Chapter One
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling; I don't own Harry Potter.
Walburga Black was a woman of power: a commanding, ruthless figure in every aspect of her life. She lived up to her pureblood status, and it was with this aloof and superior manner that she walked through King's Cross Station, disdaining the vulgar Muggles surrounding her.
One small problem, though – one irking, unruly, disloyal problem – tainted her allegiance and continuation of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. It went by the name of Sirius Orion Black, her ungrateful excuse for a son.
True, there was still time to set his mind straight – he was only eleven, after all –and she would see to it that it was done. She had asked her niece Bellatrix (what a delightful girl she was!) to make sure Sirius grew into a decent Slytherin boy. Walburga had full confidence in her.
And it was with slightly positive expectations – not hopes, for Walburga had learned never to get her hopes up when her eldest son was involved – that she nodded stiffly at the scarlet train as it puffed out of the station before disappearing with a crack.
The irking, unruly, and disloyal problem casually walked into the Great Hall with the other first years. Near him, a pudgy boy with mousy brown hair gawked at his surroundings.
"Look – the ceiling –!" He seemed to be at a loss for words.
The problem snickered. "What? It's not going to rain on you." He turned to the boy next to him, who had equally pitch-black (though less tidy) hair. "A Hufflepuff, for sure," he muttered, and the other one agreed.
The general chatter died down as a man with very long white hair and a matching beard stood up. His presence alone seemed to be the cause of the silence. "Good evening," he said, his booming voice echoing throughout the hall. "Before we get our first years nice and Sorted, I have some announcements to make." He cleared his throat. "First of all, the Forbidden Forest is, indeed, forbidden. Secondly, the girls' bathroom on the second floor is off-limits for students and staff alike. And third, as our older students will know, products from Zonko's Joke Shop or any other relative material are absolutely prohibited." The problem raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. "And now, let us begin our Sorting! Professor McGonagall, if you please."
The witch who had led them in, presumably Professor McGonagall, walked to the front of the hall with a decrepit-looking hat in one hand and a long piece of parchment in the other. Placing the hat upon a chair, there was a collective gasp from about half of the first years as it opened at a rip in the brim and began to sing a song about each of the four houses: their founders, the qualities of each of the houses, and how it would search their minds to find where they belonged.
"Bit scary, don't you think, that it sees everything going on in your mind?" the boy with the untidy black hair whispered. The problem would have responded, but McGonagall had begun reading off names from her parchment. They both watched with mild interest as "Bell, Elizabeth" was sorted into Ravenclaw; before he knew it, McGonagall was calling for "Black, Sirius" and he was walking to the stool, a thousand pairs of eyes trained on him as the ancient hat was placed upon his head.
"Another Black, hmm?" the Hat said conversationally, its croaky voice loud in his head. "The whole lot of you've been Slytherin, no doubt about that (your cousin Bellatrix is a fine example), but I'm sorry to say that you really don't possess enough ambition to become one –"
"Nah." Sirius grinned. "I'm lazy."
"Too true," muttered the hat darkly. "Now, you've got a strong mind, but not an ounce of logic, it seems – no Ravenclaw for you – and Hufflepuff is not a good match, no, not with that temper – in that case, you'll be a GRYFFINDOR!"
Thunderous applause rose from the table the farthest to his right, and he joined them with a satisfied smile: Gryffindor would make his mum livid.
Sirius watched his black-haired friend James Potter get sorted into Gryffindor as well, and the two sat near a pale boy with light brown hair. James attempted to make conversation and gleaned nothing from it except his name: Remus Lupin. And so James Potter decided Remus Lupin was exceedingly peculiar, and barely said another word to him throughout dinner.
After a few more words from Professor Dumbledore (the name of the white-haired wizard, according to third-year Gryffindor Demetria Spinnet), prefects collected their houses and headed to their common rooms.
Somehow, Sirius found himself inside a cosy circular room after completely ignoring the prefect's long-winded speech. He tossed aside his trunk with an odd clanking sound and fell onto the nearest bed, sitting cross-legged. Three other dorm-mates filed in behind him: James, Remus Lupin, and that Hufflepuff boy from earlier.
Wait – Hufflepuff?
Sirius nodded to the stout boy. "You're in Gryffindor?"
He seemed rather surprised at being spoken to. "O-of course," he squeaked, his voice rather high-pitched and whiny.
"This is a Gryffindor dormitory," James reminded him with a smirk.
"Just making sure," he said, covering up his earlier uncertainty.
There was an extremely awkward silence.
James cleared his throat. "Well. Shall we get on with the getting-to-know-each-other crap? It'll make things a lot easier later."
There was a snort from Sirius, silence from Remus, and a noise that might have either been assent or disapproval from the other one.
"My name's James Potter." He looked at the other black-haired boy.
"Sirius Black."
More silence.
Remus looked up from his book. "Oh, sorry. I'm Remus Lupin."
They all looked expectantly at the smallest boy, who gulped in fear and mumbled something.
"What? You're going to have to speak louder, mate," Sirius said brashly, and he shrank back.
"P-Peter Pettigrew," he said in a voice even smaller than before.
Sirius shot James an incredulous look, like he couldn't believe someone could be that shy. But his new friend's eyes were drooping shut, and Sirius realized how tired he actually was. "G'night, then," he said, and was asleep before the others could tug their dark red curtains shut.
A/N: Even though I've been a huge fan of Harry Potter for more than half my life, this is my first time writing in the fandom. I would really appreciate some constructive criticism on this story, but any review is a good review. (Except flames, of course. Don't like those.) Let me know what you think! Just keep in mind that I'm American, and I don't know much about England. If you spot something glaringly American that would seem really weird in England, please point it out. Thanks!
~Ebaz
P.S. I'm still feeling a bit iffy about the title of this story – it's Latin for "to have the wolf by the ears," which translates into modern English as "to take the bull by the horns." If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to offer them!