Chapter Text
REMUS
Remus Lupin might be the first student to board the Hogwarts express on the first of September 1971. He can't be absolutely certain about this because he has not gone the entire length for a thorough examination but after moving through half the train and finding each compartment identical, and identically empty, the novelty wears off and he settles into a seat with a good view of the platform, content to think himself the first, all things considered. He rests his head against the glass and begins watching the magical families arrive at the station and give their long departing hugs—wrapping arms around each other as though they're wrapping presents which they will give back to themselves later, at the Christmas holidays.
Remus is not sure where he will be for Christmas this year. He supposes he could go back home. He wasn't told he couldn't, not exactly, but he had not been made into a gift either. He had not been wrapped up in a tight hug and sealed with a bow, made fancy by the mark of a mother's kiss. His cheek doesn't have lipstick smudges. Just scars. He came to the station today courtesy of a bus he rode alone—not exactly alone, but the glaring eyes of fellow passengers unimpressed by his large trunk and strange attire made him wish he had been.
But here now on the Hogwarts express he will not think about parents or homes or anything that is not directly ahead of him. He promised himself this when he first stepped on board with the same stern conviction he promises himself a lot of things: I will not think about those things here in this new life; I will read at least two books a week even if they are just spy novels; I will not let myself scream out against the flames of pain as my body breaks away; I will stop biting my nails; I will not forget for one moment what I truly am.
Unlike his bones, his promises are not made to be broken.
Moving on.
Slowly, more and more families arrive and Remus has never seen this many witches and wizards before. When he first saw the small enchanted picture of the Castle in the opening page of Hogwarts a History he figured there must be many more than he had thought, not that he thought about it very much. A year or so before the invitation from Dumbledore arrived—he can still remember the exact melody of birdsong that was coming from the Ash tree outside the kitchen window when the letter arrived—Remus had tried to ask his father if he was a wizard:
Of course you have magic, was the insufficient reply.
I know that, but I mean... am I a wizard? Can I still be one even though I'm a, you know, a—
His father looked like he might reply with something off-handed and careless until the meaning struck and then his father's eyes had tracked involuntarily to Remus's left hip; it was a movement which would have been imperceptible to Remus if his left hip had been unblemished—if he was only just a wizard.
Sure, you're a wizard, his father answered without really knowing.
Would that be technically correct though? As though pressing further might release the juice of discernment Remus was always thirsting after.
You can be both, he was told.
'Can' and 'are' are two very different words, Remus decided later. 'Can' is a whole lot weaker. 'Can' probably can't hold down a job, keep the pantry stocked, or remember to shave. If 'are' was his father before his bite, 'can' is who he has become. Maybe it's not so important to be a wizard after all, Remus decided later.
Moving on.
More people arrive, bursting through the brick barrier. He scans the faces and listens to dozens of conversations happening all at once, so many that they bleed together into an ocean of sentimental susserations. He can feel the thrumming of accelerated heartbeats, a cacophony of nerves that betrays the cool composure many students are trying to school their faces into. There is the mewling of cats and a few stray ribbits from frogs, once or twice he hears a squeak. But mostly his senses are overwhelmed with the magic of the place. It hangs so heavy in the air he is surprised it isn't blocking his vision like a tangible haze. He pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders if Hogwarts will be just as dizzying. It didn't even appear there were many spells being cast, just a few here and there: parents are resizing or levitating students trunks and he sees one mousy blond woman performing cleansing charms to wipe away smudges on the round cheeks of a small boy who appears annoyed at having to stand still while simultaneously stuffing things into his pockets.
A handsome young black haired boy with glasses is being fussed over by two parents, one on each side of him, with such abject devotion that Remus smiles to himself thinking they aren't wrapping this boy as a gift, they are nestling him into a nativity manger. He will no doubt return to them at the Christmas holidays like their own messy-haired messiah.
The sound of the compartment door opening startles him. It isn't often people come so close before he is aware of their approach. Must be the magical overwhelm he reasons to himself as in slips a different black haired boy.
While his silent approach was uncanny his general appearance is also unnerving. He wears crisp well-fitting robes that are the exact shade of midnight black as his hair. He has sharp features and an even sharper expression. There is a certain quality to the boys face that makes Remus slightly uncomfortable to look at him directly. Despite being light on his feet as he moves in and stows his luggage he now approaches Remus with a force of command that should seem absurd, but somehow feels correct.
The boy stands straight, looks slightly bored, and proffers his hand while declaring, “Sirius Black.” His tone is posh and he is clearly well-practiced in the art of introductions—something Remus has had very little experience in.
Remus responds in kind, standing up to shake while saying, “Remus Lupin.”
Sirius cocks his eyebrow upon hearing the name. Remus instinctively feels that this was the kind of boy would know Latin. But if the name 'Remus' means anything to Sirius he doesn't say and instead proceeds to look him over, not even trying to hide the obviousness of the appraisal. Mostly Remus never thinks about his own physical appearance, not until seeing someone else take him in for the first time. Remus dislikes greetings for this exact reason. Now, in response to this impudent silver-eyed gaze Remus feels the prickle of every visible scar that mars his hands and neck, and that one under his eye, as though they are all fresh and pink and heated; as though the full moon itself has now borrowed Sirius's eyes to seek out the beast in Remus, to mock him, tickle him through old wounds, and remind him who he is and what Remus and Lupin can also mean.
Surprisingly Sirius gives no visible reaction and neither fear nor disgust tinge his words when, after a moment, he simply points to the empty space on his own left shoulder and then indicates the same place on Remus as he says, “So I see you are a fellow first year. We are as yet unsorted.”
Remus doesn't bother with a reply. He can hear the footsteps loudly this time and isn't surprised when the door opens again and in comes a smaller blond boy, the one whose face has been charmed clean of chocolate and grease and who now appears mostly tidy if not a bit flustered. He nods towards Sirius and Remus and seems to decide upon hoisting his luggage up into the overhead rack before making more proper introductions but his cheeks quickly redden when he realizes the awkward difficulty of this task now being watched by two boys whose names he doesn't even know.
If there is one thing Remus dislikes more than his own embarrassment, it is the embarrassment of others. He doesn't like the taste of it, how it hits the back of his throat in sickish arhythmic waves. Without even thinking he stands up and grabs the trunk out of the boys hands. “Here let me help you,” he says before quickly whisking the trunk up overhead with one hand while using his other hand to smoothly ease the boy further into the compartment.
The boy, still pink, is now looking at Remus with his mouth hanging open. Why are introductions always so hard?
“How'd you do that!?” The boy exclaims.
“Do what?”
“Lift it like that. That trunk is pretty heavy.”
Fuck.
Can't wizards also lift heavy things? Remus has spent his life being himself and that amount of time has not been nearly enough to know who he is. What is Remus the werewolf capable of that Remus the wizard is not, and how to hide that difference? He had very little experience with others growing up, really just having known one muggle and one wizard.
He tries to work it out quickly as though is was a math problem or a logic proof, as though it might suddenly be possible to find an answer, the last six years of trying be damned: Remus is—or can be, at any rate—both a wizard and a werewolf. Remus lifts heavy things. His father is a wizard and he can lift heavy things but only with his wand. His father can do a lot with his wand. Remus, until recently, has been too young for a wand but he can also do a lot. His mother is not a witch and she can not lift heavy things; she did not have a wand; and, as far as he can remember, she could not do much except cry. While looking at him. Afraid of him. She could cry and she could walk out the door and leave Remus and his father; that was her skillset. Moving on moving on moving on.
So Remus knows he is strong—so strong he can stow a heavy trunk single-handed; so strong he can break a mother's love for her child, that force which is supposed to be adamantine and cause gazelles to dance in front of lions. Yes, Remus knows he is very fucking strong.
And now this boy knows it too and it doesn't really matter how normal it is, how "werewolfy" vs how "wizardly" it is, because all that matters is that the boy is looking at Remus with an expression that borders on fearful. Remus can even hear the boy's heart rate increase. Is he also going to cry?
Double fuck.
Remus quickly digs deep into that steely mettle of his core, evens his breathing, keeps a casual—if not cheeky—expression, and just shrugs while speaking evenly and honestly, “Well, I'm pretty strong.” Remus even grins then as he extends his hand and, having learned a thing or two from Sirius about these sorts of things, he goes, “Remus Lupin. I'm a fellow first year.”
“Bloody hell,” is all the boy says, still looking dazed.
Without missing a beat Remus turns to Sirius, who is now also looking at Remus with a curious expression. “Wicked name this kid's got. Sirius, this is Bloody Hell.” He turns back to the other boy, “Bloody Hell, this is Sirius Black.”
It takes a second but then both of the other boys start laughing and Remus takes his seat again.
Remus likes humor. He prefers reading comedies to tragedies and he especially likes how people tend to forget strange things that have just happened when they laugh. Bloody Hell re-introduces himself as Peter Pettigrew when he sits down.
Sirius is looking at him, with one eyebrow elegantly cocked and it seems he is just about to say something but just then another boy enters their compartment. It is the fussed-over boy with glasses. He comes in with a smile that feels like summer sunshine and after looking over all three boys says, “Excellent! I find a compartment with three other first year boys on my very first try. I think this means the Hogwarts magic has officially begun and the four of us are going to become the best of friends.” It doesn't even sound sappy as he says it. It simply sounds like canon. He stows his luggage, not as effortless as Remus, but with much more grace than Peter. “I'm James Potter, by the way.” He turns to Peter, “Though of course, you already knew that, Petey m'boy!” He ruffles Pete's hair making it almost as messy as his own.
“Naturally, naturally.” Peter seems quite pleased to reunite with his friend.
Sirius, who had tensed up upon hearing the name Potter, now slowly smiles and extends his hand, “Sirius Black.”
Now it's James' turn to tense slightly but as they shake hands his easy sunny smile returns. “Imagine that, a Black and a Potter being mates! That's the Hogwarts magic at it again.”
“Breaking rules before we even get to the castle; this will indeed be fun.” Sirius says with a wicked grin, then, motioning towards the tallest of the group “And that's Remus Lupin. He's very strong.” He adds in an exaggerated stage whisper. Peter laughs cheerily, remembering the joke more than the incident.
James looks slightly confused but good-naturedly shakes Remus's hand and then Peter declares, “So now we seem to be a complete set. We have the brains,” he points to James who laughs, “the beauty,” he points to Sirius who rolls his eyes but actually looks quite pleased, “and the brawn,” he points to Remus who just shrugs.
“And what are you?” Sirius asks, foxlike.
But Peter just smiles like he was hoping someone would take the bait, “I'm the bounty!” And as he says it he pulls multiple candies and chocolates from his pockets and tosses them around to the other boys.
They continue to chat happily while eating the snacks. Remus is surprised it is so easy for the four of them to settle into comfortable chocolate-hazed chatter. After several hours Remus has learned a few things: James and Sirius are both pureblood Heirs. It seems historically their families have not been friendly—though you couldn't tell that by watching their instant connection, Peter is also a pureblood and lives near to Potter, the two of them have been friends since they were little. They ask about Remus at one point and he explains his father is a wizard and his mother is a muggle.
“What was it like growing up with a muggle?” Potter asks, all innocence and curiosity.
“What was it like growing up with glasses?” Remus asks back, all mischief.
He had just been absentmindedly rolling one of the candy wrappers between his fingers. He flicks it at James and it bounces off his glasses. Instead of looking offended James smiles wide and immediately flicks one back which hits Remus' hand, raised to block the shot. The personal questions are all but forgotten in the chaotic wrapper warfare which follows. Soon it settles into a game where they take turns trying to hit each others faces: fifty points for the nose, forty for the eyes (except James – hitting his glasses is worth sixty points), thirty for the mouth, twenty for anywhere else on the face, and ten for the ears.
By the time Remus has three hundred and forty points he thinks maybe James is right. Maybe it could be this easy to fall into friendship. Maybe Hogwarts really will be everything he only dared to wish for secretly in the middle of the night. Maybe he can keep his secret safe for the next seven years. But as he catches a glimpse of the scars on the back of his hand while carefully aiming another wrapper at Peter's nose he makes a stern promise to himself: I will not lift heavy things without at least pretending to struggle. Better to be safe than brawny because some secrets are not worth risking for all the chocolate and camaraderie of friendship, no matter how delicious.
Better to keep moving on.
- - -
SIRIUS
All across the Black Lake James has been elbowing Sirius and trying out different variations of the same joke—the one in which Sirius is related to the Lake—was it through blood or through marriage? Should I be concerned about bunking with you if we're sorted together, since wetting the bed runs in your family? After James loudly asked if he got to attend the Stag night before the Lake married his cousin Sirius is laughing heartily and decides he couldn't have made a better friend if he had brewed one up from scratch in a cauldron. As he thinks this he impulsively slings his arm over James' shoulder. It's what he's done a thousand times with Reggie, usually after Reggie tells a sick joke. James is almost like Reg, if you take away all the polished manners and replace the ice of fear with the fire of freedom. At first Sirius is afraid James will shove him off; he isn't his brother after all and there are still some Mayflies alive who can remember a time before these two boys even met. He knows for a fact he would have been strictly punished for acting so casually if his parents were to see this. But something about James makes it hard to even remember what his parents look like.
To his delight James simply drapes his arm over Sirius in return and leans in to say cheekily, “Some stories are best left unsaid, my friend, whatever happened on that fruitful night is between you and ol' Lakey here.”
Peter and Remus are in the boat with them. They sometimes laugh along at the others' antics but mostly they have been discussing the different houses since the boat launched, making predictions and trying to imagine what the Sorting will be like. Peter is doing the most of the talking. He is prattling on and on, fuelled by sugar and nerves, and Sirius kinda wishes he would just be quiet so that Remus could join in with him and James instead. Sirius does not want to discuss houses. He wants to forget about houses. He would rather marry the Lake himself than get dragged into a talk about how every Black has been a Slytherin.
He decides to find out if James scares easily by pushing James on the back just as the boy is bending to peer over the edge of the boat. James yelps but Sirius already has a fistful of his cloak and pulls him back up, laughing at James' shocked face.
“Oi, watch it, you nutter! I almost lost my glasses,” James scolds though he too is grinning almost as much as Sirius.
“Don't worry. The Lake is a Black, it will just buy you another pair.” Sirius lifts his chin up haughtily.
“Or drown me.”
“Probably both.”
James' arm is back around Sirius. “I really hope you're in Gryffindor with me,” James says and for the first time he sounds kinda serious and that makes him feel even more like Reggie which is ironic because that is a sentence Reggie would say exactly never.
“Wanna see if we can splash that boat over there?” is all Sirius can think to answer.
By the time the boats land on the shore both James and Sirius are slightly more than lightly damp—a phrase they have found works well in a singsong which they keep repeating, getting increasingly musical the closer they get to the castle. Peter tells them it is desperately annoying, although Sirius catches him humming along anyway. When they arrive at the front gates they are met by a no-nonsense witch who introduces herself as Professor McGonagall. Peter whispers to James that McGonagall looks very stern and he hopes she only teaches the seventh years and that maybe something will happen to her in the next six years so they'll never have to find out how stern she really is. Sirius feels annoyed by that but James just laughs indulgently.
Sirius thinks he must just have a habit of laughing at Peter's remarks since they've known each other for years. His own impression of Professor McGonagall had been considerably more favourable; compared to his mother he thinks McGonagall seems downright chipper and this gives him an uneasy feeling he can't place, so instead he loudly hums the tune they've made for slightly more than lightly damp and proceeds to march soldier-style into the castle. The uneasy feeling lessens when James joins in the tune and matches step beside him.
They wait at the entrance to the Great Hall with a view of the stool where they will sit to be sorted. There are a few boring introductory comments which Sirius is not listening to; he is scanning over the four long tables trying to catch a glimpse of his cousins. He would rather find them now so he will know exactly where not to look when it is his turn to be called up.
Narcissa had requested his company in her compartment on the train. It was when they had just stepped foot aboard, still strategically in view of Walpurga's henchman. It was the tedious formality the cousins were raised on—just empty gestures thrown like scraps to appease the endless appetite of Black family etiquette. Both Narcissa and Bellatrix voiced their disappointment when he declined though they were already turning away as they spoke. But he knows they will be watching him now, ready to call him over as soon as he gets put in Slytherin so they can sort out his position in the house, like installing a jewel in a crown, reminding everyone of their own relation to the Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The beginning of a seven-year-symphony of off-key empty gestures.
Some girl with the last name Avery is called first and within a minute the hat roars “Hufflepuff” and that is that.
“Sirius Black,” McGonagal calls. James squeezes his shoulder and gives him a smile. Even Peter pats his back as he starts walking forward. Well, at least the train and boat ride have been fun, it might be the last fun I will have in Hogwarts. He fixedly avoids looking at the Slytherin table and sits on the stool. They should really buy a new hat, is the last thing he thinks before the musty-smelling hat is placed on him.
Ahhh, young Master Black.
Ahhh old nasty hat.
I see you have the same ill temper as the other Blacks I've sorted through the years.
Gee, wonder why that is, it's not like we're related or anything.
Yes, lot of similarity indeed. I still remember sorting your mother and your father. Some things are the same I see.
...
This is the moment he begins to feel it, the rumble of something heavy moving from far away. Mother. Father. Those words carry weight, and so too does the sensation of having his mind ghosted over. Like tectonic plates grinding he can feel the shift within him, blossoming like the focus of an earthquake. He grits his teeth. That Avery girl hadn't taken very long. This should be finished soon; this better be finished soon. Whether ignorant or malicious the hat continues its narration.
But also a bit of difference
Get on with it
You're smart, you know
Smart enough to have figured that out by now, yes
But Ravenclaw is not a fit, neither is Hufflepuff what with all your hard edges
Hmmph
Lot of courage, indeed. Although the Black family does well in the Slytherin House. You would be accepted there.
The resistance to this intrusion, which has been rising up from his clenched abdomen like waves of destructive force, have now reached the surface, the epicentre. Black family. The writhing heat of shame collides with the icy wall of anger and Sirius is all lightning now. Raw surging power and the chaos of pain. Slytherin House. He slams his mind shut.
Fuck you sorting hat, you can't sort shit now, he is screaming from behind the brick wall of his mind. And now there is no reply. There are only walls, walls, walls. Miles of rage-rearranged internal earth. He will look back on this moment many times and wonder if the sorting would have been completely different if the hat had never mentioned his parents, or if the hat had been quicker and didn't take so long scraping through such tender terrain, unaware or uncaring of the scars left from previous such intrusions. How would things have been different? How much gained or lost? Unknowable sums are wiped clean from the ledgers in this moment.
The room is silent, like the hat. Like a mind which has been slammed shut. The silence grows. It stretches. It reaches out like a distortion and suddenly sitting on the stool feels ridiculous. Being a wizard feels ridiculous. He feels stupid for ever having wished for this moment because, clearly, Hogwarts is just the latest disappointment in a growing collection. A room full of people staring at you and waiting for a hat to shout is the stupidest thing Sirius can imagine. He doesn't think any volume is capable of rightfully punishing that sickening silence, but he tries anyway.
“WE ALL KNOW WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO SAY SO YOU BLOODY BETTER GET ON WITH IT, VIEUX CHAPEAU ENNUYEUX, MERLIN!”
Now Sirius can hear his own blood rushing in his ears. He is aware of everyone looking at him in shock and disbelief. Their eyes on him feel like the slice slice of savage wand work. He stiffens his posture and narrows his eyes.
Another moment passes and then he finally hears the hat again as it roars:
“GRYFFINDOR!”
He almost doesn't get up from the stool. He almost throws the hat to the floor. He briefly thinks about just walking to the Slytherin table anyway, sure that the hat was merely punishing him for his obstinance and his outburst. But then he hears the unbridled joy in James voice, “Way to go, Black! Woo-hoo!”
It's a balm.
Hearing that from James cuts through the disbelief and even a bit of the residual anger. He gets up and starts to head toward the Gryffindor Table when a sudden idea comes to him. Knowing that James and Peter and Remus are watching he turns back to the hat and takes a deep theatrical bow then says in a voice that was sure to carry over the whispers now picking up around the room, “My apologies for losing my temper, oh wise hat.” Now startled laughter joins the whispers, as well as applause and cheering from the Gryffindors who he joins.
As more students get sorted—quicker and quieter, though dreadfully more boring in his opinion—he can't help stealing a glance at his cousins. They are shooting daggers at him with their eyes, clearly having been waiting this whole time to catch his eye and pour as much disapproval into the contact as they can muster. He just rolls his eyes. He is too numb, too raw and roughed up.
A little bit later Remus joins the Gryffindor table, sitting in the empty seat beside Sirius. They grin at each other and then Remus leans in to whisper, “Trying to make a name for yourself on the first day, I see.”
“It's gonna happen eventually,” he shrugs demurely. “May as well get it over with.”
“Bet that hat's never been yelled at before.”
“That hat looks old enough to have sorted Merlin. I'm sure it's happened already, and if not then it was about time someone did.”
“And that someone just had to be you?”
“Why not?”
Remus just smirks and then they are both applauding for a girl named Marlene Mckinnon who just got sorted into their house.
Sirius watches Remus out of the corner of his eye. The sharp focus of his recent anger casts Remus in a different light and makes him appear more clearly. Sirius often feels like his senses dilate in anger and the world reveals more of its secrets to him. Sirius notices for the first time the extent of the marks on the other boys chin, and the side of his neck. He has the same look on his face that he did on the train, like everything around him is one big joke that he alone knows the punchline to. Sirius would normally consider it smug and therefore annoying, but now, feeling sharp and keyed-up from his own sorting, he feels like he gets the joke too and it feels good to share it with someone else.
Soon Peter and Potter each get sorted into Gryffindor and then the four boys are sitting at the table as though they were back in the train, or the boat. Sirius smiles and laughs when James waxes euphorically about Hogwarts Magic, even mentioning destiny at one point until Remus teases him for sounding like a lovesick schoolgirl, but inside Sirius starts wondering why this has happened; maybe he had spent too much time with the other boys. Maybe if he had sat with Narcissa on the train this wouldn't have happened? Or chose a different boat? Would that be better or worse? It felt good to laugh and play along with boys his age, but maybe that wasn't appropriate for an Heir. Now that the adrenaline of bravado is rescinding, he feels hollow and slightly nauseous and can't help looking at these three boys around him and feeling like they tricked him, or kidnapped him. Was he weak? Was it just a numbers game and the will of the three of them overtook what was supposed to happen to him, three against one? Is that what his mother had known about him all along? That he was too soft? Should he feel guilty that part of him likes this new, previously impossible, reality he finds himself in?
Sirius is so lost in these brooding thoughts that when Dumbledore's welcome speech ends and the food appears on the table he doesn't even register it. James and Peter are happily serving themselves and now discussing what vaguely sounds like Quidditch with a few boys who seems to be just a year or two older but Sirius just sits numbly. After his outburst with the hat, none of the other Gryffindors appear eager to make his acquaintance, a fact he is numbly thankful for, and yet with no immediate anchor on his attention he feels himself spiralling. His body is tensing, coiled and tight, and it takes several moments for him to realize he is physically bracing himself for pain. In Grimmauld Place a mistake of this calibre would have already been paid for in the sickening currency of punishment. This delay is only making the anticipation heightened. He feels his flesh tingle and flush, traitorously drawing attention, advertising itself as a canvas for cruelty. He desperately wants to hide his discomfort from the other boys by busying himself with serving himself food—something he has rarely ever needed to do—but just the thought of it makes him feel even more panicky.
Serving oneself!? Too foreign. Too Gryffindor. Too far from all he has ever known.
Would he be serving himself food if he was at the Slytherin table? Does Narcissa? He suddenly wants to glance over and check how his cousins are going about this whole communal eating experience. But as soon as he catches that thought he is angry with himself for caring one way or another about how a Black is supposed to eat.
Just then Remus discreetly slips a full plate in front of him. Surprised, Sirius turns but Remus isn't even looking at him. He is already loading a second plate for himself and laughing at something James has said. Sirius eats with his head down, wary of making more connection with these other boys in case McGonagall comes to get him later and explain there has been a mistake and he is not actually supposed to be sitting here. Better not get anyone's hopes up. It'll crush James when they find out there's been some mistake and instead of Hogwarts magic its just Hogwarts trickery. He looks at the Gryffindor insignia now magically visible on his left shoulder and wonders if it will just change magically or if he will need new robes when he gets re-sorted.
So ten minutes later when McGonagall does approach their table Sirius isn't even surprised and he is already pushing his plate away and half standing when she leans down and asks Remus to come by her office after eating. Remus just nods, looking resigned.
Perhaps Remus is also supposed to be in Slytherin? Maybe we can go together. I bet with all his scars he'll fit right in at Slytherin. No wonder McGonagall will change his house. I bet he's a good fighter.
Sirius turns toward McGonagall ready to be given the same treatment: an office visit and a house switch from red to green. But instead she just coolly looks at him over the top of her spectacles and says, “Mr. Black, since you were not yet officially a student of my house when you so rudely yelled at our sorting hat, I will not be giving you a detention. However, now that you are in my house you should know that I do not tolerate such untoward behaviour from one of my students.” She pauses and in a softer voice continues, “Welcome to Gryffindor, Mr. Black.”
As she walks away Sirius catches sight of Peter shuddering. Maybe she is stern, after all, Sirius finds himself thinking; she hadn't waved her wand and solved his problems and, more to the point, that last sentence certainly felt like she pronounced a death sentence upon his head. If the Slytherins in school don't do him in, then his family certainly will.