Chapter Text
I love you with mercy and with fear,
All that’s yours belongs to me
Like a white bishop that captures
The black King for eternity.
Adrian Păunescu, Nebunul de Alb
--
He should have listened to Lily.
But no, Sirius had to poke his nose in things that didn’t concern him; he left the group and sneaked off to the Department of Mysteries. With a name like that, how do they expect people not to get curious?
And yet Sirius found nothing that mysterious. He looked around, touched some things he no doubt shouldn’t be touching, and when he got bored, he left.
Only, without his knowledge, he didn’t leave through the same door that he used to come in.
Oh, no.
When he steps out, he finds himself in the same room he had just left, only everything is slightly different, like someone had redecorated and moved things around in the blink of an eye.
And there are a lot of people around.
“TIME TRAVELLER!” someone yells and then dozens of Unspeakables corner Sirius, who blinks back at them, in shock.
(-)
He had somehow traveled through time. Hours later, Sirius still has trouble processing it. He’d rather think it is some elaborate prank James pulled on him, only no- he really is in 1943.
To convince him, the Unspeakables showed him the Daily Prophet; besides, they’re all wearing out of style uniforms, they speak in a way that reminds Sirius of his grandfather.
He is in the past and no one, least of all him, knows how he got there.
Apparently it happened twice before, one Unspeakable says, excited, looking through old records. Once, in the fifteenth century and once in the seventeenth century.
In both occasions, what they call the Time Room, inside the Department, had shone brightly, all the time turners went crazy, and a deep alarm rang.
And that’s what happened that day, seconds before Sirius stepped through the door. That’s how they immediately could tell he’s a ‘traveller’.
They only ask Sirius what he did in the last minutes before he walked into the past. They don’t even want to know the year he’s coming from.
“Dangerous to mess with time,” they keep saying, over and over again, barking the words to each other when one gets too curious.
After they tie Sirius on a table- and they had to tie him, because he did not come willingly- they cast numerous charms on him.
They don’t hurt.
“But they will,” a man says. “If you attempt to talk about the future, the spells will take effect and render you unconscious or bring you debilitating pain.”
Aurors, Unspeakables, Healers; they all come to gawk at him and Sirius is close to losing his mind, he’s scared and freaked out and there is no light at the end of the tunnel when someone says:
“He looks very much like a Black.”
A murmur of agreement.
“Are you?” An Auror inquires, steely eyed.
“Yes,” Sirius answers. “Yes, I am.”
He spent the last years of his life telling everyone he’s nothing like his family. He did not want to hear a word about anyone called Black.
But he’s alone now. He’s terrified.
He only has the Blacks.
“Figures,” someone mutters. “Leave it to a Black to manage such a feat.”
(-)
When Arcturus Black steps inside the chamber he’s held in- still tied, but at least upright this time, on a chair- Sirius tears up.
He’s far younger than Sirius has ever seen him, but it’s his grandfather.
“Gggg,” he says and then the pain stars, vicious and unrelenting, not allowing the word ‘grandfather’ past his lips.
Arcturus watches him with a blank expression.
“He says he’s one of yours. And I reckon he is, sir. Look at that face.”
Sirius stares at him through tears of pain and of relief. Someone Sirius knows. Someone Sirius used to love.
One of the most powerful men in Britain.
Someone that has spies in the Ministry, that had alerted him a Black is being held hostage in the Department of Mysteries.
Department of Misery, more like.
It has clearly been explained to him, the circumstances in which Sirius came to be in that room, because his grandfather does not look phased at all.
Then again, a Black should never look surprised or disturbed. Never in public, at least.
He approaches Sirius, slowly cataloging all his features.
“What is your name, boy?” he asks.
“Sirius. Sirius Black.”
His grandfather looks at him for a few more seconds before he gives a sharp nod.
“I’ll take him, then.”
“Take him?” An Unspeakable asks. “What do you mean- we have to- more tests and-”
“I was told you made sure he cannot speak or in any way reveal information about the future.”
“Yes. But we have to determine how he got here, and what repercussions- he might die or disappear suddenly or-”
“I’m taking him. He is here, he did nothing illegal as far as I can tell, and he is a Black. I will not allow you to hold him captive. You have no right to him. Release him. Or shall I bring my jurist?”
Sirius breathes in relief. He might dismiss them, he might-
He said a lot of bad things about his family, and most were warranted, but there is no denying the power the Black name holds.
(-)
Hours later, they let him go. His grandfather has to sign paper after paper, he becomes Sirius’ guardian and will be held responsible for any wrongdoing Sirius might commit.
What a laugh- no one holds a Black accountable.
When he gets out of the Department, Sirius doesn’t spend too much time gawking at the strange fashion. It’s not even that strange. His grandfather never changed styles, he dressed this way even thirty years into the future, and so did most of his friends.
But when they exist the Ministry and they find themselves in Muggle London- oh, the Muggles changed, alright.
Sirius is so shocked by the drastic changes around him, that he doesn’t even stop to question why his grandfather didn’t take them to Grimmauld through the Floo Network in the Ministry.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
His grandfather extends a hand. “Apparate us home.”
Right. He wants to make sure Sirius knows where Grimmauld is. Only a Black can Apparate inside it.
Sirius takes his hand, closes his eyes, his other hand on his wand and when he opens them again, they are standing in the hallway.
Sirius tears up again. He hasn’t been home in two years.
“You will take me to the heart of the house,” his grandfather says, still not letting his guard down.
Sirius nods, and, on unsteady feet, overcome with emotion and exhaustion after two days of mental torture, he heads to the kitchen, his grandfather trailing after him.
Sirius leads them to the pantry, squeezes himself between the shelves there, and then touches the hidden door that no one knows is there other than a Black.
The wall glows brightly; it doesn’t open, since Sirius is not the head of house, but it recognises him as Black.
Only then does his grandfather relax, between tall shelves filled with jars of marmalade and honey.
“You are one of mine,” he says.
“You are no Black,” his grandfather says, when his mother burns him off the tapestry.
But now he looks at Sirius almost gently.
“I imagine you went through quite the gruelling ordeal these days, but, rest assured, no one will harass you again. You are home, and you are safe.”
Sirius hugs him. He can’t help it. All these years with James and his friends made Sirius crave touch, and he forgot one shouldn’t hug so easily.
He hadn’t hugged his grandfather since he was six years old.
But arms close around Sirius’ shoulders. “Have we lost our sense of decorum in the future, or is it just you?”
“No, it’s just that- It’s just that- this is-“
“I understand. Even for a Black, I imagine being displaced through time takes a bit of getting used to. But I shall ask you to keep these emotions in check, going forward.”
“Yes, grrrr-”
He doubles down, letting go of his grandfather, clutching his head, that explodes in pain.
He tried to say grandfather again.
“Sorry,” he wheezes, straightening himself, blinking through the splitting headache. “It’s the magic, it won’t-“
“I know.” But his grandfather looks even more pleased. He must realise Sirius knows him in the future.
“Kreacher!”
And there Kreacher is; Sirius tries to say something, to swear at the foul creature, yell that he hoped he never had to see it again in his life- the pain returns, and it’s so bad this time that he loses consciousness.
(-)
He wakes up in the room Bella used to have, when she’d visit Grimmauld with her side of the family.
Kreacher is there, staring down at him.
And in the chair beside the bed, his grandmother sits. She died when Sirius was eleven.
“You are safe,” she says, voice gentle, standing, moving closer to him. “You are home. I am very pleased to meet you, Sirius. My name is Melania.”
Sirius smiles up at her.
Kreacher is so nice to him, asking if ‘young master needs anything’, huge eyes kind when they take Sirius in.
So fucking weird.
Sirius lets his grandmother give him water, he even eats, because he’s suddenly ravenous.
Gods, I missed this food. Sirius survived on Muggle restaurants, and Lily’s attempts at cooking. It sucked, especially compared to this.
Kreacher has many faults, but he’s a very skilled cook.
“Arcturus is informing the rest of our family about you. They can’t wait to meet you. But you rest for now, Sirius. I will sit right here with you.”
She takes his hand in her own, a soft look in her eyes, and whatever is going on, however dire, Sirius feels very comforted.
He falls back asleep.
(-)
He almost dies when he sees his mother, his heart stopping for a second.
She’s the first to grab Sirius’ attention.
“My niece, Walburga,” Arcturus introduces her. She’s not really his niece, but Arcturus and Pollux always acted as if they were brothers instead of cousins, so they always referred to each other’s children as nieces and nephews.
Sirius can’t look away. She’s young, strikingly beautiful and she smiles at Sirius, does a little curtsy.
“And my daughter, Lucretia.”
Sirius still stares at his mum, who meets his eyes. Her eyes. Sirius, his mother and his father all have the same eyes, the very same shade and shape, even their eyelashes-
“Sirius,” Arcturus says, softly and Sirius turns to acknowledge his aunt. She, too, is young and more beautiful than ever. As always, she resembles Sirius’ mum to a great degree, but she always looked kinder, and that is true that day, as well. She offers a curtsy of her own.
“My nephew, Alphard.”
Merlin. Alphard died not long before and he left Sirius an enormous pile of gold.
Sirius swallows and Alphard smirks at him, a mischievous smile in his eyes. He holds out his hand and Sirius shakes it.
“My other nephew, Cygnus.”
Fucking Cygnus. But terrible Cygnus is just a child, really. He’s so, so young. A little kid.
He, too, extends a hand, even if he barely reaches Sirius’ elbows.
Sirius shakes it.
“And this is my son and heir, Orion,” Arcturus says, proudly, standing aside to reveal-
Sirius breathes in, deeply. He opens his mouth and another undistinguishable sound comes out of it, followed by a debilitating pain.
His father. His father, who just died.
Sirius didn’t go to the funeral and he knew, even as he made that decision, that he’ll never forgive himself for it.
“What’s wrong with him?” His mother’s voice. Sirius would recognise it anywhere, even if it is nowhere near as sharp as it used to be.
“Never you mind,” Arcturus says.
Sirius shakes his head, wincing. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry.” Then he remembers Blacks don’t apologise- he’s tempted to apologise for apologising, before deciding to just keep his bloody mouth shut.
He extends his hand, and his father is so young, too. Not as young as Cygnus, but still trapped in that phase between a child and a teenager.
He’s shorter than Sirius.
His hand is warm when he take Sirius’ own and fuck it, they all resemble each other, every single person in that room, but Sirius is the spitting imagine of his father- or rather, in this time, his father is the spitting image of Sirius- and surely they can all tell what they are to each other, that they are father and son-
Maybe not, Sirius reconsiders when Arcturus introduces the next person.
“My cousin, Pollux.” And Sirius is the spitting image of Pollux, too. “He fathered Walburga, Alphard and-”
“I know,” Sirius says, and to his surprise, no pain comes. “The tapestry,” he explains. “It’s still there, in my time.”
“Yes, of course. I imagine you’ve had heard of all of us. After all, even if I were to be thrown to the middle ages and meet our family in that time, I would know them all,” Arcturus says. “This is more so we can all meet you.”
So Sirius shakes Pollux’ hand and kisses Irma’s hand, his other grandmother.
(-)
He needs to think of his father as Orion and his mother as Walburga. They’re both younger than him- at least his mother- Walburga- is seventeen, but to think of a kid as his father is extremely weird. It makes his mind freeze.
Once his grandfathers leave for work and the women retreat to whatever the fuck they do all day, all the young ones jump on him.
“Bloody hells, a time traveller!” Alphard says, excited.
“You can’t say shit though, right?” his father- Orion- asks and Sirius stares because...
Alphard was always a tad vulgar, but his father? His strict, proper, made of ice father? Never.
“Orion, language!” Lucretia admonishes him. “And don’t bother Sirius, Father said to leave him be, lest we cause him pain. He can’t speak about the future. Right, Sirius?”
“Right,” Sirius answers, dazed.
“So we best tell you how things are around here. In case you are from far enough in the future and you aren’t familiar with everything,” Lucretia adds. She was always the kind, helpful one. At least until you pissed her off.
Sirius can’t take in a single word, staring at all of them for the next hour, especially his father and mother.
Orion and Walburga!
“Be grateful the other Sirius is in China, with business,” Alphard says. “We have time to prepare you for that meeting.”
Cygnus winces.
Sirius met his namesake, but he barely remembers him. He died when Sirius was very young. What he does remember wasn’t so bad; Sirius has fractured, but fond memories of a friendly, fun old man, but, growing up, every member of his family spoke about him with fear, even if the man was dead and buried.
“Yes, you don’t want to displease him,” his father- Orion!- nods along. “And you best mind yourself around Father, as well.”
Of that, Sirius is aware. His grandfather was a no-nonsense man, and he disciplined Sirius a few times in his childhood.
Yet now Sirius is all grown up; surely, his grandfather wouldn’t spank him at his age.
The thought makes him laugh, and the others look at him as if he’s insane.
(-)
“You will go back to Hogwarts.”
“But I’ve just finished!” Sirius whines.
His grandfather waves it away. “You aren’t going back to your time. Every expert I’ve consulted on the matter agrees you are stuck here.”
Sirius feels a pang of grief in his chest. He hadn’t gotten used to the idea. He hadn’t yet accepted it.
“You need to integrate yourself here, make a new future for yourself. You need to make connections with your peers. You will do that at Hogwarts. And you also need to take your examinations. Now, in this, I will let you choose- once you pass your O.W.Ls- and I arranged with the board to let you take the tests in a week’s time- you can either go to school as a seventh year, and you will share classes with Walburga, or as a sixth year, and you can share classes and a dorm with Alphard-”
“Sixth year,” Sirius says, before his grandfather can even finish the sentence.
It’s a well-honed instinct to avoid his mother and her scrutiny, as much as possible
He regrets it as soon as he said it. That’s two more years at Hogwarts.
But even so- what would Sirius do if not Hogwarts? At least he has Alphard there; at least he won’t be expected to…adult.
He didn’t make for a great adult back in his own time, where he had friends and connections and people knew about him. What on Earth would he do here?
“I am in touch with some…specialists, regarding the spells forced on you by the Unspeakables. I have full confidence, in time, we will find a way to get rid of them.”
Sirius realises he’s a great asset for shrewd Arcturus. A Black that knows the future, it’s probably a wet dream for his grandfather.
He hopes these specialists will be able to do it; Sirius wants to warn people about what is coming. About Voldemort.
“For now, we shall lie and say you are sixteen. I will write to Armando to inform him he will be receiving a new student. And Sirius, I am sure you know already, but just in case our standards slipped in the future- we expect good grades in this family. Anything under Exceeded Expectations is….unheard of.”
Sirius snorts. “I only got Exceeded Expectations and Outstanding,” he says and at least that doesn’t bring him pain. He’s yet to figure out what he can or cannot say about the future, but apparently his grades are of no consequence to the spells he’s under. “And that was on my first go at Hogwarts. I’m sure I won’t have any issues the second time.”
“Good.” His grandfather nods. “In the eyes of the law, you are a minor, so you will obey me. And if you want to stay in this family, you will listen to me even after your new seventeenth birthday.”
Sirius clenches his jaws but shuts up.
He can’t even tell Arcturus the day of his brith. Not even the month. So he allows his grandfather to choose what he pleases, a random new birthday.
(-)
“I wish you’d drop dead!” Sirius’ father- Orion!- screams after his mo- after Walburga.
“Right back at you!” She scowls before she leaves the room, confiscating the dangerous game Orion was entertaining himself with, a heavily cursed deck of cards.
“Gods, how I despise her,” Orion tells Sirius. “And I’m going to have to marry her.”
Sirius sighs. “She’s no fun, is she?”
“Furthest thing from it,” Orion agrees.
He is fun, though, to Sirius’ shock. His fath- Orion is full of energy, as mischievous -even more so- than Alphard.
He immediately takes to Sirius, in just a matter of days, fascinated with him, following him around the house like a shadow.
Even outside the house.
“I rarely went to muggle London. Especially in the last couple of years, what with the Germans bombing it,” he says, doubtful, when Sirius asks if he wants to come along for a walk.
“It’s quite safe now,” Sirius assures him. “At least from bombs.” He didn’t pay much attention in History of Magic, and wizards have very little interests in muggle history, but even they can’t ignore World War Two and how it had affected them all. He knows the blitz is over and not another bomb will fall on London.
“If you’re scared, you can stay home,” Sirius teases, and Orion narrows his eyes, straightens his shoulders.
“Blacks aren’t scared of anything,” he says, words he learned from his father, words he’ll teach to Sirius one day.
It’s hard to get fags. They aren’t as common as they will be in the future. Sirius finds tobacco instead, and thin papers to roll it in.
“Can I try?” Orion asks, fascinated.
“Sure.”
That’s how Sirius teaches his fourteen-year-old father how to smoke.
(-)
He meets Regulus, his great uncle. It’s a nice surprise. Sirius has never met him before. Lycoris, his great aunt, he knows from the future, but she died young, as well, when Sirius was just a kid.
Cassiopeia and Dorea he knows well, though they’re much younger, now, especially Dorea. She comes to dinner with her husband, Charlus Potter.
Sirius’ chest aches- he misses James so much, and it’s only been two weeks since he last saw him. Sirius can’t quite accept he won’t see James again, or at least not any time soon.
Charlus has the trademark Potter hair, and he smiles easily, which, of course, gets him mocked mercilessly by the Blacks. But the man doesn’t care, takes it in stride.
“Well, we had big news of our own,” Charlus says, taking Dorea's hand.
“Yes, but now we’ve been outshined by Sirius,” she says. “We’re expecting a child.”
That would be James’ cousin.
“Two new additions to the family,” Pollux declares, congratulating his sister.
After that, everyone picks on Lycoris, Regulus and Cassiopeia because they aren’t married yet.
They’ll never marry, Sirius knows, even if Lycoris tells her older brother that she might give a Rowle man a chance to impress her.
Everyone keeps saying how strict old Sirius is, yet it appears he never forced his daughter and youngest son to marry, unlike other paterfamilias.
Pollux hasn’t been as…easy going with his daughter, and neither was Cygnus, in the future.
Shockingly, Sirius has a great time. He just can’t comprehend why; perhaps because everyone is so nice to him, perhaps because they’re all much younger, but Sirius cannot remember ever enjoying dinner with not just his family, but his entire extended family, so much.
They’re all very helpful, filling Sirius in with what’s going on in the world, they are patient when he tries to say something that apparently interferes with the spells and he swears in pain; they’re even nice- or nice by Black standards- with Charlus.
Though, of course, unlike most of the Potters, Charlus isn’t quite as outspoken about his blood traitor beliefs, so that could explain it.
“You should go back home,” Charlus told Sirius, after Sirius ran away from Grimmauld and Fleamount Potter received him in his house.
Charlus visited sometimes, but Dorea never again came to see Fleamount after she learned he’s giving Sirius shelter.
“I understand- believe me, Sirius, I understand how Blacks get, how insufferable they can be, but they are your blood. You should mend whatever broke between you,” Charlus advised him, though he made sure Fleamont and Euphemia were not around to hear it.
“You alright?” Walburga whispers, seated at his side.
“Yes,” Sirius says, shaking his head. “Yes, I’m fine.”
She gives him a small smile, and dumps some roasted duck on his plate. “You’ve hardly eaten a thing,” she admonishes him. “Go on, eat.”
Yes, Mother, he almost says, but the spells stop him.
After dinner, he’d much rather go hang out with the women, because they’re all excellent gossips, but he’s dragged with the men to another room.
Orion and Cygnus pout, upset to be sent to bed. Sirius envies them, really, but at least he’s given a glass of firewhiskey.
“What about me?” Alphard demands, but he’s only served wine, and then the older men start speaking about Grindelwald.
Sirius can’t say shit, anyway, not about Grindelwald, but he could say something when his grandfathers and great uncle start ranting against ‘mudbloods’.
He doesn’t, though. He remains silent, as does Alphard.
Charlus seems uncomfortable, too, and he speaks rarely, just nodding from time to time, before he manages to make an escape, something about having to go home early so Dorea can rest, what with her delicate condition.
“What do you think, Sirius?” Arcturus asks, after Charlus left, and after Alphard was kicked out of the room, as well.
Everyone there knows he’s eighteen, even if they pretend he’s sixteen.
And no one would ask an eighteen-year-old about his opinion in such important matters. No one would ask a boy if their family should support Grindelwald or not.
But he’s no regular eighteen-year-old boy.
Sirius thinks how to phrase it, what the spells would allow him to speak.
“Personally,” he says, slowly. “I wouldn’t want anything to do with Grindelwald.”
It works! The magic allows him to say it, because it is Sirius’ opinion- it isn’t a fact, he’s not telling them Grindelwald will lose.
Sirius, even if he had no knowledge of the future, would not want anything to do with the dark lord, because he sounds just as violent and cruel as Voldemort.
Of course, since Arcturus doesn’t know Sirius is a blood traitor, takes it to mean something else, takes it to mean Grindelwald will lose, which he will, even if Sirius didn’t mean it that way.
Arcturus and Pollux exchange a look.
“That settles it, then,” Arcturus says. “I shall write to Father on the morrow.”
Sirius has no clue what happened before, if his family supported Grindelwald or not. If they did, they hid it well. Yet this time, Sirius is certain there will be no involvement.
He feels good about it. That night, he rests well for the first time since he found himself in this mess.
(-)
For the remaining weeks of the summer, Sirius is dragged around and introduced to society.
He’s starting to remember why he wanted to run away from his home; he’d half forgotten it, in the past weeks, what with how well they treat Sirius, but now he’s reminded of the boring, snobbish, painful, forced socialisation with ‘important people’.
Alphard introduces Sirius to Abraxas Malfoy, who, of course, needs no introduction.
Sirius never liked Abraxas. He is a bit more tolerable as a teenager than he’d been as a grown up, but still. He is far worse than Lucius had been at that age.
Just generally worse, in all ways, and Lucius was bad enough, too.
Even so, Sirius enjoys a few Quidditch games at Malfoy Manor, with Abraxas, Alphard, Orion, Lestrange and Nott.
The brooms are so slow, though, and these are top of the line models.
Merlin, what a disgrace. The worst broom in the future will be fastest than the best one available now.
(-)
On the train ride, Orion goes to sit with his year mates, and Walburga and Lucretia with their girlfriends.
Sirius sits with Alphard, Abraxas, Rosier, Nott, and Lestrange. He’ll have to share a bedroom with these people.
Awesome. All fathers of future Death Eaters. Except for Alphard, of course.
Actually, from what Sirius knew in the future, these might have been Death Eaters themselves. No one was too sure about the older ones, but since Lucius, Rodolphus and Evan supported Voldemort, their fathers were surely in agreement.
For now, they’re just teenagers, talking about girls.
They try to ask Sirius about the future, but Alphard instantly put an end to it, famous Black temper flaring, terribly protective of Sirius.
“I can hold my own,” Sirius assures him, as they change into their school robes.
Even worse than the ones in the future. So baggy. A right horror.
“We look out for each other,” Alphard says, simply.
(-)
The sorting. Brilliant. All the school gawks at him, when his turn comes, after all the first years.
‘The time traveller’, they whisper.
Or: ‘Great, as if we needed yet another Black.’
Sirius sits on that tiny stool meant for first years, and then the damned hat is on his head. A much, much younger Dumbledore places it there.
He has red hair, for the love of Merlin!
Another Black, the hat whispers, exasperated. Let’s see. Slytherin qualities aplenty. What a shock.
Stupid, sarcastic hat.
But you wouldn’t go amiss in Gryffindor, either.
Brave, rash. Cunning, ambitious. Hmmm, where to put you, time traveller?
“Slytherin,” Sirius says, defeated.
He’d convinced the hat to place him in Gryffindor the first time around, and sometimes Sirius thinks that was such a huge mistake the universe sent him back in time just so he can go where he rightfully belongs.
Plus, he wants to be with his family. What if old Sirius will disown him if he gets sorted into Gryffindor? He’d be all alone, stuck in the past. Best not risk it.
“Slytherin,” the hat agrees and there he goes.
All the Blacks stay together at the long green and silver table.
There is a free spot between Orion and Alphard. Just for me. They kept it free, for me, he thinks, overcome with emotion.
Sirius takes it, patted on the back by his father.
Everyone around them instantly wants to make his acquaintance.
Mulciber, Avery, Flint- he recognises their features before they say their names.
“And who are you?” Sirius asks a boy that didn’t push his hand in Sirius’ face to be shaken.
He is sitting between Nott and Abraxas; Sirius doesn’t recognise his features. They are aristocratic, he must be old blood, but Sirius just can’t place him.
A very handsome bloke.
“Don’t speak to him,” Walburga says, from Alphard’s other side. “He’s a mudblood.”
Sirius blinks.
A tense silence falls over their side of the table.
The boy has no reaction to it, not even looking at her. Abraxas goes still at his side.
“Walburga,” Alphard hisses, a warning in his eyes.
“So don’t bother with him, Sirius. He is below us,” she goes on, ignoring her brother.
Sirius doesn’t know how to react. He’d heard ‘mudblood’ so much in the past weeks that he stopped showing a reaction to it.
That’s his family, alright, and there is no use in fighting with them over it.
But it was fine when it was just them. To say it here, though, in front of the boy, with an audience-
It reminds Sirius of Lily, of the Slytherins in his year calling her that. She never showed a reaction, but once, when she got drunk in their seventh year, she told him how much it hurt.
He opens his mouth to tell his mother- to tell Walburga off, but Dippet stands at the same moment and launches into a welcoming speech.
In it, he asks the students not to pester Sirius about his ‘situation’.
The entire student body stares at him with wide eyes.
Good thing I always loved attention, Sirius thinks, unbothered with all the eyes on him.
(-)
Slughorn fawns over him in the Common Room, even more than he used to fawn over him in the future.
Wait till you see my potion skills, Sirius thinks.
Slughorn adored Sirius and his remarkable talent with potions. If it weren’t for stupid Snape and the way he whispered instructions in Lily’s ear, Sirius would have been by far the best in his year.
As it was, Snape, who was less than Sirius in every other way, outperformed him in Potions.
And Lily as well, at least until she stopped speaking with Snape. After that, Sirius did better than her.
This time around, Sirius should be the best of the best.
By the time he reaches his new dormitory, he’s exhausted.
But he’s in for another surprise. The muggleborn his mum insulted is apparently in Sirius’ year.
He’s arranging his books neatly on his nightstand. Sirius’ bed is right next to his, the newest addition.
Alphard goes to shower; Rosier is already fighting with Abraxas, Nott trying to calm them both down.
Sirius heads over to the muggleborn.
“Hello,” he says, with his most winning smile. He feels terribly sorry for the boy. A muggleborn in Slytherin… what an oddity. And stuck in a room with a Black and a Malfoy...poor thing.
The boy looks up from his books. For a second he seems surprised, before his face goes blank.
“Sirius Black,” he says, hand stretched in front of him.
The boy watches it for a second, a second long enough to become awkward, before he extends his own hand.
The other three had stopped fighting on the other side of the room, all staring at Sirius.
If one of them tells me not to talk to ‘filth’, I’m going to fucking curse them.
“Tom Riddle.” He has a deep voice. There’s no breakage about it, no teenage awkwardness. He’s tall, too. The only one as tall as Sirius. His robes are… deplorable. Clean, yes. Not a wrinkle on them, but clearly very worn down. His school trunk is old, too.
Muggleborn and poor. Sirius feels a swell of pity in his chest. He resolves he’ll be very nice to the boy, protect him from the blood purists all around.
“Nice to meet you, Tom.”
“Likewise,” Tom says, taking his hand back after a brief shake.
“Sirius,” Alphard’ sounds apprehensive, and he hurries at their side, hair wet, towel clenched tightly in his fists.
“What?” Sirius barks at him. Don’t you dare say something about his blood.
“Ah-” Alphard looks between them. “I see you met Tom.”
“Yeah,” Sirius says, aggressive.
Tom turns back to his books.
Alphard grabs Sirius by the shoulder and leads him to his bed. “Go on. Unpack. Big day tomorrow.”
What the fuck is going on? Alphard looks panicked, the other three boys are still staring and Tom is massively unbothered.
(-)
“Watch out with Riddle,” Alphard says, first thing in the morning, keeping Sirius behind the rest of the group. “He’s…off.”
“Off?” Sirius demands. “Why, because he’s a muggleborn?”
“No. Listen, he-“ Alphard looks ahead, at Tom’s back.
Abraxas walks beside Tom, apparently unbothered by his blood status, Lestrange on his other side.
“He had it bad in our first year, you can imagine, with that name and his second hand robes.”
“I imagine,” Sirius hisses.
“None of us would talk to him. We weren’t very nice.”
“I bet you weren’t.”
“Second year was the same, and the third, but - he’s brilliant, truth be told. Never met anyone as smart. And he’s sinister as fuck, Sirius. He started fighting back in our fourth year and- suffice to say, best not antagonise him, yeah? These days, even Abraxas goes to those stupid meetings Riddle holds.”
“Meetings?”
Alphard nods. “They practice the Arts. Anyway, just be careful with Riddle. Something is off about him and he has some mean curses in his repertoire.”
(-)
Classes are boring. They always were, but it’s even worse now, on his second go. Sirius spends his time drawing on his parchments, completely uninterested. He only perks up during Dumbledore’s class.
His teaching style is a tad more lively than the rest, but ultimately, it’s still boring, because it’s Transfiguration.
A pity to waste a man like Dumbledore on that, when they could have had him in Defence, where he’d be able to teach them how to duel.
He’d love to see Dumbledore duel, even silly ones with students, to show them a spell or another.
Alas, that won’t happen, so Sirius goes back to his drawings.
Abraxas seems to be the best in their year, in a fierce competition with Alphard.
And yet, it’s Tom that has the Prefect badge.
Alphard called him ‘brilliant’.
Uncle Alphard was never as hateful towards muggleborns as the rest of their family, but he was not a fan of them, either. He refused to talk to Andromeda, simply because she married Ted, yet he had no issues helping Sirius when he was the one to run away.
For Alphard to call a muggleborn brilliant…
Tom pays attention in class, but he never tries to answer questions. He lets Alphard and Abraxas compete, but when both of them get it wrong, the Professors often call upon Tom to answer, and he always does so correctly.
Sirius is a bit pissed off. He thought he’d be the best in Potions without Snape there, but after just three weeks of classes, it is clear he’s second place again.
Tom is, impossibly, even better at potions than Snape was.
Sirius is very bored, he can’t even play Quidditch, the Slytherin team is complete, and he doesn’t have enough friends to pull pranks.
So, to pass the time, he tries to outdo Tom Riddle, Prefect Extraordinaire.
Sirius is intelligent, he is well aware. He has effortlessly breezed through all his O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts without having to study much.
He’s been through these subjects before, and this time he actually reads the books, out of pure boredom, yet somehow he is still behind Tom.
On his end, Tom takes notice of Sirius, when Sirius quickly surpasses Abraxas, Alphard, and a very nerdy Ravenclaw in their year, demolishing them in all their classes.
Dumbledore, who apparently dislikes Slytherins, a fact Sirius had always known, even in the future, but becomes even more obvious now that he’s a Slytherin, awards Sirius ten points, which he is told is a rarity, when Sirius performs organic transfiguration, non-verbally.
“Quite impressive, Mr Black. Quite impressive.”
It is impressive. It would have been even more impressive if Sirius was actually sixteen and this was his first try.
Tom also manages the very complicated charm, even if verbally, but no one else does it for the reminder of the class.
Sirius notices Tom gets no points from Dumbledore, not even an acknowledgment.
“Bloody hell, you’re good!” Alphard exclaims, once the class is over.
It doesn’t hurt that Sirius has two years of experience over everyone in his class, but he was always skilled in magic. McGonagall adored him, even if she tried to hide it. She used to say Sirius is one of the most talented students she’d ever taught.
(-)
“I think we finally have a good match for you, Tom,” Merrythought says, during a practical Defence lesson, the first of the term. Finally, something exciting. “Mr Black- Sirius, that is- you’ll work with Tom. He’ll inform you about the rules.”
Sirius goes to their designated spots.
Tom offers him a smile. It’s a nice smile. Sirius spent a lot of time studying this anomaly of a boy.
A very handsome anomaly, truth be told.
Sirius was always surrounded by Blacks, so he’s no stranger to beauty. But Tom…Tom is breathtaking.
Mary used to tell Sirius that he has criminal cheekbones, and Sirius knows he has great ones, but by the gods, Tom just- criminal cheekbones indeed.
He explains the duelling rules Merrythought has in her class, in that deep, low voice of his. He’s good at explaining things. He’s good at everything, the bugger.
Sirius got to fight Death Eater twice before he went back in time. He was trained by Moody for three months, in a desperate attempt on the Auror’s side to ‘keep you kids alive, give you a fighting chance’.
Sirius barely, with great difficulty, wins the duel after twenty minutes.
Never in his life had he been involved in a duel for so long.
Tom’s face is priceless when Sirius finally manages to disarm him.
Everyone is staring at them.
“What?” Sirius inquires, breathing heavily, his hands on his knees, his heart thudding in his chest. Merlin, that was tough!
Tom is more composed, his breathing under control, but he lost, so it doesn’t matter, does it, how composed he looks?
“That was…“ Merrythought coughs, blinking in rapid succession. “Very well done, lads. Very well done. Twenty points each, for Slytherin.”
(-)
“Sirius,” Tom’s voice floats after him, just as Sirius steps on the stairway.
Alphard makes a face before they both turn.
“Yes?” they both answer.
Sirius is getting a tad irritated with Alphard.
“Listen,” he snaps. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll meet you in the common room.”
“I’ll wait,” Alphard says, stubbornly.
“I insist,” Sirius hisses and, with a final look between Sirius and Tom, Alphard blessedly buggers off.
“Merlin, he’s driving me insane,” Sirius mumbles, looking after his retreating back.
Tom smiles, having arrived at Sirius’ side. “He likes to look after his flock,” he says, mockingly.
Sirius rolls his eyes. “What do you want?”
Tom gives him his full attention. He has the darkest eyes- brown, warm, but intense, framed by long, thick eyelashes.
Stop it, he’s too young!
He’s not that much younger, another voice whispers.
“We started a study group last year. To prepare for our O.W.Ls. But we continued with it, even now that they’re done with.”
Sirius snorts. “The O.W.Ls. What, you were tested on your knowledge of the dark arts in your O.W.LS?”
Tom’s smile widens. “I see Alphard already informed you, then. I would like to extend an invitation.”
“Forget it,” Sirius says, walking away.
Tom stalks after him.
“Why not?”
“Why not? It’s illegal,” Sirius spits.
A raised eyebrow greets him. A perfect eyebrow-
Stop. Too young!
“Never thought I’d see a Black shying from something illegal. I thought you lot are above the law. Or, like Walburga likes to say, Blacks make the law. Quite literally, what with your relatives all over the Ministry.”
Sirius stops walking, turns to face Tom fully. “It’s immoral,” he says.
Tom’s other eyebrow raises.
Merlin, but are eyebrows supposed to be in such perfect symmetry?
“How old are you?” he blurts out.
Tom looks thrown off at the change of topics; it lasts only a second, before his perfect smile comes back in place.
“Seventeen in December.”
Oh, thank the gods. Sirius feels way better now. Not that young then.
“So, will you come?”
“No,” he says, walking again. “I’m not into that stuff. It doesn’t lead to anything good.”
“I don’t know what Alphard told you- and mind you, he never attended, so whatever information he has, it’s second hand, but it’s nothing dangerous. Just a bit of…fun.”
Sirius knows what ‘just a bit of fun’ can lead to.
To men in masks, torturing people.
“I’m not dealing with dark magic,” he insists. “And you shouldn’t, either.”
Yet Sirius doesn’t judge him. He can’t.
Sirius was raised with the Arts, he practiced, here and there as a teenager, and he can’t fault a muggleborn in Slytherin doing anything he can to fit it.
Sirius is not James, to balk at even the mention of dark magic. He isn’t James, but he’s trying to be.
Merlin, Prongs. I miss you so much.
Besides being Sirius’ best friend, he was Sirius’ moral compass.
“How about a one-on-one meeting, then?” Tom asks, not at all deterred. “I’d like to redo our duel. You took me by surprise.”
Sirius sighs.
He can understand Tom wanting another shot. Must be jarring for him, as perfect as he is, to suddenly lose to someone.
Truth be told, if Sirius would really be a sixth year, if he hadn’t been in a war, however briefly, he’d have lost to Tom. Quite badly, at that.
“Alright.”
Tom’s smile brightens. “Do you know the room by the Potion supplies cupboard in the-“
“Yes.”
“Twenty minutes after midnight?”
“It’s a date,” Sirius agrees, with a wink.