Chapter 1: Summer, 1971: Kick Off
Summary:
Sirius discovers a hidden passageway to the muggle world and makes an unexpected friend.
CW: Theft, racially charged predatory language (one line specifically, but also just an awful guy), threats of violence through physical intimidation, mention of knives, brief mention of blood, and underage smoking.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
You know the day destroys the night
Night divides the day
Tried to run, tried to hide
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side, yeah!
☆ Break on Through (To the Other Side), The Doors, 1967 ☆
The summer of 1971, Sirius Black was going to feel whole for the first time. He just didn’t know it yet—or maybe he never knew at all.
Like most of his grand revelations, it’d been discovered by accident; a fit of boredom, mostly. This summer, Sirius had taken to dramatically sulking in the back garden like some widowed Victorian novelist, partly because he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere else and it offered him just a pinch of freedom, which was enough for now.
He never cared much for the garden, and he wasn’t sure if his parents did either. To him, it was just another corner of their control, made to be orderly and presentable. And maybe that alone should have been enough to make Sirius hate it, but he couldn’t. Sirius and the garden shared something in common: they both rebelled against control. The plants and flowers had rooted themselves deep in the small square of land long before Sirius’ family had claimed it. They could own it, but it never truly belonged to them. It belonged to something bigger entirely.
Sirius was fairly certain the primroses had always been white, up until this summer, at least. White was fine by Walburga’s standards. It was neutral, unobtrusive. It didn’t clash with the dull stone walls, and it didn’t draw too much attention.
Because god forbid we let some colour into this place—no, that would be too much. Too loud, too alive, too distracting. Then we might actually be forced to feel something, Sirius thought bitterly.
But then, there it was: one shade of pale yellow amongst the white. Walburga made a big fuss, of course, which was at the very least, amusing for Sirius. She ordered Kreacher to dig up the entire bulb and to layer the rest with some kind of enchantment, but it was no use. The next day, another yellow bloom had appeared in a different spot as if to mock her—this time startlingly bright in colour. Each of her attempts to force them into obedience just led to more yellow blooms, as bold and brash as ever. Eventually, she gave up.
Sirius never understood why it mattered so much, they were just flowers, after all. He thought the yellow was quite pretty too. It paired well with the greenery. The bushes and bramble, knotted at their edges, tangled and stubborn—or the ivy, traveling unruly no matter how much or how often it was trimmed, curling into cracks in the stone. It was magic.
And Magic didn’t always come from wands or spells, you just had to know where to find it.
One afternoon, Sirius had been trailing his fingers along the cold stone and rough branches. He wasn’t looking for anything really. Just movement, a press beneath his fingertips. Something to remind him that he was in fact, alive.
And then, his hand slipped.
This time not against stone, but against wood.
He froze.
It was barely a shift, a subtle change in texture, the tiniest sliver hidden amongst the ivy. He could’ve missed it. He scrambled to uncover more of it, pushing past the ivy and branches. And then he saw it.
It was a door. Hidden and forgotten, but waiting. Waiting for him.
Sirius’ uncle Alphard had told him once that Grimmauld Place had belonged to muggles first. It was a handsome townhome close to the heart of the city, but there was nothing remarkable about it. Nothing, except for the fact that wizards decided it should belong to them instead. Sirius’ father had fortified it since, layering the home with every enchantment of security known to wizardkind. In a way, the fact that the servants entrance was forgotten—or perhaps ignored—was oddly fitting. Those types of blind spots only came with a certain kind of privilege.
Since that day, the passage between the muggle world and Sirius’ had become his refuge.
⋆⋆⋆
Tuesday, August 3rd, 1971
Sirius exhaled as the wood gave way with a quiet groan, his pulse still humming with reckless indulgence. He tumbled over the bush blocking the door, which was now permanently flattened because of him, and back into the garden, leaving the quiet alleyway behind. Ivy leaves stuck to his shirt and in his hair as he passed through. He picked them out, making a careful tred through the grass. Instinctively, he looked up to a specific window on the topmost floor. There, Regulus was waiting for him, always waiting, his figure silhouetted by the soft glow of the room behind him. Sirius smiled, waving up at him, and Regulus waved back. He always did. Neither of them ever discussed it; it was just their thing. It was comforting, knowing that Regulus would be there for him when he came back.
The second Regulus’ door clicked shut behind Sirius, a familiar voice cut through, sharp.
“You’re late.”
Sirius grinned wide and proud, the kind that feels contagious. “Miss me?”
A small smile pulled at the corners of Regulus’ lips, but he wrung his hands with worry.
“You have to be more careful, Sirius, Mum, she almost—"
“Relax, Reg,” Sirius interrupted, already digging through his pockets. “I had everything timed perfectly, alright?”
And he did, he always did. Still, Regulus let out an unimpressed grunt. But as Sirius pulled a thick wad of cash out of his pocket next and tossed it onto the bed beside Regulus, his eyes grew wide, and he stared down at it as if it might bite him. Sirius couldn’t tell if he was horrified or impressed, or both.
Regulus’ breath caught as he spoke, “Is that—"
“Muggle money,” Sirius said easily, while pulling a worn zippo out of his pocket next and absentmindedly flicking it on and off, the flame shimmering in the dim room.
“Oh my god,” Regulus recoiled slightly, glancing towards the door anxiously as if he expected their mother to storm in at any moment. Then he whispered it, like a dirty secret, “You stole muggle money?”
Sirius shuffled into the bed to sit next to him. “Mmm, wouldn’t call it stolen exactly.”
Sirius held his brother’s gaze then, no hint of amusement, just the truth laid bare, “The prick deserved it, Reg. Total creep, too.”
Regulus seemed satisfied with this answer. He hesitantly picked up the notes and flipped through them.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Dunno,” Sirius said, clicking the zippo to life again and studying the flame, rolling his thumb over the casing. “Cool though, right?”
In truth, he was pretty sure he knew exactly what he wanted to do with it.
“Yeah, cool.” Regulus handed the cash back to Sirius, who slipped it back into his pockets. Then, he looked up at Sirius with anticipation, desperate almost.
“Well,” he asked, “What else happened?”
Sirius smiled that big, stupid grin again, and Regulus couldn’t help but match it.
⋆⋆⋆
Earlier that day
Sirius had hopped on a double-decker bus in Muggle London that morning. There were a lot of things he still didn’t know or understand about the muggle world, and he definitely stuck out despite his efforts to blend in. When out, he always wore a plain shirt, a black pair of slacks, and an old pair of trainers, which were definitely too small for his feet now. It was the best he had for ‘muggle casual.’ He had spent the past few days prowling around the city like a stray dog, picking up a few things along the way—speech, mannerisms, posture. Lots of interesting swear words. He was itching for more.
For some reason, every time one of those bright red buses would roll past, he’d feel that restless pull. Sirius wanted to step into rhythm with it, to be carried along with the city’s tide instead of paddling at its edges as he had been.
Surprisingly, it hadn’t been hard at all to sneak through and avoid paying the fare, though Sirius wasn’t sure the driver would have noticed either way. He was already occupied, currently in an argument with an old and rather plump, red-faced bloke blocking the aisle.
The driver tapped his fingers impatiently against the wheel, throwing a flat glare at the older man.
“A bob for the bus? Yer ‘avin’ a laugh, son!” the man huffed, “Back inna day, a bob’d get ya a cuppa, the paper, an’ nuff’ left for the bus. New Pence? Load o’ cobblers, that is! No one knows what they're payin’ no more!”
The driver exhaled slowly and deliberately before shaking his head, “Look mate—5p or gerroff the damn bus. Ain’t got all day.”
Sirius didn’t hesitate. He took this as his cue and slipped past the bulk of the man and disappeared into the bus, unnoticed. Settling into his seat on the upper deck, he watched with quiet amusement as the man below deflated, muttering under his breath while digging in his pockets for the fare.
Cheers, ya old geezer, Sirius thought smugly.
The seat was stuffy, and the air was thick. A rough looking bloke in the rear was puffing away on his cigarette like it was his lifeline, filling the upper deck with gray coils of smoke. Sirius cracked the ventilation window, though it didn’t do much. Not that he cared, really. His attention was elsewhere. The bus rumbled to life, and Sirius watched through the small window as they passed through London. It was full of buildings, all loomed in tight clusters like crooked teeth. The city was alive and restless, filled with people caught up in their daily routines.
Sirius wondered if any of them were wizards, too. A small child tugged on the hem of her mother’s waistcoat, her stubby finger pointing to a sweets shop across the street. A trio of schoolboys tumbled past them on the pavement, caught in fits of laughter. A street vendor on the corner called out, “Times, fresh off the press! Get your paper here!” Overhead, a letterboard sign read—CINEMA, LAST SHOWINGS: SUNDAY BLOODY SUNDAY, FINAL SALE, 7PM.
Sirius’ favourite thing to do was people watch. His bedroom was at the front of the house overlooking the city, while Regulus’ faced the back garden. Sirius always thought his view was better. He’d spend hours watching the muggles move throughout their mundane and ordinary lives. He used to look at them and think I’m better than you. I’m Sirius Black. I’m magic.
It used to feel like power, but now it just felt like loneliness. Especially because Sirius could see them, but they couldn’t see him—like he was a ghost. He started to resent it almost; the fact that they were utterly oblivious and undeniably free. That they could be whoever they wanted. Sirius often wondered who he would be if he could choose—if he wasn’t the heir to the most ancient and noble House of Black. He certainly wouldn’t be a ghost. No, he was born to shine.
What use was it to be named after the brightest star if not to shine? He was born to be someone that you couldn’t help but look at.
Well, that’s what he told himself anyway. He’d remind himself that everyday until it had no other choice but to become true.
Sirius wasn’t in a rush—not that he really had any idea where he was going. He wasn’t worried about it. He figured he’d just get off the bus when it felt right. It was Tuesday, which meant that he had more time than usual. Walburga would be off at some stuffy luncheon with her sister(cousin)-in-laws. Orion was never a concern, he’d likely be locked in his study for half the day and Sirius didn’t think Orion cared much about him anyway. As long as he was back for dinner, no one would bat an eye.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been on exactly, but the ride was comforting. Sirius let himself sink into it, head leaning against the window, eyelids heavy. He hadn’t even realised he had dozed off. Not until the bus lurched over a rough patch in the asphalt, jolting him awake and upright.
Sirius rubbed the sleep from his eyes, bringing the world back into focus again as the bus rolled to a sudden stop. His breath hitched as the world outside sharpened into focus—filled with movement, sound, scent, colour. Distantly, market stalls lined the streets, filled with tables of fresh produce, clothes, and hot food. The scent of sizzling oil and spices wafted up through his window, making Sirius’ stomach grumble. There was a vast variety of faces. Sirius had never seen such a diverse group of people in one crowd before. A group of teenagers with heavy boots streaked past on decks, one of them attempting a trick on the side of the pavement. Then Sirius heard music. It was strange, a kind of melody he’d never heard before.
He spotted them just on the corner, two older men sat on a couple of milk cartons. Both with deep brown skin to match their battered leather coats. One had a saxophone, producing steady waves of sound. Regulus would’ve loved it. The other had a hand drum between his knees, batting away at it while he made ‘tch-tch-tch’ sounds with his mouth. A few people crowded around them, swaying to the melody. The men sang out, voices low and rough around the edges:
Al Capone gun’s don’t argue
Don’t call me Scarface
My name is Capone
C-A-P-O-N-E, Capone
Sirius knew that this was it. This was where he needed to be. His pulse thrummed, he was already lifting himself from his seat. He turned to the woman in the seat closest to him.
“Excuse me—uh, where are we?” his voice came, rough and urgent.
The woman barely glanced up from the book she was currently reading.
“Brixton,” she said flatly.
“Great—Yeah, thanks,” Sirius managed before he was already lunging himself down to the lower deck.
He heard the engine roar to life and the doors of the bus slam shut as he pushed past the other passengers, knocking into their shoulders.
“Oi—watch it, kid!” one of them complained, but Sirius hardly heard them.
When he made it to the front of the bus, the driver shook his head and tsked under his breath.
“Go on, then.” he muttered as he reached to release the doors, “‘Fore I change my mind.”
Sirius didn’t have to be told twice. He hopped off the steps, his trainers hitting the hard pavement. The bus pulled away from behind him. And then he saw it, a worn metal sign marking the stop, small bold letters stamped beneath—BRIXTON VILLAGE.
Sirius made his way towards the market, practically skipping, but was stopped short when something in a nearby shop window caught his eye. He pressed his nose to the glass. It was a pair of black leather boots staged on a platform. They looked like the ones the teenagers were wearing. Sirius could picture himself in them now. A small paper sign perched below them read: Dr. Martens, New Arrivals— £10.
Sirius wasn’t sure how much £10 was, but he knew it had to be more than the bus fare, and he didn’t even have that. Bugger. His fingers traced the glass longingly. The shop sign above read Barry’s Boots & Workwear. He stored that name in the back of his mind, just in case he’d ever be able to come back.
He tore himself from the window and pushed deeper into the market, weaving between stalls. He stopped at every stand he could. One lady selling clothes let him try on a flat cap and a wildly patterned scarf. Sirius thought it looked ridiculous, but the lady was gushing about how ‘darling’ he was so he posed anyway, smirking to his reflection in a nearby window.
He slowed as he passed a table racked with food. Trays stacked high with jerk pork, rice and peas, bammy, patties, some sweets called coconut drops—stuff he had never heard of. The vendor, a burly man with a yellow-stained apron caught the way Sirius lingered. He reached for one of the patties and held it out to Sirius with a small smile.
“Step up, son,” he winked, voice gruff. “First one’s on the house.”
Sirius accepted gratefully. The outside crust was crisp and flaky, and the inside was a warm spiced beef. He thanked the man and moved on, the taste lingering and the unexpected kindness settling somewhere deep in his chest.
He continued to wander aimlessly, eventually turning around a few corners, leaving the distant hums of music and life behind him. The air felt heavier wherever he was, the buildings slightly more battered, some covered with graffiti. Sirius spotted a corner shop. In front of the shop, a man leaned against the passenger side of a teal 1961 Morris Minor pickup, facing the road and puffing on a cigarette. Probably mid-forties, dark hair that was slicked back, a stained white vest with some kind of uniform shirt slung over his shoulder, and sunbleached jeans. Something about him didn’t sit right with Sirius, the way he looked out at the street like it owed him something.
Two girls, hardly older than Sirius, strolled past, fingers tangled loosely together and laughter spilling between them. But it was cut short like a dead radio line when the man spotted them.
“‘Ave a look at you two,” his voice was thick, slurred. “Bet you’re sweet, eh?” He winked then, tongue rolling over his lips, “Dark meat’s me favourite.”
The girls ignored him, their heads down and eyes pinned to the pavement. They tugged on each other tighter and began to walk faster, but he was too quick. He reached out and grabbed one of their wrists.
“Easy now, luv,” he smiled, all teeth—crooked and yellow, “No need to be rude, we’re jus talkin’.”
“Get off me!” the girl snapped, her voice low and rough, but steady, like she’d been through this before. Her friend pulled tight on her arm, trying to wrench her free.
Sirius was already running towards them without thinking. Older brother instinct, maybe. His voice struck hard and fast,
“Oi, let her go!”
The man didn’t flinch, amusement curling his lips. He loosened his grip on the girl ever so slightly, turning his attention to Sirius now. His eyes trailed over Sirius, studying him.
“What do we ‘ave ‘ere?” he snorted, “Pretty boy finks ‘e’s a hero.”
Sirius' jaw clenched. Through gritted teeth, he demanded, “Let. Her. Go.”
And—by some miracle—the man did. His fingers slipped off her wrist and the girl broke free, stumbling back with her friend and making a run for it, disappearing behind the street corner.
But the man wasn’t watching them, his gaze was fixated on Sirius. Dark and cold.
“Ain’t wise stickin’ yer beat where it don’t belong, boy,” his voice slithered between them now, edging closer with every breath. “No fancy name’s gonna save yer toff ‘ere.”
Then he moved—quick and deliberate. The man grabbed a fistful of Sirius’ shirt collar, pushing him back into the side of the truck. Sirius gasped, his heart racing, his body bracing for something he hadn’t prepared for. He was outmatched and defenseless. He was just a stupid kid.
“What’s the matter, eh?” the man sneered, taking a drag on his cigarette, “Cat got yer tongue?”
Sirius grunted, arms coming up as he tried to shuffle away when the man tsked his tongue in disapproval. They were so close now that Sirius could smell the stale smoke and cheap beer from his breath. The man threw his cigarette to the ground, flattening it with the press of his boot. He lifted a jackknife fast—like routine. Sirius wasn’t sure where it came from, he only knew it had been close, easy.
Sirius’ throat tightened, he could feel a tingling pressure building in his ribs, threatening to burst. Magic. He blinked hard, grinding his teeth, trying to calm his nerves before his body reacted in a way he’d regret. His magic was untamed. He couldn’t afford that here. If anything happened, he’d never get to Hogwarts. He certainly didn’t fancy a chat with the minister either, though Sirius didn’t know if he’d be more afraid of the minister or his father in that situation.
The blade slowly teased Sirius’ cheek, a steel whisper against his skin. Not enough to make a cut, but just enough to make his whole body shiver and then turn rigid.
A voice, a distant memory, echoed in Sirius’s head as he watched the blade trail his cheek.
One clean shot, Sirius—the fate of an entire existence at your hands, it said.
Sirius pushed the voice away. That’s when he saw it, amidst the fabric resting on the man’s shoulder. A nametag that read ‘Gil.’
“Gil, is it?” Sirius’ voice came strained, broken, “Are we done here?”
He wasn’t sure where the sudden confidence came from, but it seemed to work.
Gil let out a haughty laugh. “Done, ya fink? We’s just gettin’ started.” He narrowed his eyes, then shook his head, “Take that as yer warnin’, kid. You come back ‘ere and I’ll ‘ave yeh skinned proper, eh?”
He released his grip then making sure to give Sirius one last shove for good measure. Sirius stumbled back, his chest rising and falling as he let out a strained breath. He fell to his knees pathetically beside the truck, his head hung in his arms. Gil turned on his heel and pushed through the smudged glass door of the corner shop, the bell overhead giving a hollow jingle as it slammed behind him.
Sirius’ pulse was still hammering as he tried to even out his breathing. He reached up using the handle of the truck as leverage to bring himself up. The handle was stiff, the truck was locked.
But the window was cracked, just enough to stick your arm through. Practically begging for someone to break in.
Idiot.
Sirius took a moment to look around, peering over the edge of the pickup. The shop door was still closed, no Gil in sight. No one around at all.
Sirius didn’t know anything about the Muggle invention, let alone how to drive it. He found the whole idea to be quite confusing, honestly. So, he had no intention of stealing the thing and driving off with it, though he did briefly fantasise about it. He just wanted to look. And anyway, a little snooping never hurt anyone. So, fuck it.
In one fluid motion, he slipped his arm through the opening until the window was digging into his armpit. He fumbled with the lock before it finally released with a soft click. The door creaked as it swung open, and Sirius grimaced, cursing under his breath at the noise. The inside reeked of stale tobacco, sweat, and faintly of piss. Sirius wrinkled his nose.
His father once told him that you could learn a lot about a man from how he keeps his space. Sirius wasn’t sure he was learning much now. Gil’s space was exactly what you would have expected: a few empty beer bottles littering the passenger side floor, the ashtray overflowing, an empty pack of cigs tossed up on the dash. Disappointing how predictable it was,really.
Sirius’ eyes flickered to something shiny on the center console, a zippo. It was worn and scuffed, but its swirled engravings caught the light perfectly. Sirius pocketed it.
He leaned forward, the rough fabric of the seat itching his arm. He tugged open the glove compartment and his breath caught in his throat.
Inside, sitting right atop a rather crude magazine was a thick wad of cash, bound together by one elastic band. Muggle money.
Maybe there was more to the miserable sod after all.
Sirius just stared at it. Even he knew it was a bit odd. All of that money. Muggles have banks for this sort of thing, don’t they? He swore the world went silent for the briefest of moments. He reached forward, his fingers hovering over the stack. He didn’t think, just grabbed it. His fingers enclosing around their crumpled edges. Satisfied, he clicked the compartment shut and slowly backed away, being mindful of the door as he closed it shut.
And then he ran, not back the way he came—but forward, without looking back even once, pure adrenaline carrying him the whole way through. He felt good, better than good. He wasn’t ready for it to be over just yet.
It wasn’t until the faintest sound drifted towards him that he stopped. It was music, some kind of cheerful melody playing on loop. He followed the music, and it led him towards a park. There he saw it. Just around the corner was an ice cream van parked near the edge of the curb, its decals faded from years under the sun. A few kids were huddled around it, some already with ice cream cones in their hands, rings of chocolate around their lips.
Sirius, now remembering he was practically drowning in Muggle riches, dug into his pocket for the bills, pulling out a £20 note. Then he strode up to the window. Behind the counter stood a teenager, no older than seventeen, with fiery red hair and freckles peppering his face.
“What ken I getcha, kid?” the boy asked flatly.
Sirius scanned the menu plastered to the glass, then tapped his finger against a rainbow lolly. “One of these, the uh—Zzapp lolly.”
The teenager gave Sirius a distasteful look, but shrugged, reaching down into a cooler and slapping it down onto the counter. “That’ll be 3p.”
Sirius handed him the £20 note, and the teenager froze. He goggled at Sirius, then around the park like he thought it was some sort of test. “Uh mate, this is—“ He never finished, just shook his head and began fumbling in the drawer for change. He handed Sirius a fistful of coins and bills, then slid the lolly across the counter, still giving Sirius a weird look.
Sirius was simply unfazed. He gave the boy a stupid grin and pocketed the leftovers. He peeled the wrapper with his teeth, throwing it in the nearest bin. The lolly was multicoloured, bright and swirly. He bit a chunk off, and the immediate taste was sweet and sugary. But then it transformed into something else. Something smooth and caramelised.
Toffee.
It definitely wasn’t what he expected—bubblegum or some fruity flavor—but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was actually quite good. A pleasant surprise. He rolled the flavor over his tongue and before he knew it, it was finished. Sirius wandered towards the swings, his adrenaline lingering, begging for movement.
The metal chains clinked as he gripped them and sat down, kicking off the ground. He began to pick up the pace, his hair flowing behind him as he tipped his head back. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting himself feel weightless. It could feel like this all the time, the voice in his head said, imagine that?
Eventually, Sirius abandoned the swings and took up a spot on the curb. He pulled the notes out of his pocket, absentmindedly flipping them through, over and over. When he got bored of that, he would pick up pebbles and toss them into a puddle in the road, hearing the soft plunk each time. When he finally decided it was time to head back, he made a mental note to try and avoid the street the corner shop was on.
Sirius felt like he was walking for ages. His fingers found the zippo still in his pocket, and he slipped it out as he walked, rolling it between his hands. Flicking it open and shut. Something about the gesture, about the constant motion, was comforting. Every so often, he’d flick the flame to life.
Sirius kept walking, his attention on the flame when he heard sharp voices in the distance. He looked up and found himself just a few steps away from that door. The same smudged glass door from before but this time, it was propped open. The corner shop. Somehow, his feet had aimlessly lead him back here. Like fate. Like unfinished business.
He froze.
Shit.
But Sirius didn’t turn around. He didn’t run. He was intrigued, and always a little too reckless for his own good. He lingered, peering around the door so that he was just out of sight, but could still see them.
Inside, Gil was leaned lazily against a wall behind the counter, a smug expression on his face that made Sirius’ skin crawl. At the other end of the counter, there was a boy. Sirius could only see the back of the boy’s head, but he couldn’t have been any older than Sirius’ age.
He was tan like bronzed honey with curly hair that was so dark brown it almost looked black, resting just below his ears. His trainers were scuffed and dirty, his denim shorts were faded and torn. He wore a white vest like Gil’s but much cleaner, and he was much skinnier. He had a yellow bandanna tied around his neck like a cowboy. It looked like it had roses on it, but Sirius couldn’t tell for sure. Banded bracelets lined his wrists. He had a few items up on the counter. It looked like food, drinks, some kind of medicine bottle. The boy’s voice was hurried, desperate.
“I told you I’d have it next week, Gil. You know my mum, she—"
“I don’t give a toss bout your mum. Said the same fink last week, runt.” Gil interrupted.
“I just need a bit more time, swear. S’all I got right now,” the boy answered, pushing some coins and a crumpled bill forward.
Gil snorted, then came that wicked grin again, all yellow crooked teeth.
“Ain’t got the dosh, ain’t got the goods, thems the rules.” Then Gil leaned forward so that they were nose to nose, voice low and thick, “Now I s’pect you find sum magic to pull my dosh out yer arse or we’re gonna ‘ave to do it my way.”
“Christ, Gil. I can smell the beer on you from here. If I were you, I’d worry less about your dosh and more about whatever’s rotting in your gut.” The boy said, no hint of fear.
Gil laughed, clutching his belly. “Got a proper gob on us tonight, ‘ave we? S’pose I wasn’t clear nuff.”
Then, he reached over the counter and grabbed the boy’s vest by the collar, stretching it out and jerking him forward. Just like he had with Sirius.
“Now, I said get my fuckin dosh ‘fore I skin ya and that poncy bruva of yers, yeah?”
The boy didn’t even flinch. He tilted his head up and snarled, “Fuck. Off.” And before Gil could react, a fat wad of spit came out of the boy’s mouth and hit Gil right between the eyes.
The boy broke free as Gil wiped the spit off. Gil tumbled forward, shouting obscenities at the boy as his arms flew frantically over the counter. The boy stumbled backwards, shoving the goods on the counter into a bag and making a run for it—not towards the door, Sirius noticed—but down the aisles.
Gil had hurled himself over the counter—which was quite impressive given his size—and reached out to grab the boy again. He managed to grab ahold of the back of his shirt, tearing it at the edges now, the fabric peeling like an orange.
Sirius tumbled into the shop, his heart racing. Without thinking, he grabbed a tin from off the nearest rack and lunged it at Gil. The tin smacked Gil right in the upper corner of his head with a horrible thud. Gil released the boy, now clutching his head, blood streaking down his temples. Sirius couldn’t believe he actually did that. His breath caught at the sight of the blood, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Luckily, it wasn’t enough to do any real damage. Still, Gil fell to his knees, yelling out in pain. Then he saw Sirius.
“You!” Gil hollered venomously. “Can’t get anuff’ eh? Like dog shit on the bottom of my fuckin shoe!” He shouted, spitting at the ground.
“What can I say, I’m sentimental,” Sirius said smugly, while grabbing a bag of crisps from the floor that the other boy had dropped. Then he made a run for the door.
“I’ll kill ya!” Gil shouted, “I’ll kill ya both!”
The other boy ran back from down the racks, knocking things over as he passed, his arms full of various different goods as he shoved them into his shopping bag.
“Go!” he yelled at Sirius as they tumbled out the door.
The second their shoes hit the pavement, the city swallowed them whole. Sirius wasn’t sure where they were headed, and he didn’t know if the other boy knew either. Pedestrians shuffled by, some yelling insults at them as they ran by and knocked into them, but to Sirius, their faces were just blurs now. They rounded a corner, and Sirius had run straight through a puddle, sending a spray of murky water up his trousers. He stumbled a bit, cursing as he did so, but pushed forward. He could feel a sharp sting in his lungs.
When they reached a narrow alleyway, they finally stopped. Both boys stumbled into the brick wall, gasping for breath. With quiet huffs, they let their backs drag down the wall until they hit the ground. The other boy set his bag down beside him. There were bins overflowing at the end of the alley, and the ground was littered with cigarette butts and broken glass.
Sirius turned slightly to face the boy and slowly he lifted his head too, meeting Sirius’ eyes. That’s when Sirius remembered he was still clutching the bag of crisps from earlier. Sirius nudged the boy with it, offering it out, and they both burst out into breathless laughter, then as the boy took it back.
It was the first time Sirius got to look at his face properly.
His smile was wide, lips curling at the corners. Even though he wasn’t smiling with his teeth, Sirius still caught the way one sharp canine peeked out from below his top lip—a snaggletooth. It suited him somehow. His eyebrows curved in an angular arch, giving his expression a sort of permanent sharpness even at rest. His eyes held a quiet intensity. They were dark brown and crinkled at the edges now.
The boy dug into his pockets and pulled out a mangled pack of cigarettes, which surprised Sirius. He had never seen someone so young smoking, but then again, today had been a lot for firsts. The boy took one out with his teeth and then held the pack out to Sirius, a silent invitation. Sirius took one without hesitation despite not having ever smoked in his life. It felt awkward between his fingers, but he tried to be casual about it. The other boy started digging in his pockets again.
“Shit,” he said, “Got a light?”
Sirius smirked because he did have a light, Gil’s light. He grabbed it and flicked it open. The boy leaned in, inhaling slowly as the ember flared to life. Sirius followed suit, trying to match his movements. He inhaled too quickly and too deeply and it burnt his throat like hell. His eyes watered as he tried to hold it in and play it off but it was no use, he was already hacking up loud coughs with the smoke. Sirius doubled over, pounding on his chest with his fist and getting the last of it out.
The boy started laughing again, not in a way that was judgemental, but in a way that was warm, easy.
“Christ, what’d you do, fucking eat the thing?”
“Piss off,” Sirius croaked, smiling back.
He took another drag, the right way this time. It burned his lungs, but it felt good. His nerves were slowly settling.
The boy watched Sirius with mild curiosity, studying him like a book.
“Don’t see many posh boys round ‘ere, you get lost on the way to Harrods?”
Sirius scoffed, flicking ash off his cigarette, “Didn’t realise I needed a pass.”
The boy smirked, but didn’t push further. Instead, he offered his hand.
“Paco, by the way.”
Sirius shook it, giving him a questionable look, “Paco?”
“Yeah, short for Francisco. But that’s my dad’s name and well—he’s a piece of shit, so just Paco, yeah?”
Sirius nodded. He didn’t see how ‘Francisco’ shortened to ‘Paco’ but decided it wasn’t worth pushing. He still had some dignity.
“Alright, Paco. I’m Sirius.”
Paco huffed a laugh, “You’re... serious? About what?”
Sirius sighed, “Me—I’m Sirius. Sirius Black,” Then he dragged it out, “S-I-R-I-U-S.”
Paco shook his head, grin widening. “And you thought Paco was weird?”
“Yeah, well, weird’s a relative term,” Sirius said, putting out the cigarette.
“Relative term,” Paco mocked, taking one last drag from his cigarette before putting it out too. Then he spoke again,
“Can’t believe you threw that tin at Gil. That was brilliant.”
“Don’t think Gil would agree, bloke seemed pretty serious about killing me back there.”
Paco waved him off, “Nah, don’t worry about him. Pisshead won’t remember a thing by tomorrow, trust me.”
Sirius shook his head, “Yeah, well, that’s the second time I’ve run into him today. Gotta be bad luck, or maybe it’s good luck I guess, considering I’m not dead yet.”
Paco smirked, “Yeah? Feelin' like a rebel now, posh boy?”
Sirius scuffed his trainers on the ground, then he held Paco’s gaze.
“Honestly,” Sirius said, pulling his knees closer to his chest, “Probably the most alive I’ve ever felt.”
And he meant it. He really did.
Paco visibly softened then, his grin replaced by a quiet understanding. A silent beat passed between them before Paco asked,
“You play footie?”
Then, he casually took off what was left of his ripped up vest—which wasn’t much—and bundled it into a ball beside him, now bare-chested. In the middle of the alley. Sirius couldn’t help but stare. He didn’t know why he felt shy all of the sudden, it’s not like he was the one with his shirt off.
“What?” Sirius asked, forgetting the question.
“Yknow, football?”
When Sirius didn’t respond, just kept looking confused Paco gasped.
“No me jodas—don’t tell me you’ve never heard of football, mate?”
Sirius shrugged. “Let me guess…it involves a ball. And your feet.”
He almost let the —wow, muggles aren’t very creative with their names, are they?—slip. Thankfully it didn’t.
Paco teased, “Congratulations. I think you’re ready for the big leagues.”
Sirius flipped him off.
“Anyway, me and my mates will be playing at the schoolyard tomorrow. Just round’ the block from here. No pressure—just a bit of fun. You should come.”
Sirius’ breath caught. Something warm filled his chest. His words stumbled out,
“Uh—yeah, alright. Cool.”
‘Cool.’ Idiot.
But before Paco could reply, a sharp whistle sliced through the air. Sirius jerked his head to the the end of the alley where a blue Raleigh Rodeo bike had rolled up, it’s back wheel rattling lazily, an array of playing cards taped to its spokes. Perched atop the bike, a boy with a massive afro and a wildly patterned shirt leaned forward, one foot on the pavement.
A slow smirk crept up Paco’s face—equal parts guilt and amusement, like he’d been caught doing something sneaky. He nodded up at the boy.
“Figures I’d find yuh arse dossing about in the cut,” his friend scoffed, “Where yuh been, P?”
“Been busy hiding from your gobshite arse,” Paco called back, “figured I’d get some peace.”
“Cheeky bastard.” The other boy grinned wide, all crooked teeth. Then he said, “Danny’s looking for yuh.”
Paco shook his head, “Alright, just hold on.” Then, he began to gather his things as he brought himself up.
As he straightened, he brought up his hand in a gesture to Sirius, two fingers crossed, “Buena suerte, amigo.”
And then, without waiting for a reply, he was already making his way to his friend. Paco swung himself onto the back of his friend’s bike, not on the seat—which was occupied— but on the frame. He steadied himself on the other boy’s shoulders. As the bike rattled off, Paco glanced back at Sirius one last time, winking. Then he shouted,
“Stockwell Road! Tomorrow! Twelve! Better see you there, posh boy!”
And just like that, he was gone. Sirius wanted to reach out and pull him back, to hold onto the day for just a moment longer. But, the bike continued to rattle away, the sound slipping like water through his fingers. Sirius couldn’t wait to tell Regulus everything. Well, maybe save the part where the corner shop bloke threatened his life—but that hardly mattered anymore. Sirius Black was untouchable.
Notes:
"New Pence" refers to the decimalized currency introduced in the UK, 1971.
By the early 1970s, Brixton was suffering from racial discrimination, poverty, and police brutality. It had a large Afro-Caribbean based community, mostly due to post-war immigration. The market was a very real thing and it—as well as Brixton in general— was a lot different from how it is today, worth checking out.
"No me jodas" directly translates to "dont fuck with me" but meaning/tone varies slightly with context. In this case it means, “are you kidding?”
"Buena suerta, amigo" is "good luck, friend"
The song mentioned is called Al Capone by Prince Buster. The genre is ska/reggae
Chapter 2: Summer, 1971: The Flip Side
Summary:
Sirius returns to Brixton chasing a newfound sense of freedom and belonging. Unfortunately for him, the inevitable always finds a way to catch up to those who try to outrun it.
CW: A few descriptive lines implying vomit in the beginning, implied child abuse & neglect, a brief moment of internalised homophobia, and the use of magic as punishment (nothing physical or graphic)
get comfy, this one is LONG
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Measuring a summer’s day
I only find it slips away to grey
The hours they bring me pain
Tangerine, tangerine
Living reflection from a dream
☆ Tangerine, Led Zeppelin, 1970 ☆
Wednesday, August 4th, 1971
Morning arrived, though Sirius had no idea if he even slept at all. He'd spent the entire night buzzing with leftover energy—all stretched out on his bed and grinning at the ceiling like a fool, because for the first time in his life, he might’ve actually made a friend. He was getting dressed, one leg in his trousers, when two sharp raps sounded on his bedroom door.
"J'arrive, Maman!" Sirius called out, hopping wildly as he wrestled his other leg into his trousers. He was yanking a shirt over his head when a muffled voice came from behind the door.
"It's just me."
Regulus.
Sirius sighed in relief at the sound of his brother's voice, but couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Sirius and Regulus had abandoned proper knocking ages ago. It was always just three slow taps. It said, It's just me, you're safe. Sirius shrugged it off. It's probably nothing.
"Oh, thank Merlin," Sirius exhaled, swinging the door open. "Thought I was going to have to start gagging myself again."
Regulus leaned into the doorframe, glaring. "I think your little performance at breakfast was enough. Some of us were trying to eat, you know."
Sirius scratched the back of his neck guiltily, but the laugh he was holding in showed no hint of remorse. With a resigned sigh, Regulus stepped inside the room.
Sirius carefully closed the door behind them, hissing a breath through his teeth. "Yeah, nothing personal, Reg. Couldn’t exactly aim it, yknow. Had to be believable and all."
Regulus grimaced, but Sirius' eyes lit up. "Ooh! You think I'll be able to skive off lessons tonight too?"
Regulus scoffed. "You could try." Then he mumbled sarcastically, "Nothing like a bit of bile to liven up the cadence. Mum would be thrilled."
Sirius threw his arm out dramatically. "Exactly! True art demands sacrifice, Reggie. Who am I to deny the muse?"
"Right... and the muse is?"
"Myself, of course." Sirius smirked, "Who else?"
Then he began to usher Regulus towards the closet, where there were various clothing items thrown everywhere.
All the while, Regulus was muttering, "Honestly, Sirius, you should think about joining one of those muggle theaters. Or maybe a circus. Have you ever tried juggling?"
But Sirius paid no mind. His focus was elsewhere.
Sirius began shuffling through the clothes, and Regulus decided it was best to take up a seat on the bed. Sirius grabbed hold of a black shirt near-identical to the one he was already wearing, and held it up to himself. He glanced up at Regulus expectantly. "Which one?"
"They look the same," Regulus replied flatly.
Sirius sighed, tossing the shirt aside. "Not like I have much to work with here." I mean, really, what are you supposed to wear to play football?
He gave himself a once-over in the mirror on his closet door, bunching up his sleeves past his shoulders like a makeshift tank top. Then he turned back to Regulus.
"So, what'd you need?"
"What?" Regulus blinked.
"You know, you knocked. What's up?"
"Oh," Regulus shrugged, picking at the duvet. "Just wanted to say bye."
Sirius recognised the dismissal, the anxious movements. He raised one brow. "You're lying."
"What?" Regulus spluttered.
"I know you, Regulus." Sirius pushed softly, crossing his arms. "You've got your worried face on. Something's up, what is it?"
"I do not have a worried face," Regulus deflected.
Sirius gave him a look. "'Course you do. You get this funny crease between your eyebrows, and your mouth gets all—" Sirius mimicked the face, pouting his mouth.
Regulus unknowingly made the face again, and Sirius teased, "Yeah, exactly like that!"
Regulus glared as Sirius turned the closet door slightly so the mirror would be in Regulus' view. Regulus glanced at himself, trying (and miserably failing) to wipe off the look. He sighed heavily, muttering, "Whatever."
Sirius smiled softly, closing the closet door and shuffling into the bed next to him.
"So?" Sirius tried.
"Idontthinkyoushouldgo," Regulus mumbled all at once.
Sirius squinted at him, "I'm gonna need you to repeat that."
"I don't think you should leave today."
Sirius turned sharply. "What? Why?"
Regulus fidgeted nervously. "You've just been gone a lot. She's going to find out, Sirius. Maybe not today, but.." His voice trailed off.
Sirius softened then. "Hey, look at me," he said, taking his brother's hand in his own and looking deeply into his eyes. "I'll be fine. I will. I mean, you're not gonna snitch on me, right?"
"No, I would never! You know I wouldn’t, Sirius."
"Exactly," Sirius nudged him softly, "Sooo, there's nothing to worry about then, alright?"
Regulus sighed. "I—right, okay."
"And anyway," Sirius added sorely, "I kind of already said I'd be there today."
"I know."
"But listen, Reg," Sirius continued, "I'll go out today, but tomorrow will be just about us. I won't leave, I promise. We'll make a proper day of it. Whatever you want, alright?"
Sirius knew that he was rubbish at this. He didn’t know how to find a balance between being the brother that Regulus needed and the boy in him that only ever wanted to run and never look back. One always seemed to come at the cost of the other, and Sirius knew that was his fault.
It wasn't that he didn’t care—there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t think of his brother. Whether he was stuck at Grimmauld Place or wandering the streets of Brixton, Regulus was always on his mind. The problem was that he never thought about him as the boy who was at home, waiting and worrying. That bit didn’t even cross his mind. The guilt only crept in during moments like this.
He didn’t know how to fix it or how to be better, but for Regulus, he'd try. Even if it was messy. Even if he messed up again and again, he'd keep trying.
So, much to Regulus' dismay, Sirius pulled him in for a tight hug. The younger boy immediately stiffened, as he often did with affection—yet, he didn’t pull away. They stayed like that for a while. Just two broken kids holding onto a kind of love they never knew how to put into words. They said their goodbyes, and Sirius grabbed a few things before finally heading out—the muggle money, his zippo, and an old pocket watch he nicked from Orion's study, just to be sure.
⋆⋆⋆
Now that Sirius had somewhere to be, muggle transportation had proved to be painfully inefficient. Every wasted minute felt hot and restless. It didn’t help that there was an obnoxious couple in the seats in front of him snogging and groping each other the entire ride. Sirius tried nonchalantly kicking the seat every few minutes and humming a cheerful tune to himself, but nothing could block out the awful wet sounds of their mouths colliding. When he finally arrived at his stop in Brixton, he practically ran out of the bus.
He traveled through the familiar streets, leaving the charm of the village behind him as he entered the city's rougher edges. He made sure to take a different route because he certainly didn’t fancy another run-in with Gil. No doubt the lunatic missed him terribly—probably off fantasising about all of the creative ways he could 'skin' Sirius alive right now, as he so kindly promised.
Sirius passed the alleyway from yesterday, cutting the corner to Stockwell Road, where he was supposed to meet Paco. It didn’t occur to him until now that he actually had no idea where they were supposed to meet. It was a vast road, filled with various shops, a pub, some dingy flats, and a large church. Sirius walked slowly, scanning faces as they passed, looking for a very specific head of dark curls.
He peered through shop windows, alleyways—hell, even behind the skips. When he had nearly reached the end of the road with no sign of Paco, he began to worry that he was in the wrong place, or worse—that Paco never wanted to hang out at all and this was just one great, big joke.
He grumbled to himself, kicking at the pavement. He debated going back home, but then he heard a sound coming from behind a building. It was a rolling, rhythmic rumble accompanied by an occasional scrape. And that's when Sirius spotted him, tucked behind the building at the corner of the road.
Paco wasn't sitting on the curb, or leaning against a pole, or waiting in any way that suggested stillness. He was moving, riding one of those decks like the ones Sirius saw the teenagers riding yesterday. The area was partially fenced off, and it didn’t look like anywhere a person would be—just a carved out pit in an abandoned lot, like a large meteor had crashed into it. It's edges were frayed with weeds, the centre full of cracked concrete slabs. Paco circled the rim of the crater with his board before suddenly he shifted, curving his board right for the drop. Sirius' breath hitched. The drop wasn't that big, but it wasn’t smooth either. There was no way Paco was going to make it without eating shit. No way—and yet, he did.
Paco rode it like it was carved especially for him. He hit the drop hard, his board skimming over the jagged concrete. He used his foot to push past it, knees bending deep. With one sharp kick, he flipped the board. He rolled over the crater's lip and back to the other side of the pavement. That's when he saw Sirius, who was gaping back at him like an idiot.
Paco rolled towards him. In one clean motion, he kicked the board up into his grip, catching its worn edges easily. He was wearing the same yellow bandanna from yesterday, a faded ringer tee, and a stupid grin on his face. Sirius noticed his knees and legs were freshly scuffed and scratched up. He greeted Sirius like an old friend.
"I'd keep that gob shut if I were you," Paco teased, "gonna let all the bugs in."
Sirius just stared back at him, big-eyed and mouth hanging open.
"You just—that was—that was so cool!" Sirius beamed, shamelessly.
Paco laughed, "Nah, you just caught me at a good time." Then he rolled his eyes. "S'hard to land clean when the bodies are always shifting, I guess."
Sirius eyed him curiously, cocking his head. "What do you mean by bodies?"
"Oh, right—you wouldn’t know," Paco smirked, rolling the board between his hands. "Used to be a creepy ol' church here, supposedly haunted. They tore it all down last summer."
Then, he leaned in closer to Sirius and whispered, "Rumour has it, the whole lot was built over a graveyard. I mean, explains why the pavement keeps cracking. The bodies can't rest."
Sirius shoved him away, making a face. "Yeah, right."
Paco held up his hands. "Swear. Go on, put your hand on it. Might be able to feel 'em moving under there." Then, he smirked mischievously. "Be careful though, wouldn’t want 'em reaching out and grabbing you."
"Tosh," Sirius scoffed, "You always this full of shit, or am I just special?"
Paco smiled, "Careful, rookie. You'll have plenty of shite to talk once I've booted that football up your arse."
And then, they began to walk. Side-by-side, moving as one.
"You know what I think?" Sirius nudged Paco, that stupid grin on his face. "I think I'm gonna be the best rookie you've ever seen."
"Says the tosser who just learned what a football is yesterday," Paco sniggered.
Sirius flipped him off.
As they walked, Sirius began to realise just how tightly woven everything was here. Not just the streets or the buildings, but the people too. Everyone's lives were tangled together, or maybe they were just tangled with Paco. All Sirius knew was that everyone seemed to know him, and he secretly envied it. But when he was with Paco, he was a part of it too. He belonged without question.
The greetings came in all forms: a friendly wave from the postman, a holler from two kids streaking past on bikes, an older woman smoking outside of a pub, shaking her head at Paco with a sort of fond resignation. At one point, they had to leg it when some bloke charged out of a shopfront, brandishing a rolled-up newspaper and yelling out, "Oi! Get back here you little shits!"
That man never did make it much farther than that shopfront, but that hardly mattered now. Sirius could make out the brick school building ahead and hear the hum of laughter in the distance. Before they reached the gate, he blurted out the question that had been itching at him since they left Stockwell Road.
"How does everyone know you?"
Paco took a minute to answer. He shook his head, kicking a stray bottle cap from the pavement.
"You say it like it's a good thing," he huffed a laugh, but it didn’t sound right. "Besides, none of 'em know me. Not the bits that matter, anyway."
Sirius didn’t know what to say to that.
When they reached the rusted gate of the schoolyard and Paco spotted his friends, whatever quiet weight had settled on him moments before vanished just as quickly as it came. Sirius was beginning to notice that about Paco. He carried himself in a way that made him feel invincible, like nothing could break him. But, sometimes he’d crack. It wasn’t always obvious, but it felt intentional. Like he was inviting you in, testing the waters.
There was a cluster of kids beyond the gate. Two girls sat on the steps of the back entrance, their ankles crossed and lollies between their lips. A worn yellow magazine titled Jackie in big red letters was splayed between them. The girl with short brown hair jabbed her finger at something on the page, eyes alight with amusement. Beside her, the other girl giggled while absentmindedly twirling a wooden bead at the end of her long braids. She was wearing dark purple overalls.
A small football pitch was painted in dark blue on the grounds, its boundary lines faded from years of play. There were nets perched on either end of it, presumably goalposts. At the heart of the pitch, a cheerful boy was balancing a football on his forehead, deliberately swaying his head from side to side as if daring the ball to drop. Sirius recognised him immediately. He was the boy from yesterday who picked Paco up on that bike, the one with those playing cards taped to the spokes. Crowded around him were two other boys, stomping their trainers on the ground while they egged him on and dared him to do other tricks.
Paco tucked his board carefully between two large bushes where the other boy’s blue Raleigh Rodeo bike was hidden. He then stepped onto the small brick wall beneath the gate where a chunk had broken away, creating the perfect foothold. He pushed himself up, hooking his fingers around the metal bars for support.
Sirius sighed, “You’re joking, right? We can’t just go through the door?”
“It’s locked for the summer,” Paco grunted, swinging his legs over the gate. It rattled lightly as he dropped down onto the other side. “What, afraid to scuff up your trousers, posh boy?”
“Shoulda known,” Sirius mumbled bitterly while he hoisted himself up and over the gate, landing with a hard thud. Paco clapped him on the back mockingly, “See? Easy.”
The boy with the football was the first to spot Sirius and Paco. He let the ball roll onto his arm before passing it to one of the other boys. Eagerly, he ran towards Paco, calling out, “Wotcha!” Sirius could feel everyone else's eyes weighing on him when they spotted him too.
The boy breathlessly grinned up at them. His hair was as big as ever. He was wearing baggy green trousers that sagged on his waist slightly and a striped shirt paired with an intricately detailed beaded necklace.
“Alright?” Paco greeted, “Where’s Johnny?”
“Couldn’t make it,” the boy rolled his eyes, “Summink ‘bout helping his dad.”
Paco shook his head, “Helping himself down Lisa Campbell’s throat, more like.”
The boy chuckled, “Too right.”
Paco introduced the boy as his best mate, Jay. Sirius quickly learned that Jay liked to talk. A lot. And, he was very expressive with it. His hands moved just about as much as his mouth, shaping and emphasising every word. He also liked to ask a lot of questions. Paco thought it’d be a good idea for Sirius to watch the others play first, so Sirius sat with Jay against the gate, observing the football match between them.
“What ends yuh from?” Jay asked, his words muffled by the sweet called Black Jack that he was chewing. Before Sirius could answer, he pulled a crinkled wrapper from his pocket. "Want one?"
“Yeah, sure. Cheers.” Sirius said, unwrapping the half-melted sweet and plopping it into his mouth. “What’s ends?”
Jay let out a hearty laugh. It was warm and contagious, bubbling up from his chest. “You’re funny, mate! Like, where yuh from?”
“Oh!” Sirius said, feeling a bit stupid. “Islington—I’m from Islington.”
Jay’s eyes lit up and his mouth fell open in awe, revealing a tongue completely stained black from the sweet. “No way! My uncle lives near Highbury. Always wanted to go to the stadium.”
“I’ve never been,” Sirius replied curiously.
Jay barreled on, “So, you’re an Arsenal fan, then? That double back in May was wicked. Charlie George is a proper legend.”
Sirius encouraged Jay to tell him all about Arsenal and whoever the hell Charlie George was, because he liked Jay. He was shamelessly himself—unapologetically loud, very cheeky, and incredibly honest. It was refreshing. Jay didn’t ask for anything, he was just happy to be there. Sirius learned a great deal about the muggle world from him, and of course, a lot about football. It turns out, football wasn’t all that different from Quidditch, minus the brooms.
Sirius wished he could tell Jay all about Quidditch. He was certain that Jay would love it.
He learned about the best spots in Brixton and more about the market—apparently, Jay's family runs one of the stalls. He told Sirius all about this black-owned record shop called Desmond's Hip City that opened in the village last week, and Sirius learned that the music he heard from the bus yesterday was called reggae. Though Jay was surprised to find out that Sirius took the bus. He raved on about how much faster the tube was, especially since they just opened up the Victoria Line extension in July—whatever that was.
"Ooooi! I almost forgot!" Jay suddenly scrambled to his feet. "Gotta show you summink—wait here!"
Sirius watched as Jay rushed towards the steps on the other side of the pitch where the girls were sitting. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it sounded like they had started arguing. Jay reached for a tote bag beside the girls and began rummaging through it while the girl with the braids and purple overalls was trying to smack his hands away.
"Jay! I swear if you dig through my stuff again—" the girl snapped.
"Ow! Calm down, I just need my—" Jay yelped before pulling a chunky plastic device from the bag. He held it up in the air like a trophy, "Aha!"
"I told you to stop storing your tats in my bag!" the girl shouted after him, but Jay was already making his way back to Sirius.
Jay landed beside Sirius, breathlessly clutching the machine.
"Got it!" he wheezed, a grin stretching across his face.
He set the device down on the ground between them. It was a rectangular blocky thing made of matte black plastic. It had a tiny, smudged window. There were several buttons on it, Stop, Rewind, Record, and a Play button that had been reattached with a wad of chewing gum.
Sirius blinked. "What is it?"
"Coolest bit of tech in the world, that's what." Jay beamed, "It's a tape recorder. Records music and plays it back, right in yuh pocket! Mad stuff, innit?"
'Wow," Sirius breathed, staring at the machine in awe.
"Yeah, found it at the St. Matthews jumble, sittin' in a box under the tables. Didn't have a price tag on it, but I figured finders keepers." Jay grinned.
Through the clouded panel, Sirius could just make out a faded handwritten label on the tape inside. It read: CHURCH CHOIR—XMAS '69
"Bit early for Christmas Carols, isn’t it?" Sirius mumbled.
Jay snorted. "Ain't carols anymore, mate—it’s Oogum Boogum. Heard it blarin’ outside Desmonds last week. Swear down, best song I ever heard. Paco's brother Danny—like a wizard with tech shite, mate. Helped me record over the old stuff."
Jay grinned, "Sorry, Jesus." Then he pressed the play button down.
There was a faint hiss before the reels began to spin. The song came out loud and fizzy through the small speakers:
One, two, one, two, three!
Oogum, oogum, boogum, boogum
Boogum now, baby
"Ohhh for f—" Paco groaned from the pitch, "Not that bloody song again!"
"Only tune he's got!" one of the other boys shouted. "Someone bin it already!"
But, Jay was unbothered, simply enjoying the cheerful melody. He leaned over to Sirius, "They're just jealous."
Sirius smiled, shaking his head. "For a song called Oogum Boogum, yeah, it's not half bad."
The tape crackled as the song went on. Every now and then, remnants of the church choir would bleed through like a ghostly wail before being swallowed by the groove again. When it first happened, all Jay said was, "She's got layers." That made Sirius laugh.
I say Oogum, oogum, boogum, boogum
Boogum now, baby, you're castin' your spell on me
You got me doin' funny things like a clown
Just look at me
They talked more, exhausting all of the sweets from Jay’s pocket. The tape continued to play on loop until Jay decided to turn it off. By then, it was already stuck in Sirius’ head. Jay was eager to launch into introductions, gesturing to each one of his friends whenever they passed.
“That’s Manny—fastest on the pitch. I mean, just look at those legs! And Daz—don’t let the eye fool you. He sees plenty, sneaky git.”
It might’ve been because Daz was quiet or maybe because of his buzzed hair, but Sirius instantly felt intimidated by him. He had this tough look about him—maybe it was the cloudy eye. He was broad-shouldered and stood the tallest among the crowd.
Sirius leaned in, “What happened to his eye?”
“That?” Jay smirked, “That’s nuffin. You should see the other bloke.”
Sirius couldn’t tell if Jay was just taking the piss or if Daz did get into some sort of fight. If he had to bet, it’d be the latter.
“And here's my sister, Ionie. Real charmer,” he pointed to the girl with braids, and she glared daggers at him, somehow lovingly. “And last up, Cherry. Glorious, as always.”
Jay winked at the brown haired girl, but she scoffed, turning her attention to Sirius instead.
“You lot never said he was fit,” Cherry said, giving Sirius a coy look while a blush filled her cheeks.
Sirius chuffed, about to return the compliment, but Jay interjected.
“What ‘bout me?! I'm fit! And I can do this mad trick with my—“
Cherry cut him off, making a disgusted face. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
Jay watched sorely, sighing loudly as she stalked off to the other side of the pitch. “Girls. Bloody Impossible,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s a good trick, honest!”
“Yeah?” Sirius laughed.
“Yeah! Lemme show yuh.”
Jay scrambled in his pockets, this time pulling out a deck of playing cards. He took them out and began to shuffle them. Sirius didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was definitely not that.
Jay beamed at Sirius, fanning the cards face down between his fingers. “Alright, pick one—any card, but don’t let me see it.”
Sirius raised a brow curiously, “Alright.”
He moved his fingers along the cards dramatically before pulling one out from the very end. He made sure to hide it from Jay’s view, turning the card over. It was an Ace of Spades.
“What now?” Sirius asked.
“Now,” Jay grinned mischievously, snatching it back. “M'gonna blow your mind.”
Jay shuffled the card back with the others meticulously. He fanned them out again, his face scrunched up in mock concentration.
Then, he reached behind Sirius’ ear, purposefully ruffling the hair and pulling out a stray card.
“Aha!” Jay cooed.
“What? How’d you—“
“Was this your card?” he smirked, holding out the card for just Sirius to see. Ace of Spades. Sirius didn’t react at first, still trying to figure out how Jay did that without magic. Unless—no. Definitely not.
Somehow, that was more charming. Jay didn’t need magic; it lived inside him already.
Jay looked worried from Sirius’ lack of reaction. He leaned in and whispered, “Shit, it’s your card, right? Hope I didn’t bollocks it up. Usually this is the part where I’d tell her summink smooth.”
Sirius laughed then, he couldn’t help it. Jay’s trick was impressive, he’d give him that. Clumsy maybe, but oddly endearing. Cherry was missing out.
“Yeah that’s the one!” Sirius declared. “That’s brilliant—like magic.”
“Really?!” Jay beamed. He turned the card over to have a look for himself and gasped, his eyes wide like he’d uncovered buried treasure. “Blimey! Only one of these in the whole deck! My nan always said it was lucky!”
“Hmm,” Sirius tilted his head, observing the lucky card. “Cool.”
He went to give it back, but Jay pushed his hand away.
“Nah, keep it, it’s yours now. Chose you, dinnit?”
“What? Won’t that ruin your deck?”
Jay shrugged, “Got loads of ‘em.” He dug into his pockets again, pulling out a different deck of cards this time.
Sirius laughed, "Should've known."
He pocketed the card with delicacy—like it could snap. It carried weight, even if no one else could feel it but him. It was ironic, honestly. Orion had a few decks of playing cards in his study. He mostly used them to play poker at family gatherings, sometimes with just Sirius and Regulus if they could keep up. But he also had a keen knowledge of divination, particularly cartomancy. Because of this, Sirius was already familiar (to a certain degree) with the meanings behind different cards. He could recall a faint memory of Orion telling him and Regulus once that the Ace of Spades was a sign of bad luck and misfortune, loss, and sometimes even death.
Sirius pushed that memory away. Maybe the meanings were different for regular card games or for different cultures. Probably. Everything was different here. He glanced at Jay, and then Paco, and then everyone else on the pitch and felt…well, lucky. Yeah, he smiled to himself. Really lucky. Screw cartomancy. This card was lucky. He was sure of it.
“Whaddabout yuh mates back in Islington? What are they like?” Jay asked after a while.
Sirius never did get to answer. Thankfully, to be honest; the truth was pathetic. Without warning, Paco strode up to them, chucking the ball at the corner of Jay’s head, where it bounced off with a comical little ricochet—like something out of a cartoon. Sirius puffed his cheeks, holding in a laugh.
Jay clutched his head, looking highly offended. “Ow, what was that for, ya shitty tosser?!”
Paco snorted, “Let the poor sod breathe, Jay. Ain’t a damn interrogation.”
“He can speak for himself, yknow!” Jay grumbled, scrambling to get the ball that had rolled a few feet away, definitely with malicious intent.
Paco went to snatch the ball himself, but Sirius had lunged forward and grabbed it first.
“Yeah, mate,” Sirius teased Paco, quickly tossing the ball back to Jay. “Loosen up.”
Jay gave Sirius a knowing grin, “Oh yeah, I’ll loosen him up, alright.”
Meanwhile, Paco gaped at Sirius like he’d just been betrayed.
“Ohhh, I got yuh now, P!” Jay shouted, chasing Paco with the ball.
“Cabrónes! You’re dead!” Paco shouted, then turned and pointed an accusatory finger at Sirius. “Especially you!”
“Shit—“ Sirius hissed as Paco pivoted, turning to him instead.
But Jay had other plans. He kicked the ball, aiming straight for Paco’s bits. Even Sirius gasped. Luckily, Paco twisted just in time for the ball to clip his thigh instead. Sirius heard Paco’s sigh of relief as the ball trailed behind him, hitting the gate with a clatter. But Paco didn’t retaliate. He was still content on torturing Sirius, the bastard. Paco lunged forward to grab him but missed, though Sirius had managed to get a hold of Paco’s shirt as they fell to the ground into a frantic wrestle and fits of laughter.
“Oi!” Sirius yelped under Paco’s grip just as Jay launched all of his weight on them both, tangling himself in the pile of limbs. Sirius tried to wiggle out from under Jay, who was on top of them both and very much enjoying it. Paco let out a strained grumble from somewhere under Jay’s back. “I hate you both.”
Then Manny appeared above them, the football clutched under his arm. “You lovers done cuddling? We’ve got a game to play, yknow.”
And that’s how Sirius found himself across from Paco on the pitch.
He gave Sirius a brief warmup with an extra ball stored in the schoolyard before they started the real match. It was deflated slightly and felt like kicking a sad sack of mush—very anticlimactic, but it did the job. Paco rolled the ball back and forth between his trainers.
“You can use the inside of your foot, outside—just depends on what you’re goin’ for.” Paco started, “If you’re passing, use the inside, alright? If you’re moving quick or dodging a hit, use the outside—like this.”
He flicked the deflated ball with the outside of his right foot, sending it tumbling around lazily before intercepting it with the inside of his left foot.
Sirius took the ball. He was never good with rules or proper strategies. So, naturally, he was too fast and lacked control initially, but after a few kicks he was brimming with confidence.
“Good,” Paco affirmed. “Try to angle your feet a bit, gives ya better control.”
Sirius did, adjusting his stance.
A slow smirk crept up Paco’s face. He bit his lip, trying to hide it. “And when someone comes at you—“
He lunged forward without warning, reaching for the ball with his trainer.
Sirius instinctively kicked out his own foot, blocking Paco from taking the ball.
“Easy.” Sirius chuffed, rolling the ball between his feet victoriously.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Paco mocked.
They all divided into teams, even the girls. Without Johnny, the numbers were uneven—seven players total. Since Sirius was new and a rookie, they let his team have the four. It ended up being Manny, Paco, and Ionie up against Sirius, Jay, Cherry, and Daz. Sirius and Jay both stuck their stained tongues out at Paco from across the pitch for good measure.
Sirius felt good about his team. The game was fast-paced and chaotic. He slipped into rhythm with everyone easily, learning their tricks and trades. The way they moved, laughed, and trusted each other—It all felt so natural in a way he couldn’t explain. Being with them, being a part of a team (even if it was just for an informal match in some dodgy schoolyard) stirred something in him. For once, he felt like he truly belonged somewhere.
He quickly learned that Cherry—despite her soft speech and demeanor —was absolutely ruthless when it came to football. Honestly, both girls were. Sirius was just glad one of them was on his team because going up against them both at once would’ve been a nightmare. Jay and Ionie were at it like dogs, both accusing each other of cheating the entire time, which was quite amusing for Sirius. Jay wasn’t kidding when he said that Daz was sneaky, but he forgot to mention that he was also kind of brilliant. One minute, Daz would be hiding somewhere in the back, looking completely uninterested in whatever was going on up front. But then the next, he’d have stolen the ball and scored—no one quite sure how he’d done it. He also had a sort of secret code that Sirius became familiar with. A nod, a sly glance, a pucker of his lips—all small moments before he’d do something big.
The match was intense, and the scores were close. Sirius had seen a side of Paco he’d never seen before. The usual theatrics and banter were gone, replaced by a stone-cold intensity. He didn’t just play, he calculated every move. It was kind of hilarious. And slightly terrifying. The best part was the look on Paco’s face when he thought he was going to score, but Sirius nicked the ball from him, just like Paco had shown him, and scored the winning goal.
Sirius outplayed him at his own game. He won. And goddamn, did it feel good.
There was the faintest beat of silence, and then—
The eruption.
Daz had grabbed Sirius’ arm, holding it up in the air and cheering. All of his teammates followed suit, swarming him in a big group huddle, all tangled limbs and laughter. Jay let out a wolf whistle, clapping Sirius hard on the back and shouting to everyone, “WOULDYA LOOK AT THAT! ROOKIE’S FIRST MATCH! AND HE BLOODY SCOOORED!”
What surprised Sirius most was when Cherry grabbed his face with both of her hands, planting a fat victory kiss on his cheek.
The losing team was bitter at first, of course, but eventually they joined in the celebration too.
“Beginner’s luck,” Manny shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I was going easy on you, anyway.”
“Oh, really?” Sirius smirked, “You’re a terrible liar."
And just like that, Manny’s smile broke free—two dimples appearing on either cheek.
Once the cheers and celebration had finally died down, Paco came up to Sirius. A sly grin was plastered across his face, that little snaggletooth sticking out from below his lip.
“Well,” Paco mused, “You might just be the best rookie I’ve ever seen.”
Sirius beamed. “Told you so.”
One by one, everyone began to filter out. Manny left first saying something like "Gotta jet, else Mum's gonna be on my arse." Daz left soon after. Ionie and Cherry hung back for a bit but became decidedly bored with the boys and left to find a better way to spend their time. That left just Paco, Jay, and Sirius. The warmth of the pavement clung to them, the remnants of the football match still lingering in the scuffs on their trainers and dust on their trousers. Sirius could hear the distant hum of traffic and a faint echo of laughter from a block over.
After everyone left, they settled into a couple rounds of Snap with Jay's deck of cards. Unlike football, Sirius was useless with cards and lost every single game. He always slammed the cards down too quickly and all too eagerly, convinced he saw a match. If not that, he'd simply yell out "Snap!" just for the hell of it.
They had long since abandoned the cards, and were now laying on the bare ground, content just to be in each other's company. Jay was sprawled out, flicking a coin that he found on the ground between his fingers. He'd toss it up, let it spin, then slap it onto his wrist, like his own game of heads or tails. Paco had his hands behind his head, staring up at the trees with a thoughtful expression.
Paco looked so young sometimes, like a very small child. Sirius supposed maybe that was normal, considering he was young. But, it wasn't when he was grinning or throwing clever remarks or being his generally cheeky self. It was when he wasn't speaking at all. When he just lay there, silent and unguarded, letting the weight of the world settle into him. Sirius wanted to know what he was thinking about, if anything at all. He never asked, just watched silently.
Sirius shifted, propping himself up on his elbows. His gaze flickered past the gate and caught sight of something colourful on the edge of a building. Graffiti. It was a half-finished drawing of a pig with a scrunched-up face wearing a cap. The paint bled slightly at the edges, like it'd been rushed. Sirius bit his lip to keep from laughing.
"Hey.." he said, nudging Paco with his foot, "Think I just found your twin."
He gestured to the graffiti across the street, and Paco let out a short huff of laughter. "Glad you like my art, ya tosser. Next time I wipe my arse, I’ll paint one of you.”
Jay sniggered, but Sirius blinked several times, missing the snide remark completely. "You did that?!"
Jay cut in then, "'Course he did. Swear half the city's got his name on it—bins, benches, bridges, even my Maths book, the bastard!"
"Never got to finish it," Paco eyed the graffiti sorely. "Bloody coppers showed up, s'pose they didn't like my portraits of em'."
Jay laughed, "I remember that. Said they chased your arse all way to South Lambeth."
"Yeah, had to hide in a bloody bingo hall. Told 'em I was waiting for my nan. Next thing I know, I've got a paper card and a dabber in my hand. All these old birds that kept feeding me Murray Mints. It was weird, man."
All three of them burst out into laughter then.
"Do you still have the paint?" Sirius asked, a little too excited.
"Loads of it."
Jay clapped Paco on the back. "Lead the way, Picasso!"
⋆⋆⋆
Unfortunately, Jay couldn’t stick around for the graffiti; he had to help his parents sort out stock for the market tomorrow. Still, he rode with them from the schoolyard all the way to Paco's flat, standing tall on the pedals of his bike. He had pulled a long shoelace from the waist of his trousers that he’d apparently been using as a makeshift belt, and used it to strap his cassette recorder tightly between the handlebars of his bike, just so he could play Oogum Boogum on loop the whole way to annoy Paco.
Meanwhile, Paco had convinced Sirius to climb onto the back end of his board while they rode alongside Jay.
All you have to do is hold on, it's baby stuff. I'll go nice and slow, Paco lied moments before recklessly grabbing onto the edge of Jay's seat. Jay turned around and grinned widely before speeding up. Sirius clutched onto Paco's waist for dear life, caught somewhere between fear and excitement. He threw his head back, hooting and hollering into the air. Jay became momentarily distracted when he rode over a bump, causing the laces holding the cassette recorder to shift slightly. He fumbled with them while Paco shouted out, "LEFT! JAY, LEFT!" as they nearly clipped an elderly woman's mailbox.
"Shit—sorry, Mrs. Perry!" Jay called out sheepishly, swerving just in time.
All three of them laughed breathlessly and bellowed out the lyrics of Oogum Boogum the rest of the ride.
Sirius felt like he was in a different world entirely. If the past two days had taught him anything, it was that his family had been completely wrong about everything, and he had proof. Muggles weren’t dim-witted or dull—unless they were named Gil, maybe.
They were bold and brave and creative and kind. They laughed loudly and sang shamelessly. And they welcomed him without hesitation. Maybe this was just what having actual friends felt like. Sirius found himself clinging desperately to it all.
Apparently, Jay and Paco lived in the same estate—a place called Angell Town. Jay lived on the second floor, while Paco lived on the third. Sirius couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at that. He understood why Jay and Paco were so close; they practically lived together. Angell Town belonged to them. Every scrape and scruff along its walls served as a memorial of memories that had always bound them together.
It was a vast estate made of concrete block and winding corridors that housed countless flats. Sirius thought that if he lived here, he'd need a map just to find his. The sprawling building was marked by chipped paint, walls of graffiti tags, and cigarette butts littering the cracks in the pavement. A dog was barking somewhere in the distance. Some doors sat slightly ajar, while others were bolted tight with several locks and loose chains. A yellow-stained mattress was propped up against an overflowing skip, it's springs poking through. Sirius could smell someone cooking something savoury from a window above.
He couldn't help but think of all the awful things Orion would’ve said about this place and the people who lived here. Walburga certainly would've dragged him out by the ear before he'd even gotten to the gate. And yet, Sirius felt more at ease here than he ever had back in Grimmauld Place. Maybe it was all of the noise.
On the second-floor balcony of Jay and Paco's building, Jay's mum was humming a soft, low tune on a wooden rocking chair. A little girl sat between her knees (Sirius assumed another one of Jay's sisters), head bowed, while the woman wove her hair into tight braids with soft hands.
"Afternoon, Mrs. Williams!" Paco called out, smiling at her.
"Hello, baby," She smiled back warmly, but her tone shifted when her eyes fell on Jay. "Jevaun! How many times do I have to tell you to pull those damn trousers up?!"
"Yes, ma'am," Jay grumbled, pulling at the waist of the saggy fabric while Paco and Sirius sniggered.
"I'll see yuh tomorrow, P." Jay said, making his way to the stairs. He turned back to Sirius one last time. "Come back and play football with us again, mate! Or maybe we can go to that music shop I was talking about!"
Sirius smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah, of course. See ya, Jay."
And then, Jay disappeared into the second floor.
Paco’s flat was number 307. He jiggled the key into the lock, grumbling bitterly under his breath when the door stuck. He gave it a firm push with his shoulder until it finally gave way. As they stepped inside, Sirius was struck by the sudden burst of colour and life. The soft, lingering scent of a sweet, almost citrusy incense clung to his clothes.
The flat was tiny—Sirius was fairly certain his own bedroom was larger than the entire unit. Every surface was claimed. The kitchenette spilled into the sitting room, separated only by a small table crammed into the corner where a mug of coffee had gone cold beside a stack of unopened mail. Above the sink, an overflowing ashtray was perched atop the windowsill beside plants with yellowing leaves. Near the door, a wooden crucifix and a cluster of portraits hung crooked on the wall. They featured Paco and his brother frozen throughout the years. Sirius still wasn't used to the stillness of muggle photographs; he much preferred magical portraiture.
A woman with long black hair was sleeping on the sofa, one arm draped over her eyes as if shielding herself from the afternoon sun while a small table fan whirred on the coffee table beside her. It wasn't enough to cool the room, but just enough to lull it into a peaceful hum. Sirius figured she had to be Paco’s mum. He felt a bit awkward, like he had walked in on something private with her just lying there out in the open. But there was something so honest about it. There was nothing staged or rehearsed here.
Paco set his board down by the door, resting it against the wall. Sirius trailed after him into the kitchen, where they both leaned against the countertop. Paco reached behind him to a fruit bowl, brushing over a bruised banana and an apple before grabbing one of the tangerines. He dug his thumb into the skin of it and began peeling it off gently.
"That's your mum, then?" Sirius asked, nodding to the sleeping woman curiously.
"Yeah."
Paco seemed to notice the pause that hung in the air at that, so he continued.
"She works nights. Comes home wrecked most days. Hardly leaves that spot," Paco shrugged, twirling the tangerine in his hands. "You like tangerines? Supposed to be those really sweet ones, they’re my favourite.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Sirius accepted, peeling off a slice and plopping it into his mouth. It was indeed very sweet.
They leaned against the counter, sharing the tangerine. Sirius picked up a newspaper that was near the fruit bowl. Paco began filling a glass of water from the tap, then rummaging in a drawer. The paper was titled Death of American Rockstar Jim Morrison Shocks the Music World. Sirius skimmed it, reading about the mystery of four muggle deaths spanning from 1969 to 1971, all having died at the ripe age of twenty-seven. In a small side column, there was a story about a pigeon that flew into the tube and refused to come out. Sirius laughed to himself reading it. He went to show Paco.
”Hey, check this—” Sirius started, but Paco wasn’t in the kitchen anymore.
He was over by the sofa. The glass of water that he poured was sitting on the coffee table beside a bottle of medicine. Paco leaned down, kissing his mum on the forehead.
Sirius set the paper down.
”Descansa, Mamá,” Paco said softly.
He lifted his head and found Sirius watching him. He didn’t say anything, just nodded to a narrow hallway ahead. Sirius followed him through the hallway and into Paco’s bedroom. The room was filled with restless energy.
Posters of muggle bands, magazine cutouts, and even a few stolen road signs covered every inch of the walls. A bunkbed was shoved against the far wall, its sheets tangled. Two dressers sat together, each covered generously with stickers peeling at their edges. An old wooden school desk was near the window, its surface heavily scratched and full of carvings and ink. There was an old guitar leaning up against the ladder leading to the top bunk. Sirius paused in the doorway, taking it all in. It felt vulnerable in a way to be welcomed into someone’s room, someone’s life, surrounded by proof of who they are when no one's looking.
Paco stepped into the room, exhaling deeply as he threw himself backwards onto the mattress of the bottom bunk. He reached under the pillow, grabbing his mangled pack of cigarettes and stuffing them into his pocket. Sirius slowly crept into the room, looking around at everything. Paco hoisted himself up and leaned over, grabbing a large black bookbag from the side of the bed. Sirius came over, sinking into the mattress next to him. Paco unzipped the bag, and Sirius was hit with a strong whiff of chemicals.
“Holy shit,” Sirius said, peering into the bag. It was full of paint cans, their nozzles crusted over with colour.
“Yeah, Daz’s brother hooked me up with the whole lot, gets em’ from this place he works at,” Paco replied, digging into one of the side pockets. “He’s a solid bloke.”
Then, Paco pulled out a few paint markers from the side pocket. “Had to nick these, they wanted two quid for em’ each, can you believe that?”
Sirius tried to look surprised by this information; he still had no idea how muggle currency worked. “Yeah that’s—err, that’s mad.”
Paco gave him a funny look before zipping up the bag and throwing it over his shoulder.
“I’ve gotta sort somethin’ out,” Paco said casually, “You can, uh, look around if ya want, I’ll just be in the kitchen.”
Sirius stayed perched on the edge of the bed, the springs quietly creaking beneath him. He heard the sound of dishes clattering in the distance, maybe water running. His eyes wandered around the room, taking everything in. Something beneath the desk caught his attention. It was a crumpled shopping bag, the one Paco took from the corner shop yesterday. It was still filled with various goods, but it looked like some had been emptied. It was funny how far away that memory seemed, like a lifetime away, even though it was just yesterday. Sirius remembered how desperate Paco’s voice sounded in that moment.
I told you I’d have it next week, Gil.
I just need a bit more time, swear.
And then, just a few minutes ago, as casual as ever:
Had to nick these, they wanted two quid for em’ each, can you believe that?
The memories struck something deep in Sirius. Suddenly, the money in his pocket felt a lot heavier. He knew he didn’t need the money; he stole it because he could. Because it was fun. Even still, he didn’t regret it one bit. Sirius couldn’t feel sorry for Gil.
He shifted forward on the bed slightly, peering into the doorway. He could still hear faint noises in the distance, but he saw no sign of Paco. Sirius dug in his pockets, pulling out the wad of Muggle money. The Ace of Spades card came out with it, and he tucked it back in his pocket, smiling. He held the money in his hands for a minute, just thinking. Then, he carefully lifted Paco’s pillow and slipped the cash underneath. Afterwards, he smoothed the pillow back in place, like nothing had happened at all. Gil might not matter to him, but Paco—he mattered. Sirius supposed this was just his way of balancing the scales. Paying back, in his own way, whatever Gil had already taken.
Sirius got up from the bed and moved to the school desk by the window. On top of the desk, there was a battered notebook. Across the center of it, ‘PACO’ was written in big, puffy letters. Sirius flipped through the pages. Each was filled with a riot of colour and ink. There was hardly any evidence of a margin leftover. Some of them were drawings, but most of them didn’t look like anything at all — just scribbles, spirals, and shapes overlapping. It was so cool, like a little window into Paco’s mind.
Sirius went to set the notebook down and noticed some of the engravings and sketches marked on the wood. One read ‘Jay Wuz Here’ in bold, jagged letters. There was a ridiculous looking smiley face next to it, and Sirius huffed a soft laugh. Just beneath that, another caught his eye. It read: RJL. Off to the side, in cramped handwriting, someone had drawn an arrow pointing to the initials with the words: Is a twat — DRL. Sirius wondered who pair of initials belonged to.
He would’ve read every sketch and engraving on the wood, had noises coming from the living room not pulled his attention.
It was the sound of a door closing. A shuffle, footsteps, voices, and laughter becoming clear, closer.
Sirius turned around just as a blur of movement darted through the bedroom door. A small, scrappy-looking brown Chihuahua launched itself at Sirius, his little tail wagging furiously. He began to lick Sirius’ knuckles, nudging his nose against the trousers. Sirius let out a surprised laugh, bending down and scratching the dog behind the ears. Until he heard someone let out an “Oh! Bloody hell…” from the doorway, and he looked up.
Standing there was Paco’s brother, Danny. He had to be at least a couple of years older. He looked so much like Paco that it took Sirius by surprise. Their features were very similar, except that while Paco’s were sharp and angular, his brother’s were soft and rounded. His dark hair fell to his shoulders in perfect loose curls, which Sirius envied. His own hair had just barely reached below his ears, Walburga always made him cut it. Danny wore jeans with a thick brown belt, a shirt with frayed and ripped sleeves, and a chain necklace with a worn guitar pick hanging from the end. He was holding a glass bottle of orange Fanta. He looked so cool. Sirius figured that aspect must run in the family.
“Frijole!” Danny called out warmly, snapping his fingers. “Get down, ya little shit!”
The dog, Frijole, immediately darted towards him with a happy yap, receiving some head scratches.
But then, Sirius noticed the younger boy standing next to him. And it wasn’t Paco. This boy was tall and lanky. He wore brown corduroy trousers with clumsily stitched patches on the knees. Sirius noticed that his ankles poked out slightly beneath the hem of the fabric, as if they were burrowed or outgrown. A white shirt clung to his frame, cracked letters reading The Who across the center. He had a necklace similar to the other boys with a guitar pick at the end, and he too, was holding a bottle of Fanta. His hair had a gentle, tousled softness. It was the colours of caramel and toffee, curling unpredictably at the ends and framing his face awkwardly. Sirius also noticed he had faint scars. One traveled across the bridge of his large nose, and another down the curve of his cheek. Sirius wondered briefly what it’d feel like to run his fingers along them. How did he get them?
And then, their eyes met.
The boy’s eyes were hazel— not just one shade, but layers of it. Gold and green surrounded by an earthy kind of brown. It reminded Sirius of the colours of Autumn. They held each other’s gaze so intensely that Sirius forgot, for a moment, that anyone else was even in the room. That is, until Danny let out a soft laugh. The dog was still restless at his ankles.
“Sorry, mate,” he said, shrugging. “ Didn’t expect anyone else to be in here.”
Sirius blinked, pulling his gaze from the other boy. Suddenly, he was very aware of his own heartbeat. He felt awkward and out of place and a little bit guilty, like he’d been caught snooping.
“No, you’re fine, I was just—” Sirius spluttered, gesturing to the door. Then he sighed, “I’m Paco’s friend.”
Danny nodded, “Huh. Must be special, he doesn’t have a lot of people over.” Then, he held out his hand. “ I’m Danny—his brother, if that wasn’t obvious.”
Sirius laughed, taking his hand and giving it a shake. “I’m Sirius. And yes, before you ask, that is actually my name.”
Danny grinned, “That’s wicked. Like the star, right?”
Sirius nodded, surprised that Danny knew. “Yeah, like the star.”
“Right, w-well,” the other boy stammered slightly, setting his soda down. “M’gonna use the loo.”
They locked eyes again, but the other boy was glaring at Sirius with squinted eyes and an expression that seemed to say: What are you staring at? Do I have something on my face?
It wasn’t necessarily bitter, just wary. So, Sirius shot back a smug look of his own. He hoped it said: It takes two to stare, weirdo.
Danny seemed to have noticed the strange encounter.
Once the boy was gone, he turned to Sirius, “Don’t worry bout’ him, acts tough, but trust me, he’s as soft as a baby’s bum.”
They both laughed at that.
“Let’s pretend that he said,” Danny held his hand out, pulling his mouth to a mock smile. “Hi, I’m Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Wow, you have wonderful eyes.” Then he laughed again, “The cheeky twat.”
Just then, Paco appeared, leaning into the doorway. “Who’s got wonderful eyes?”
“Sirius does,” Danny said easily , taking a swig from the sparkling orange Fanta and gesturing to Sirius. “Bloody unfair, honestly.”
Paco scoffed, bending down to pet Frijole. “Oh, brilliant. Like he needs an ego boost.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Danny grinned behind the lip of his bottle, perching himself atop the school desk. “Yours are a close second.”
“Mm.”
“Yeah, it’s like..” Danny rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You know, I’m at the park on a summer day and it’s bleedin’ hot, like sweat drippin’ from your arsecrack type of hot..”
“Here we go,” Paco grumbled.
Danny ignored him, his voice full of dramatic flair. “And there it is—some warm, crusty lump of dog shit stuck on the bottom of my boot! M’hopping on one foot, scraping it off on the curb, whole time all I can think is that’s Paco’s eyes, that is. Exact match.”
Yeah, they’re definitely related, Sirius thought.
“Ha-ha,” Paco drawled, “Take a look in the mirror, pendejo.”
He chucked a trainer from the floor at Danny, who was just wiggling his eyebrows knowingly at Sirius.
A faint flush came from somewhere beyond the hallway, and a few seconds later, Remus reappeared, drying his hands on the front of his trousers. He looked up to find all three boys goggling at him.
Danny beamed at the sight of him. “We were just talking about you, Lobito! Somehow the topic of dog shit came up.”
“Figures.” Remus supplied flatly, though a grin tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Yeah, you lot have fun with that." Paco nodded to Sirius, "We've got somewhere to be."
"Oh yeah? Doin' what?" Danny raised an eyebrow.
Paco smirked, "Oh, you know, gotta see a man about a dog or whatever. Best be off."
"You little shit," Danny shook his head, his smile softening. "Be safe, alright? Look out for each other."
"Always." Paco grinned stupidly, kissing two fingers and saluting them to Danny.
Sirius mimicked the gesture, making sure to give one last smug glance back at Danny’s weird friend, Remus, and then they were off.
Before they left the flat, Sirius noticed that the ashtray on the windowsill had been emptied, and the dishes sat drying on a threadbare cloth in neat rows.
⋆⋆⋆
Paco led them through the back of the estate, past hanging balconies and a rusted gate. The heat had started to settle by then, replaced by a faint breeze. Sirius didn’t know where they were going, just that it was close. Paco had said that it was his favourite spot. They passed through a narrow walkway, and the city opened up again. A bug zipped past Sirius' ear, and he swatted it away while Paco adjusted the strap on his bag as the street opened up ahead. A black cab rumbled past them, and a man stood against a phone box, puffing on a cigarette.
Hunched between an off-licence and a newsagent that had gone bust was a dusty launderette. Beneath the sign, small letters read Wash & Dry, but the W had peeled off, leaving a ghostly outline instead. A large railway bridge hung overhead. The foundation was made of concrete, old, tattered, and moss-bitten. On either end of it, the ground rose in slopes. The grass underneath was dead and patchy, like people had stepped over it too many times. A moment later, a passenger train roared above. Sirius could feel the rumble beneath his feet. He caught only a glimpse of carriages and blurred windows before it disappeared again.
"This is it," Paco said, nodding to the bridge.
Sirius looked back towards the shops and the pedestrians shuffling by. "You sure we won't get caught?"
Paco huffed a laugh. "Not if you're the one holdin' the paint. They'll think you're doing some school mural." He shrugged, "A brown kid like me? All they see is trouble."
Sirius didn't know if he was supposed to laugh too.
“Well,” he said instead, smirking, “You are trouble. What other explanation is there for bringing a perfectly innocent kid like me down here?”
Paco shook his head, smiling. “You git.”
Then he continued, "Besides, no one gives a toss bout this place, anyway. Trust me."
Sirius lagged behind Paco up the slope. The ground was uneven, so he steadied himself against the foundation when he could. Meanwhile, Paco climbed it like he'd done it a hundred times before. Which, he probably had.
Sirius had almost reached the landing, but slipped as dirt crumbled beneath his trainers. He cursed, arms flailing as he tried to regain balance. Paco spun around and caught his hand just in time. His grip was warm, a bit calloused. With one solid tug, he pulled Sirius up, and they both had to duck beneath the low archway. Paco set his bag down while Sirius took a minute to take everything in. The underside of the bridge was layered with graffiti and markings. There were names, symbols, declarations of love and rebellion. In one spot, there was a clumsy heart drawn around the letters L + H. Paco unzipped the bag and began fumbling through the cans, handing Sirius one that was black.
'What am I supposed to write?" Sirius asked.
"Whatever fits your fancy." Paco pointed to a drawing above them, "This guy drew a giant knob."
They both sniggered.
Paco grabbed one of his own paint cans to demonstrate. It rattled as he shook it, like dice in a cup. Then he pressed the nozzle and sprayed crude little flecks coming out from the tip of the knob. He smiled to himself and said, "See? Timeless." Sirius puffed his cheeks, holding in a laugh while he took the paint can just as Paco had, and drew a giant knob of his own.
Paco was right—no one who passed by the bridge paid any attention to the two boys. Whether they just didn’t care, or simply didn’t see them, Sirius wasn’t sure. All he knew was that vandalism was awesome.
"Wait—I got somethin'," Paco said suddenly. He turned to the wall behind them, which had more blank space to work with.
In careful motions, he drew out a cartoonish face of a man. The face had swirly eyes, a tongue lolling, and some kind of object stuck in the corner of its head—a tin. That's when Sirius realised. It was a drawing of Gil.
"Oh my god, is that—" Sirius laughed, shoving him.
Paco smirked, finishing the drawing off with a curling swirl and stars around its head to make it look dizzy. When he was finished, he took a step back. "Paint's not nearly crusty enough to do em' justice."
Eventually, Sirius picked up some yellow paint. For whatever reason, next to Paco's drawing of Gil, he drew two shooting stars circling each other. The paint bled onto his fingers a bit, and the stars were messy and lopsided, but to Sirius, it was perfect.
"Cute," Paco mocked.
Then Paco added to it by drawing a big moon in the center between the stars. He grabbed a can of red paint and gave the moon bleary, bloodshot eyes, and topped it off by drawing a spliff hanging lazily from the moon's mouth. Sirius smiled, taking a step back to admire the work. He glanced at the ridiculous immortalised drawing of Gil, then at the messy moon and stars, but he felt like it needed something. Something that made it theirs. Something to say, I was here.
"Hang on," Sirius said, digging in the side pocket of Paco's bag.
His fingers found a black paint marker. He popped the cap off and held it between his teeth. He leaned toward the wall, steadying himself with one hand. Right in the center of one of the stars, he wrote S.O.B. Then, he nudged Paco with the marker.
Paco raised a brow, "S.O.B, huh? You do know that reads as 'Son of a Bitch', right?"
Sirius chuffed, "Yeah? Proud of it, too. I'll be the best Son of a Bitch there is."
Paco shook his head, laughing. "If the shoe fits..."
Then, he crouched in front of the second star with the marker and wrote his own initials, P.L.L.
"P.L.L, huh?" Sirius mocked, in the same way Paco did. "You know that reads as uh—pissed my—"
"It's an L, you tosser, don't they teach you to read in that posh school of yours?"
"Oh, whatever, Mr. Perfect Little Lad."
Paco shoved him, "Never say that again."
He began to put the paint cans away, but before Sirius put the marker back, he stood there, taking everything in. He couldn’t help but think of Regulus and how much he wished he were here too.
"Wait, I want to add one more thing," Sirius said, grabbing the yellow paint can again.
He squeezed a third shooting star between the other two, set the can down, and then opened up the marker again. This time, he wrote R.A.B.
Neither he nor Paco said anything about it then, but he did give Sirius a questionable look. After the graffiti, they stayed there, lying under the landing. The concrete was cool against Sirius' skin. He and Paco lay side by side, each with an arm resting beneath their heads, admiring what they created. There, beneath the bridge, the world felt so small. After awhile, Paco turned to Sirius.
"Who's R.A.B.?" he asked softly.
Sirius turned to face him with a sad smile. "My brother."
"Oh, right." Paco's brows pinched together, and he eyed Sirius with caution. "He's not like, you know.."
Sirius gave him a weird look. "He's not what?"
"Christ," Paco sighed, "Like, you know, he's not dead, right?"
Sirius recoiled, "What?! No he's not dead!"
"Well, thank fuck for that." Paco laughed, and then whined, "What? How was I supposed to know? You just put his initials up there and did that whole tragic stare-off-into-the-distance thing!"
Sirius laughed, "Did I?"
"Yeah, ya tosser. So dramatic, you are."
Sirius smiled, but then he sighed. "Just wish he was here, I guess. He'd love it—all of it."
"Well, where is he?" Paco asked.
"He's, uh, at home."
Paco gave him a look like he was being dramatic again, so Sirius went on, explaining the best he could without giving away too much. He told Paco about his parents and about how he didn't actually believe his father ever loved him. About how sometimes he thought Walburga only loved the version of him that she'd built in her head. How love in that house felt like something that was earned, something transactional. How one mistake was all it took to lose it again. He talked a lot about Regulus, too. And Paco listened the entire time. He didn't interrupt or crack jokes. He just listened.
"He's the only good thing about that place," Sirius murmured.
"Then hold onto that," Paco said easily, "You and him, that's what matters."
"Yeah, thanks," Sirius smiled.
"You know what I think?" Paco nudged him.
"Hm?"
"I think you're golden," Paco smiled, "You're the best son of a bitch there ever was, remember? No one can take that from you. And Regulus, he's lucky to have you."
Sirius bit his lip over a smile, nodding to Paco.
They fell back into silence, the words filling the air between them. Sirius felt lighter somehow. In the distance, he could hear the hum of traffic and a siren blaring somewhere. Eventually, Paco reached in his pocket and fished out a stubby, half-smoked cigarette from his pack. Sirius lit it with his zippo and they shared it, passing it between each other.
Sirius’ mind wandered back to Paco’s flat. He thought about Danny and Remus.
"Why does Danny call Remus Lobito?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"I dunno," Paco inhaled slowly, then passed the cigarette back to Sirius. "Lobito means little wolf in Spanish. It's this thing with our names, Lopez and Lupin. They both come from the Latin word lupus, which means wolf, I guess. Danny looked it up once, he's smart, yknow, reads a ton of books."
"Hm," Sirius replied, "Suits him, I guess."
"Pfft," Paco laughed, "Yeah, little wolf, my arse. Lupin's built like a bloody lamppost in jeans.”
When they'd finished the cigarette, now burnt down to a crooked nub, Paco leaned forward and pressed it to the concrete, then flicked it off the grassy slope. After that, they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Sirius picked up his zippo again and began to fidget with it, twirling it in his hands absentmindedly and tracing his thumb over the engravings.
Suddenly, as if he were talking about something as casual as the weather, Paco blurted out,
"My dad's in prison."
Sirius turned sharply to face him, but Paco just kept staring up at the underside of the bridge, his eyes fixed on the concrete beams.
"Oh," Sirius breathed, “I’m, uh, I’m sorry.”
But what he really wanted to say was, Why? What happened? Surely, people don’t go to prison for good reasons.
"Eh, don’t be. He can die there for all I care." Paco turned to face Sirius then, his expression solid. Not sad, not angry, just Paco.
"But me?" Paco continued, "I'm getting out of this place. I wanna see the world, you know? Hell, I dunno. Maybe I'll hit the states. They’ve got these massive beaches in California…” He trailed off, shaking his head, “I'll be something someday—and it won't be a deadbeat dad. The whole world will know my name."
Yeah, America, Sirius thought to himself. If he ever traveled to the States, he’d at least get to see his favourite cousin, Andromeda, again... If the rumours about her were true, at least.
But, at the same time, he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to leave Brixton. To him, it was everything. Everything he'd ever wanted. It all felt so simple. But, the way Paco said it—like he meant every word—Sirius couldn’t question it. He didn’t doubt it one bit.
"Yeah, fuck him," Sirius said boldly.
"Yeah," Paco drawled, "Fuck. Him."
Just then, a low hum rolled through the concrete. Sirius could feel the faintest tremble under his back. A train was coming.
"This is the best part." Paco laid himself completely flat against the concrete. "You can feel the train rumble through your entire body. It's like the whole world disappears."
And then, it hit.
The train roared above them, drowning out everything else. Sirius could feel the foundation beneath him buzzing. He felt it in his teeth. He turned over and saw that Paco had his eyes closed, as if he was peacefully sleeping. Sirius didn’t know why his heart was racing, but he could feel it thrumming against his ribcage. It might've been the adrenaline, but he suddenly shouted, "FUUUUUUUUUCK!"
Sirius barely heard the word leave his mouth, it mostly got drowned out by the train. But Paco seemed to have heard it, or maybe he just saw it. He turned to Sirius and laughed, giving him a face that said, What the hell are you doing? So, Sirius smiled that stupid grin back at him and shouted it again,’"FUUUUUUUUCK!"
Paco matched his grin, and they shouted it together, though Sirius couldn't hear it, he just saw Paco's mouth form the words, "FUUUUUUCK!"
It was the best feeling Sirius had ever felt in his entire life.
When the train finally trailed off, they both rolled around in breathless fits of laughter before eventually landing on their backs side by side again, their chests rising and falling.
Sirius stared up, still catching his breath. "That was—"
"Golden." Paco finished for him, his little snaggletooth sticking out below his grin.
“Yeah, Golden,” Sirius smiled.
Their arms were so close that Sirius could see tiny circular scars on Paco's forearm, like someone had pressed a cigarette to it, which made Sirius' stomach twist. He quickly glanced back up to the underside of the bridge.
But then, just barely, he felt it.
Paco's pinky finger had brushed against Sirius.' It was a touch so faint that it could've been an accident, but to Sirius, it felt like fire. He swore he forgot how to breathe for a second. Had Paco felt it too? Had he even noticed?
Sirius didn’t dare turn his head to face him; his eyes were still locked on the concrete above. He inched his hand away slightly, but then he felt it again. The softest nudge. Definitely intentional.
Sirius' heart was hammering in his chest. He wasn't sure why he did it, but he swallowed, nudging his finger back. Eventually, it just kind of happened. Their fingers ended up lacing together. Paco’s hands were so warm. He traced his thumb up Sirius’ finger gently. The intimacy of it felt so terrifying.
It was too much. It was too queer.
Sirius panicked, pulling his hand away sharply. He cleared his throat, fumbling anxiously in his pocket for Orion's pocket watch. He needed something—anything—to occupy his hands. He dared a glance sideways and saw that Paco was still staring ahead, his expression unreadable. But this time, both of his hands were folded in his lap. His stillness hung heavy in the air.
Sirius flipped the lid open to the watch and his stomach dropped.
6:23pm
He was having so much fun that he lost track of time. He'd be lucky to make it back by 7:30pm. By then, their meal would have already started. This was bad. Fuck, this was really bad.
"Shit," he hissed, scrambling to get up. "Shit, shit, shit."
"What?" Paco asked, "What's wrong?"
Sirius shot up too fast, forgetting to duck, and hit his head on the concrete overhanging above. Not enough to knock him out or anything, but just enough that he scrunched up his whole face with pain, clutching his head and cursing, "Fuck.”
"Yeah, there's a bit of concrete there in case you didn't know, ya tosser." Paco teased, "Christ, are you alright?"
Sirius waved him off, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just—I have to go, I'm already late."
"Shit," Paco said, grabbing his things. "Alright, I'll just—"
But Sirius didn't wait for him, he couldn't. He felt horribly guilty about it, but he had no choice.
"No, I got it. I know the way." he paused, “I had a lot of fun today, honest."
"Me too,” Paco smiled sadly, “You know where to find me, so I guess I’ll see ya around, Sirius Black.”
Despite all his nerves, Sirius grinned back and pointed a stern finger to Paco, “Not if I see you first, Paco Lopez!”
Paco shook his head, smiling, “Yeah, what’s with that, anyway?”
But Sirius didn’t answer, just grinned madly, trudging past the slope and nearly eating shit on the way down.
Paco called out to him one last time, “Don’t forget you still owe me that rematch!”
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t miss kicking your arse twice!” Sirius called back, before turning the corner.
And then, he was gone.
Sirius pushed past pedestrians and even knocked over a bin at one point, sending a spray of rubbish scattering onto the pavement. He didn’t have time to worry about it, so he left it. Whether it was the lingering rush of Paco’s fingers laced with his or the dread of returning to Grimmauld Place, he couldn’t tell—but both twisted in his gut, swirling into one nauseating knot. He scrambled onto the bus, using the leftover change he had from buying ice cream yesterday to pay the fare. All the while, he was sitting in the seat while the bus slowed through traffic cursing to himself, wishing that he had asked where the tube was and how to use it.
By some miracle, Sirius arrived at Grimmauld Place at 7:26pm, with just four short minutes to spare. He tore forward through the ivy, breaking an entire branch off in the process. It snagged on his shirt, but he never stopped to untangle it, just kept pushing forward. He tumbled over the large bush, glancing up at that window on the topmost floor. Except this time, Regulus wasn’t there waiting for him. The curtains hung still and unparted.
When he looked back down, he came face-to-face with Kreacher, the old house elf. Sirius froze.
Kreacher was wrapped in his grimy pillow case and taking Sirius in with those sunken, beaty eyes.
Kreacher shook his head. “Mistress will be most displeased, young Master Sirius. Trampling through the hedge like common filth, no, oh…”
”Kreacher, listen to me,” Sirius grabbed the house elf’s shoulders, his voice desperate. “You can’t say anything, please. I uh—I order it. I’ll be back in before anyone notices.”
Kreacher gasped, then he said louder this time, “Master Sirius! Kreacher is not to lie! Mistress will—"
Sirius lunged forward and slapped his palm over Kreacher’s wrinkly mouth. “Christ, Kreacher, just shut up!” he hissed.
Kreacher yelped underneath him and began flailing his arms dramatically as if Sirius were trying to murder him. Sirius had never wanted to strangle a house elf more in his life. He didn’t really want to hurt Kreacher, but he maybe, just maybe could’ve made it if it weren’t for the damn holdup.
Sirius gave up, releasing his hand and legging through the back entrance and up the stairs. If he got to his room fast enough, maybe he could pretend that he was there the whole time and argue that the old house elf had finally gone completely senile.
He had almost made it to the top step, but was stopped short when he saw Regulus standing there on the landing. He wrung his hands as he always did when he was worried, and he looked on the verge of tears. He rushed towards Sirius, grabbing ahold of his arm. The words tumbled out of him all at once in a hurried whisper,
“Sirius, I swear I didn’t say anything.”
Sirius sucked in a breath, trying to move past him, ”It’s fine, Reg."
But Regulus continued, anxiously, “Kreacher saw you leave this morning and I couldn’t warn you, there was no way I could have—Sirius, I’m so sorry, I—“
”Regulus, it’s fine, okay? It’s fine, just—" Sirius snapped, yanking his arm away sharply.
Regulus flinched as though he were struck, and his expression immediately fell. It made something in Sirius' chest ache, he hadn't meant to snap. Still, he pushed past Regulus and down the hall towards his room without another word. He flung open the door, rushing into the room and nearly crashed right into her.
But, Walburga didn't move. She stood near his bookshelf, trailing her fingers along the spines of the books. Her posture was composed, the fabric of her robes pinched perfectly at her waist, and her hair was tied up into a neat, black bun. She pursed her lips at his entrance, but didn't meet his eye. Sirius' first instinct was to run. But he knew he had nowhere to go. Even if he went to back to Brixton, if his parents didn't find him first, the ministry would. He couldn't have left even if he wanted to, his feet felt like they were planted to the spot.
"Well, you've certainly had a productive evening." Walburga mused, taking in the state of his room. The pile of clothes littering the floor, the unkempt bed.
Then, she turned to face him. She swallowed, her pale eyes trailing over him in silence. His trainers were scuffed with dirt, and his trousers were stained from the grass. His shirt was torn from the branch, and ivy leaves stuck in his hair. He knew they both could smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke on his clothes from the way she curled her pointed nose.
"I would have at least hoped you'd had the decency to return to your home as my son, not sneaking through the bushes like some common thief." She said coldly.
"Well, I didn't exactly enjoy it either, not like I could've bloody well walked through the door even if I wanted to, so how about we stop pretending." Sirius spat back.
He always made the arguments with her worse, he knew he did. Once it started, he didn't know how to stop. He was already forming something bitter to add to the fire when Walburga beat him to it.
She inched closer to him, "The only one pretending is you, Sirius. Playing dress up and make-believe, what else could possibly await you out there?"
A lump formed in Sirius' throat because he knew she was right. And he hated it. Even if he chose to ignore it, or pretend that it didn't exist. He lied to Paco today, indirectly, sure, but he’d have to continue to lie. Because they're different, because that's how their worlds operate.
He clenched his teeth, he wouldn't cry. Not here, not now. Not in front of her.
"You know nothing about what awaits me." Sirius breathed, barely a whisper.
"I know that you're a child, Sirius." She spat back, though her voice shook, "So, please, go on. Throw your tantrum, spit at your vulgarities at your mother, as if I'm the villain for simply trying to understand you. I'm sure your father will be thrilled to know you'd rather have this conversation with him instead."
Sirius' stomach dropped. "No, I—don't make me go down there. It won't happen again, it was a mistake, I—"
Walburga cut him off, "Please, Sirius, I have heard enough of your lies for today." And then she dragged him by the arm, out to the hallway.
Regulus was still lingering by the staircase, anxiously as if he wasn't sure where to go. He and Sirius made the briefest bit of eye contact before Regulus pulled his gaze away sharply. Walburga stopped in front of him and said softly, "Regulus, darling, Kreacher will be sending your plate up to your room tonight."
Regulus blinked several times, and even Sirius cocked his head.
"To... my room?" Regulus asked.
Walburga cleared her throat. "Yes, I'm afraid your father has.. lost his appetite. We will resume as usual tomorrow."
Then, she tugged tight on Sirius' arm again, pulling him towards the stairs.
"And, Regulus," she called out once more, "You are not to speak to him tonight, he is being punished. Do you understand?"
Regulus looked solemnly at Sirius, "Yes, Maman."
Her heels thudded against the stairs as she pulled Sirius down. "Do you have any idea," She hissed, "What could've happened if the wrong people heard, if your magic—"
Sirius interrupted, trying to keep up with her while also trying to twist out of her grip.
"Nothing happened! Geez—can you let go? I swear, I didn't do any magic, I didn't tell anyone anything! I was careful. I just walked around, that's all," He lied.
But, Walburga wouldn't listen, just kept lecturing him, her grip growing increasingly tighter. When they had finally reached the dining room, Sirius' body went rigid. He stopped trying to fight her off the moment they stepped in that room.
Orion was at the head of the long mahogany table, his hands folded together and his dark eyes piercing. The table beneath him was empty, no drink, no meal, no paper. He just sat there, cold and expressionless, as if he were made of stone.
He looked directly at Sirius, taking in the state of him just as Walburga had.
"You disgust me," he snapped.
Then, he looked past Sirius. Not through him, past him. As if he were just another piece of furniture in the dull room, a scuff on the wall.
Orion stood, rolling his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully. He turned to Walburga, speaking in a business-like tone, "Do as we discussed. I don't want to look at him."
And then he stalked off to— wherever he goes, Sirius couldn't care less. The immense relief he felt when Orion had left the room was enough to make him almost forget the whole thing altogether. Unfortunately for him, Walburga wasn't so forgiving.
"Sit," she ordered.
Sirius pulled out a chair, settling into it warily.
"What does he mean? Do what?" Sirius asked.
Walburga pulled out a chair for herself, shifting so it was in front of Sirius. She sat, taking a minute to answer.
"Everything we do is to protect you," she said vaguely, "You may not feel that way now, but you will, in time."
Sirius furrowed his brows, but Walburga continued,
"We have to make sure nothing like this could happen again."
Sirius shook his head, "I'll do anything, I'll scrub the— "
"No." Walburga cut through, cold and sharp. "You're not well, Sirius. Your mind, it's... been corrupted. All I'm going to do is set it right.”
“What do you m—“ Sirius began, but the words caught in this throat when he watched as she pulled her wand from the pocket of her robes, resting it carefully in her lap.
She continued, “I need you to stay calm, otherwise it could go very poorly."
Sirius started to tremor, he shook his head frantically in protest. He didn’t know what was about to happen, but he knew it couldn’t be good. He expected that from Orion, but from her...
She raised her wand and Sirius began to panic, looking around furiously for an escape. Walburga softened at the sight of it, turning sickly sweet, almost motherly. She raised her other hand, not to strike, but to soothe. She brushed a loose strand of hair from Sirius' forehead, then began to caress his cheek. Her skin was cold, but the touch felt so warm to Sirius. His breath snagged in his throat, he could feel that lump resurfacing at her touch.
For a moment, he was five years old again and feverish, crawling into her empty bed for comfort. Then, he was eight years old, sitting next to her on the piano bench while she guided his hands along the keys, singing to him softly. And now, he was there in front of her, with a wand pointed to his head.
His mother, his protector, his betrayer.
He began to weep, helplessly.
”Oh, mon doux garçon,” Walburga whispered, wiping his tears away. She promised softly, "This will all feel much better come morning…”
Sirius locked his glassy eyes onto hers, pleading, "Mum, please, don't do this..."
A single tear dripped down Walburga's face, but her expression didn't shift. Her voice came out strong and steady,
"Obliviate."
The last thing Sirius remembered before the world went dark was the chill of his mother's touch lingering against his skin and a genuine fear so intense that it twisted in his gut and consumed him from the inside out.
⋆⋆⋆
That night, Sirius dreamt that he was on a massive beach somewhere in America, eating those really sweet tangerines with sticky fingers and a large, golden sun looming above him. In that dream, he wasn’t afraid, he was happy. But, by sunrise, Sirius wouldn't remember having dreamt at all.
And oh, how unfair that was.
Come morning, Paco Lopez would become nothing more than another meaningless name amongst a sea of London boys, and Sirius will have forgotten what it was like to have a friend. He’ll have forgotten what it was like to feel whole. To feel golden.
Sometimes Sirius thought he felt it—like a piece of himself was missing. But, more often than not, he felt like so much of himself was already missing that sometimes he couldn’t tell where the emptiness began.
He'd be left with a deep-seated resentment towards Kreacher for a reason he could never explain, and an ache in his chest whenever he'd enter the back garden and see that dull stone wall. It would be covered now, with a hedge larger than Sirius remembered, but he never cared much for the garden anyways, so what did it matter to him?
Regulus would witness the entirety of it from his hiding spot near the outside of the door. He'd hear the incantation leave Walburga's lips, and he'd watch the moment that Sirius became bleary and lifeless. But, he'd never have the heart to tell his brother what really happened that night. He’d be overcome with guilt for years, blaming himself for what had happened, wishing that he could have done something, anything— that he could have been brave and protected his older brother just as Sirius done for him many times before. But, Regulus knew the consequences and…
After all, he was just a boy.
⋆⋆⋆
That following Thursday morning, it rained. Sirius awoke with the worst headache of his life and a general hatred towards the world. He groaned, rolling onto his side. But, just then, three slow taps sounded on his bedroom door. Regulus. Sirius sat up, before he could even rub the sleep from his eyes, Regulus had crossed the room without a word, squeezing his eyes shut and pulling Sirius into a warm hug.
”What was that for?” Sirius laughed softly, mumbling into his brother’s shoulder.
But, Regulus didn’t say anything, just shook his head and squeezed tighter.
For once, they let themselves be held.
Notes:
Yeah I know, that was kinda evil
I have so many thoughts about this chapter. Sirius giving the money to Paco was kind, but incredibly niave, especially considering that Paco already isn’t on good terms with Gil 😭 Sirius thinking he’s doing a good thing just shows how far removed he is from Paco’s world.
I know this chapter was a lot, but I hope you all loved these characters as much as I do. We will for sure see more of them. 🧡
Next chapters will be Hogwarts!!
Side note: If anyone is familiar with Brixton, in my head the spot that Paco was skating was supposed to be the actual Stockwell Skatepark like before it became an official skatepark, I guess?? It's true that there used to be a church there, and realistically, it'd still be there in 1971, but for the sake of this story, we’re gonna pretend otherwise x
Oh, and Desmond's Hip City was also a real place :)
“J’arrive” means "be right there!"
"Cabrónes" bastards
"Descansa" rest
"Frijole" bean :)
“Pendejo” Idiot
“Mon doux garçon” my sweet boy <\3The song mentioned is The Oogum Boogum Song by Brenton Wood
Chapter 3: A Different Sort of Hello
Summary:
A trip to Diagon Alley leaves Sirius with one bond beginning to form, and another finding it’s way back.
No CWs for this chapter, but let me know if I missed something!
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
All the strangers came today
And it looks as though they’re here to stay
Oh, you pretty things
Don’t you know you’re driving your Mamas and Papas insane?
☆ Oh! You Pretty Things, David Bowie, 1971 ☆
Like June and July before it, August dragged on slowly and miserably. Sirius had spent most days perched on his windowsill just waiting. The back of his neck had started cramping from how often he craned it towards the clouds, searching for a flicker of wings. By the time August had stretched nearly two weeks without a letter, Sirius had begun to worry. He started creating plausible excuses in his head: delay with the owls, administrative mix-up, his late birthday. Maybe they send them out reverse-alphabetically? Or youngest to oldest, that'd be fair, right?
Or had his mother already gotten to it first?
The waiting gnawed at him. Patience had never been Sirius' strong suit—a fact his parents never failed to remind him. But his impatience wasn't just instinct or impulse; it was fear that if he didn't get ahead of things, he'd miss the chance, that they'd slip away from him entirely.
But then, one startlingly bright and cheerful morning last week, he spotted it—an owl from Hogwarts.
He darted down the stairs two at a time, his socks slipping against the worn wood, before finally snatching the scroll of parchment off its scrawny leg. The owl ruffled its feathers in clear offence, and Sirius had just enough time to hear Walburga shout out, “Sirius Orion Black, get back here this instant!” before he was already halfway up the stairs to his bedroom, still clutching the letter in his hands.
That night, Sirius had read the words over and over again under his covers, tracing his fingers along the crest. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He’d been dreaming of it for as long as he could remember—ever since he was little, spending afternoons listening to the stories his cousins used to share about the castle. Bellatrix always had the most to say, usually complaining endlessly about her dormmates and how insufferable they were, just to come back from the holidays sporting matching friendship bracelets and plans of coordinated outfits for their next Hogsmeade weekend. That, or she'd rave on and on about being the top of her year in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Sirius never believed much that she said, but he still soaked it all in hungrily.
“Professor Friedrich practically begged me to slow down so the rest of the class could keep up,” She’d declare proudly.
”Oh yes,” Narcissa would reply cooly, “Or perhaps he just hoped he could hold you off long enough to survive one lesson.”
Bellatrix’s eyes would narrow. “Jealousy never did suit you, Cissy. Everyone knows he’s the most handsome professor that school’s had in years, and he only ever had eyes for me.”
Sirius just scoffed.
”Hmm,” Andromeda would laugh, “I always thought he kind of looked like a toad.”
Listening to them was fine, but nothing compared to saying the words out loud to Regulus, knowing it was finally his turn. The two of them were huddled together on Sirius' bed that same night, foreheads nearly pressed together, and eyes twinkling with wonder.
"Can you believe it, Reggie? I'm finally off to Hogwarts," Sirius cooed, “I'll be able to do proper magic! I'll have my own wand and everything!"
"It's brilliant," Regulus smiled sadly, "Wish I could go with you."
"Oh, c'mon, Reg." Sirius nudged him, "You'll be there before you know it! We'll still be housemates, and you'll be the best in your year because I'll be able to catch you up on everything. That's what big brothers are for, right?"
"Yeah, I suppose," Regulus smiled sheepishly. "Promise you'll write?"
Sirius grinned, holding out his pinky. "Promise."
Truthfully, Sirius wished just as much as Regulus did that they could be boarding that train together come September. He'd never been apart from his brother—not ever. But they both knew the day would come eventually, and Sirius just hoped that the distance between them wouldn't feel as wide as it suddenly seemed.
⋆⋆⋆
Wednesday, August 25th, 1971
The morning of August 25th, Sirius had just finished buttoning up his trousers when he felt something slightly damp against his thigh. He hadn’t worn these trousers in a while, so whatever it was had to have been there for quite some time. He furrowed his brows, reaching into his right side pocket, when his fingers enclosed around the peeling corner of something that felt oddly like soaked paper. He pulled it out and realised that it was a…playing card?
Huh. He turned it over curiously. The card was curled inward with smudged ink and a peeling face, but he could just make it out. An Ace of Spades. It had to be one of Orion’s, must’ve got tossed in the laundry by mistake. Oh well, that was Orion’s problem, not his. Still, he narrowed his eyes at it. Weird. An Ace of Spades was supposed to be a sign of bad luck if you believed in that sort of thing.
“‘Course,” Sirius muttered to himself, “Out of all the cards it could be, out of all the places…”
He pinched the wet card with two fingers and quickly tossed it in the nearest bin where it belonged.
But, as he adjusted the stiff collar of his shirt in his mirror, a strange sensation washed over him. Some kind of pressure at the edge of his thoughts, like he was forgetting something. He looked around the room, then took one last look at himself, before deciding it must just be nerves—because today was not just any day, today Sirius was going to Diagon Alley. And he wasn’t going to let that strange card ruin his high spirits.
Orion wasn’t coming along, of course. He always seemed to have more pressing matters to attend to. Sirius had tried to persuade Walburga to let Regulus come with, but he already knew what the answer would be. It was foolish to even ask.
“I don’t know what you think this is,” Walburga had said coldly, not even bothering to look at him while she adjusted her gloves, “But it is not a holiday, Sirius. We will collect your supplies, attend the luncheon with Druella and Cygnus, and you will act accordingly. Your brother will be exactly where I say he should be.”
And that was that.
Sirius had scoffed, muttering ‘not a holiday, Sirius’ to himself while he tugged at the fastenings of the heavy robes she laid out for him. Walburga had swatted his hand away and begun to scold him, but Sirius had tuned her out somewhere between demonstrating decorum and maintaining a respectable bearing. Walburga certainly wasn’t his preferred company, but he’d take what he could get if it meant being able to go out. Sirius knew that the only reason they were even going in the first place had little to do with motherly devotion and everything to do with maintaining appearances.
He wasn’t just going to Diagon Alley, he was being displayed there, like a curated exhibit. They might as well have taken his portrait and carried that around instead. He would nod politely to the Malfoys, the Lestranges, the Rosiers, and whatever other respectable pureblood family had decided to show up. He would ensure that the Wizarding World knew that the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black was exactly what he was bred to be—respectable, polished, and distinguished. Already the spitting image of his father, they’d say, A fine heir, they’ve raised him well.
And what a load of bollocks.
Naturally, they traveled by Apparition because the Blacks wouldn’t be caught dead coughing out of some fireplace, robes covered in soot. According to his parents, Floo powder was for muggle-borns and blood traitors. The filth clinging to them was only fitting, a reflection of the impurity that ran through their veins.
Sirius thought all modes of wizarding travel sucked. They ought to find better options. Even after the countless times he'd accompanied his mother via side-along Apparition, Sirius never got used to the way his stomach lurched or the way his body felt like it was being sucked up through a drinking straw.
When the worst of it was over and he could feel hard ground beneath his feet and Walburga's iron-grip release from his arm, Sirius had instantly jolted upright, but it had nothing to do with her orders. It was shock, he supposed, by the way his breath caught in his throat.
Diagon Alley was brimming with life in a way he'd never experienced before. There were loads of shops, so many that Sirius couldn't decide where to look first. Wizards and witches rustled past them in every direction, weaving through the narrow cobbled streets. Old and young, big families and small, some dressed in finely tailored robes, others in worn cloaks or muggle clothes. And so many of them were staring at him. In that moment, it didn't really matter to him whether they were looking at him with admiration or with judgment. He bit his lip over a smile.
"Remember what we discussed, Sirius," Walburga said quietly from the corners of her mouth, "Come along, now.”
They began their journey through the Northside of Diagon Alley first, where Sirius would be collecting his required textbooks at Flourish and Blotts, then ingredients for potions at the Apothecary, and lastly, his very own cauldron at Potage’s Cauldron Shop—all of which Walburga would stuff in the seemingly never-ending handbag of hers. As they passed the shops, Sirius' eyes lingered longingly on a gleaming display of broomsticks in the Quidditch supplies window, but before he knew it, Walburga was already pulling him into the bookstore.
It looked like any other modest shop on the outside, but the inside was massive. Shelves rose from floor to ceiling with rolling ladders and winding staircases and bindings of all colours. Sirius thought about how fascinating it was that magic had so many branches and subjects to explore.
He never did much reading apart from what his parents forced him to, but he supposed that he wanted to enjoy reading. Sometimes he swore that it took him twice as long to finish a book as anyone else. Half the time, his mind would wander mid-paragraph, and he'd be two pages in without having remembered a single thing that he read. That, or he'd finish a whole bloody book in one sitting without hardly blinking. It was a constant war with his brain.
But Regulus? He would've loved this place, probably would have walked out with half of the shop in his arms. Unfortunately, Sirius didn't have time to stop and look around. Walburga had made it clear that they'd be sticking to the list and only the list. There'd be no dawdling, no detours, and absolutely no browsing.
”Don’t touch anything," she reminded him when they stepped inside the Apothecary.
So, naturally, the second Walburga turned her back, Sirius made it his mission to touch everything within arm's reach. How could he not? Everything in that place might as well have had a sign on it that read: touch me, I dare you. He ran his fingers along glass jars of slimy frog legs and long rat tails. He plunged both of his hands inside a bin full of tiny beetle eyes before instantly yanking them out with a grimace, wiping his hands on his robes vigorously. He picked up a vial of a mysterious purple liquid, turning it upside down and shaking it, but quickly set it down and inched as far away as possible when it started to fizz.
Just as they were leaving the shop, Sirius heard a loud pop! followed by a puff of violet coloured smoke rising from the spot where the vial had been. A few people in the shop gasped while the potioneer huffed his way over to the scene.
"Huh," Sirius said, feigning innocence. "Weird."
When they arrived at the cauldron shop, Sirius couldn't resist. He leaned over the rim of the largest cauldron they had and stuck his entire head inside the hollow of it, letting out a quiet whistle that echoed all around him. Unfortunately, Walburga had caught him that time and dragged him out of the cauldron by the ear, which he rubbed sorely the rest of the afternoon.
They moved through the rest of the supply list briskly, making their final stops. Sirius trailed behind Walburga, struggling to keep up as her robes whipped sharply behind her while she ranted about him embarrassing her.
Their next stop was Twilfitt and Tattings, a reputable shop where Sirius would be fitted for his school robes and probably his least favourite stop. He felt quite claustrophobic, being pricked and prodded at, though that could've also been because he could feel Walburga hovering closely behind him. The seamstress was a greying, bird-like woman with a squeaky voice. He stood there, back completely straight and arms raised, while her hands measured him with certainty.
The woman gave a satisfied hum as she noted the final measurements along his waist.
"Ah yes," she murmured, "Unmistakable, that frame. Narrow through the middle, long in the legs, and shoulders that sit just right. I could tell a Black with my eyes closed."
Sirius just sat still. He didn't know if she was talking to herself or him. Was that supposed to be a compliment?
"We'll require the finest cashmere blend for the outer layer and pure silk for the lining. The glossy sort." Walburga declared, "And we'll have the motto in silver lining on the outer cuff. "
Sirius was fairly certain his supply list for Hogwarts had clearly listed plain black robes and nothing of family mottos, but he figured it was best not to bring up now, not when he could feel his mother's breath curling around his neck.
"Excellent choice." The seamstress nodded.
Their final stop, which Sirius was most excited for, was Ollivanders. Unlike the rest of the day's errands—books, robes, potion kits—a wand was something personal. As the old saying goes, the wand chooses the wizard. That meant that Walburga couldn’t pick it out for him, as she had with everything else. The wand would be his.
But, of course, that was wishful thinking. Sirius should've known— never underestimate the sheer willpower of Walburga Black.
Before the poor sod could even reach for a single box, Walburga had already launched herself into a long monologue about the Black family's wand lineage—what woods served them best, what cores were simply unsuitable—as if the man who had been studying wandlore and pairing wands with witches and wizards for centuries needed a history lesson from Walburga Black. Sirius stood stiffly, pretending to be highly fascinated by the rows of dusty boxes while she continued to embarrass them both.
The first wand Mr. Ollivander settled on was everything Walburga wished for, except that it was far too flexible for her liking. Sirius didn't even get to hold it.
"A flexible wand encourages laziness," she tutted, "Certainly not suitable for a young wizard learning to exercise discipline and control."
Mr. Ollivander was very patient with her. He merely nodded, pulling box after box off the shelves. The second wand he selected was approximately fourteen inches long, made of elm wood with a dragon heartstring core. Walburga declared it perfect the moment he withdrew it from the box, and Sirius felt instantly relieved. But when he held it in his hands, nothing happened. No spark, no shimmer, no tingle. It just felt like a dead branch in his palm. Walburga kept her composure, but Sirius could tell by the way her lips pressed into a thin line that she was disappointed. Counting his failures. As if it’s my fault, he thought bitterly.
They went through countless varieties: blackthorn, walnut, ironwood—all of which were useless in his hands. Mr. Ollivander had suggested one that was dogwood with unicorn hair, which Walburga clearly disapproved of, but let him try anyway. It was the first to give a hopeful hum in Sirius' hands, only to die out a second later. Sirius frowned, handing the wand back.
"Hmm," Mr. Ollivander murmured, studying Sirius with careful eyes. "It seems that you possess a kind of complexity, Mr. Black. The wands can sense it—and that is no shortcoming." He paused and smiled at Sirius, "That, young sir, is a gift."
Sirius gave a small, hopeful smile back, feeling reassured, but it dropped the moment his mother spoke.
"How very charming," Walburga remarked, "Though I'd be far more impressed if this gift of his yielded a result."
As a final resort, Mr. Ollivander reached for one last box, tucked away on the highest shelf. The wand was approximately fifteen inches of solid ebony wood with a phoenix feather core—a rare combination, Mr. Ollivander had said. It was a deep black, with a faint twist that spiraled from the base to the very tip. The moment his fingers curled around it, Sirius felt a sudden warmth surge through his hand and up his arm.
A strange, golden glow ignited from the tip, and then, without warning, it burst. The flecks of light scattered into the air above them like tiny stars, and Sirius' breath caught in his throat. It was beautiful. The little stars hung still and bright for the briefest of moments before slowly fading out, falling one by one.
"Remarkable!" Mr. Ollivander cooed, "I reckon this wand was waiting a long time for you, Mr. Black."
Sirius let those words settle within his mind. He couldn't help the smile tugging at his lips. Waiting for me.
It wasn't what Walburga had hoped for, but she didn't protest. "At least it's not that dreadful dogwood wand," She muttered, scoffing as they left the shop. "That man has some nerve. I made myself perfectly clear, did I not? No unicorn hair." Sirius’ new wand was back in its case and tucked away carefully inside her handbag before he could even blink.
Cygnus, Druella, and Narcissa were waiting for them outside of Ollivanders. Sirius knew before he even spotted them amongst the crowd of cloaks and chatter. He could smell Druella’s wretched perfume from a mile away. You’d think she was trying to mask something dead inside of her. He could never place the scent, something floral, maybe lavender? It always made his nose itch. The scent was etched into his earliest memories. The only good thing about it was that you could smell her coming early enough to get a head start in the other direction—if you were lucky, at least.
Druella's platinum hair was molded into a perfect, loose curl. It always looked fake, like she had glued it on. She had this mole that sat beneath her left eye that always gave Sirius the feeling that it was staring back at him. He had a habit of zoning out on it whenever she spoke to him. Cygnus had that same artificial look to him, hair perfectly sleeked back and robes smooth and uncreased. He always smelled of cigars and old upholstery, which reminded Sirius of Orion. Narcissa stood beside them, a mirror image of her mother— even more so since she had started bleaching her hair last year. The look on her face made it clear that she did not want to be there.
Cygnus greeted Sirius with a firm handshake.
“Congratulations, Sirius.” he said flatly, “Big year ahead.”
He greeted Walburga with the same practiced formality. It was hard for Sirius to imagine them as siblings, as young children who had once grown up beneath the same roof. He wondered if he and Regulus would look like that, years from now—matching in their features like borrowed skin. The thought made him feel sick.
Sirius knew that of her two siblings, his mother had always been closest to Alphard—before he was disowned and blasted off the family tapestry, that is. Now, she hardly spoke of his name at all, unless to spit it out like something bitter left on her tongue. Sirius often wondered what his uncle Alphard was doing these days. He wondered if he spoke of Walburga’s name in the same sour tone. He hadn’t seen his uncle Alphard in years.
After the greetings, Druella leaned in close to Walburga, her lips pursed and already preparing for something sour. Sirius already knew it was coming. If there was nothing to gossip over, Druella would simply invent something new.
“Can you believe the state of this place?” she hissed, casting a glare towards the crowds of families passing by. “I heard from Cassiopeia that nearly a quarter of the incoming class is infested with mudbloods.”
Walburga drew in a sharp breath of disbelief, her eyes widening and nostrils flaring.
“Mhm.. their sort is praising the school for diversity now.”
Cygnus scoffed coldly, “Diversity.”
“Ridiculous,” Walburga muttered.
Druella carried on, “Whatever happened to tradition? To order? They’re trying to erase our legacies, you know. Dumbledore’s dream, isn’t it? Abraxas Malfoy told me Dumbledore’s been trying to weasel his way into the Minister’s seat for years—and now he’s trying to make his own rules at Hogwarts.”
Cygnus shook his head. “Never did care for that Dumbledore. Next he’ll be letting in beasts and half-breeds…”
Sirius tuned them out after that, sighing internally. His stomach grumbled as he stared past them and at the buildings ahead, wondering if they were ever going to go eat or if they were just going to the stand there in the middle of the street gossiping all night. Sirius doubted they even remembered he was still there at all. No one except Narcissa had noticed when he trailed a good amount of steps behind, and took up a spot on the curb. Narcissa gave him a suspicious look which he returned with an eyeroll and an expression that said: What? Do you have a better idea? Now, he sat there, hunched over the curb, with his arm propping up his chin.
Sirius was still staring off, picking at his robes. But then, suddenly, the door to one of the shops across the street burst open with a bang and a boy tumbled out. It took Sirius a second to realise that the boy wasn’t just running—he was running towards him. Directly to him. Sirius blinked, startled.
The boy’s robes flared behind him. One of his shoelaces was untied and flapping loosely with every stride as he ran. His glasses were askew and his curls leapt in every direction. They were dark, but shimmered a golden brown where the sunlight caught them. He had a wide and reckless grin plastered across his face that made him look like someone who’d been carved from a place where summers never ended.
He began to shout, rushing through others passing by, “Oi! Get back here you little—oh, c’mon! Catch it! Catch it!”
Sirius was trying to figure out what he was shouting about when he felt a sharp nip at his ankles. He looked down and saw a small, fluffy round little ball of a creature biting his sock.
“Oi!” Sirius yelped, shooting upright and shaking his ankle, “Get this thing off of me!”
“Bugger,” the boy sighed as he skidded to a halt right in front of Sirius, bending over his knees breathlessly. “I told you to catch it!”
Sirius scoffed, “Oh yeah, cheers for the heads up, mate—like I’m supposed to take orders from strangers yelling nonsense in the street.”
“Yeah well,” the boy grunted, trying to pull the puffball off Sirius. “They never told me the little menace had an appetite for socks. Cute and cuddly they said, what bollocks.”
“Looks like something a cat coughed up,” Sirius grunted. Then he felt another sharp nip at his ankle as if the thing understood English, “Ow!”
The boy just laughed, “Alright, alright, just hold still.”
Then, as a form of resistance, the horrendous little puffball latched its freakishly long tongue around Sirius’ ankle like a lasso. Together, they peeled it off with an audible schlorp that made Sirius suddenly lose his appetite. The creature now sat obediently in the boy’s palm with big eyes. Sirius thought it almost did look cute—if it hadn’t just tried to eat him alive.
”There we go,” the boy pet its fur. “Good little devil.”
They both laughed at that.
The boy grinned, “I reckon we make a pretty good team.”
”Decent enough,” Sirius smiled back, “You starting your first year too?”
“Yup,” the boy thrust out his free hand, “James Potter.”
A warm feeling filled Sirius’ chest as he shook James’ hand. “Sir—“
”Sirius Orion Black!” Walburga shouted sharply, rushing towards him.
Sirius’ eyes grew wide. He yanked his hand back quickly, and James just blinked in confusion at the same time that someone else called out, much warmer,
“James Fleamont Potter!”
Sirius had just enough time to see another woman rushing towards them before Walburga had seized a tight grip on his arm. The woman had to be James’ mum. She was short, with the same sun-kissed skin and long, dark hair.
Both Walburga and Mrs. Potter stopped dead in their tracks. For the briefest moment, neither of them moved, just stared back at eachother. Something passed between them, but Sirius couldn’t figure out what. He wasn’t even sure if they knew, but he was certain that everyone felt the air shift.
Walburga’s eyes snapped back to Sirius. She cleared her throat, “Come with me. Now.”
James called out, “See ya at Hogwarts!” while Walburga tugged him away by his arm, fuming the whole way. Druella and Cygnus were just ahead, watching the whole thing unfold.
He looked up at her, his chest still fluttering from the interaction with James. “Do you know them?”
“Oh, I know the Potters,” she snapped, “Exactly the sort I want you to stay away from, do you understand?”
“I thought he was nice,” Sirius grumbled bitterly.
Walburga smacked him upside the head.
“Ow! Alright, alright, whatever. I understand.”
”What were you thinking? Wandering off, embarrassing me in front of our family. Why can’t you behave like Narcissa?”
Sirius scoffed, “Right, like Narcissa. Why can’t you be like Mrs. Potter? She didn’t try to bite anyone’s head off.”
Walburga stopped and froze, looking surprisingly hurt. She said coldly, almost a whisper,
”Do you think I enjoy this? You bring this upon yourself, Sirius. And mark my words, this will be the last time we come here. You have done nothing but disappoint me today. Your father will hear about this.”
”Whatever,” Sirius muttered.
Before he knew it, they were back with Druella, Cygnus, and Narcissa. The rest of the walk was a blur. No one spoke, but Sirius could feel Narcissa watching him. He didn’t look in her eye—or any of them, he already knew what they all were thinking and he didn’t exactly want to see it on their faces.
They made their way down Knockturn Alley. The shops here were less cheerful, no grand, colourful window displays. But, Sirius recognised more faces here than he had in Diagon Alley. An elderly man with a hawthorn cane nodded as he passed them—a friend of Orion’s from the Ministry. They even ran into the Malfoys. Sirius had spotted Lucius right away. He wore finely cut emerald robes and a smug look on that stupid face of his. Sirius always hated him, the way he looked down on everyone else as if they were just background characters in the grand performance that was his life. Thank Merlin this year would be Lucius’ last year at Hogwarts. After that, Sirius only would have to deal with him at weddings, pureblood balls, or the summer solstice celebration the Blacks hosted every summer.
Sirius didn’t miss the slight nod Lucius gave in Narcissa’s direction as he passed or the blush that filled Narcissa’s cheeks afterwards. She smiled to herself, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, but caught Sirius staring. He grimaced and narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. God, please don’t tell me you actually fancy that pompous arsehole, Sirius thought. Narcissa just glared back at him before turning her attention sharply to the shops ahead.
Just at the end of the road, there was a large building with a brass sign hanging above it. The Red Pearl Tavern. Sirius followed the others inside, the heavy door giving a loud groan as it swung open. Inside, the tavern was bustling with energy, contrasting it’s dark appearance. The walls were a deep black walnut with ornate architrave panels. No one there wore muggle clothes. All of them were draped in expensive robes tailored to perfection. Some sat at the bar, clinking their glass goblets, while others sat at the velvet booths with gold platters floating beside them. Each booth had a low-hanging lantern above it emmiting a warm, red glow. There was even a pool table in the far corner. The balls glided just above the surface and the pockets flashed a golden light. Somewhere in the distance, an elegant waltz hummed lowly.
The Red Pearl Tavern was everything Sirius despised—thick with pureblood legacies and generational wealth. Smiles all polished and practiced. Without all of that, he thought it might’ve made a fine tavern.
They slipped into one of the booths. Cygnus ordered himself a tall glass of some kind of fancy liquor, and soon enough, the food arrived too. Sirius picked at his sandwich mostly. Across the table, Druella and Walburga plucked olives from a small gold dish. Eventually, they all forgot about Sirius’ little detour and slipped back into easy conversation.
Just as they stood to leave and the adults were saying their goodbyes, Narcissa had inched closer to Sirius, nudging him with her foot. Sirius looked up at her questionably, but she didn’t say anything, just pulled a small envelope out of the pocket of her robe and pressed it into his hand. Before Sirius could ask about it, both Walburga and Druella turned to face them, suspicious looks on their faces. Women, eyes like a bloody hawk.
Narcissa fumbled, clearing her throat quickly. “I—um,” She forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s just some advice and tips for settling into your first year at Hogwarts. I figured you might find it useful.”
“Narcissa, darling,” Druella cooed, “You didn’t mention you were preparing anything for Sirius. How thoughtful.”
“Ah yes,” Cygnus added, “Our Narcissa is going into her sixth year as a prefect. If anyone can be trusted to pass on proper guidance, it’s her.”
“Is that so? Well, congratulations. That was very thoughtful, indeed.” Walburga remarked, “Your cousin went through all the trouble, Sirius. I think a proper thank you is in order.”
“Uhh, thanks,” Sirius said, trying to figure out the catch. He made sure to tuck the letter into his robes quickly, before Walburga could get to it first.
⋆⋆⋆
That night, when Sirius was tucked away in the privacy of his bedroom, he finally reached for the envelope. It was cream-coloured with just Sirius written in Narcissa’s handwriting across the middle. He hesitated for a moment before opening it, half expecting to be hexed or for something to fly out at him. He unfolded the letter carefully, noticing another glossy paper tucked between the creases. He froze when he opened them. He blinked several times to make sure he was actually seeing it properly, then let out a soft laugh.
The glossy paper he had felt was a cutout from a muggle magazine of Marc Bolan holding his guitar. In the top corner of the page, thick letters read: sound. He turned it over to reveal the letter underneath. There, spilling across the page in familiar loops and curves was not Narcissa’s handwriting at all, it was one he hadn’t seen in nearly a year—Andromeda’s.
Unfortunately, Andromeda had suffered the same fate as uncle Alphard—blasted off the tapestry and disowned completely. It happened last year, right after she graduated from Hogwarts. She eloped to a muggle-born named Ted Tonks shortly after, without telling anyone, not even Sirius. Then, she moved in with him and his family. Sirius had to admit, he was a bit hurt that she hadn’t said anything—not a word about the marriage. But then again, he was the only one in the family she ever told about her secret relationship with Ted. Apparently, he was a Hufflepuff, and from what Sirius heard, he sounded pretty cool. She had said that Ted was planning to study magical anthropology after Hogwarts and that he dreamed of traveling the world.
The next shock came not long after. Andromeda was leaving the country.
Sirius had only caught wind of it in July through gossip passed between the adults. Apparently, she and Ted were going to America. No one knew exactly where or for how long. The news hadn’t surprised Sirius, but still, it felt final. She wasn’t just going to be away at Ted’s house anymore. She would really be gone, across a whole bloody ocean.
It was comforting to know that she hadn’t forgotten him, at least. Sirius read the letter to himself, which was covered from front to back.
Sirius,
If you were actually hoping for a letter from Cissy, well—sorry to disappoint. Though I expect the poster gave me away.
Anyway, hello again, little cousin! I guess you’re not so little anymore, huh? I heard through the grapevine that you’re starting your first year at Hogwarts. How exciting! You are going to love it. The dungeons take a bit of getting used to—super cold in the winter, but it’s still better than being a Gryffindor. Can you imagine having to drag yourself up seven bloody flights of stairs every night just to get back to your dorm?
Consider this charming poster of Marc Bolan your first dormitory decoration—let everyone know you’ve got brilliant taste and an impossibly cool cousin. I know you really enjoyed T-Rex when I first played it for you, so honestly, I do hope you like it.
Pardon the messy handwriting—I’m scribbling this on Ted’s suitcase, just before we leave for the airport, actually. Yes, an actual muggle airport. Not sure how I feel about it yet. Apparently they make everyone walk through this weird archway. Ted said it’s completely normal, but I’m still afraid it’s cursed.
I’m sure you’ve heard the news, though I do wonder what fascinating tales they’re spinning of me lately. If you hear anything scandalous, I’d love to know—I’d hate to miss out on my own legend. And if you get the chance, tell them I’ve joined the circus. God, I’d love to see the look on their faces.
Anyway, on a more serious note, Ted and I are going to America. I’m not sure for how long yet, but I’m very excited. And a little nervous. We’re going to be visiting the wizarding school over there. It’s called IIvermorny, tucked away on some misty mountain in Massachusetts. And if we can swing it, I’m hoping for a trip down to New Orleans. The magical population there is supposed to be incredible. Loud and strange and full of stories. If we go, I’ll make sure to tell you all about it—maybe I can send over some more gifts.
I’m not sure when I’ll be able to write next. I still have to figure out how international owl post works. When I figure out a system for us, I’ll let you know. When I do, I want to hear all about your first year. And if you don’t write back, be expecting a very passionate howler from me.
This isn’t goodbye. Just a different sort of hello.
Love always,
Andy ᥫ᭡
Sirius couldn’t help but smile as he read the letter, once and then over again. For once, the quiet of his bedroom didn’t feel so lonely. He tucked the letter and the poster carefully between the fabric of his pillowcase. He fell asleep thinking of Andy and James Potter and how for the first time, the future didn’t feel so far away.
Notes:
The Red Pearl Tavern is not canon, i just made it up :P
Also the fluffy little creature that James was chasing is supposed to be a Puffskein :) i dont actually know if they have teeth??
Chapter Text
In the days of my youth,
I was told what it means to be a man
And now I've reached that age,
I've tried to do all those things the best I can
No matter how I try, I find my way into the same old jam
☆ Good Times Bad Times, Led Zeppelin, 1969 ☆
Wednesday, September 1st, 1971
Sirius Black had been awake since the arsecrack of dawn—not because he needed to be, but because honestly, how could he be sleeping when the rest of his life was waiting for him at Platform 9 ¾?
He even managed to get through the entirety of A History of Magic, which apart from the bits about Wendelin the Weird, was about as riveting as counting the grain in his floorboards. So, maybe history wouldn’t be his subject, but Sirius expected that much. He wasn’t interested in studying history, he wanted to make it.
His trunk had already been packed for ages: robes, books, quills, his wand, and tucked carefully beneath it all—Andy’s letter and the poster of Marc Bolan.
Needless to say, Sirius was ready, probably more ready than he’d ever been for anything.
He tried to mask his glee at breakfast. He complained about the toast and poked at the eggs, purposefully missed the last button on his stiff shirt, and slouched in his seat—all the while, buzzing with joy.
He knew better than to let it show. Sirius had learned from a very young age that if something mattered to him, the only way to protect it was to act like it didn’t. If he spoiled the mood first, his parents wouldn’t get the chance.
So, when they finally arrived at King’s Cross station, Sirius wasn’t expecting any warm farewells like he saw happening all around him—families wrapped in tight hugs, parents whispering words of encouragement: you’ve got this, we promise to write, don’t forget your jumper. Some were crying, some laughing, some fussing. And Sirius stood stiffly in the middle of it all, hands shoved in his pockets, while his own parent’s silence washed over him like a cold draft.
The Blacks stood apart, poised like a family portrait. Walburga’s eyes quietly scanned Sirius, looking for something to correct. Orion picked apart the other families with a cold distaste. And Regulus hovered slightly behind them, trying not to gawk. Druella and Cygnus were there too. Narcissa was positioned between them like a trophy with her large, shiny prefect’s badge pinned to her chest.
And just ahead, The Hogwarts Express sat at the edge of the platform, gleaming a shimmering scarlet with gold accents that curled around the windows and the edges of the carriages. Steam was rolling from underneath as it rumbled with anticipation while other students toppled on.
“Right, well,” Sirius muttered, grabbing ahold of his luggage hurriedly.
Walburga gave a single nod in return, and Sirius thought for one glorious second that maybe they could leave the goodbyes at that, and he could simply slip away unscathed. He shifted towards the train with Narcissa, but before he could get too far, Orion had stepped forward and placed a heavy, unfamiliar hand on his shoulder. Sirius froze. Orion leaned in, his voice low enough so that only the two of them could hear it.
“You are my son,” he said firmly, “And I expect nothing short of excellence from a son of mine.”
Then, he went onto some vague talk of becoming a man, and Sirius nodded, but he was hardly listening—too focused on the strange simplicity of his father’s words. There was no edge to them. Sirius supposed this was just the kind of talk fathers must have with their sons, and something about it made him feel lighter. Maybe it was the certainty behind it or the simple act of being recognised.
My son.
Because despite the fact that Sirius liked to pretend otherwise, that boy still lived inside of him—the one that longed to feel wanted by his father—to prove to him that he could be enough, that he could make him proud.
Orion gave him one final pat on the shoulder and Sirius couldn’t help but smile to himself and think: Maybe Hogwarts isn’t the way out. Maybe it’s the way forward. And maybe—just maybe—things will be different.
Just before he boarded the train with Narcissa, Sirius turned around and gave his brother Regulus one final wave goodbye. When Regulus waved back, Sirius hesitated for just a heartbeat before finally turning away and stepping inside the train.
The inside was massive.
Long corridors stretched endlessly with students shuffling past each other, trunks bumping up against compartment doors or being lifted into overhead racks. Various different noises from pets blended into the dozens of conversations that were happening all at once. From a few compartments down, a boy was trying to shove an excited owl back into its cage when it suddenly squawked and shat on his sleeve. The boy grimaced, thrusting out his arm.
“Oi! Not again!” he shouted, "Goddamnit Ennis, this is my last clean robe!”
Sirius snorted to himself, grateful that he hadn’t been saddled with an owl of his own. His parents had said that he was too irresponsible and for once, Sirius hadn’t tried to argue with them.
He stepped past Narcissa and towards the other compartments but she grabbed ahold of his sleeve before he could get far.
“C’mon,” she muttered, sliding open one of the compartment doors near the front.
Sirius sighed dramatically before looking from her and back down the corridor sorely. He promptly plopped himself into the seat across from her.
“Oh, lucky me,” Sirius drawled, crossing his arms. “I’m stuck with Penny The Prefect.”
Narcissa kicked him under the seat. “As if I want to be stuck babysitting you,” she glared, “Your mother's orders, not mine.”
“I don’t need a bloody babysitter,” Sirius grumbled.
He was already planning his escape in his head. I could wander off to the loo and just never come back. Not like she could forbid me from taking a piss. Or I could…
“Look—just sit here until the train starts moving, alright? After that, your mother won’t be watching and I’ll have my prefect's meeting anyway so I could care less where you wander off to.”
Sirius didn’t answer, just slumped back in his seat. They lapsed into silence while Narcissa fumbled in her bag, pulling out some sort of planner and flipping through it. That’s when Sirius remembered Andy’s letter. He shifted in his seat.
“So,” he began, “You still talk to Andy then? Because you know, the letter—”
“That’s none of your business.” Narcissa cut him off sharply.
Sirius threw his hands up in surrender, “Geez, just a question.”
Uncomfortable silence spilled over their compartment again, and Sirius bounced his knee restlessly.
Narcissa narrowed her eyes at him warily, like she was debating something. After a long pause, she finally let out a heavy sigh.
“Of course I still talk to her, okay? I might not agree with the life she’s chosen but she’s still my sister. That’ll never change.”
“Right,” Sirius said slowly, narrowing his eyes at her.
He tilted his head, letting his gaze drift past the window and into the sky above. “It’s funny. I guess secrets are the one thing our family can bond over, huh?” He paused, “Yknow, It’s like Andy said—“
Narcissa huffed tiredly, “Really, Sirius, do you ever stop talking?”
But before Sirius could reply, a knock came from their compartment door at the same time the train gave a low rumble. The door slid open.
Standing there with his neatly slicked back platinum blonde hair, expensive dragonhide boots, and a large shiny prefects badge, was Lucius Malfoy.
Narcissa immediately straightened upright at the sight of him.
“We’re about to depart,” Lucius said smoothly, turning his head towards Narcissa and ignoring Sirius entirely. “Shall I escort you to the meeting?”
“A prefect’s date—how disgustingly romantic,” Sirius muttered under his breath, grabbing the handle of his trunk.
Lucius’ gaze flicked towards him sharply. “What was that, Black?”
“Oh nothing,” Sirius said airily, gesturing between them, “I was just leaving—yknow, before my breakfast makes a reappearance all over those shiny boots of yours.”
Lucius’ jaw tightened, but he maintained his composure.
“Yes, Lucius. Let’s go,” Narcissa said quickly, glaring heavily at Sirius.
Sirius hoisted up his trunk, swinging it with exaggerated flair. He stepped past Lucius in the crammed doorway and lifted his chin with a big, stupid grin on his face. When he stepped out into the corridor, he turned away, but Lucius called out to him.
“Oh, and Black,” he drawled with a smirk, “Don’t worry too much about the sorting. I’m sure the hat will find somewhere to put you. I hear Hufflepuff’s always happy to take in strays.”
Sirius scoffed, “Yeah, I’ll let them know you’re looking to transfer.”
And he turned around and left it at that, now making a purposeful stride down the corridor. He wasn’t going to let Lucius Malfoy of all people poison his first day at Hogwarts.
Sirius dragged his trunk behind him, peering through the glass, scanning each compartment for a head of unruly dark brown curls. He had hardly made it five paces when someone near the rear shouted,
“Oi, Black!”
Sirius snapped his head up instantly. Leaning halfway out of one of the compartments, sporting a grin so unmistakably his—crooked, confident, and reckless—was the boy from Diagon Alley. James Potter—the Puffskein wrangler. Never mind the fact that Walburga had specifically ordered him to stay away from the Potters, Sirius never planned on listening, anyway.
Sirius smirked, “No evil puffballs with you this time?”
James laughed, “Nah, they’re overrated, anyway.” He smirked, pulling one trouser leg up to reveal a sock that was patterned with tiny Golden Snitches, “Plus, I happen to like my socks just as they are.”
Sirius snorted. But, just as he moved forward and stepped in front of James’ compartment door, something small and fast flew through the air and smacked him right on the cheek. Whatever it was—was very much alive and oddly cold.
Apparently, James Potter wasn’t alone.
Sirius scrunched up his face and squinted one eye. Through tight lips, he muttered, “Spoke too soon, I guess.”
“Shoot! Sorry!” A girl with shoulder-length brown hair and baggy boyish clothes had lunged forward, peeling the creature off of Sirius’ face. She smiled nervously, “He likes to jump—it’ll probably happen again.”
In the seat across from her, a plump blonde boy with freckles and round cheeks had his nose buried deep into a colourful flyer. It had all sorts of animated illustrations and bouncing red letters that read: Zonkos!
James leaned against the doorframe, “Right—Sirius Black, meet Marlene McKinnion,” He gestured to the girl who was holding the squirming creature.
“And that there’s Peter Pettigrew.”
Peter nodded, though he was still completely oblivious to anything going on apart from the flyer he was clutching.
James smiled, placing his hands on his hips. “My best mates since nappies.”
Sirius felt it then, an all too familiar pinch between his ribs—jealousy.
He wondered if he would always be on the outs. Did everyone already have friends? And was it wrong that a part of him had wanted James Potter entirely to himself?
He suppressed the feeling and stepped inside the compartment with a cool, confident facade, slipping into the seat next to Marlene. You’re Sirius Black, he told himself, how hard could making friends be? James followed, slumping down in the seat across from him.
“Right and that…thing?” Sirius asked, eyeing the creature curled up in Marlene’s hand. It was brown and speckled. Sirius thought it sort of looked like a miniature dragon. It had sticky toes and large, amber coloured eyes.
“That’s Sticks,” Marlene smiled sheepishly. “He’s, well—he’s technically Pete’s gecko, but he likes to crawl in the sleeve of my jumper,” She whispered the next part, “I think he likes me better.”
Peter shrugged, looking up briefly. “He’s cold-blooded, likes the warmth.” Then, he suddenly perked up, pointing enthusiastically to a page in his flyer, “Ooh! Look!”
Peter smiled as he spoke, and Sirius couldn’t help but notice the large gap between his two front teeth.
“They have those firecrackers I was talking about!”
“Really?!” James said excitedly, peering over Peter’s shoulder.
But then, before anyone could so much as blink, a gloved hand shot out from the page, its zig-zagged arm coiled like a spring. It reached out and pinched James’ nose and made a comical honk—so loud that it echoed off the compartment walls. Sirius snorted, trying to hold in his laugh.
“Dammit! Every time!” James yelped nasally.
The gloved hand released James’ nose and folded its zig-zagged arm back into the glossy page, disappearing entirely.
Peter and Marlene doubled over with laughter, falling forward into each other. Sirius couldn’t help it, he laughed too.
“Oh god, that’s brilliant,” Peter wheezed, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “It’s like the thing waits for you James—have you noticed that it only ever happens to you?”
“It’s like those muggle clown boxes!” Marlene giggled.
James grumbled under his breath, “Bloody nuisance.”
Then he snatched the flyer from Peter’s hands bitterly. As if on cue and with impressive speed, a pair of bulging cartoonish eyes sprang from the crease of the pages next and winked at him.
James let out another yelp and quickly slammed the flyer shut. He tucked it under his legs. “It winked at me! It’s bloody cursed!”
Sirius raised an amused brow, “What the hell is Zonko’s?”
Peter pulled the flyer out from under James, shaking his head. “It’s a joke shop in Hogsmeade—the village right outside the school,” He declared proudly, “They’ve got everything. Trick Wands, Dungbombs, Fanged Frisbees, Nose-Biting Teacups… Here, have a look!”
Peter rotated the flyer and held it out for Sirius to see. Thankfully, nothing leapt out of the page at him. Still, each illustration zipped and bounced throughout the page restlessly, as if begging to be released from the ink.
Near the bottom of one page, three tiny blue tubes labeled Dr. Filibuster’s Wet-Start No-Heat Fireworks shot upwards, disappearing into the paper’s edge and exploding with a burst of colour. Those must have been the firecrackers Peter was talking about.
“And this shop is right outside the school?” Sirius asked, eyes twinkling.
“Mhm, pretty much,” Peter added with a grin.
Sirius honestly had no clue what any of it was, but bloody hell, did it look cool. He was already imagining all of the possibilities…
“Brilliant,” Sirius cooed, “I’m gonna send one of those firecrackers straight up Malfoy’s arse and blast him off the Astronomy Tower—send him straight to the moon.”
“Malfoy?” James squinted, “As in freakishly long forehead Malfoy, the prefect? Isn’t he the one you were talking to up front?”
“Unfortunately,” Sirius sighed.
“I’d pay to see that, mate.”
Peter snorted, “Just make sure your cell in Azkaban is real cosy—you’ll be there awhile. We’ll send postcards.”
“Worth it,” Sirius chuffed.
Marlene rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand why you lot even bother. We can’t go to Hogsmeade Village until our third year, I’m pretty sure. Aaaand you’re definitely not allowed to bring any of that stuff into the school.”
James grinned, “Not allowed doesn’t mean can’t, McKinnion.” He leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head.
“Yeah,” Sirius chimed in easily, “Besides, all the good stuff’s technically illegal, banned, restricted, discouraged—not allowed. That’s how you know it’s fun.”
Peter nodded in agreement.
“Exactly!” James beamed, “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Sirius Black.”
Sirius smirked, “Stick around, Potter. There’s plenty more to like.”
Then, a gentle knock sounded on their compartment door, interrupting their conversation. Everyone turned their heads, including Sirius.
Standing in the doorway was a short girl with long honey-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and decorated with large, glittering pink hairpins. She looked remarkably similar to Peter—mirroring his constellation of freckles and round, rosy cheeks—but whereas Peter’s eyes leaned towards green, hers were strikingly blue.
James had leapt up from his seat a little too eagerly, smoothing out his shirt as he stepped forward. Then, he pulled the door open with a gentlemanly flourish.
The girl smiled awkwardly. She eyed Sirius curiously, then turned back to James, raising one brow.
“James, good to see you.”
“Phaedra,” James nodded, “Likewise.”
Meanwhile, Peter was glaring at James, a warning look on his face. But, James was completely oblivious, too busy giving puppy eyes to Phaedra.
And Sticks, who had been relatively calm until Phaedra’s arrival, suddenly shot out of Marlene’s hands.
“Sticks! You little bugger!” Marlene exclaimed, hauling herself over Sirius’ lap and catching the gecko just in time. “Sorry,” She whispered to Sirius.
“Hi Phae!”
“Hey, Marls—and Sticks,” Phaedra giggled, then she turned to Peter. “Petey, I need my robes. I think they got mixed in with yours.”
“S’all up there,” Peter mumbled, nodding to the overhead rack. “Good luck finding it, though.”
Phaedra sighed, stepping on her tiptoes to dig through Peter’s trunk. “Jesus, how do you live like this?” She said, pulling out a stray, crumpled sock and a box of chocolates.
“I have a system,” Peter muttered, snatching the chocolates out of her hands. “And I’ll take those.”
“A very terrible one,” Phaedra retorted in a muffled voice.
“I never said it was a good system,” Peter mused, plopping a chocolate in his mouth, then handing the box to Marlene.
“Ooh! I found them. Thanks, Petey.” Phaedra beamed, pulling out a still neatly folded set of robes.
“Yup,” Peter smiled, though Sirius seemed to be the only one who noticed that he was slowly and deliberately rolling up his Zonko’s flyer into a firm tube.
“Oh, and this is Sirius Black,” James suddenly announced, pulling Sirius’ gaze from Peter.
Phaedra turned to Sirius, already halfway out the door. She smiled at him coyly, “Nice to meet you, Sirius Black.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Sirius smirked, kicking up his legs between James and Peter.
She slipped out of the compartment completely, sliding the door shut behind her with a soft click. When she was finally gone, Peter waited about five seconds before brandishing his rolled-up weapon and whacking it squarely across James’ head.
“Ow! What the hell, Pete!” James shouted, clutching his head.
Sirius laughed, but it quickly diminished when Peter reached over with surprising speed and whacked him across the head, too. Sirius was momentarily stunned, and Marlene looked about as shocked as him.
Well, so much for making friends, Sirius thought bitterly.
“Wipe those smug looks off your faces!” Peter snapped, “That’s my sister, you dogs!”
“I only said like three words to her!” Sirius cried out sorely.
James sighed, “It’s nothing personal. Pete’s still upset about a small, stupid thing that happened over the summer.”
“Oh, you mean snogging my sister? That small, stupid thing?” Peter grumbled bitterly.
Marlene gasped and her eyes turned wide. “What?! You never told me that!”
James winced. “It was one kiss! If you could even call it that. Honestly, it was hardly a peck—swear on my broomstick!”
Peter leaned back in his seat, his grimace now replaced by amusement. He scrunched up his face thoughtfully, “Do you mean the first one—where you missed her mouth entirely and assaulted her chin—or the second one she let you have out of pity?”
Sirius and Marlene both yelled out, “What?!” as they whipped their heads to each other and burst into laughter.
James spluttered, his voice rising several octaves, “Wh—She told you about that?”
Then he grabbed the flyer and swatted it at Sirius’ legs, muttering, “Oh yeah, real funny, is it, you knob?”
“Of course she did,” Peter snorted, “You know, if it wasn’t my sister, I might even feel sorry for you, mate.”
“You lot are just jealous. I’ll bet you two have never even kissed a girl.”
Sirius snorted, “Well, no—but when I do, I’ll make sure to make it to her lips, at least.”
James threw up his hands, “Look—I’m over her alright, I was just being nice!” He slumped back in his seat. “And who needs girls anyway, am I right, lads?”
Marlene narrowed her eyes, “You do know that I’m a girl, right?”
James blinked, faltering slightly. “Well, obviously. But you’re like—I dunno. You’re McKinnion, It’s different.”
Marlene crossed her arms. “Mhm. Different how, exactly?”
“Anyways!” James squeaked, eager to change the subject of girls entirely. He grabbed the box of chocolates from her and shoved a handful into his mouth.
Through chews, he asked, “What house d’you fellas think you’ll end up in?”
Sirius flicked his gaze to the window, his thoughts drifting. He thought about all of the awful things his father had said about the other houses.
Gryffindor—Full of Idiots trying to play hero, Ravenclaw—Books where their brains should be, Hufflepuff—A charity case, swarming with mudbloods.
If his father was right, then Slytherin had to be the best option, right?
James declared proudly, “I reckon I’ll be Gryffindor.”
“Me too!” Marlene beamed, “At least I hope. All of my brothers were in Gryffindor, and they said it was the best.”
Oh.
“S’pose I’ll be Hufflepuff,” Peter said solemnly, “That’s where Phaedra is, anyway.”
James nudged him, “Oh, c’mon, Pete. Hufflepuff’s not so bad!”
Peter grumbled, “I guess.”
“What about you, Black?” James asked.
“Slytherin,” Sirius said, frowning, “It’s tradition, isn’t it? I don’t think there’s ever been a Black sorted anywhere else.”
Peter shifted in his seat, “Bad news. I hear loads of dark wiz—“
Sirius narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Peter, but James kicked him, interrupting quickly.
“Well, hey—maybe you’ll be the first to break the tradition.”
James leaned forward, grinning widely. “I mean, imagine that. All four of us in Gryffindor! Wouldn’t that be something?”
Sirius smiled back, but the corners of his mouth hardly moved. “Yeah, imagine that.”
He had almost hoped for it—just for a fleeting moment. It was nice to pretend. But hope was a foolish thing, and Sirius knew better than to hold onto it.
And even if the hat did put him somewhere else, did he really want that?
What do I want? He asked himself over and over again the rest of the ride, and each time the answer felt like it slipped further away.
Notes:
I know i didnt specify, but i imagine Sticks as a crested gecko c:
Chapter 5: The Sorting Ceremony
Summary:
No CWs!
Letting you know now that Remus isn’t in this chapter but don’t worry, I didn’t forget about him. He’s just a lil busy rn lol… 🐺
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Every time I thought I’d got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I’ve never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I’m much to fast to take that test
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (turn and face the strange)
☆ Changes, David Bowie, 1971 ☆
September 1st, 1971 (continued)
By the time they reached the shadowy platform of Hogsmeade Station, Sirius was already stuffed from trolley sweets and Peter’s chocolates.
The night air was brisk and laced with an earthy scent like wet bark and pine. To his left, the so-called Forbidden Forest loomed in unwelcoming clusters of tangled branches. And just ahead, the Black Lake sat silent and slick, clouds of mist curling around its edges.
At the edge of the lake, the gamekeeper called Rubeus Hagrid stood tall like a mountain, holding a lantern high in the air and casting an amber hue over the clusters of students, all dressed in matching robes now. A thick and furry pelt was slung over his broad shoulders and beneath it, an enormous moleskin coat. He had a mane of shaggy brown hair and beard and big, rosy cheeks. His voice bellowed out loud and burly through the night.
“Firs’ years! Firs’ years! Over ‘ere! Mind yer step now, no more’n four to a boat!”
Sirius clambered onto one of the small wooden boats, taking up a seat next to Peter who looked quite ill. He was clutching his gecko, Sticks, who seemed to be in tune with his emotions, providing some small amount of comfort.
“You alright, Pete?” James asked, plopping down across from him.
“Yeah,” Peter gulped, peering over the edge of the deep and dark water below. “Feeling a bit seasick s’all.”
James clapped him on the back goodnaturedly. Marlene was the last to board the boat, stumbling as she stepped in and causing it to sway slightly. A choked noise escaped from Peter’s throat, and Sirius instinctively inched away from him.
Once all of the first year students had climbed into the fleet of wooden boats, they began to sail through the water, pushed forward completely by magic alone. Hagrid sat in his own boat near the front, leading the way.
Sirius’ eyes drifted upwards, following the moon as they sailed. It was full and bright, casting shimmering ribbons of silver light onto the lake’s surface. Sirius lowered his eyes once more and found the moon’s reflection staring back at him from the depths of the water below. Absentmindedly, he dipped his fingers into the cool water, tracing gentle streaks that rippled across the liquid.
But then, Hagrid eyed him, calling out to everyone,
“Keep yer hands in the boat! Lotsa creatures down there!”
Sirius pulled his hand from the water quickly, looking around at everyone, feigning innocence.
“What kind of creatures?” Marlene asked, peering over the edge of the boat. “Are they dangerous?”
Hagrid smiled, “All sorts, young lady. Nuffin’ to be ‘fraid of! Friendly, long as yeh don’t go pokin’ at em. Might even spot the Giant Squid if yer lucky!”
James beamed, “Giant Squid? That’s wicked!”
From the boat across from them, a boy spoke. He had greasy black hair parted down the middle and a large, hooked nose. He was sitting next to a pretty girl with long fiery-red hair.
“Wicked?” he sneered, “Only to a half-wit. It’s a wonder they allow us to cross. That squid could snap your ribs clean with one tentacle.”
James leaned forward, his voice carrying to the other boat, “Maybe if you’re a coward.” He flashed a grin. “Didn’t you hear him? They’re friendly. You should try it out.”
The boy’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he narrowed his eyes at James coldly. Beside him, the girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She reached out and patted his arm supportively.
Sirius rolled his eyes.
But, Hagrid just chucked warmly, his lantern swinging in his hands. “No need ter worry! Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that squid. Been ‘ere longer’n I have, never laid a tentacle on a student once!”
James leaned towards Sirius, nodding to the other boat. “What’s that guy’s problem?”
Sirius smirked, turning his head and eyeing the boy. “Dunno. Looks like he could use a dip in the lake though. Might do him wonders.”
The two of them chuckled, leaning back in their seats. But Sirius’ attention darted ahead as a ripple of gasps rose from the boats around them.
The castle came into view now. It was massive. It seemed to rise out of the cliffside hill it was perched high on top of. Golden light spilled from its windows, casting twinkling reflections in the water below. It looked like something out of a storybook fairytale.
“Beaut, isn’t she?” Hagrid beamed, “Nuffin’ like seein ‘er for the first time.”
“Wow,” Marlene cooed at the same Peter let out a heavy sigh of relief. He sagged his shoulders and muttered, “Thank Merlin.”
Before they knew it, the boats were gliding smoothly to the shore. Each student toppled off one by one onto the stony landing. Hagrid led the way through a winding path that led to the castle’s looming gates.
In front of the wrought-iron gates, a stern looking witch in long emerald green robes and a pointed hat was waiting for them with her hands folded neatly in front of her.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” she said, tilting her chin authoritatively. “I’m Professor McGonagall. You will soon be sorted into your respective houses, which will serve as your home during your time here.”
She paused, her gaze sweeping over the crowd of students.
“To our soon-to-be Gryffindors amongst you, I presume we’ll be coming to know each other quite well.”
She smiled, a hint of warmth amongst her stern facade. “Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll begin the ceremony.”
The iron gates creaked open as they passed through. The students fell into step behind Professor McGonagall, craning their necks and looking around at everything in awe. It was completely silent, apart from the sound of their footsteps echoing against the stone tiles beneath them.
With a flourish, the massive double doors ahead swung open, and the vast and glowing Great Hall stretched before them. Candles floated high above their heads, suspended in mid-air. And just above, the ceiling mirrored the night sky in a misty enchantment of a deep indigo scattered with tiny stars. Most of the seemingly muggle-borns students seemed to be thoroughly impressed by the enchanted ceiling.
At the front of the room, a long table stretched from one end of the hall to the other, lined with professors. Sirius spotted the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, among them. He sat in the middle and stuck out like a sore thumb. He had a long, snowy, wide beard tied into a small pony-tail, plum coloured robes with a matching hat, and a certain twinkle in his eyes behind those half-moon spectacles.
Sirius slowed as he stepped inside, scanning the rest of the tables, all adorned with older students suited in matching black robes. At the closest table to the doors, presumably the Slytherin table, he locked eyes with Narcissa. She sat with perfect, practiced posture and glanced only once in Sirius’ direction before turning her attention back ahead. Lucius was beside her, eyes flicking lazily to the crowd of first years.
Somewhere in the middle, obviously the Hufflepuff table, he spotted Phaedra. She was waving cheerfully to Peter, and James was waving back until Peter promptly kicked him.
Professor McGonagall moved swiftly to the High Table and positioned herself next to the small wooden stool. Atop the stool, slumped a musty brown hat that looked as if it had survived three wizarding wars. Bellatrix had told Sirius over dinner a few nights ago that during her Sorting, a spider had crawled inside of a boy’s ear and laid hundreds of tiny eggs. Utter rubbish, obviously. But still, Sirius found himself subconsciously rubbing his ear as he stared back at the battered old hat.
Professor McGonagall unraveled a long roll of parchment and held it in front of her.
She cleared her throat. “When I call your name, you will come forth and take a seat on the stool. I will place the Sorting Hat over your head, and it will determine your house.”
“Once you have been sorted,” she continued, “You will join your house tables. At the far right, we have Slytherin, followed by Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and lastly, Gryffindor.”
The room had become completely still in anticipation, and Sirius felt the weight of it press against his chest now.
“Very well, then.” Professor McGonagall’s voice rang out crisply as she called the first name, “Aubery, Bertram!”
A rather peckish looking boy with a tragic haircut stepped forward slowly, plopping himself down on the stool stiffly.
All eyes turned to him as the hat sprang to life. It twitched, then curled its stitched mouth into a thoughtful expression before bellowing out,
“RAVENCLAW!”
A series of applauses echoed from the crowds of students, and Bertram happily shuffled through, taking up a seat at the Ravenclaw table.
A couple more names were called, but they mostly blended into a blur of impending dread for Sirius. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous. He knew exactly where he’d end up.
Before he knew it, Professor McGonagall was already calling him forward.
“Black, Sirius!”
Marlene nudged him with a small smile and whispered, “Good luck!”
Despite his nerves, Sirius strode up to the front with confidence. As he dropped onto the stool, he crossed his arms over his chest and extended his long legs in front of him lazily. Every eye in the room followed him, but Sirius didn’t flinch once.
Professor McGonagall lowered the Sorting Hat onto his head, and Sirius grimaced slightly as the brim brushed his hair. He was quite attached to his hair and didn’t fancy it being soiled, but he was at least grateful that he was being sorted before the greasy-haired boy. And anyway, he was content enough to get it all over with quickly.
The large hat settled and immediately drooped over his ears. Sirius felt a strange tickle in his ear, and he stiffened, momentarily wondering if this was the spider Bellatrix had warned him about—but he was relieved when a steady voice whispered instead.
“Ahhh, a Black,” the voice said cheerfully. “I was wondering when I’d see another Black. Proud tradition, a Black to be sorted into—“
Yeah, yeah, Sirius cut the voice off internally. Slytherin, go on then. I’ve had enough bloody history lessons.
Suddenly, the hat perked up. It chuckled lowly in his ear, and Sirius froze.
The musty thing can hear me? Sirius thought, Bloody hell, can it read my—
“Mind?” The voice confirmed, laced with amusement. “Well, that is the point,” the hat said, rustling through his thoughts. “And a quite complex mind you posses, Sirius Black.”
This was the second time Sirius had been called complex. First, by Mr. Ollivander and now, by this creepy old hat. And what the hell was that supposed to mean, anyway?
“So, Slytherin, you say... are you quite sure?” the hat asked airily.
Positive, Sirius emphasized, now positively irritated.
The hat went still for a moment before Sirius felt its brim lift from his ears and its stitched mouth creep into a grin.
“Very well, then,” it said finally.
Thank Merlin, Sirius thought, but then it shouted, loud and clear—
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Sirius froze, and his stomach dropped to the floor.
“What?!” he gasped aloud in disbelief.
There was a beat of stunned silence before the crowd broke into applause. Among them, James Potter was the first as he let out a series of cheerful whistles from the crowd.
Professor McGonagall tilted her head, giving James a pointed look. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Potter—I think that’ll do.”
Sirius didn’t move. He remained stiffly on the stool, even as the hat was lifted from his head. The cheering blurred around him distantly, as though he were underwater. It was all wrong, there must’ve been a mistake.
Instinctively, he glanced towards the Slytherin table. Narcissa’s hands were still, and her eyes were wide. Lucius Malfoy, however, seemed to be clapping even louder than James. He had a smug smirk on his face, like the cat who got the cream. Sirius felt heat creep up the back of his neck.
Professor McGonagall promptly leaned forward and nudged him out of the stool. Sirius dragged his feet down the hall, looking down sorely at the words embroidered onto the outer cuff of his sleeve.
Toujours Pur.
My son, his father's voice was echoing in his head now.
Sirius picked at the stitching absentmindedly until a single thread frayed slightly beneath his fingernails. He wanted to pick at it until it unraveled completely—until he was free of the feeling of it itching his skin.
Sirius secluded himself at the far end of the table, staring down at the empty gold plate in front of him while a sick feeling twisted in his gut. He was the first among the first years to be sorted into Gryffindor—which somehow made it all worse.
And yet, the ceremony went on.
As the next name was called, Sirius lifted his head back to the High Table. There, the Headmaster was looking directly at him. There was a quiet sort of curiosity behind that twinkle now, and Sirius swore he saw it.
A flicker of the faintest smile.
And, could it be?
A wink.
Sirius didn’t smile back. Instead, he quickly turned away.
The rest of the ceremony flew by in a breeze. Lily Evans, the fiery-haired girl, was one of the next students to be sorted into Gryffindor. She plopped herself down across from Sirius, and he was at least relieved to notice that she looked almost as miserable to be there as he did. He wondered if it had something to do with her snobbish friend.
To no surprise, the hat had hardly grazed both Marlene and James’ heads before bellowing out,
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Both of them offered a friendly greeting to Lily as they took their seats.
Prior to that, the hat took a considerably longer time deciding where to place Peter, and he actually looked as if he might be sick this time. But, after what felt like ages, it finally made its choice. Peter leapt from his seat, grinning like a fool and practically skipped to the Gryffindor table, hardly giving Professor McGonagall enough time to pluck the hat from his head. Even Phaedra looked happy for him.
“What’d I tell you?” James beamed from next to Lily. “All four of us in Gryffindor, can you believe it?!”
Sirius groaned.
He was almost certain that James Potter must’ve manifested it himself. Not with wands or spellwork, but with that unshakable certainty of his—that maddening belief that everything would fall into place exactly as it should.
After the last name had been called and the final round of applause trickled off, the Sorting hat broke into a cheerful song—some nonsense about bravery and embracing change.
Though one verse in particular stuck out to Sirius.
Now your future will begin,
And while you search for truths within,
Know that the house you join is not just fate,
But an opportunity to carve your own slate!
So join me now and brave the storm,
Amidst the chaos, we shall transform.
After the song had finished, Dumbledore arose from the centre of the High Table.
“Welcome!” he said warmly, arms outstretched.
“Tonight we celebrate not only new beginnings, but also the journeys that have brought us thus far. To our youngest, I hope you cherish your home here at Hogwarts. And to our eldest, may you carry forward all that you have learned.”
With a flourish of his hands, Dumbledore smiled.
“Let us eat.”
The previously empty golden plates in front of them suddenly became full of food of all sorts. The spread was so varied, it’d be impossible not to find something to enjoy. Roasted chicken topped with herbs, lamb chops, pork chops, finely cut steak, and fried sausages. There were buttery mashed potatoes, roasted garlic potatoes, and boiled potatoes, all beside an enormous jug of rich gravy. Vegetables of all colours. Yorkshire pudding, treacle tart, pumpkin pasties.
Peter’s eyes lit up as he toppled forkfuls of various dishes into his mouth, barely pausing to chew as he talked amicably about all the things the hat had told him. He had already mashed up a singular blueberry to feed to Sticks as a treat. Sirius thought that confidence was a good look on Peter.
“Thought I was going to be sick,” his voice was muffled through a mouthful of roasted chicken. “This chicken is outrageous! I mean, really, outrageous.”
To Sirius’ left, Marlene was scooping up the Yorkshire pudding with her fingers and licking it off—completely unbothered by what anyone else might think. Sirius admired that about her.
And across from the table, Lily frowned as she dropped her fork to the floor. James, ever the gentlemen—or perhaps the showman—kindly offered her his own fork. Then, he proceeded to struggle tearing through the rest of his steak with a spoon, which Sirius found quite amusing.
Sirius turned around and glanced across the room. Through the gaps between tables, he was able to spot the Slytherin table. He meant to catch Narcissa’s eye, or maybe Lucius’ if he was feeling particularly sorry for himself.
But, instead, he locked eyes with Lily’s greasy-haired friend, Snape, who was already glaring at them. His dark eyes were flicking between James and Lily coldly, but there was a hint of something familiar underneath it. Sirius recognised it instantly.
Jealousy.
He wondered briefly if Snape was Lily’s boyfriend, and if so, he felt terribly sorry for her. Sirius couldn’t even remember his first name, just that it was as unpleasant as him. He cycled through options in his head: Was it Scorpius? Septimus? Snottilus? Eventually, he settled on Snivellus—mostly because it fit him too well to be anything else.
Snivellus, Sirius thought, curling his lips into an unfriendly smirk. He felt a sudden wave of protectiveness for James flood over him, and he turned in his seat and squared his shoulders.
Slowly and deliberately, he brought up his hand as if to wave back, with a fake smile on his face. Snape narrowed his eyes at Sirius in confusion, but then his expression immediately darkened again when Sirius folded his fingers down and flipped him off proudly.
Now satisfied, Sirius turned back to his plate and took his first bite of food, feeling exceptionally better.
⋆⋆⋆
After dinner, the first years hovered in noisy clusters while they waited for their prefects to lead them back to the dorms. Sirius was mid-conversation with Peter, who was trying to get Sticks to stop climbing up his sleeve and into his shirt, when a sharp whistle cut through the crowd.
At the front stood an older boy with a shiny Head Boy badge pinned to his chest—but not with pride, more as an afterthought. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and his wand was tucked lazily behind his ear. He had short, chestnut coloured hair and deep brown eyes. He walked through the small crowd briskly, handing everyone their own map of the castle.
“Gryffindors,” he drawled with a grin. “Follow me, unless you fancy sleeping in a broom cupboard all night.”
He then turned on his heel and began ushering everyone through the corridors and up those seven flights of stairs Andromeda had mentioned in her letter.
At one point, he turned around, suddenly remembering himself.
“Name’s Frank—Longbottom, that is. It’s my last year here, so don’t ask me for anything. Well, unless you’re drowning, on fire, or cursed—in which case, I’m your guy.”
A few students, including Sirius, chuckled.
Frank continued with a smile, “But also, if you do just need help with homework or finding the loo, I’m still your guy.”
Then, he turned back around and kept climbing, whistling a cheerful tune under his breath. Sirius thought that Frank Longbottom was the coolest. It almost made up for his ridiculous surname. And he was a Head Boy? Boss of all the otherwise snobby prefects?
He was beginning to think that maybe Gryffindor wouldn’t be so bad. He had James, Peter, and Marlene, and even Lily Evans wasn’t so bad, despite her strange affiliation with Snape.
Still, Sirius felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He should’ve been trying to do something about the mess he was currently in. He should’ve wanted to fix it.
And as they began to slowly approach Gryffindor Tower, Sirius felt that bad feeling creep back in—the one that told him that he didn’t belong here. The one that reminded him of what awaited him at home when his parents inevitably found out.
Sirius slowed his pace, letting the others drift ahead of him. James noticed and slowed too, falling into step with Sirius.
“Alright?” he asked.
Sirius nodded, leaning towards James, his voice a low whisper. “I’ll be right back, I’ve gotta sort something out.”
James furrowed his brows. “What—now? But we haven’t even got to the dorm yet.”
Sirius waved him off. “Yeah, I know. I’ll be quick, honest.”
James scrunched up his face thoughtfully. “Well, let me come with you.”
“No,” Sirius said a little too quickly, then he raised his arm, “S’alright—I got the map.”
“Alright. Just don’t spend your first night in a broom cupboard or whatever.”
Sirius smirked, “Not bloody likely.”
And then, he was off.
He wasn’t entirely sure where he was going. He unfolded the map in his hands as he walked, instantly feeling a headache brewing just looking at it. The castle was a bloody maze. Eventually, he found himself standing before a large stone gargoyle at the base of what should be a staircase leading to the Headmaster’s office. The garygole loomed above him, eyes closed and completely still.
“Dammit,” Sirius cursed under his breath.
The fact that he might need a password to visit the Headmaster hadn’t even crossed his mind. He glanced around, hoping someone friendly enough might wander by. He considered trying out random passwords but really didn’t fancy embarrassing himself unless he had to. So, as a final resort, he leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed and waited—determined to stand there all night if he had to.
He sighed, should’ve asked Frank.
But then, suddenly, the gargoyle moved.
It shifted aside with a low grinding noise and out stepped Snape, looking just as surprised to see Sirius as Sirius was to see him.
“Well, well,” Sirius smirked, “Already visiting the Headmaster’s office on your first day? That’s gotta be a record, Snivellus.”
“My name is Severus,” he glared, “And I could say the same about you, Black. What business do you have with the Headmaster? Come to collect your allowance from mummy and daddy?”
Sirius scoffed, stepping forward, ignoring Severus’ question entirely. “Sure, whatever, Snivelly, if there’s any left I’ll loan you some to buy some shampoo—now, if you could just move out of the way.”
Severus was fuming, but Sirius just shoved himself past him and up the winding staircase, not wasting a single breath.
He took the steps two at a time, but paused when he made it to the landing, suddenly quite nervous. A tall wooden door stood before him with a brass knocker staring back at him. His hand hovered in the air momentarily before he finally gathered the courage to knock.
Sirius was shocked when the door opened almost instantly, and the Headmaster hardly looked surprised to see him.
“Ahh, Mr. Black.” Dumbledore smiled, “Do come in.”
Sirius stepped inside, eyes darting around the room curiously. It was filled with a strange clutter. A golden perch stood empty near the window, and various magical objects and books lined every shelf. Sirius even spotted the Sorting Hat, tucked away on one of the highest shelves.
Sirius took the seat across from Dumbledore’s desk, shifting uncomfortably as his gaze fell to his left, where a stone basin stood with a certain misty substance curling around it.
Dumbledore settled into his own chair, folding his hands neatly in front of him. Sirius tugged at his shirt collar, thinking that the old man was a lot more intimidating this close up.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Black?”
Sirius felt his throat tighten. He hated it here already. The walls were lined with portraits whispering behind their frames. Sirius tried not to look any of them in the eye, but then—
Was that Phineas Nigellus-Black? Oh, that’s just brilliant.
Dumbledore watched Sirius curiously behind his half-moon spectacles, following his gaze to the portrait of Phineas.
“Phineas,” Dumbledore said kindly, “If you’ll give us a moment.”
Phineas raised a brow, looking highly offended. “Albus, I am a former Headmaster of this school, I hardly think—“
“Thank you, Phineas, that’ll do,” Dumbledore cut him off firmly.
Sirius sighed in relief, his shoulders dropping slightly.
Phineas muttered something bitterly under his breath before vanishing from the frame. Now, Dumbeldore was staring intently at Sirius, waiting.
Sirius cleared his throat. “Um, your hat made a mistake, erm—sir. I was supposed to be sorted into Slytherin. It’s sort of a tradition.”
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, yes, that’s right. Your case is very rare indeed. However,” he paused, “I can assure you, the hat does not make mistakes.”
Sirius scoffed. “Surely, it makes a mistake once or twice, I mean—c’mon, the things like a few hundred years old. I reckon you should look into getting a new one, honestly.”
Dumbledore smiled, “The Sorting Hat was sewn together precisely a thousand years ago, Mr. Black. It has traveled the minds of more wizards than I have known in a lifetime. In many ways, it is much wiser than any of us.”
“A thousand years?” Sirius asked.
“Indeed.”
“Well, that’s all very touching,” Sirius muttered quickly, “But I really just need to get transferred. I’m sure it’s possible, I mean, you’re the Headmaster.”
There was a pause, so Sirius continued.
“Gryffindor’s fine, but I don’t exactly pride myself on bravery anyway, and my parents’ll go mental if they find out. You don’t know my father—he’ll probably think I did it on purpose, like I came up here asking for it.”
Dumbledore didn’t interrupt once. He simply sat there and listened, his expression completely unreadable.
His lips curled into a smile again as he spoke and Sirius’ patience—which had been teetering on the edge, was dangerously close to slipping.
What the bloody hell is he smiling about? Sirius thought bitterly. Is he mental or just daft?
“On the contrary, Mr. Black, I know your father quite well—and should your parents have any concerns about your sorting, they are welcome to contact me directly.”
Sirius shook his head. “Right, I’m sure that’ll go down brilliantly. Look—I don’t know if you heard me properly, but I’m not interested in facing it in the name of change or whatever.”
Dumbledore spoke calmly despite Sirius’ rising frustration, which somehow seemed to irritate Sirius more.
“I understand,” Dumbledore said, nodding. “Change is hardly comfortable, Mr. Black. But I can assure you that you are not the first student to feel misplaced. Often, the hat sees what we cannot.” He tilted his head, peering down at Sirius.
“And I, Mr. Black, do believe you have demonstrated acts of bravery by simply being here tonight.” He paused slightly, choosing his words carefully. “Your friend, Mr. Potter, seems to be quite confident in your position as a Gryffindor.”
Sirius’ heart lurched, and he looked down at his feet sorely.
“Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is stay exactly where we are.”
Sirius sighed, his frustration faltering. Deep down, he wasn’t sure if he wanted the Headmaster to tell him that there had been a mistake, or if he just wanted to be told that he did in fact belong. He supposed he just wanted someone to tell him that everything was going to be okay. He wished he could feel as confident and proud of his placement as the rest of his friends.
He exhaled slowly, “So, that’s a no, then?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Sirius got up solemnly from his chair. “Right. Thanks anyway, I guess.”
He turned to leave, but Dumbledore called out to him one last time.
“Mr. Black,”
Sirius paused in the doorframe.
Dumbledore smiled, “In due time.”
Sirius gave a stiff nod and closed the door behind him.
For now, he supposed he could turn to blissful ignorance. He didn’t have to face his parents until Christmas at the very least, and that was months away.
And if it came down to choosing a tie, well—red suited him much better, anyway.
He took the winding staircase slowly back down to the gargoyle. But, when the stone parted, James was standing right there on the other side, so close that Sirius almost ran right into him.
“Jesus, Potter!” Sirius muttered, clutching his chest.
James didn’t flinch. He was squinting at the gargoyle now, head titled, “So, that’s how it opens.”
Sirius snorted, “Have you been standing out here this whole time? Are you spying on me now, Potter?”
James shrugged casually, “Figured I should. You never got the password from Frank, so you’d be locked out all night.” He peered around, “Kinda creepy over here.”
Sirius huffed a laugh, placing a hand on James’ shoulder. “How valiant. My knight in shining armour—or well,” He ran his hand along the fabric, feigning thoughtfulness. “Wool, I guess.”
James snorted, smacking his hand away.
“So, did you get whatever it was sorted out?”
Sirius smiled sadly, “Yeah, I think so.”
And all Sirius could think in that moment was that he wasn’t quite sure what he’d done to deserve James Potter. He was certain that without James there, he’d be utterly miserable.
⋆⋆⋆
When they finally reached the landing and stood in front of the portrait of the so-called Fat Lady, Sirius was completely out of breath. James stepped forward, somehow breathing just fine.
“Flibbertigibbet,” James declared proudly.
Sirius glared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
James grinned. “Try saying that three times fast, huh?”
The portrait swung open with a dramatic creak, and Sirius stepped through, still baffled by the ridiculous password, only to stop dead in his tracks.
The Gryffindor common room was magic in itself. It was a cosy, circular space with high ceilings and tall windows lined with a deep crimson drapery. Matching armchairs and sofas sat near the hearth, which was crackling softly and emitting a warm amber glow.
Near the far wall, Frank Longbottom was beside a turntable, sifting through a crate of vinyls. There was a girl with him, splayed out on an armchair that Sirius didn’t recognise.
She had a button nose and short brown hair, bangs swept back on either side with pins shaped like beetles. A cluster of colourful badges was pinned to her tie, each with a tiny message or image. On her robe, Sirius noticed a very large badge that matched Frank's. Head Girl.
Clouds of grey smoke curled between them, and then Sirius saw the cigarette pinched between Frank’s fingers.
When they spotted the two boys, Frank spluttered, coughing abruptly and waving the smoke away with his hand. He quickly tossed the cigarette into the fireplace nonchalantly. Beside him, the girl giggled.
“And what are you two doing out so late?” Frank cocked an eyebrow.
“Hate to break it to you, mate, but it’s still two hours til’ curfew,” James laughed.
“Ah, bugger,” Frank sighed. “Well, off you go then, lads. Loads of unpacking to do—and this is adult business.”
“Well, lucky for you, I’m known for sticking my nose in adult business,” Sirius drawled, eyeing the turntable. “Is that yours?”
Frank grinned, squinting thoughtfully at Sirius. “Black, is it?” he gestured to the girl. “Technically, it belongs to Miss Fortescue—soon to be Mrs. Longbottom.”
The girl swatted at his arm.
“Hardly,” She smiled, one crooked tooth in the front. “It’s just Alice.”
Sirius cocked a brow, “Vous parlez français aussi?”
Alice tilted her head, amused. “Bien sûr, chéri. Est-ce censé être une insulte?”
“Enfin!” Sirius laughed, clutching his chest dramatically. “C’est terriblement solitaire ici.”
Alice snorted, then narrowed her pale blue eyes. “Alors tu es le petit cousin de Narcissa, non?”
“Unfortunately,” Sirius said flatly, and Alice gave him a funny look.
“Damn French people,” Frank muttered, shaking his head. He was clearly straining to figure out what they were talking about.
Meanwhile, James had sprawled himself on the sofa, head hanging upside down. “I didn’t know you spoke French!”
He then looked around hopefully. “¿Alguein habla espanõl? ¿No? ¿Nadie? Ah, bollocks.”
”Sorry, mate,” Sirius shrugged, “My Spanish is a bit rubbish. Though I am well-versed in Greek, Latin, Italian….” Sirius went on and James just gaped back at him.
When they had climbed the last of the stairs up to their dormitory, they found Peter already halfway unpacked—a pile of socks, books, a chess set, Chocolate Frog cards, all scattered across the floor. He seemed to be in the middle of setting up an elaborate enclosure for Sticks.
The floor was a dark wood with a circular crimson rug slpayed out in centre of the room to match the drapery that hung from the singular large window. They had their own mantlepiece in the far corner, next to a narrow door that led to the shared bathroom. Each tall four-poster bed had a wobbly wooden nightstand beside it.
James promptly made a beeline for the bed adjacent to Peter’s, throwing himself on top if it.
“Wait, why do we have four beds?”
“Dunno,” Peter grunted, ruffling through his trunk. “Think we’re technically supposed to have another roommate, but Frank said he didn’t see anyone on his list,” he shrugged, “They probably just didn’t wanna have to move the bed out.”
James sighed, “They could’ve at least transfigured it into something useful. Wish I knew how.”
Sirius scanned the room thoughtfully, trying to decide which bed he preferred, not that there was much of a difference. In the end, he decided why choose? His eyes lit up, full of mischief. “Excellent idea, Potter.”
He then marched over to the window where the last two empty beds stood and, with a few great shoves, he began pushing them together in front of the window.
“What the bloody hell are you—“
“In the meantime, I’ll keep it useful,” Sirius grunted, while the legs dragged with a loud groan against the wood floor. Peter grimaced at the loud noise and chucked a stray sock at him.
Sirius smirked, throwing his hands in the air. “My scenic deluxe suite.”
”Until you fall through the middle,” James sniggered.
Sirius ignored him, unfastening his trunk and digging out the poster of the muggle rockstar Marc Bolan. He flopped down onto his new double bed and unfolded the poster, holding it in the air proudly above him. With a big, stupid grin, he said,
“What a year it’s gonna be, fellas.”
Notes:
The translation for Sirius and Alice’s conversation:
He asked if she spoke French and she says “Of course I do, is that supposed to be an insult?” and Sirius responds: “Finally! It’s terribly lonely here,” aaand then she asks if he’s Narcissa’s little cousin¿Alguein habla espanõl? ¿No? ¿Nadie? is James asking if anyone else speaks Spanish :)
Chapter 6: R.J.L.
Summary:
Did someone say Remus John Lupin??
Also, just Sirius being a little shitNo CWS! :)
Chapter Text
Come on, baby, light my fire
Come on, baby, light my fire
Try to set the night on fire
The time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now, we can only lose
☆ Light My Fire, The Doors, 1967 ☆
Friday, September 3rd, 1971
By the end of his first week, which, technically, was only three days long thanks to their midweek arrival, Sirius Black had already landed his first detention and his first kiss—and yet, somehow still hadn’t finished the basic task of unpacking his trunk.
The short week hadn’t spared them from lessons altogether, but they had only been strictly introductory and relatively brief, outlining course objectives and classroom etiquette and all the boring bits. James was bummed to hear that the actual flying part of the flying lessons wouldn’t start until next week, whilst Peter seemed immensely grateful for this news. They’d even missed Defence Against the Dark Arts entirely; the professor was apparently out of town on some ministry business. This meant that Sirius had spent most of his extra free time innocently exploring all the castle had to offer.
The detention had been Filch's doing, of course. Sirius was convinced that the creepy sod had already formed some kind of personal vendetta against him for simply existing.
He had this uncanny ability to materialise whenever Sirius was on the verge of enjoying himself too much, like a leech that wouldn’t let go, feeding on all of his scraps of joy. Even yesterday, Sirius had only laughed harmlessly at Peter's impression of Professor Binns, which had been surprisingly accurate, all the way down to the nasally bits and that eternal pause he tended to wedge between words. And who swept around the corner with that evil, shabby cat clinging to his ankles? Filch, obviously.
Though the time before that, he might’ve also caught Sirius after he'd just put a smoking hole in the door of the Charm's classroom, trying to impress a group of second-year girls. Or the time before that, when he'd snapped the entire arm off of a particularly ancient and allegedly important suit of armour, trying to reposition its gauntlet into a rather crude gesture. But apart from that, he'd been reasonably well-behaved considering he was confined to an enormous magical castle positively overflowing with objects begging to be tampered with.
James had found it hilarious. "You've got an admirer," he said, watching Filch trail behind Sirius in the courtyard like a bloodhound. "Maybe he's writing your biography: The Life and Crimes of Sirius Black."
Sirius, however, hadn’t found it quite as amusing. "More like a bloody stalker," he had muttered, loud enough for Filch to overhear.
So, when Sirius was abruptly pulled into a broom cupboard on the third floor this morning by Phaedra Pettigrew, no Filch in sight to spoil the fun, he hardly complained.
She'd been flirting with him subtly, pretty much ever since they first met on the train. At first, he thought she was just being polite. But then she started popping behind him in the breakfast queue the past three days, greeting him with the same cheerful, "Good morning, Sirius," and then purposely brushing past his shoulder. She had a habit of passing him in the corridors when he was alone, which he had originally chalked up to coincidence until she started pointing out imaginary imperfections just to get his attention.
"Your laces are untied," she'd say in a sing-song voice as she passed, not even glancing down once. Or, "there's a leaf in your hair," and he'd be standing there, trying to pick out the nonexistent leaf like a fool.
It was maddening, yet somewhat thrilling—and not only because he was subconsciously glancing over his shoulder after every interaction with her, making sure Peter wasn't there waiting to whack him across the head again.
Phaedra was a second-year student, which made her cool and mysterious by default. And Sirius admired that she was confident and never seemed to second-guess herself—she was the polar opposite of her brother in that sense. It wasn’t as if Sirius really fancied her or anything, but he enjoyed the attention. She was undeniably pretty and quite popular from what he'd gathered so far. So, he figured if his first kiss was going to have to be with anyone, it might as well have been her. And anyway, if James had already had his first kiss, then Sirius wouldn’t want to be falling behind. Ironic, really, that it had to be with the same girl, but that was hardly Sirius' fault.
And neither James nor Peter would have to know about it, anyway.
It happened so quickly that Sirius wasn't even sure what had prompted it. One moment, he was minding his business, and the next, Phaedra was tugging on his wrist and giggling, saying, "Come here, I wanna show you something."
Before he could ask what it was, she was already pushing open a narrow wooden door, secluded at the end of the hall. The door itself screeched on its hinges as if it hadn't been opened in years, and the inside was even worse. Shelves of dusty boxes rose high above them, and the air smelt faintly of mildew. There was hardly enough room for the two of them, and Sirius twisted awkwardly, trying to move away from the box vaguely labeled 'Maintenance' that was jabbing him in the back.
"So, uhh, this is what you wanted to show me?" Sirius coughed dryly, peering around the dim cupboard.
Phaedra smirked, dusting a cobweb off her shoulder. Today, she was wearing her honey-blonde hair in two braids along her shoulders, topped with a thick pink headband.
"Well, no," she said lightly, "But I figured this would give us some privacy."
Sirius raised a brow, "Privacy for what, exactly?"
"You're cute," Phaedra giggled. Then, she stepped forward slightly, eyeing him curiously. "Have you ever kissed anyone, Sirius?"
Sirius felt a kick in his chest, but he tried to act casual. He couldn’t help but notice how close they were now.
"Uhh, yeah, once," he lied, "Nothing memorable."
She didn't respond right away. Instead, she tilted her head. With a low and sweet voice, she asked, "Do you want to kiss me?"
Sirius blinked, caught slightly off guard. He scratched the back of his neck, scrambling his brain for something clever or charming to say, but all that came out was,
"Uh…sure, why not."
Might as well see what all of the fuss is about.
Phaedra just smiled.
"You're nervous," she giggled.
"I'm not!" Sirius said a little too quickly.
She stepped forward, brushing a bit of dust off his collar.
With big blue eyes, she said, "Then kiss me already."
Sirius took a deep breath, then stepped forward. He hesitated for a moment, unsure where to place his hands. In the end, he just let them hang uselessly at his sides. Then, finally, he closed his eyes and leaned in, their noses brushing briefly before his lips met hers, which were soft and warm. It was a quick kiss, over before he knew it.
Sirius wasn't sure if he did it right, but Phaedra didn’t complain when he pulled away. Instead, she smiled cheekily and leaned back in for another.
She brought her hand to his, and Sirius was starting to think that maybe the broom cupboard wasn't so bad after all…
Until,
The door swung open with a horrible, violent screech! and bright light spilled over them both, temporarily blinding them. Phaedra and Sirius jumped apart, knocking over a few storage boxes behind them, sending them crashing down in clouds of dust. Sirius coughed, a bit disoriented, trying to figure out who the hell had to be so nosy. And lo and behold,
"Black!" Filch snarled, with that gravely voice of his. "Oh, I've got ya this time! Caught in the act!"
"Caught doing what, exactly?" Sirius snapped, straightening himself up. "Is it a crime now to stand in a broom cupboard?"
Filch's eyes narrowed, his mouth curling into a yellow-toothed sneer. "Don't get smart with me, boy."
"It's not my fault you've never had a gir—"
But Sirius never did get to finish. Phaedra gasped as Filch reached over and dragged him out by the ear.
"Hey! Ow!" Sirius yelped, stumbling out into the corridor. "What about her?! She's the one who dragged me in there!"
Phaedra shot out of the cupboard, her cheeks slightly flushed—but not from the kiss.
"Excuse me?!" She fumed, "You absolute tosser!"
Sirius twisted in Filch's grip. "Well, you did—"
"Enough talking!" Filch barked, yanking him forward.
"Let go of me!" Sirius shouted, completely ignoring Filch’s demand.
Phaedra just scoffed, crossing her arms. "Unbelievable!"
And just before Filch whipped him around the corner, Sirius turned and shouted back,
"Was I at least better than Potter?!"
Phaedra's jaw dropped, “Piss off, Black!"
Sirius took that as a yes, and flashed her his most charming grin before turning away again, being dragged around the corner like a dog on a leash.
So, maybe he deserved that whack on the head after all.
⋆⋆⋆
Sirius' ear was throbbing by the time he started trudging back to Gryffindor Tower with a crumpled detention slip clenched in his hand. He scoffed as he reread Filch's scratchy scrawl, which accused him of "lewd conduct" and "insubordination bordering on willful disregard for authority."
What bollocks.
According to the slip, he was to meet Filch back in his office after dinner to be escorted back to the third floor, where he was ordered to dust and organise every broom cupboard on the entire floor by hand, with Filch himself supervising. Miserable old toad, Sirius thought bitterly, shoving the slip into the pocket of his robes.
He pushed through the portal hole and climbed the last few steps leading to the dormitory, wanting nothing more than to collapse onto his bed and wallow in his own self-pity.
But when he swung open the door to his dorm, he froze.
Perched up against the end of his double bedpost sat a brown leather trunk, right beside his—and it didn't belong to James or Peter. It was unfastened, and its latches hung loose, but the lid wasn't fully closed. Instead, it sat crooked, as if someone had grabbed something from it and rushed out in a hurry. On the left nightstand, an array of pens and pencils was scattered next to a stack of books Sirius had never heard of. But the room was still. There was no one in sight except him.
Sirius had always been shamelessly nosy, so he stepped closer, scanning the trunk curiously. And then, his eyes fell upon a small, rectangular gold plate on the side. In thick engraving were the letters: R. J. L.
Sirius paused, furrowing his brows. He felt a strange shiver run down his arms as he read the letters. It was a strange sensation, like déjà vu. He could've sworn he'd seen those exact letters engraved somewhere else before, but he couldn't remember where.
He reached out without thinking and ran his fingers along the cool metal and into the dips of the engraving, momentarily dazed.
But then, before he could blink, a loud and familiar laugh echoed from somewhere beyond the door, accompanied by scurrying footsteps, and hardly a second later, both James and Peter barged through in fits of laughter and rosy cheeks.
Sirius' heart kicked in his chest at their sudden entrance, and he jumped upright, yanking his hand away from the trunk and straightening immediately.
"God, that's brilliant! Oh, Sirius! Where were you?! You'll never guess what James did to Snape's—" Peter started cheerfully, but then stopped abruptly when his eyes fell on the trunk.
James' grin disappeared too, and he looked at Sirius curiously. "I'm guessing that's not another one of your trunks?"
"Nope," Sirius replied flatly, leaning against his bedpost, "Guess we've got another roommate, after all."
He glanced at the two mattresses he had previously pushed together. Well, that's awkward.
Peter scrunched up his face in confusion, wasting no time in making his way to the nightstand. "But, how? He couldn't have been at the sorting, and if he wasn't sorted…"
"Unless he had a private sorting," James cut in. "Probably a transfer student or something."
Sirius scoffed and crossed his arms. Private sorting, secret arrival, neat stacks of books. He was really starting to hate this kid already. Sirius was already picturing him now, probably some dull, rule-abiding prude.
Peter picked up one of the pencils and turned it over in his fingers, squinting, "Who brings pencils, pens, and muggle books to Hogwarts, anyway?"
"Must be a muggle-born," James said dully.
Peter ignored him and headed straight for the trunk now, eager to snoop, and a mischievous grin spread across Sirius' face. He was glad he wasn't the only one itching to have a look.
Peter knelt beside the trunk, peering curiously at the initials engraved into the gold plate. "Hmm," he mumbled, "R. J. L. What do you think his name is? Ron? Ray? Rory?"
Sirius leaned over, like a little devil on Peter's shoulder, "Doesn't matter what his name is, what matters is what's in there."
"S'pose you're right," Peter said airily before he began to lift the loose latches, but James stepped forward nervously. "Lads, I don't think we should—"
"Relax, Potter," Sirius cut in smoothly, "If he didn't want us snooping, then he wouldn't have left it open."
"Seems fair to me," Peter shrugged, "And anyway, we were here first."
"Ah, bollocks," James muttered, defeated. He crowded in next to Sirius, his own eager curiosity now overclouding his judgment. "Right, what's he got?"
They both peered over Peter's shoulder as he lifted the heavy lid of the trunk, but their expressions fell flat when they took in the very ordinary state of the trunk. Neatly folded jumpers, a few textbooks, some mismatched wool socks.
"That's it?" Sirius frowned, disappointed.
"What'd you expect to be in there, you tosspot?" James retorted, "See, he's perfectly normal."
Sirius shoved him, "Oh, sod off, Potter." He raised an accusatory brow, "You wanted to know what was in there just as much as we did! I saw it in your eyes!"
James scoffed, then repeated mockingly, "You saw it in my eyes?"
Meanwhile, Peter had stuck his hand between the jumpers, digging around meticulously. "Blimey, does this bloke have enough jumpers or what?" he muttered to himself.
Then, suddenly, he perked up, "Ooh! Think I found something—"
But before Peter could pull whatever it was out, a booming, charismatic voice echoed from the hall. And then, a series of the faintest footsteps, inching closer and closer to their door.
"…and whatever you do, don't trust that staircase. It tends to rotate left on Mondays, no idea why, but I always just—"
It was Frank Longbottom, no doubt leading their new roommate straight up to the dorm.
All three boys went dead silent, whipping their heads to the door before Peter hissed, "Shit!"
The three of them scrambled upright, and Peter panicked, kicking the lid of the trunk shut with his foot. It echoed with a loud thud, and all three of them winced at the noise. One of the sleeves of the jumpers was sticking out, pinched beneath the lid.
"Nice going, Pete," Sirius muttered bitterly, nudging him in the side with his elbow.
But before Peter could retort, James whispered hurriedly, "Fix it!" and then he promptly shoved Peter back down to the trunk and leapt onto his bed, picking up his map of the castle from his nightstand.
James held the map in front of himself upside down and scrunched up his face, pretending to be stuck in deep concentration. Meanwhile, Sirius was shaking his head, idiots. Then, he simply went back to casually leaning against the bedpost with his arms crossed.
Peter dropped to his knees hurriedly, trying to shove the sleeve of the jumper back into the trunk. He finally managed to slip it back through just as the door creaked open, and, having run out of options, stayed crouched there suspiciously while frantically untying his laces.
The door swung open and Frank Longbottom stepped through first, looking as cheerful as ever— and trailing just a step behind him was the new boy, looking like a lost dog with the castle map clutched between his hands.
The boy wasn't at all what Sirius had pictured. He had half expected a carbon copy of Lucius Malfoy to stroll in. And maybe, deep down, a part of him wanted that, just so he'd have all the more reason to hate him. But this boy was different.
He had the same shabby-looking robes that Snape wore, probably second-hand. They hung off his frame awkwardly, and the sleeves were just a tad too long. But it wasn't just the robes; nothing about him seemed to fit quite right.
His nose was far too large for his face, and his bottom lip stuck out slightly more than the top, giving him the look of someone stuck in a perpetual state of sorrow. A faint scar traveled across the bridge of his nose, and another down the curve of his cheek. They didn't look fresh, but they didn't look old either. His hair curled unpredictably in warm shades of caramel and toffee, and even his eyes couldn’t seem to settle on a single colour. They were hazel, mostly brown, but flecked with rings of green and gold around the centre. It reminded Sirius of the colours of Autumn leaves. The boy was peering down at his trunk with furrowed brows now.
But there was something about him that Sirius couldn't quite place, and it irritated him. Normally, he prided himself on his ability to size people up, to know exactly who they were without so much as a glance. But this boy didn’t fit any boxes Sirius had mentally prepared for. Sirius quickly turned his head away.
"Oh, good!" Frank beamed from the door, "They're back!"
But then, his eyes landed curiously on James.
"Oi, Potter," he said, squinting, "You do know you've got that map upside down, right?"
James blinked suddenly, laughing a little too loudly, "Ha, ha—whaaat? Pfft, silly me," he said, flipping the map over and pulling it up to hide his face.
Frank raised a brow. "Right…"
Then, he peered around the room suspiciously. Next, landing on Pete, who offered a strained smile from his spot on the floor, and then to Sirius, who was unusually quiet and deliberately turned away from them now.
Frank snorted, leaning in close to the boy and muttering under his breath, "Sorry, mate. This was the only spot left."
Then, he straightened up and clasped his hands together dramatically. "Welp, I'll leave you weirdos to get acquainted," he said breezily, making his way to the door, "See ya, around, Lupin!"
"Uhh, yeah, tha-thanks again," the boy said.
But, just before Frank left, he paused in the doorway and turned to Peter, "Oh, and Pettigrew, pretty sure those laces are tied well enough, unless you plan on braiding them."
Peter's cheeks turned bright pink. He scratched the back of his neck guiltily before finally hauling himself up and then making the shameful walk back to his bed.
And then Frank was off, whistling that cheerful tune of his down the hall.
James cleared his throat and set his map down beside him. He hopped off his bed and strode forward with his hand stretched out and a big grin on his face.
"James," he said brightly, "Welcome to Gryffindor, mate."
"Err—Remus," the boy mumbled tiredly, taking James' hand.
Sirius turned slowly to face him and was startled to find that Remus was already staring directly at him. In fact, Remus' eyes never left Sirius once, even as James gestured around the room. There was something unsettling about his gaze, as if he were seeing something beyond Sirius, something only he could see. There was a quiet recognition behind it.
"That's Peter—"
Peter gave a small wave and an awkward smile that stretched wide enough to show the gap between his teeth.
"And the greedy one who stole your bed over there is Sirius Black."
Sirius finally blinked, tearing his gaze away.
"Didn't realise there'd be someone else," he muttered in a clipped tone.
But he made no initiative to move. Instead, Sirius stood there against the bedpost grumpily, with his shoulders squared and his arms still crossed. His eyes were sharp, watching Remus, waiting for a reaction or a demand or a challenge.
But Remus only nodded, finally pulling his gaze away. "S'fine," he said, voice soft but firm, "Don't need it right now, anyway."
He stepped past Sirius and grabbed one of his books off the nightstand, then turned for the door without a single word. Sirius blinked in confusion, the sharpness in his gaze faltering. He'd been bracing for some kind of pushback. He hadn't expected that at all. But, before he knew it, Remus was already making his way to the door, his book and his map tucked under his arm.
"Uhh—see ya!" James called out, and Remus gave a small nod before clicking the door shut behind him.
As soon as he was gone and the last of his footsteps echoed through the still dorm, James rounded on Sirius and nudged him, hard enough to knock him out of his brooding stance.
"Nice going," James said, eyebrows raised. "You scared him off."
"He scared himself off," Sirius quipped, "I hardly said anything to him."
James gave him a look, flopping back down onto his mattress. "Exactly, you hardly said anything."
"What about Pete? He didn't say a word!"
"Hey, I smiled and waved!" Peter cut in defensively. "What'd you want me to do? Offer him my bed?"
Sirius scoffed, "Well, he was just staring at me. You guys saw that, right?"
James shrugged, "Takes two to stare, mate."
Sirius glared at him, "Yeah, well, he was weird. Hard not to stare."
"At least he didn't seem worried about the trunk," Peter added sorely.
"Well," James said, "Maybe we can invite him to play Exploding Snap with us after dinner. He seems like the type."
Sirius plopped down onto his bed, huffing, "Yeah, you have fun with that. I'll be busy dusting off every broom cupboard on the entire third floor."
He dug in his pocket, then waved the detention slip in the air.
Peter shot up, "You already got detention? For what?"
Sirius faltered, quickly slipping the paper back in his pocket. "Oh, just for—"
—snogging your sister, yeah, twice actually—oh, and then she ran off, think she might hate me now…
Yeah, fat chance.
"…telling off Filch." Sirius scratched the back of his neck casually. "You know, bloody menace. He's worse than my mother."
"Scary lady," James nodded from his bed.
"Tell me about it," Sirius muttered, rubbing his face tiredly. "Whatever, bloke hates me, it was only a matter of time," he shrugged, "Might even start a collection. This place could use some more decor, don't you think?"
James snorted, "You're mad."
"All the best people are, Potter," Sirius grinned.
Then, a loud and drawn-out grumble came from somewhere in the depths of Peter's stomach.
"Right, well," he said, scrambling off his bed. "Race you lunatics to dinner, I'm starving!" he turned around with a cheeky grin, "Loser has to eat a fish and custard sandwich!"
James grimaced, "Not the bloody custard."
Then, he leapt off his bed and sprinted after him.
Sirius sighed, then hauled himself up too. James was already way ahead, but Sirius caught up easily to Peter, running past him and smirking, "Enjoy your sandwich, Pete! You'll never make it with all that baby fat!"
"Oh, you git!" Peter grumbled, picking up a surprising amount of speed. "Keep talking, Black! I'll show you what this baby fat can do!"
He scrambled after Sirius, and they thundered down the corridors in fits of laughter, echoing off the stone walls.
And somewhere, deep in the castle, Remus Lupin was alone, the book still unread in his hands and his mind racing a thousand miles per minute. One question was nagging at him: how could Sirius Black look at him with no sense of recognition at all? And was it intentional?
Chapter 7: With a Little Help from My Friends
Summary:
No CWs :) Short & sweet! I had more planned for this chapter, but the ending just felt right, idk??
Sooo, this one is for Peter bc I love him and he's silly <3
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends
Mmm, I get high with a little help from my friends
Ooh, I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends
☆ With a Little Help from My Friends, The Beatles, 1967 ☆
Monday, September 6th, 1971
"Oi!" Sirius yelped from his spot across from Peter, jabbing his finger stubbornly at his knight on the chessboard. "What's this tosser's problem? He won't bloody move!"
"Have you tried asking nicely?" James mused from the sofa. He was lying upside down with his head dangling off the edge while reading over his timetable.
Sirius ignored him. Instead, he jabbed his finger again while Peter tsked.
"I said E5, you stubborn mule!"
The knight, who was sitting stiffly atop his horse with his tiny arms crossed, promptly brandished his little sword and swatted it at Sirius' finger before trotting toward E5 with a huff.
"Oh, you little—"
"Welp, cheers for that, mate," Peter cut in, eyes gleaming. "Move to D1, aaand.. that's checkmate!"
"What? But—"
"Excellent!" Peter's queen beamed as she rose triumphantly from her small throne and marched across the board with her chin high, headed straight for Sirius' king. As she passed Sirius' knight on E5, he turned sorely to his king and shook his head, sniffling, "Oh, your majesty, forgive me…"
Sirius' king stood slowly, frantically shaking his head, "No…no!"
But Peter's queen had already reached his throne and, with an elegant flourish, snatched his crown right off his head. She held it in the air proudly while Sirius' king let out a final, "NOOOOO!" before collapsing to his knees dramatically.
Peter's pieces erupted into cheers. His rook bellowed out a war cry, and the whole lot of them charged forward in a victorious stampede. Sirius' remaining pieces, apart from the knight—two sad pawns and one battered-looking bishop—looked around in panic. One pawn tried to escape from the board, only to be trampled by Peter's knight, while the bishop was brutally slaughtered into crumbles.
"Well, that's just sad," James grinned, flipping himself upright. "Even I'm not that terrible."
Sirius glared, "Says the bloke whose brain has been sloshing around like a jug of pumpkin juice for the past ten minutes."
James shrugged, then crumpled up his timetable and tossed it at Sirius' head. "Told you, helps me think."
Peter gathered the pieces and began resetting the board while Sirius slumped back in his seat.
"Another round?" Peter asked cheerfully.
"I'll go bald before the end of term if I keep playing this cursed game," Sirius groaned, rubbing his temples. He tossed the crumpled timetable back to James. "Let Potter have a go, he's clearly got something to prove."
Peter turned to him hopefully, but James just scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Sorry, mate, bit knackered, yknow—sloshy brain and all," James grinned, "Plus, we've got flying lessons in fifteen minutes."
Peter winced at the mention of flying lessons, but Sirius just snorted, resting his head on his hand lazily, "So now he admits it…"
"You lot are hopeless," Peter sighed while he gathered the pieces and put them back in their velvet pouch. "I should've just gone to the chess club meeting this morning."
Sirius grimaced, "Chess club? You mean people actually do this for fun?"
Peter rolled his eyes, then reached under the table for his brown messenger bag, rummaging through it and pulling out a neatly folded handout. He unfolded it and held it in front of Sirius. The bold heading at the top read: Hogwarts Chess Club—All Skill Levels Welcome!
"Lupin gave it to me," Peter said casually.
"Wait—Lupin? You talk to Lupin?" Sirius said, snatching the handout from Peter and squinting at it like it might reveal some hidden secret. "Since when?"
"I mean, not really," Peter said, "We just played one game in the library yesterday. He's quite good."
James leaned in, crowding next to Sirius to have a look. "Huh, says the first proper meeting isn't til Thursday, today was just sign-ups." he nudged Peter, "You should go, Pete!"
"You really think so?"
James smiled, reaching over and clapping Peter on the shoulder, "Yeah, why not?"
But, Sirius was still staring from the handout and back to Peter as if he'd just announced he'd been pen pals with Merlin himself.
"You mean the bloke who hasn't said more than three words since he's moved in? That Lupin?"
It was true. Apart from that first night that Remus moved in, the three boys hadn't seen much of him. He'd usually grab one of his books and disappear somewhere in the castle—Sirius didn't know where exactly. Even at mealtimes, he hardly spoke.
Peter glared, snatching his handout back. "He's not that odd, he's just quiet. Not everyone needs to narrate their every waking thought."
Sirius crossed his arms, "Suspiciously quiet."
James shrugged, "He offered me the last crumpet at breakfast this morning—dunno if he knows the plates refill themselves, but he seems nice enough."
Peter smirked, eyeing Sirius. "So he does talk. Just not to you, apparently…"
At that, Sirius felt a twinge of something unfamiliar twist in his chest. It wasn't jealousy, exactly, but something that felt close to it. He'd never had to fight for someone's attention before, or work his way into their favour. With James, it'd been easy. They both just fit, without question. Even Peter, though a bit slower to click into place, felt like the necessary glue to hold them together. Trying to get Remus Lupin's attention felt like trying to charm a brick wall, and for Sirius, it was both infuriating and intriguing.
Sirius sulked, "That's what you get for offering a bloke your bed, I guess…"
James snorted, "You mean his bed?"
"Six of one, half a dozen of the other, Potter," Sirius muttered.
James shook his head, slinging an arm around Sirius' shoulder as they began to gather their things.
"C'mon, lads," James said cheerfully, "Let's show the rest of 'em how it's done."
Peter zipped up his bag, lagging slightly behind as they stepped into the corridor. James glanced back, a mischievous grin creeping up his face. He reached out and hooked his other arm around him.
"Not getting out of this one, Pete," James said, pulling him in close.
"Ah, bollocks," Peter muttered under his breath, dragging his feet.
The three of them stepped out onto the Quidditch pitch. The weather was perfect for flying, no overcast—just a bright, gleaming sun amidst a clear blue sky. The other first-years were already gathered near a long row of floating ancient school brooms. There, Madam Hooch stood, her hands on her hips.
Amongst the students, Sirius spotted Remus. He was standing with Lily Evans, nodding along while she gestured animatedly around the pitch. Sirius felt that jealous-adjacent feeling creep back up at the sight of them. Why did Remus talk to Lily and Peter but not him? And why did it bother him so much?
A few feet away, Marlene Mckinnion was laughing with her two other dormmates, Mary Macdonald and Emmeline Vance. Sirius didn't know much about them. He vaguely remembered Marlene saying that Emmeline was a ballet dancer, and all he knew about Mary was that she had a fat grey menace of a cat named Earl who shed large clumps of fur throughout the common room.
Just this weekend, Sirius had overheard Marlene venting to James about how isolated she felt trying to befriend girls after years of growing up with boys. Sirius hadn't seen much of Marlene since that evening in the common room, but judging by the way she was smiling now, befriending them seemed to be working out just fine.
"Mckinnion!" James shouted cheerfully, waving. "Hiya!"
Marlene waved back enthusiastically, while Mary whispered something that made the three of them burst back into giggles.
As Sirius, James, and Peter joined the bustling crowd, Madam Hooch's whistle cut through sharp. All eyes turned to her instantly.
"Alright, everyone grab a broom!" She called out, "And no time to be picky, they all fly the same!"
"Yeah, no kidding," Sirius muttered, stepping up and grabbing ahold of one of the floating brooms. Each one of them looked as if they'd been salvaged from a dusty haunted attic.
James had appeared beside him, snatching up one for himself. He gave it's crooked, splintered spine a once over, and seemed to be thinking the same thing that Sirius was.
Still, James, ever the optimist, leaned over to Sirius and smirked, "Race ya."
Sirius snorted, "Oh, you're on, Potter."
Once everyone had their brooms in hand, Madam Hooch barked, "Line up!"
Each of the students shuffled into a crooked row. Sirius was next to James, but Peter somehow managed to get wedged between two Hufflepuff girls at the end, looking almost as ill as he did the night of the sorting.
Madam Hooch ordered everyone to mount their brooms while she walked down the line adjusting their postures.
"No slouching, Lupin! Posture like that and you'll be diving straight into the lake!" She called out, clapping Remus on the back and jolting him upright.
Sirius leaned his head forward, glancing down the line until he caught Remus' eye, then gave him a smug smirk.
"I want three laps around the pitch, at least five feet off the ground," Madam Hooch said, gesturing around, "First student to make it back will earn five points for their house."
She paused, eyeing James and Sirius who looked ready to pounce.
"And remember, this is not a race."
Sirius and James turned to each other then with matching smirks spread across their faces, the kind that could only mean trouble.
Madam hooch stepped aside, then raised the whistle to her lips, "On my mark, you may begin!"
And before Sirius could count to three, she had already blew the whistle, a sharp sound that vibrated through the air. Both Sirius and James shot upwards instantly, wobbling slightly before gliding smoothly with the wind.
All around them students were whipping and twirling through the air at various speeds and levels of skill. Somewhere near the back, Remus was hovering about four feet above the ground with his posture straight as a rod, thanks to Madam Hooch. And slightly ahead, Peter's broom was sputtering like a dying kettle, jerking upwards a few feet, then whipping sideways.
Madam Hooch rounded on both of them, shouting through her megaphone, "Are you planning on finishing those three laps before Christmas, Lupin?! And Pettigrew—what in Merlin's name are you doing?!"
"It's—mine's broken!" Peter spluttered, whipping sideways again.
Sirius approached them, gliding through the air easily, already rounding his second lap. He slowed his pace, letting James and Marlene shoot ahead after him in fits of laughter.
Sirius swooped in beside Remus, hovering just long enough to shake his head, "Bloody hell, Lupin, even Pete's beating you," Sirius smirked, his voice carrying over the wind, "And well, just look at him."
Remus glared, "Piss-s off, Black."
Sirius grinned lazily, “And so he finally speaks…"
But Madam Hooch had spotted him and called out with that booming voice of hers, "Black! Make yourself useful and help Pettigrew before he launches himself into a goalpost!"
Sirius tsked under his breath, "Duty calls. Nice chat, Lupin!" and with that, he spun his broom dramatically, heading towards Peter.
"Oh god…" Peter said, sorely watching as Sirius flew towards him eagerly, with that mischievous glint in his eye. "Black, I swear—"
"C'mon, Pete, you ninny," Sirius said, grinning as he inched closer, "It's just a bloody broom. You mean to tell me you grew up with James Potter and you can't fly a broom?"
Peter scoffed, "Easy for you to say, mate. Mine's broken, I'm telling you!"
Sirius rolled his eyes. When Madam Hooch finally had her back turned, he promptly reached over and gave the tail-end of Peter's broom a great tug, lurching him forward.
"Oh, you—!" Peter shouted, but before he could finish, Sirius reached out and tugged on his broom again.
"See?" Sirius smirked, "Works just fine!"
And with a gleeful laugh, he shot forward before Peter could retaliate, his hair whipping wildly in the wind.
"Oi! Get back here, you wanker!" Peter shouted, picking up a surprising amount of wobbly speed. He surged forward, arms outstretched, but just as his fingers enclosed around the end of Sirius' broom…
"MR. PETTIGREW!"
Madam Hooch's voice bellowed out loud through her megaphone. She may have been on the ground, but her voice carried high enough to startle them both. She was storming across the pitch, chasing after Peter.
Peter yelped and, in a state of sheer panic, blasted off like a rocket before Sirius could so much as blink. He wasn't just flying, he was soaring. His broom had stopped lurching and wobbling, and was now flying as if it'd been crafted to race. Peter glanced back at Sirius, grinning madly with wild eyes.
James passed them, rounding the pitch for his third lap. He did a double-take when he spotted Peter. Then, his eyes grew wide and he threw his hands in the air.
"YOU'RE DOING IT, PETE! YOU'RE FLYING!" James shouted, laughing.
"I'M DOING IT! MERLIN'S BEARD, I'M FLYING!" Peter hollered back. He let out a series of hoots, punching his fists in the air.
From below, Madam Hooch was shaking her head, muttering, "Well, I'll be damned."
Sirius glanced back and noticed that even Remus was grinning. And this time, when Sirius had locked eyes with him, it hadn't diminished into that unimpressed scowl or tight-lipped pout he'd come to expect. This time, Remus kept smiling—downturned and slightly lopsided—at him, which made a funny feeling twist inside Sirius’ chest. He grinned back instinctively, silently counting it as a win. Slowly but surely, he was going to crack whatever quiet, unreadable thing it was that lived inside of Remus Lupin.
Still, he tore his gaze away and leaned into his broom, surging forward with a newfound determination. After all, he still had a race to win and Potter's smug face wasn't going to survive the last lap if he had anything to say about it. Even with flying prodigy Peter Pettigrew tearing through the pitch like some broomstick-born miracle, Sirius wasn't about to let himself fall behind.
He smirked as he pulled up beside James, and the two of them raced ahead, but just as they were about to overtake Peter, a blur of long, sleak black hair shot past them, effortlessly and with perfect, poised posture.
Emmeline Vance.
Sirius blinked, almost missing her entirely until James reached out and nudged him, gawking.
"What the—did you see that?"
Sirius shook his head, kicking forward, "Yeah, mate, I saw it. Now stop gawking and fly unless you fancy losing to both Pettigrew and a bloody ballet dancer!"
James muttered something bitterly under his breath and then the two of them were off, chasing after the pair ahead. But, even with their combined competitiveness and unshakable speed, they lagged behind.
In the end, all they could do was watch as Peter and Emmeline whipped through the air neck-to-neck with their faces scrunched up in concentration.
And just when Sirius was beginning to wonder if they'd score a tie, Peter landed—tumbled, actually. His foot hit the grass first, skidding across it while the rest of his body flailed forward. His broom flew a good five feet away, and hit the ground with a sad clatter, but Peter quickly stood up as cheerful as ever, wiping the grass stains from his rosy cheeks.
James landed and tackled Peter back down to the ground in celebration, ruffling up his hair and Sirius joined too, letting out a series of hoots and hollers. Even Emmeline laughed despite her defeat.
Madam Hooch approached the crowd of students slowly, her lips curling into an amused smirk.
"Well done, Pettigrew! That's five points to Gryffindor," she paused, handing him a slip of parchment, "And one detention."
Peter's face fell, "What? But I won!"
"That you did," Madam Hooch smiled, patting his shoulder, "And you'll be polishing every one of these brooms to celebrate."
Peter groaned, but he couldn't be upset about it. Nor could he help the smile tugging at his lips, even still.
Sirius snatched the detention slip from Peter's hand, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "You know, we oughta get this one framed."
Peter snorted. He was sore and tired and never wanted to step foot on a broom again, but with his two best mates beside him, bickering over who was the better flyer—and even Lupin, trailing slightly behind with a quiet smile—he knew he was set up for a lifetime of glorious mayhem.
Notes:
'Six of one, half a dozen of the other' is an idiom that means that two things are essentially the same
Chapter 8: Double Trouble
Summary:
CW: Ableism and bullying, mildly descriptive mentions of blood, and a well-deserved punch in the face.
Need I say more?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
And you keep thinkin' that you'll never get burnt, ha!
I just found me a brand-new box of matches, yeah
And what he knows, you ain't had time to learn
These boots are made for walkin'
And that's just what they'll do
One of these days, these boots are gonna walk all over you
☆ These Boots Are Made for Walkin', Nancy Sinatra, 1966 ☆
Friday, September 10th, 1971
They did, of course, immortalise Peter's detention slip.
That same evening, James and Sirius had shamelessly plunged their stealthy little hands into the overflowing lost-and-found bin perched outside of Filch's office. After some rummaging, they emerged victoriously with one glittery pink frame adorned with stickers of hearts and daisies, housing a magical photograph of someone's two frolicking spaniels. The two dogs lit up at the sight of them and spun in a circle, yapping cheerfully until Sirius plucked the photo out of its frame and nudged James.
“Aw, tragic,” he said flatly, holding it up. “Anyway…”
And then he flicked the photograph back into the heaping pile of lost treasures without a second glance, immediately sliding Peter’s detention slip in its place. The picture of the dogs landed face down atop one sad and forlorn-looking teddy with matted fur.
James shook his head, “Heartless.”
But Sirius was unfazed. He held the frame proudly in the air, smirking to himself. The detention slip read:
For engaging in dangerous aerial horseplay, nearly colliding with two classmates as well as one goalpost, and sending me into a state of acute cardiac distress.
Otherwise, impressive comeback, Pettigrew. Consider trying out for the team next year.
—Madam Hooch
James grinned, "He's gonna love it."
⋆⋆⋆
"You've got to be kidding me," Peter groaned when he saw it, dragging his hand down his face. "How did you even get this? I binned it!"
"And we unbinned it," Sirius smirked behind his textbook, splayed out comfortably on Peter's bed. "The frame's a nice touch, don't you think?"
Peter tried everything short of setting the wall on fire to remove it, but each morning the small pink frame remained, glittering in the morning light and casting cheerful reflections across his pillow.
Sirius had succeeded in putting it up with a sticking charm they'd learned in Charms this past week. It'd been a bonus spell offered to anyone who'd already mastered Lumos without blinding any of their classmates, which, for Sirius, had taken less than an hour.
He had grown bored with Lumos immediately. Apart from using it to illuminate Peter's face, providing dramatic ambiance for his storytelling at dinner, there wasn't much he could do with Lumos that any ordinary lantern in the castle couldn't already do. So, when the tiny Charms professor offered him the sticking charm as a reward, Sirius was ecstatic.
Finally, he thought, something with application.
By midweek, he'd stuck his sock to the ceiling of their dorm, James' History of Magic notes to the underside of Remus' bed, and Peter's frame to the wall. Conveniently, he had yet to learn the counter-charm.
Their insufferable Ravenclaw seatmate, Bertram Aubrey, who had been diligently following Professor Flitwick's instructions to stick pieces of parchment together in neat stacks, was horrified to find Sirius, James, and even Peter, experimenting with the sticking charm on themselves and their fellow classmates.
"You're going to get us in trouble!" Bertram hissed, watching as Sirius stuck crinkled Chocolate Frog wrappers to the back of the student in front of him.
Sirius, annoyed, turned and bulged his eyes dramatically to Bertram. "Or worse," he whispered back mockingly, "Expelled!"
And then, he promptly reached for another wrapper and stuck it directly onto the centre of Bertram's forehead.
"Hey—get it off!" Bertram wailed, trying to rip the wrapper off while the other three boys sniggered.
With his cheeks puffed and his face red as tomato, Bertram lunged for the collection of Chocolate Frog wrappers, fingers outstretched.
"That's it! I'm telling the professor!"
But before he could snatch the wrappers away, James brandished his wand directly at Bertram's grubby little fingers and successfully stuck his two pointer fingers together.
Bertram shrieked in horror and stood there momentarily stunned. He stormed off, marching up to Flitwick's desk with his hands held in the air as evidence, never mind the wrapper stuck to his face.
"Professor!" he cried, "Potter stuck my fingers together! And Black put this wrapper on my face! And—and Pettigrew—oh! Professor!"
James sighed, pushing in his chair politely and strolling up to the desk with an innocent smile on his face. Flitwick was barely visible behind the towering stack of parchment that sat on his desk; all that could be seen was only the tuff of his white hair. At Bertram's cries, he perked up.
"Oh, dear!" Flitwick squeaked, popping his head up and blinking several times behind his spectacles. "Slow down, Aubrey. What happened here, boys?"
"Professor," James cut in smoothly, leaning against the desk. "I was just showing Bertram how versatile a simple sticking charm can be. I think you, of all people, could appreciate the value of a bit of creative application," he eyed Sirius playfully, "And as for the wrapper, well, that was a mistake on Black's end. We were only trying to help him out with his aim," James grinned, despite Bertram's face, which was contorted in a mix of fury and disbelief.
James reached out and patted Bertram hard on the back. "That's what friends are for, right, Bert?"
"Wha-what? But—" Bertram spluttered helplessly.
Flitwick scrunched his face thoughtfully, twirling his long mustache, "Oh, quite a creative application indeed, Mr. Potter. Not exactly what I had in mind, but… well, let's get you unstuck then, shall we, Aubrey?"
James gave a satisfied grin as he made his way back to his seat. Flitwick gently flicked his wand and released Bertram's fingers with a soft pop, and with a second flick, the wrapper came next, falling off his forehead and fluttering to the ground in a sad crinkle.
Back at their table, Sirius was lounging lazily, his feet propped up on Bertram's empty chair next to him. He caught the Ravenclaw boy side-eyeing him from the front and offered a wink, twirling another wrapper in his fingers slowly as a threat. Peter snorted into his sleeve, trying to disguise it as a cough, and Remus sat near the back with Lily Evans, both completely confused.
When Bertram reluctantly slumped back down into his seat, crossing his arms, Sirius leaned over and whispered gleefully, "Glad you got that one sorted out, mate."
Bertram stiffened, but before he could retort, James leaned forward next, his friendly facade slipping.
"Next time," James said lowly, "Keep your nose and your fingers where they belong, Aubrey."
And that was the last time Bertram Aubrey sat next to them in Charms.
James, of course, was able to talk his way out of a detention with ease, walking out of class that day with nothing more than a measly five points docked from Gryffindor. And as Sirius walked out into the corridor with James by his side, he felt a flicker of admiration.
James Potter was all heart. He led a life completely shaped by emotion and instinct. To him, it was all or nothing. He was devotion without hesitation, loyalty without limit. He was generous, compassionate, and impossibly brave. But for every ounce of love he gave to his friends, he carried an equal measure of relentless fire for anyone who'd dare cross them.
Sirius didn't envy anyone who ended up on James Potter's bad side.
Not every class was as lively as Charms. Sirius found that they ranged from a mix of mildly entertaining to utterly intolerable.
History of Magic was easily the worst. Sirius spent the first couple lessons folding his parchment into tiny airplanes and launching them across the room, aiming for whoever was unfortunate enough to be sitting within range. If not that, he'd be doodling goblins in the margins of his notes, or slumped over his desk on the brink of sleep, drooling into his sleeve.
Potions was a close second. Sirius had entered the class with high expectations, hoping for something to explode or spew fire, but he was sorely disappointed. Instead, the bulk of the lesson consisted of measuring various ingredients meticulously and stirring them in slow, repetitive circles. The first potion they made took two class periods to yield a result, which mostly proved to be quite anticlimactic.
Slughorn sort of reminded Sirius of his Aunt Druella if she were three sizes larger and greying at the temples. He was irritatingly cheerful and just as nosy, drifting from cauldron to cauldron, offering commentary about everyone's personal lives and collecting his favourite students like Chocolate Frog cards.
The only student who seemed to match his enthusiasm was Lily Evans, who, despite being a muggle-born, brewed a perfect potion every time—or perhaps Peter, who had a knack for spot-on impersonations and clearly enjoyed mimicking Slughorn more than anyone else.
Defence Against the Dark Arts felt like a cruel joke. With their mysterious professor still conspicuously absent and no name ever listed on their timetable, someone had the brilliant idea to appoint Filch, of all people, as substitute. He seemed to take immense pleasure in assigning copious amounts of homework and reading, all of which came from some severely outdated and obscure texts.
The most interesting part of the class came before Filch crept in. That brief window of glorious chaos was when all the students gathered in clusters to gossip and theorise the mystery behind their nameless professor’s identity and secret ‘Ministry business.’ There were rumours flying around about everything ranging from dragon wrangling in Bulgaria to secret vampire huntings in Edinburgh.
But the most dramatic rumour came from Sirius Black himself, who declared loudly that his father had known the bloke personally. He crafted up some tale about the professor being involved in unclassified research of cursed objects. Sirius' seatmates leaned in close as he whispered that the bloke had gone mad and started speaking in Parseltongue, threatening to wipe the entirety of the Wizengamot into oblivion. He told them that the Ministry had no choice but to put the poor sod to rest, and now they were scrambling to cover up his death.
"C'mon, why else wouldn't they list a name on the timetable?" Sirius whispered to the poor kid next to him, who looked as if he were going to have nightmares later about the rumours. "You think Dumbledore really just forgot? Please."
James nudged him from the other side with his elbow, grinning, "You absolute menace."
It was all harmless fun, until Filch finally arrived, ordering absolute silence for the entire period. He spent most of the class hovering and shushing anyone who so much as breathed too loudly.
Transfiguration was by far Sirius' favourite, even though he wasn't as naturally gifted in the subject as James was. He had to work harder and the coursework challenged him, but not in the miserable way that Potions tested his patience or History of Magic tested his ability to stay awake. Transfiguration challenged him in a way that felt rewarding. It felt like magic in its most rebellious form—bending reality to his will.
And in their few short class periods, he'd grown quite fond of McGonagall. In fact, she'd come to be one of the only adults Sirius genuinely respected. Her classroom was oddly comforting and always smelt faintly sweet like Butterscotch. She did keep a bowl of golden-wrapped sweets on her desk, but Sirius was fairly certain that they were enchanted to zap anyone who dared to try and nick one.
McGonagall didn't coddle them or hound them, and she was stern but never cold. She was deeply passionate about her subject, but she trusted her students with the challenge, offering them a chance to wrestle with the magic themselves—figuring out what works and what doesn't, the techniques and the consequences. This past week, she took her usual seat up front, minding her own while they transfigured matchsticks into needles, trying not to poke each other's eyes out. At one point, she plucked one of the matchsticks for herself and struck it across the edge of her desk and lit a thin cigarette.
And then, there was Astronomy. Sirius didn't mind it as much as he wished he did. Like Charms, the Gryffindors shared Astronomy with the Ravenclaws. They'd only had one lesson so far, which involved a trip to the Astronomy Tower just before midnight, squinting through the telescopes and tracing constellations amongst the haze of stars. The Astronomy Tower was oddly calming at night, even if the wind bit harder now that autumn had crept in. Sirius was more sensitive to the cold than he'd like to admit, and found himself wishing he had doubled up on robes before the lesson. That first night, he leaned back lazily and pointed out all of the funny shapes of the stars his imagination could form. He pretended not to be as knowledgeable as he was in the subject, but the truth was that Sirius knew the night sky better than most.
If it was a particularly bad night, or the wind was unusually sharp, and the sky a deep black, it reminded him of his father.
He noticed quietly that Remus seemed to share his indifference to the subject. It was the one class where Remus had stood stiffly at the very front, right at the edge of the tower, but there was something solemn about the way he stared at the moon.
By the time Friday rolled around for their lesson in Herbology, Sirius was completely knackered. The week had dragged him through about ten rolls of parchment and one particularly sour encounter with Lucius Malfoy just before lunch. He'd been avoiding Lucius easily enough, but today, he hadn't been so lucky.
Peter, on the other hand, practically skipped to the classroom with his gecko, Sticks, clinging to his shoulder. He claimed that the greenhouse was 'enriching' for the creature, so Professor Sprout had granted him special permission to bring Sticks along to the lessons. It was a rare indulgence, considering any other professor wouldn't have dreamt of allowing pets in the classroom. But Sticks was extremely well-behaved and the old bird obviously had a soft spot for him, considering she showed up today offering him magical berries right from her pocket.
Lily and Remus filed in along with the rest of the Gryffindors, but hovered awkwardly near the entrance. Lily was wearing a green jumper beneath her robes to match her eyes. She leaned in close, murmuring something low before veering off to the far corner of the classroom where Severus sat, already sulking behind his large textbook. She glanced back guiltly before taking her seat, but Remus only gave a small and unbothered smile, taking up a spot quietly next to Peter, right behind Sirius and James.
Professor Sprout emerged from the greenhouse with a pipe between her fingers, waving away a thick cloud of smoke trailing closely behind her as she stepped into the classroom. Whatever she was smoking was definitely not tobacco. She quickly tucked the pipe back inside the pocket of her apron, which was patched and filled with colourful embroidery and soil stains.
"That's what they call 'weed'," Peter whispered confidently, leaning forward in his seat. "Reeks, doesn't it? My brother Kurtis used to smoke it in the attic. Drove Mum absolutely mad."
James smirked, "So that’s what Sprout's hiding back there…"
Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but much to his surprise, Remus beat him to it—even as slow as he tended to be with his words, stumbling over them.
"Reckon that's what she and Dumbledore do on weekends," he said, pausing with a slight grin, "Sit up here and get absolutely blitzed."
Sirius turned around with a boyish grin, "And what do you know about getting blitzed, Lupin?"
Remus had his head resting in his hand, his brown curls falling forward. He rolled his eyes, smirking.
"Wouldn't you like to know…"
Sirius tsked, "Always the quiet ones." He let his eyes drift slowly to Lily and Snape from across the room. "And why aren't you sitting with your girlfriend today, anyway?"
Remus' face fell and he shot a glare at Sirius, muttering, "She-she's not my girlfriend."
"Right," Sirius snorted, "Does Snape know that?"
"Piss off, Black."
Sirius grinned one last time before turning around in his seat, "Nice chat, Lupin."
But his cheerful expression quickly diminished once Professor Sprout announced that for their first practical of repotting Mandrakes, they'd be sorted into random pairs—each Gryffindor matched with a Slytherin to excercise inter-house camaraderie.
"Brilliant," Sirius muttered bitterly.
They followed her back into the greenhouse, which was damp and sunlit in soft streaks through the tall glass windows. Vines curled around the rafters and into the ceiling and the entire place shimmered green. Various pots of leafy Mandrakes sat in neat rows across a long oak table in the centre of the greenhouse. Professor Sprout began to sort everyone into their pairs, and when she had finally rallied off his name,
"Black, you'll be with Snape!"
Sirius' mouth fell open. He looked from Snape to Professor Sprout and back again, as if waiting for her to crack a grin and admit it was some cruel joke. When she didn't, he sighed, "You've got to be kidding me."
He stood there with his arms crossed waiting for Snape to join him at the front of the table, but Snape remained stiffly at his spot near the far end. With a huff, Sirius finally marched over to him and slumped lazily against the edge of the oak. Snape inched away immediately, sliding away his pair of gloves and earmuffs as if Sirius had some sort of disease. He looked up once only to glare.
"Oh, don't look too amused, Snivelly," Sirius grumbled, "You weren't exactly my first pick either."
Directly across from them, Remus had been paired with a pig-faced Slytherin called Mulciber, who looked far too old to be there, as if he'd been held back a year or two. Judging by the way Remus' shoulders slumped, Sirius had a feeling that this wasn't his first encounter with the Slytherin boy.
Sirius tugged on the thick dragonhide gloves and then the oversized fluffy earmuffs next, which were quite itchy. He felt sort of silly, like he was preparing to go sledding rather than rip screaming plants from their pots.
According to Sprout, the earmuffs were enchanted to block out all surrounding noise, particularly the Mandrake cries, but still picked up conversations among them clearly. The many wonders of magic.
Even Sticks had been protected. Sprout had cast a blissful, noiseless bubble around him, and the little creature was now curled up in a flower pot near the far windows, basking in the sunlight.
"Alright, children," Professor Sprout called out warmly from the front, "Who can tell me the proper way to handle a Mandrake seedling?"
Peter bounced on the balls of his feet while his hand shot up eagerly, but Sprout only gave him a fond smile and turned to Mary Macdonald instead, who had her hand raised calmly.
"Yes, Miss Macdonald?"
"Well, you have to make sure you grip the base firmly," Mary began, her dark, tight curls bouncing slightly as she spoke, "And pull in one smooth motion, quickly but gently so you don't bruise the roots."
"Very good," Sprout nodded, "Gentle hands, everyone! Remember what we learned from the reading."
Mary smiled wide and Sirius caught a glimmer of a gold atop of her robes— a heart-shaped locket that rested just above her collarbone, which paired well with her warm skin.
"Show off," Mulciber muttered under his breath, glaring at Mary.
Sirius didn't even bother lowering his voice as smirked coldly and leaned forward, his voice carrying across the table.
"Professor said it about twenty times last lesson. Grip, pull, don't bruise. Not exactly advanced theory—it's common sense, really."
Mulciber turned sharply to face him, his eyes narrowed.
"Weren't you meant to be in Slytherin? How's mummy coping with that one?"
Remus glanced at Sirius, a flicker of confusion and quiet intrigue in his expression.
But Sirius still had his eyes locked on Mulciber. He felt fury bubble in his chest as he spat through his teeth, "How does your—"
"Boys," Professor Sprout interrupted, eyeing them pointedly, "Save the chit-chat for after class, please."
And so, the lesson went on.
Everyone began yanking the Mandrakes from their ceramic pots, each root shrieking and wailing. Sirius flinched as Snape, expressionless, calmly pulled their root free. The Mandrake bellowed out a cry that somehow still bled faintly into Sirius' earmuffs, and flailed it’s tiny limbs. Sirius grimaced, unsettled by how much it resembled a human baby with it's pudgy fists and wet eyes.
Snape dropped it carefully into a seperate empty pot and picked up one of the trowels, but Sirius was aggressively scooping up piles of dirt with his hands and chucking them into the pot.
"Are you—um, are you well?" Snape asked, his voice laced with a surprising amount of empathy.
Sirius didn't even look up. With a tight jaw he muttered, "Not in the mood, Snivellus.”
Snape didn't press any further. He simply turned back to his own work, slowly inching away again, this time as if Sirius were a time bomb ready to burst.
From across the table, Remus, too, kept glancing at Sirius with heavy concern. He tore his gaze away, reaching for the Mandrake root that Mulciber was manhandling.
"Y-you-you’re twisting the stem too much—it-it'll snap before the root comes loose. Here, let me—"
Mulicber dropped the Mandrake roughly back into the pot and bulged his eyes at Remus, huffing, "S-s-s-spit it out Lupin, for Christ's sake,” he mocked, “Or better yet, how about you do us all a favour and shut your gob all together?"
Remus clenched his jaw, but there was a breath of silence before he suddenly slammed his fist down on the table, causing dirt flecks to fly everywhere and the whole table to rattle.
His voice echoed loud and everyone in the greenhouse gasped.
And this time, he didn’t stutter—not even once.
"How about you open your fuckin' ears for once? I mean, Christ, how bloody hard is it to operate that one pathetic brain cell rattling around your skull, you thick-headed, mouth-breathing—"
"MR. LUPIN!" Professor Sprout bellowed out in shock.
Right, so…
Dull, rule abiding prude.
Apparently not.
Mulciber puffed his large chest. "What the hell did you just say to me, Loony?"
"MR. MULCIBER!" She cried out next, rushing over to them.
But before Remus could retort or Professor Sprout could reach them, Sirius lunged his entire body forward and across the table without thinking. His elbow knocked into his and Snape's Mandrake pot, which fell to the floor and shattered.
Mulciber hardly had time to blink before Sirius reached out, using one hand to grab onto the collar of his robe and the other, a dirty gloved fist to sock him right in his piggy nose with a brutal right hook. Dirt smeared across Mulciber's cheek, mixing with the sudden gush of ruby red blood now dripping freely from his nostrils and onto the floor.
“Well, shit…” Remus mumbled.
Mulciber recoiled, knocking his back into the wall behind him. His eyes were wide and he looked genuinely terrified.
"You lunatic!" he shrieked, covering his nose with trembling hands, "You're mental! You're bloody mental!"
Sirius slid back to his side of the table, his chest heaving and his entire body buzzing with adrenaline. His knuckles were numb inside his glove and he glanced down at the blood smeared across them feeling a mix of nausea and satisfied victory twist in his stomach.
The room spun around him, drifting into a muffled chaos of Mandrake and human cries alike. Students crowded around Mulciber, whilst James rushed to Sirius' side, pulling him under his arm.
"Hey," James said slowly, “Breathe, alright? Sing it with me: sana, sana, culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana."
Sirius blinked, confused, as he repeated it back.
"Sana, sana, culito de rana…"
His breathing slowed, and he snorted, coming back to himself. "Potter, why are we singing about a frogs arse right now?"
James laughed, “Sorry, I panicked. Mum always used that one.”
But the chaos around them hadn't settled. Dirt and blood and ceramic shards littered the greenhouse floor.
"Lupin, Black—hallway, now," Professor Sprout ordered with the sterness of a disappointed mother, "Miss Evans, please take Mulciber to the hospital wing. Everyone else, move to classroom and stay seated, please."
Lily offered a steady hand on Mulciber's shoulder, guiding him out of the greenhouse. James and Peter both instinctively tried to follow their friends out into the corridor, but Sprout turned to them with a gentle but firm look that offered no room for argument.
"Potter, Pettigrew, I know you're concerned about your friends but I ask that you remain seated with the rest of the class."
Peter glanced between them with wide eyes, but James just frowned, his gaze locked heavily on Sirius. He dragged his feet all the way back to the classroom, letting the door click softly behind him.
Both Remus and Sirius slumped sorely out into the corridor, their backs pressed against the cold stone wall and their arms crossed over their chests. The adrenaline was wearing off now, and Sirius winced as he flexed his fingers and felt a dull ache spike through his knuckles.
Remus glanced sideways at him. "You're a right idiot, you know that?"
Sirius had his eyes fixed on the ground below, grumpily. "Yeah, well I don't regret it. He's an arsehole and he got exactly what he deserved."
Remus shook his head, scuffing his trainers on the ground. "Maybe he did," he paused slightly, "b-but if I went around punching every arsehole I came across, I'd be banned from every corner here to south of the Thames. Plus, my fists would turn to mashed beetroot.”
Sirius lifted his head slowly with a crooked grin. "Mashed beetroot?"
Remus shrugged, matching his grin. "Yeah. Red, lumpy, completely useless."
Sirius muttered, flexing his fingers again, "You forgot painful."
"Figured that bit was implied."
The classroom door creaked open behind them and out stepped Professor Sprout, her cheeks rosy and her robes covered in soil. The boys straightened instantly, their grins dropping.
"Come along, boys," she said, ushering them down the quiet corridor. "I believe the Headmaster would like a word.”
Notes:
‘Thames’ is a large river running through South London
‘Sana, sana, culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana’ translates loosely to: heal, heal, little frog tail, If not today, you’ll feel better tomorrow. The direct translation actually says frog’s ass lol
It’s a common Spanish children’s rhyme, used to calm them after a small injury, etc
Arina1 on Chapter 1 Tue 12 Aug 2025 04:23PM UTC
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grummygh0st on Chapter 1 Tue 12 Aug 2025 04:36PM UTC
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Arina1 on Chapter 1 Thu 28 Aug 2025 08:45AM UTC
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ehehhehehhheeeh on Chapter 1 Sun 17 Aug 2025 06:18PM UTC
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grummygh0st on Chapter 1 Sun 17 Aug 2025 06:55PM UTC
Last Edited Sat 23 Aug 2025 04:12PM UTC
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blueMoonz on Chapter 2 Fri 22 Aug 2025 10:55PM UTC
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grummygh0st on Chapter 2 Fri 22 Aug 2025 11:17PM UTC
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blueMoonz on Chapter 2 Sat 23 Aug 2025 01:12PM UTC
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blueMoonz on Chapter 7 Sat 23 Aug 2025 01:11PM UTC
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grummygh0st on Chapter 7 Sat 23 Aug 2025 11:49PM UTC
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blueMoonz on Chapter 8 Sat 06 Sep 2025 03:46AM UTC
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grummygh0st on Chapter 8 Sat 06 Sep 2025 03:49PM UTC
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