Chapter Text
“I want one!”
“Sirius, you have a perfectly fine Shooting Star. You do not need a new broomstick.”
“I WANT ONE!”
“No, Sirius. Now sit at the table and lower your voice. We do not shout.”
“I WANT A SILVER ARROW!”
“Sirius Castor!” This reprimand was accompanied by a sharp slash of his mother’s hand and a disapproving frown. The child in question clamped his mouth shut, a look of pure fury mixing with a dash of frustration. His arms were crossed, lips pressed tightly together, nostrils flaring in anger.
Walburga placed her hand on Sirius’ back, between his shoulderblades, and pushed him toward an empty table. The pair were in the Leaky Cauldron after a long day of shopping in Diagon Alley. Unfortunately, they had walked past Quality Quidditch Supplies on their way here, and Sirius’ eye had been caught by the bright display for the improved Silver Arrow broom. Walburga, however, was not in the mood for broomstick shopping and had denied him his heart’s desire. This was, of course, absolutely intolerable to the young Black scion, and he had vocal in his displeasure.
When the bartender, Tom, arrived at the table (the Black family always received personal service), Sirius spotted his opening. Tom was standing in such a way as to make it difficult for Walburga to get up quickly. The six-year-old wizard leaped to his feet and took a deep breath.
“I WANT A SILVER ARROW!”
He flung out his arms as he bellowed, sending a wave of freezing water out from his body. Walburga shrieked as she was doused by Sirius’ magic, scrambling to her feet. Tom stumbled back, sputtering, and bumping into the older witch as she tried to escape her seat to reach her son.
Sirius, his grey eyes dark and narrowed, jumped from his seat and ran for the door. “I’ll get it myself!”
“Sirius Castor Black!” Walburga’s shriek echoed behind the young wizard, but Sirius ignored his mother, shoving through the doors and running down the street. He pushed people aside, darting out into the road and ignoring the cars (cars—he knew what they were, but he had never seen any close up before). They all swerved to miss him, anyway. Sirius Black in a full magical tantrum couldn’t possibly be hit by a car.
When Sirius stopped running to catch his breath, he looked around, a dark scowl still on his face. His mother wasn’t behind him. He must have run too fast for her. The boy grinned at the thought, stretching his arms over his head and then spinning around with a laugh. “Squibface!” he called in the direction he had run from, blowing a raspberry for his mother.
Now that she was out of the way, it was time to find his broomstick. Sirius put his shoulders back, stood up tall, and looked at the nearest shop. Waterstones? What was that supposed to be?
Well, Sirius didn’t need water, or stones, and he certainly didn’t need books on water or stones. He skipped down the street to look at the next shop. Tesco? What was a Tesco? An uneasy little frown started to fill the boy’s face, and he turned in a slow circle, looking at all the other shops. He didn’t recognize any of them. Not one. And now that he was actually looking… those really were cars on the streets. And everyone was dressed like muggles...
Sirius broke into a run again, pushing past people and baby carriages and dashing across streets, running frantically. He cut through a park, across another road, and finally came to a stop when he tripped over the hem of his robes, scraping the palms of his hands against the ground. Scowling, biting his lip to keep from crying from the pain in his hands, Sirius climbed to his feet, panting heavily. He had no idea where he was. There were muggles everywhere. A big statue thing. A big fence. A big palace… oh. Palace. Sirius stared up at the big house with surprise. This was where the queen lived. He knew about the queen. For a muggle, she wasn’t too bad, his daddy said, but his mummy always responded with just a sniff.
Sirius rubbed his hands on his robes to get the dirt off, wincing as they scraped against the raw skin of his palms, and looked around again with wide eyes. He knew where he was now, but he didn’t know where his mummy was, or how to get home. What was he going to do? Was he going to die here? Were the muggles going to eat him when the sun set? Or was that just trolls?
“Hullo.”
Sirius jerked around at the sound of another boy. And it was another boy, shorter and fatter than Sirius, and dressed in muggle clothes, but he was sucking on a lolly. Sirius stared at him until the other boy shifted a little awkwardly and then pulled the lolly out of his mouth, offering it to Sirius. The young wizard accepted the lolly solemnly and sniffed it, then touched his tongue to it. Raspberry. Sirius’ favorite. He smiled and popped it into his own mouth.
“You look lost,” the blond boy said, locking his hands together behind his back and rocking back and forth. “You wanna come with me? Me an’ Mum an’ Dad an’ Sylvie, we’re seeing everything! We’re looking at the palace now, but then we’re gonna do a bus tour! On top of a bus!” He grabbed Sirius’ wrist and hauled him over to where two adult muggles were standing with an even younger little girl.
Sirius watched silently, working his tongue around the lolly, as the blond boy tugged on his mother’s sleeve and announced that he had found a friend. And he watched silently as the muggle parents stared down at Sirius in shock and asked him where his parents were. Sirius didn’t say anything, just gave a shrug and bit down on the lolly (even though you aren’t supposed to bite a lolly, just lick it). That made the muggles look even more shocked, and the mother took Sirius’ hand while the father went off.
Sirius frowned at the big hand around his own little one and pulled the lolly out of his mouth. “I can do magic,” he informed the muggle. “So if you try to eat me, I’ll make your brains asplode.”
“I don’t eat little boys,” the mother told Sirius. She had a nice smile. Sirius put the lolly back in his mouth and rolled it over his teeth, still frowning at her.
The muggles passed Sirius off to what they called please-men, and the please-men were all named Bobby. Except the lady at the desk. Her name was Cindy. Cindy was very friendly, but she kept trying to give Sirius odd drinks while she asked him questions.
“What is your name?”
“Sirius Castor Black. May I have some pumpkin juice, please?” Sirius’ lolly was long gone (he had bit it too many times and it fell apart, and then he crunched it until all the raspberry was gone. Cindy had thrown the stick away).
“We don’t have, er, pumpkin juice, sweetie.” Cindy was a tall woman with short grey hair and very big arms. Very big all over, too. She looked squishy, like Sirius’ stuffed dog (for the dog star he was named after). “Would you like some apple juice?”
“Pump-kin juice,” Sirius repeated, wondering if he had slurred his words the way everyone kept telling him not to. How could you not have pumpkin juice?
“We don’t have pumpkin juice,” Cindy repeated. “We have apple juice or orange juice, but no pumpkin juice.”
Sirius folded his arms, a frown starting on his face, and Cindy quickly poured him a glass of apple juice, offering it to the little boy before he could throw a tantrum. Sirius took the glass warily, sniffing the juice before sticking his tongue in the glass and tipping it so he could taste it. “Tastes like apples!”
“That’s why we call it apple juice,” Cindy replied with a smile. “Where do you live, Sirius?”
“Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London,” Sirius rattled off between gulps of his apple juice. “What does orange juice taste like? Does it taste like oranges? Or is it just orange juice because it’s the color orange?”
“It tastes like oranges, sweetie. What is your phone number?”
Sirius set his glass down and wiped his apple juice mustache off on the sleeve of his robes. “What’s a phone number?”
“You don’t know your phone number?” Cindy looked surprised. Sirius didn’t like that look—it made him feel stupid for not knowing. He crossed his arms and scowled.
“I might know my phone number, if I knew what a phone number was! Maybe I just call it something different! What’s a phone number?”
“A phone number is, um, a number someone else will dial in their phone to call your family…” Cindy had never had to explain phones to a boy this old before.
“Oh!” Sirius brightened up. “Yeah, I do know that. You mean Floo address. Floo, not phone. That’s Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.”
“Er… no, Sirius. That’s your address. I’m looking for your phone number…”
“Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place! That’s what you gotta say into the Floo to call my house,” Sirius said. “I know, ‘cause I’ve done it afore. From Uncle Alphard’s, when our lessons are going to run late because he says I’ve been a bad boy and not practicing, but you wouldn’t practice either if you had to sing dozy old funeral marches like Ave Maria or Nessum dorma, would you? I’d practice if I got to sing fun songs, like… like… O Fortuna! Yeah, I’d sing that song, wouldn’t you? It’s loud. I like loud things-“
“Ah… how about your parents’ names?” Cindy asked, cutting off Sirius’ ramblings.
“Orion and Walburga Black,” Sirius said promptly. “I like that name, Orion. Do you like that name? Cindy’s a weird name. I’ve never met a Cindy before. Never met a Bobby, either. How many Bobbies do you have here? Are there any other Cindys? Do all muggle boys get named Bobby and all muggle girls get Cindy? That’s stupid. I’m Sirius Castor, and there are other Siriuses in my family, but they’re all dead now. But I can see them on the tree, and their pictures talk to me. I don’t like Sirius Phineas very much. He’s freaky, and he has a really big beard, and it’s all pointy. I don’t think I want a pointy beard. Daddy’s beard isn’t pointy…”
Sirius stayed with the please-men for two hours. He found a lot of ways to entertain himself during that time, from critiquing the pictures on the walls—“They aren’t moving! Why aren’t your pictures moving? At home, all my pictures move, even the bad ones. And if they’re painted pictures, they talk to me too, but if they were just taken with a camera, then they don’t talk to me. These don’t look painted, so it’s okay that they’re not talking, but they look like they could be exciting. Was this a car? The back part looks like a car, but the front part is all crumpled. See, if it was moving, we could see the car hit the pole, right? Or was this picture not taken as the car hit? I’d like to see a car hit something. They go fast, but not as fast as broomsticks…”—to marveling over the television—“See, now that’s what a moving picture should look like! But why does it have to be in a bo-OH! It talked! It was taken with a camera, but it’s talking to me! Hello in there! I’m Sirius, what are your names… what? Why would I want to make my whites whiter? What does that even mean? I’m trying to talk to you! Stop ignoring me!”—to learning about guns—“So, you point it at people and they die? It’s like a wand? Like a wand that you can only do one spell with? That’s stupid. Because why would you just want a wand that hurts people? What if you ripped your robes or something? You couldn’t use your wand to fix it because it only hurts things, and if you used your wand then you’d probably just hurt it even worse. Talk about stupid ideas. And it’s so funny-shaped, too. And why does it have a hole at the end? A wand shouldn’t have a hole. I don’t have a wand yet, but Daddy lets me borrow his when he’s teaching me things. I can make things catch on fire. Can your wand make things catch on fire?”
The please-men seemed inordinately happy when Orion Black showed up that evening, led by a Ministry of Magic official. Orion was wearing muggle clothes! Sirius gaped at the sight of his father in muggle trousers before leaping off Cindy’s desk (and knocking over his second glass of orange juice in the process). He dashed over to his father, flinging his arms around Orion’s legs and babbling on and on about moving pictures and death wands and why was Daddy wearing muggle clothes and he looked funny in muggle clothes…
Orion touched his finger to Sirius’ lips, silencing the stream of words. “Are you hurt?”
“No, sir,” Sirius answered. “But I haveta go pee. I drank lots of juice. Did you know that you can have apple and orange juice? I want to try to make banana juice, and pineapple juice, and pear juice, and cherry juice, and-” Another touch of Orion’s finger cut off the words again.
“Do not slur your words,” he reprimanded Sirius before giving a little nod to the official. The smaller wizard gulped and nodded, lifting his wand.
“All right, everyone, if you could look this way…”
Sirius was led out of the please-men’s home as the official Obliviated everyone Sirius had talked to. He curled his fingers around his father’s warm hand and smiled up at the older wizard. “I had fun today, Daddy.”
“I am glad you were not harmed,” Orion said, offering the boy a thin smile in return. “But Sirius, you were a very bad boy today. You should not have disobeyed your mother.”
Sirius took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh, hanging his head and scuffing his feet until Orion gave a sharp tug on his arm. He walked properly after that. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I just wanted a broom.”
“Perhaps, for your birthday, you can receive a new broom. If you behave yourself.”
Sirius brightened up considerably, flinging his arms around his father in a spontaneous hug when they stopped in a dark alley. “Thank you, Daddy!”
Orion waited patiently for Sirius to finish his embrace before seizing the boy’s arm firmly and Apparating home.
