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Sirius felt pathetic. He’d thought that coming to Hogwarts would be a good thing. Hogwarts was supposed to be magical. He’d looked forward to doing all the things kid wizards were supposed to do; make new friends, learn fun spells, play games and have fun. He’d been so hopeful when he got onto the train and met James. Sure, James wasn’t the type of person his family associated with, but he came from the right family. They couldn’t possibly object to him being friends with the heir to the Black fortune. And Sirius was smart. There was no doubt in his mind that he could be one of the top students in his class with ease.
He’d been foolish enough to think he might make his parents proud of him for once. But instead, he was sitting in the largest armchair in the Gryffindor common room, crying at midnight like the disappointment he was. He made himself as small as possible, his legs tucked into his chest and his head resting on his knees as he stared at the dwindling fire. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he didn’t bother wiping them away. More would come anyway, so what was the point?
He’d been at Hogwarts for two entire days. He shouldn’t be sad. He was a Gryffindor, for Merlin’s sake. Gryffindors were brave. Courageous. Gryffindors didn’t cry over something as small as a harshly worded letter from their mother. Except that was the problem. He was a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin like everyone in his family had been before him.
The stairs leading to the boy’s dormitories creaked, making Sirius jump. He furiously wiped at his eyes with the sleeves of his pajama top and looked up in time to see his new roommate standing at the base of the stairs. Remus, a small, gangly limbed boy with messy tawny curls that looked like he never combed them. A boy who wore jumpers about two sizes too big for him and whose eyes looked much older than a boy of eleven’s eyes should.
Remus rubbed at his eye with a jumper-covered fist and blinked as he adjusted to the light. “Sirius?”
Sirius forced a bright smile, trying to hide the fact that he’d been crying. “Remus, hey,” he croaked, his voice betraying him. He sighed and let the smile fall from his face. What was the point?
“What are you doing up?” he asked as Remus padded across the room.
“I couldn’t sleep, and when I got up to get some water, I noticed your bed was empty,” Remus replied.
“Homesick?”
Remus hesitated for a moment before nodding. “A bit.”
Later, Sirius would figure out Remus’ secret, look back at the date, and realize that Remus was lying. But at that moment, he just nodded and looked back at the fire.
“Can I sit?” Remus asked, gesturing at the space next to Sirius on the armchair, which was really more of a mini sofa since it big enough for the two of them, seeing as they were so small.
Sirius scooted over to give him more room, and Remus sat, pulling his knees up to his chest to match Sirius’ posture.
“Are you homesick?”
Sirius shook his head. “I think home is sick of me, though.”
Remus wrinkled his brow in confusion.
He didn’t feel much like explaining, so Sirius handed Remus the letter he had still scrunched in a ball in his hand. Gently, Remus straightened the page out and scanned the words written by his mother in a beautiful, loopy cursive that didn’t match the hatred and disappointment behind them. Remus let out a small scoff and balled the page up again before setting it on the coffee table in front of them. Before Sirius could grab it back, Remus pulled his wand out and pointed it at the crumpled paper.
Sirius stopped mid-motion. “What are you doing?”
“Wingardium Leviosa,” he said, enunciating each syllable. The paper rose a few inches off the table, then Remus flicked his wand, sending it straight into the smoldering embers in the fireplace. He tucked his wand back into his pocket.
They sat for a few minutes until Remus broke the silence. “You should just ignore her. She’s a batty, old woman, and she doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” he said simply. Then he pulled a large bar of chocolate out of his pajama bottom pocket.
Sirius looked at him and tilted his head. “Do you just carry chocolate with you at all times? Because I noticed you pull some out in the middle of History of Magic yesterday, then again during Transfiguration today.”
“I have a massive sweet tooth,” Remus admitted, breaking a giant chunk off the bar. “My mam keeps saying I’m going to get a cavity.”
“Cavity?”
“It’s when your teeth rot, and then you have to go to the dentist to get them to fill the hole,” he explained before adding in a smaller voice, “Mam is a Muggle.”
“Muggles can fill holes in people’s teeth?” Sirius asked in wonder. “Wicked.”
Remus’ shoulders relaxed, and he smiled. “Do you want some?”
Sirius looked at the chocolate bar in Remus’ outstretched hand. He’d never been the biggest fan of chocolate, or sweets in general, but he didn’t want to risk his forming friendship with Remus by turning down his kindness. So Sirius nodded and broke off a small piece. He popped it into this mouth and closed his eyes at it melting on his tongue. “Merlin’s beard, that’s good,” he said as he chewed.
Remus chuckled. “You act as if you’ve never had chocolate before.”
“I haven’t. At least, not chocolate, that’s as good as that was. The only stuff my mother keeps around it the fancy stuff that’s nearly as bitter as she is.”
Remus laughed louder, then broke the bar in half and handed the larger half to Sirius. “Here. It’s a Muggle brand. I’ll have my mam send me some for you to bring home. That’ll be sure to piss off your evil mother.”
“You’re not the quiet, mild-mannered boy everyone thinks you are, are you?”
A pink tint rose on Remus’ cheeks, and he shoved a giant chunk of chocolate in his mouth. Sirius beamed at him and did the same. Maybe being in Gryffindor wouldn’t be so bad.