancing around as if he couldn’t completely pin where the voice had come from. Remus felt better knowing the other boy couldn’t see him. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
“Nah, nightmare.”
Remus exhaled, “Me too.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Alright.” But Sirius didn’t get back into bed. Instead, he slipped out and headed toward the window between their two beds. He was about to trip over a stack of textbooks Remus had next to his bed when Remus lunged to stop him, wrapping a hand around Sirius’ slender wrist.
Sirius looked down, finally noticing the books. “Thanks,” he whispered. “I didn’t even see those.”
Remus swallowed. “Just got good eyes for the dark, I guess.”
“Wanna join me?” He gestured to the nook under the window, perfectly hidden from the other two beds, where James and Peter were still sound asleep. Remus couldn’t imagine himself sleeping any time soon; his pulse was still uneven, so he climbed up.
It was a small space, but the two boys were young and small themselves, so they fit nicely. “This is where I come when I can’t sleep.”
Remus noticed, but didn’t dig further into the implication that Sirius often couldn’t sleep. “It’s nice,” was all he could muster. They didn’t speak much after that but watched the sun rise over the mountains in the distance. It wasn’t until the sound of rustling sheets filled the room, indicating James Potter waking up, that either boy moved from their spot by the window. They slipped down without a word, exchanged a final glance, a silent pact, and went their separate ways.
***