Work Text:
The eleven-year-old arrived at platform nine and three-quarters with a smile as locks of black hair cascaded down around a pair of gray eyes, which also smiled, twinkling from the excitement of attending Hogwarts for his first year. He pulled forward in excitement, forgetting the small hand holding onto his while ignoring the adult hand holding onto the back of his clothing.
Walburga Black muttered something about behaving, keeping a level tone as Sirius heard the words yet didn ’t internalize them as his idea of acting remained different from that of the Black family matriarch, as a voice in the back of his head contemplated all of her restrictions as stifling and restrictive while the small figure next to him never seemed to have the same problem.
There came the muttering of something else as his trunk was loaded on the train, and then he was off, the small hand of his younger brother released as he muttered a hurried goodbye, excited about the sorting and making new friends. He pulled his trunk through the hall with a huge grin, past the other students.
“Wait. Isn’t he a Black?”
“Yeah. Doesn’t their family, you know, cast illegal spells on their children?”
The smile faltered. Confusion set in, his ears picking up for the first time what wizards and witches outside of the family thought of the Black family and—
It was a nightmare, hearing that one ’s family was less than honorable.
“No. Far from honorable,” Sirius thought as he hurried to find an empty compartment. He swallowed, the smile gone, hearing things as he walked by the older students about how he was sure to be sorted into Slytherin, that nobody good ever came from that house. “They want me to be good but want me sorted into that house?”
In the mind of an eleven-year-old, the internalization of various thoughts was a confused cacophony. Yet, there was also the wondering if he could ever make any friends, the kind he ’d want to make if he was sorted into a house where nobody good ended up. After all—
“Hi,” a voice said, drawing him out of his gloom. “My name is James Potter.”
“Sirius Black,” Sirius muttered, brushing a lock of black hair away from his eyes, reminding him that certain features always told people if someone was a member of the family, something he knew even with his limited interaction with people outside of their home. There was no hiding this from the boy in front of him.
“Oh.”
“My parents don’t use illegal spells on us,” Sirius blurted out.
“Where did that come from?” James said. He then laughed. “You’re funny. I hope we can be friends. I hope to be sorted into Gryffindor. How about you?”
“The same,” Sirius said, making up his mind not to be sorted into Slytherin, not to let his family name and family expectations hold him back. The grin returned. “I hope we can be friends as well.”