Chapter Text
Sirius had always known he was different.
He tried not to be.
He tried to stand the way his father stood—chin lifted, shoulders squared, as if the world were something to be conquered. He tried to speak the way his mother spoke—cool, measured, every word dipped in superiority. He tried to be what they wanted.
The heir to the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
Pristine. Untouchable. Perfect.
But no matter how well he mimicked them, something in him resisted. Something restless and sharp and alive. His mother reminded him often of who he was meant to be—as though repetition could carve it into his bones.
He had to be better. Stronger. Colder.
He had to uphold the family ideals.
Deep down, though, he knew those ideals were rotten.
He felt it every time they laughed over murdered Muggles. Every time they spat slurs like venom. Every time they spoke of “purity” as if it were something holy.
Yes. Sirius Black was different.
He just hadn’t realised how different… until Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
He shook his father’s hand in silence. No hug. No words of encouragement. Just a firm grip and a nod.
Then he turned, stepping onto the Hogwarts Express.
The corridor buzzed with life as Sirius dragged his trunk behind him. Laughter spilled from compartments. Friends reunited after summers apart. Parents cried into handkerchiefs on the platform below.
His wand strap bit into his arm. His trunk felt impossibly heavy.
He glanced out the window.
His family had already left.
Of course they had.
“Siri!”
He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Bellatrix leaned against a compartment door halfway down the carriage. Her sleek black curls cascaded down her back despite the emerald ribbon tying them high. Her velvet robes hung open over a black skirt and silk blouse. One stiletto heel stretched into the corridor, deliberately blocking his path.
She smiled.
Sirius could never decide what was worse—her anger or her amusement.
“Are you not sitting with us?” she asked sweetly. “Aunt Wal made me promise we’d look after you.”
“You know she hates when you call her that,” Sirius sighed, approaching anyway.
Bellatrix stepped aside with theatrical grace.
Inside sat Narcissa, immaculate as ever in white silk that matched her pale hair and porcelain skin. Lucius Malfoy sat beside her—his mirror in platinum and composure. They looked less like a couple and more like carefully arranged porcelain dolls. Their prefect badges shone brightly catching in the sunlight.
So many arranged marriages for purity’s sake. Sirius tried not to think how closely related they really were. Though, he had to admit, Narcissa looked happy.
Avery and Rodolphus Lestrange joined them soon after. Rodolphus gave Sirius a look that made his skin crawl—something predatory and smug beneath the surface as he sat curling an arm around Bellatrix.
Sirius chose the window seat.
Outside, the countryside blurred past in streaks of green and gold while Bellatrix and Narcissa debated wedding colours.
“Oh, honestly, Siri,” Bellatrix groaned, tossing a Chocolate Frog at his head. “If you’re going to make friends, at least pretend to sound interested.”
He caught it and bit the frog’s head off, holding eye contact as he chewed.
“I’m eleven. Does it shock you that I don’t care about table settings?”
Narcissa laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “You’re more mature than most boys in my year.”
“Anyway,” Bellatrix added brightly, “we’ll be planning your wedding in three years.”
Sirius choked.
“I’m sorry—three?”
“You turn twelve this week,” she said smoothly. “Heirs marry at sixteen. Tradition.”
“Magnifique,” he muttered.
Bellatrix’s eyes sharpened. “Careful. You can’t mutter in French if you want a suitable friend, let alone a suitable wife.”
“Well, if Sirius’s future wife can’t understand what Magnifique means, then I fear she’s stupid enough to marry him.”
Laughter rippled through the compartment.
Sirius forced a smile and turned back to the window.
The knot in his stomach tightened.
By the time they reached Hogsmeade, the air had grown colder.
First years clustered nervously as an enormous man bellowed instructions. Sirius stepped onto the platform, breathing in the sharp Scottish chill.
“Leave your trunk,” Bellatrix ordered as he reached for it. “The elves will take it.”
Of course, they would.
“Now,” she continued, turning sharply, “Avery, go with the first years. Cover for him.”
Not a request.
Sirius arched a brow. “And me?”
“We have a tradition,” she said, smiling too widely.
Wonderful. Family traditions rarely ended without blood.
The carriage waiting for them moved on its own.
Sirius leaned over the side, watching the wheels turn.
“How does it work?”
“Thestrals,” Rodolphus said flatly. “Invisible. You can only see them if—”
Bellatrix’s hand tightened on his thigh in warning.
“You’ll learn about them soon enough,” she told Sirius softly.
Something in her tone made his skin prickle.
The castle loomed ahead, ancient and magnificent.
Instead of joining the crowd, Bellatrix led him down dim corridors far beneath the school.
They stopped before a stone wall carved with a serpent.
“Cor serpentis.”
The wall slid open.
“Welcome, cousin,” she purred, “to the Slytherin common room.”
The room gleamed in shades of green and silver. Black leather sofas. Serpents etched into the wood. Tall windows revealing the murky depths of the lake.
It looked disturbingly like Grimmauld Place.
“If I go in there in my robes, they’ll change,” Sirius said sharply. “Everyone will know.”
Bellatrix rolled her eyes, stripping off his tie and robe, shoving it into Rodolphus’s hands. “Keep watch,” she spat before dragging Sirius inside.
The door sealed behind them with a heavy, echoing thud.
The Slytherin common room stretched wide beneath a low, arched stone ceiling. The air was cool and faintly damp, carrying the scent of smoke and old stone. Light filtered in through enormous panes of thick glass set into one curved wall, casting the room in wavering green shadows.
Beyond the glass, the lake pressed close and dark.
“Are we under the loch?” he asked, knowing it was a stupid question as he wandered over to the glass wall, watching fish swim past.
A pale shoal drifted by like ghosts. Silver bodies flashing, then vanishing into green gloom. Something longer moved deeper below — a ripple of muscle and shadow distorted by murky water.
Other than the giant windows into the lake, the room looked identical to Twelve Grimmauld Place.
The same green vine wallpaper crawled up the walls in elaborate, twisting patterns. Green cushions were scattered across black leather sofas arranged with deliberate symmetry. Snakes coiled along the walls, engraved into the dark wood furnishings and coving, their emerald eyes catching what little light there was.
A marble fireplace crackled low, its mantle carved with serpents devouring their own tails.
Everything was polished. Intentional. Old.
It wasn’t simply a common room.
It was an inheritance.
Sirius stepped closer to the glass, resting his palm against its cool surface. The lake pressed back—thick and endless. For a fleeting second, he imagined himself on the other side of it.
Suspended in the dark.
Soundless.
Watching the world through warped, green-tinted glass while it moved on without him.
Trapped beneath the surface. Close enough to see freedom, but separated by something solid and unbreakable.
The thought settled heavily in his chest.
Behind him, Bellatrix sprawled across one of the sofas like a queen claiming her throne. Arms stretched along the backrest. Legs crossed lazily. Watching him.
“Only right that the heir sees it first.”
Ah.
This wasn’t kindness.
It was strategy.
If he knew the room, he could walk in later like he belonged. Like he had always belonged. Like the walls had shaped him.
He turned slowly, forcing casual interest. Trailing his fingers along the back of a leather sofa. Examining shelves lined with silver trinkets. Letting his gaze linger just long enough on the great glass wall to suggest awe instead of unease.
“Now I understand where my parents’ décor style came from,” he said lightly.
Bellatrix laughed, pleased. “We are very proud Slytherins in this family.”
Of course you are.
“Well,” Sirius sighed after a moment, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve, “we should go. Wouldn’t want to lose Slytherin points before I’m even sorted.”
Her eyebrow twitched.
He turned for the door.
Her grip on his wrist was sudden and painful.
Nails dug into skin.
She rose without releasing him, stepping close enough that he could see the sharpness behind her smile. The lake light flickered across her face, turning her eyes almost black.
“Today decides your future,” she whispered.
Outside the glass, something large shifted in the depths.
“Don’t. Fuck. It. Up.”
For a moment, Sirius didn’t pull away.
Then, slowly, he slipped his wrist from her grasp.
The glass reflected them both—distorted, green, inevitable.
He refused to look back at it as he turned towards the door.
The hallway outside the Great Hall was chaos.
First years clustered in anxious knots, robes too big, eyes too wide. The doors remained shut, trapping the roar of the older students inside.
Sirius slipped into the crowd, drawn toward a heated voice.
“You have to be in Slytherin,” a sallow boy insisted sharply.
“I don’t have to be anywhere,” replied a red-haired girl, clutching a book to her chest. “I’d be happy in any house.”
“I want Gryffindor,” declared a smaller boy with messy black hair and round glasses. He shoved them up his nose with determined enthusiasm. “All my family have been. They say it’s brilliant.”
Beside him stood a taller boy—thin, shoulders slightly hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller. Sandy hair fell into his eyes, and there was something watchful about him. Thoughtful. Careful.
“I don’t mind,” the taller boy said quietly. “Gryffindor. Maybe Ravenclaw. I just… don’t think I’d fit in Slytherin.”
His voice was soft, but steady.
Sirius smiled before he could stop himself.
“I couldn’t see you in Slytherin,” he said, looking directly at the taller boy. “You think too much.”
The boy blinked, startled. His amber eyes caught the torchlight.
“And you,” Sirius added, turning to the smaller one, “absolutely scream Gryffindor.”
The smaller boy grinned instantly. “I do?”
“Reckless confidence. Bit loud. Glasses you’ll probably lose in battle someday.”
The boy barked a laugh. “James Potter.”
“Sirius Black.”
James’s eyes widened. “Black? As in—”
“Yes,” Sirius cut in lightly. “Unfortunately.”
There was a beat.
James studied him—measuring, not judging.
“Well,” James said decisively, sticking out his hand, “if you’re secretly dreadful, I’ll simply have to improve you.”
Sirius stared at him.
Then he laughed—really laughed.
He shook James’s hand.
“Bold of you to assume I need improving.”
“Oh, you absolutely do,” James replied cheerfully. “But don’t worry. I’m very generous.”
The red-haired girl rolled her eyes. “You’ve known each other for thirty seconds.”
“Feels longer,” Sirius sighed, feigning lust.
The taller boy huffed a quiet laugh, almost involuntary.
Sirius glanced at him again.
“And you are?”
“Remus Lupin.”
He said it like he expected nothing from it.
Sirius tilted his head slightly.
“Lupin,” he repeated thoughtfully. “You don’t strike me as reckless enough for Gryffindor.”
Remus’s mouth twitched. “I can surprise people.”
James slung an arm around Remus’s shoulders. “He read the whole way here but insists he’s not clever enough for Ravenclaw.”
“I never said that,” Remus protested.
“You implied it.”
“I absolutely did not.”
The red-haired girl cleared her throat sharply.
“If you’d all actually read Hogwarts, A History,” she began, holding up her book, “you’d know the founders created the houses based on specific traits. It’s not random.”
Sirius arched a brow. “And you must be a mud-Muggle-born.”
Her spine stiffened. “And what of it?”
“No offence intended,” he said smoothly. “It’s just that the only people who quote that book word for word are Muggle-borns.”
James looked between them, alarmed. Remus watched Sirius carefully.
“But,” Sirius continued, more thoughtfully now, “the book simplifies things.”
Lily hesitated.
“How?”
“Houses aren’t destiny,” Sirius said. “They’re tendencies.”
He ticked them off on his fingers.
“Slytherins are ambitious. Resourceful. Excellent leaders. They make brilliant politicians.” His voice dipped slightly. “They also have a habit of crossing lines to get what they want.”
Severus sniffed.
“Hufflepuffs are loyal,” Sirius continued. “Hardworking. The kind of friends who’d help you hide a body.” He paused. “They can also be so loyal they defend someone even when they know they’re wrong.”
Remus’s expression shifted—like he hadn’t expected that kind of nuance.
“Ravenclaws are clever. Incredibly so. Curious. Innovative.” Sirius shrugged lightly. “They also tend to think they’re the smartest person in the room. Which isn’t always helpful.”
Lily’s lips twitched despite herself.
“And Gryffindors,” Sirius said, turning to James, “are brave.”
James beamed.
“So brave,” Sirius continued, eyes glinting, “they’d run straight into dragon fire without thinking if they believed it was the right thing to do.”
James looked even more delighted.
“Dummies,” Sirius finished lightly.
James gasped. “How dare you.”
Remus laughed—soft, warm, unguarded.
Sirius felt it somewhere uncomfortably deep.
“And what are you?” Remus asked quietly.
It wasn’t mocking.
It was genuine.
Sirius hesitated.
“Undecided,” he said.
It was the most honest thing he’d said all day.
“That was very inspiring, Mr. Black.”
They all jumped.
Professor McGonagall stood behind them, lips thin but eyes faintly amused.
James removed his arm from Remus at lightning speed.
“We haven’t even started school yet,” James muttered to Sirius, “and you’re already being told off.”
“Efficiency is important,” Sirius replied solemnly.
Remus’s smile lingered.
The Great Hall doors swung open.
Candlelight flooded the corridor. Stars shimmered overhead.
James nudged Sirius. “Race you to Gryffindor.”
“You’re assuming quite a lot today, Potter.”
“Oh, I am,” James grinned. “Get used to it.”
And as they followed Professor McGonagall inside, Sirius realised something strange.
For the first time in his life, Slytherin didn’t feel inevitable.
And neither did loneliness.
Students gasped with excitement and awe, craning their necks at the long House tables, the floating candles, the enchanted night sky glittering above them. The first years were led between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables toward the raised platform at the front of the hall.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward. The staff sat in a long row behind her, faces lit gold by candlelight. A golden phoenix perched upon the podium stretched its wings as she approached, and she tapped it lightly with her scroll to call for silence.
The hall obeyed instantly.
“Welcome, new and returning students. For those of you who do not know me, I am Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House and Professor of Transfiguration.
“Shortly, the Sorting Ceremony will begin. Once sorted, our new students will sit with their fellow housemates. Afterward, you will hear from the Headmaster, and then we shall dine. First years will be escorted to their dormitories by their prefects while the rest of you remain here.”
Her lips twitched slightly.
“Now… shall we begin?”
With a flick of her wand, an old, patched brown hat appeared atop a three-legged stool.
The scroll in her hand unfurled dramatically to the floor.
“Amber Byrne.”
A small, mousy-haired girl shuffled forward and sat rigidly as the hat dropped over her eyes.
The hall held its breath.
“HUFFLEPUFF!”
Cheers erupted from the table draped in yellow and black as Amber hurried toward it, flushed and grinning.
“Did that hat just speak?” Cassius whispered beside Sirius.
“Yes,” Sirius replied quietly. “Alphabetical too. You won’t have long.”
Cassius huffed a nervous laugh. “With a name like Cassius Avery, I never do.”
True to Sirius’s word, the hat barely brushed Cassius’s hair before shouting—
“SLYTHERIN!”
Whoops and sharp applause burst from the green-draped table. Sirius caught Bellatrix’s satisfied smirk. Cassius looked visibly relieved as he joined them.
The Sorting dragged on.
Names blurred. Faces blurred. The shouting hat and cheering tables became distant noise.
“James Potter.”
Sirius straightened slightly.
James strode forward with far too much confidence for someone about to have his entire future decided by millinery. Halfway up the steps, he glanced back at Sirius.
Sirius smirked.
The hat touched James’s head—
“GRYFFINDOR!”
The table exploded. James tore the hat off himself and ran toward the cheers, triumphant. He shot Sirius a look that said, “ told you so,” before vanishing into red and gold.
“There’s that Mudblood from earlier,” Mulciber muttered to Sirius. “Bet she’ll be in Hufflepuff. That’s where they all go.”
Sirius didn’t look at him.
“I don’t know, Wulfric,” he said lazily. “She’s well-read. Stood up to you. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was in—”
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Lily Evans beamed as she hurried to the same table.
Mulciber scowled.
Next came Remus Lupin.
He stepped forward far more cautiously than James had. Shoulders slightly hunched. Hands clenched briefly at his sides before he forced them still.
The hat settled.
It didn’t shout.
It murmured.
Seconds stretched. The hall shifted impatiently.
Sirius found himself leaning forward without meaning to.
Remus’s hazel eyes flicked toward the Gryffindor table, then to Sirius — just briefly.
Then—
“GRYFFINDOR!”
The table roared again.
Remus smiled — small, relieved — and made his way toward the cheers. James immediately tugged him down beside him, talking animatedly.
And then—
“Sirius Black.”
The room changed.
It wasn’t louder.
It was quieter.
Even the ghosts seemed to still mid-hover.
Sirius stood.
Every step to the stool felt measured, watched. Watched.
He didn’t look at the Slytherin table.
He didn’t look at Bellatrix.
He sat.
The hat dropped over his eyes, and the world disappeared.
Silence.
Then a voice — ancient, amused.
“My, my. A curious one.”
Sirius’s heart thudded violently against his ribs.
“I have sat upon the heads of many Blacks,” the Hat murmured, “and never have I felt such conflict.”
He swallowed.
“You possess Slytherin’s cunning. Its ambition. Its hunger. You would thrive there.”
His stomach twisted.
“But that is not all you are.”
The Hat gave a soft, rasping chuckle.
“There is loyalty in you. Fierce and unyielding. A heart that clings to what it loves.”
Sirius’s fingers dug into the stool.
“You have the mind of a Ravenclaw — sharp, observant, already far older than your years. You see clearly. Even when you wish you did not.”
His pulse roared in his ears.
“You have known darkness,” the Hat continued quietly. “And you have not let it claim you.”
A pause.
A long one.
The hall was utterly silent.
“But above all… you possess the reckless courage to defy your own blood.”
The Hat’s voice rose.
“GRYFFINDOR!”
For one suspended moment—
Nothing happened.
No cheers.
No breath.
Sirius didn’t move.
He didn’t dare look toward the Slytherin table.
He didn’t dare believe it.
“Mr. Black?” McGonagall prompted gently, lifting the hat from his head.
The Great Hall rushed back into sound.
Sirius stood slowly.
Then—
“WHOOP, YEAH, LET’S GO!”
James Potter was standing on the bench, clapping furiously.
Remus and Lily were on their feet beside him, applauding—Remus’s smile softer, steadier. The rest of the table followed, cheers building, growing warmer.
Real.
Sirius walked toward them as if through water.
He could feel it—the Slytherin table’s silence. Bellatrix’s fury like a blade against his back.
Remus and Lily shifted to make space.
Sirius sat between James and Remus.
James leaned in immediately. “Told you you needed improving.”
Sirius let out a shaky breath that almost resembled a laugh.
Remus’s shoulder brushed his.
“Don’t worry,” James grinned. “We’ve got you.”
Sirius swallowed.
Across the hall, he finally met his cousins’ eyes.
Furious didn’t begin to cover it.
But for the first time in his life—
He didn’t feel trapped beneath the surface.
He felt like he’d just broken through it.
If Sirius had thought it was a long way down to the Slytherin common room, it was a hell of a lot further up to Gryffindor Tower.
The climb felt endless.
Spiral staircases twisted upward, portraits chattered and gossiped as they passed, some craning forward to inspect the first years. Prefects shouted instructions over the noise.
“Mind the third step on the left!”
“Don’t touch that banister—it bites!”
A small, plump boy gave a yelp as his foot sank straight through a trick stair. Two prefects hauled him free while the staircase cackled smugly.
Sirius couldn’t help it.
He laughed.
It was chaos.
Not controlled. Not curated. Not polished.
Alive.
They finally reached a large portrait of a plump woman in pink silk, lounging in a gilt frame. She looked them over with dramatic delight.
“Grata Domum!” The prefect, Belinda declared, eyes sparkling.
The portrait swung open.
The first thing that hit Sirius was the warmth.
Not just heat—warmth.
A fire roared in a wide stone hearth, golden light spilling across the circular room. It didn’t flicker coldly like Slytherin’s low, controlled flames. This fire crackled and snapped and glowed.
The walls were a deep, rich red, adorned with sweeping golden scenes of witches and wizards in battle, in triumph, in laughter. Worn leather sofas sat invitingly around the fireplace, red cushions squashed and slightly mismatched as if they’d been claimed and reclaimed a hundred times over.
Nothing was perfectly symmetrical.
Nothing was staged.
It felt lived-in.
Study desks lined a tall arched window overlooking the grounds. Beyond the glass, the dark stretch of the Forbidden Forest loomed, and the lake shimmered faintly under moonlight.
Open sky.
Open air.
Sirius exhaled.
For the first time that day, he felt like he could breathe.
“Room assignments are posted on the dorm doors!” a prefect called. “Don’t forget — the stairs to the girls’ dormitories are charmed! Boys can’t go up them!”
Half the first years were already racing toward the stairs.
Belinda sighed. “Talking to them now is a lost cause.”
“GUYS! WE’RE IN THE SAME DORM!” James bellowed from the mezzanine, leaning dangerously over the railing and waving like a lunatic. “Sirius! Remus! Up here!”
Sirius grinned and climbed the final steps.
The dormitory was circular, like the common room below. Four beds were spaced evenly around the curved wall, each with deep red hangings and thick golden trim. The ceiling arched above them, painted like a fading sunset.
His trunk sat neatly at the foot of his bed.
A bedside table and wardrobe stood to the left, a chest of drawers to the right. Identical setups for each of them. Sirius’s bed lay between James and Remus — directly opposite the plump boy from the staircase, who was now red-faced but smiling.
The bathroom door sat opposite the dorm entrance.
Sirius retrieved his toiletry bag and stepped inside.
Like the bedroom, the space was circular. Four sinks stood in the middle, arranged back-to-back. Each had a red cup waiting neatly on its shelf.
He placed his toothbrush, toothpaste, and razor into his cup with careful precision.
He glanced up at the mirror.
His robes had changed.
The Hogwarts logo was gone.
A red-and-gold tie now rested neatly at his collar.
For a moment, he simply stared at it.
He swallowed.
Taking a steadying breath, he turned to the two cubicles opposite his sink. Peeking inside, he found one was a shower, the other a toilet. He placed the rest of his lotions and potions carefully on the small stone shelf beside his shower and folded a towel over the rail.
Then he returned to the dorm.
James had already turned his section of the room into mild disaster. Clothes flew from his trunk in enthusiastic handfuls.
Remus folded his things neatly, though far less rigidly than Sirius would have.
The plump boy — Peter, Sirius thought he’d heard — was humming to himself as he unpacked.
They were chatting easily.
About sweets.
About broomsticks.
About who had the worst handwriting.
Sirius moved more quietly.
He carefully unfolded his dress robes, smoothing each crease before hanging them in the wardrobe. His trousers followed. His shirts aligned precisely. Dress shoes placed side by side along the bottom.
Pyjamas and undergarments were stacked methodically into the drawers.
He paused.
James’s trunk contained jumpers. Muggle shirts. Worn denim trousers. Trainers.
Remus had soft-looking knit jumpers and slightly patched trousers that looked comfortable rather than formal.
Peter had patterned pyjamas.
Sirius looked down at his own trunk.
Carefully untying the silver ribbon from his neatly wrapped bundle, he peeled back the paper.
There it was.
Immaculately pressed.
Personalised.
Slytherin uniform.
His name stitched in elegant silver thread inside the cuff.
He hadn’t even thought about it. His parents had simply assumed.
He ran his thumb over the embroidery.
Then he gently removed his Gryffindor cloak and tie, smoothing them so they wouldn’t crease, and hung them carefully beside his dress robes.
The Slytherin uniform remained folded in his trunk.
For a long moment, he didn’t move.
The laughter behind him carried on.
Light. Easy.
He closed the lid.
Softly.
Not with anger.
With something closer to shame.
Or grief.
He straightened.
James looked up. “You unpack like you’re preparing for a royal inspection.”
Sirius lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe I am.”
Remus smiled at him — small, understanding.
And Sirius wasn’t entirely sure why, but that smile made the tightness in his chest ease just slightly.
“I can’t believe we’re roomed together!” James practically vibrated, shoving clothes into drawers with absolutely no regard for folding. “This is brilliant. We’re going to be legendary.”
Peter beamed at all of them from across the room. “I hope we have Herbology first,” he said eagerly. “Mum says I’ve always been good with plants.”
“I’m sure I’ll ace Muggle Studies,” Remus said lightly, folding a jumper with quiet precision. “Years of firsthand research.”
James snorted.
“I can’t wait for Defence Against the Dark Arts,” he declared, grabbing a handful of parchment and nearly dropping it. “That’s going to be the best subject. Proper spells. Proper duels.” He turned sharply toward Sirius, eyes bright. “What about you?”
Sirius paused mid-stack, a small pile of books aligned perfectly in his hands.
“I enjoy Defence,” he said. “I’m hoping to join the duelling club.”
James’s grin widened. “There’s a duelling club?”
“There was when my uncle attended,” Sirius replied. “I assume there still is.”
He hesitated, then added casually, “I’ve already mastered most of the first-year charms and transfigurations. I’m less certain about Potions. I can do it — I just haven’t studied the Hogwarts curriculum specifically. My mother preferred… other material.”
He turned back toward them.
The room was silent.
Three boys stared at him.
Mouths slightly open.
Sirius blinked. “What?”
Remus was the first to recover. “You’ve… mastered them?”
“Well.” Sirius shifted slightly. “Yes. I’ve been practicing magic since I was five. Tutors. Structured study. I could probably sit the end-of-year exams now and pass.”
Peter’s eyes went wide.
James let out a low whistle.
Remus tilted his head thoughtfully.
“Wait,” he asked curiously, “how did you do magic without getting in trouble? What about the underage magic laws?”
Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s so much magic flowing through pure-blood houses it confuses the tracing spells. You kind of just get away with it.”
James’s face lit up. “It’s the same in my house,” he said with an easy smile toward Sirius.
“And mine,” Peter piped up quickly. Then he grimaced. “Except Mum never let me practice after I shattered all her crockery.”
James barked out a laugh.
“What were you trying to do?” he asked.
“Levitate a teapot,” Peter muttered.
“Ambitious.”
Sirius found himself smiling — properly smiling.
The tension that had crept into his shoulders eased.
Remus watched the exchange quietly before looking back at Sirius.
“That still sounds like a lot of pressure,” he said gently.
Not impressed.
Not intimidated.
Just aware.
Sirius shrugged, a little too quickly. “It’s fine.”
James flopped dramatically onto his bed, hands behind his head.
“Right then. You’ll teach us spells, I’ll handle morale, Peter will grow us illegal plants, and Remus can… read about everything and correct us.”
“I do not correct people,” Remus said mildly.
“You absolutely will,” James replied.
Peter giggled.
James suddenly bolted upright.
“Wait.”
He narrowed his eyes at Sirius.
“If you’ve been tutored since you were five… does that mean you can already do something impressive?”
Sirius raised an eyebrow.
“Define impressive.”
James leaned forward eagerly.
Remus watched with quiet curiosity.
Peter bounced slightly on his mattress.
Sirius looked around at the three of them — the mess, the laughter, the lack of expectation.
It felt strange — this easy chaos. No one measuring his worth. No one evaluating whether he reflected well on the family name, standing between them in red and gold instead of green and silver, felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest.
Just boys.
Excited.
Messy.
Normal.
For the first time that evening—
He didn’t feel like the heir to anything.
He just felt like one of them.