Written for the Quidditch League.

Prompt: Leo. Write about someone who's always been a leader (explicitly or otherwise) having to learn to follow someone else OR write about a character(s) who's always been fawned on finding themselves having to work for recognition and acceptance.

Optional prompts:

(Word) blazing

(phrase) holding your head high

(word) passion

1668 words

So, the scenario here is that Sirius, who grew up being treated like a little prince, has been sorted into Gryffindor, but now the Gryffindors are reluctant to accept a Black.

Sirius straightened the collar of his robes and held his head up as he strode to the Gryffindor table. The sea of red and gold swam before his eyes and he had to swallow a moment of panic.
Everyone was saying it's the best House.
Everyone but my parents.
Merlin, they were going to be furious. He'd been one of the first ones to be sorted and the hall was already filling with whispers. He knew what they were saying. "A Black? In Gryffindor?" The Slytherins were furious, the Gryffindors shocked. He'd been raised the same of the rest of his family, his proudly silver and green family...so what had happened?
You're proud of it. You wanted this.

But when he sat down, he wasn't so sure.

The voices raised in greeting never came. Instead, they shrank to whispers, the whole table exploding in unintelligible hissing. Sirius looked around hopefully; he was a Black, he was special. They should have been excited. But the only looks he got back were glances of curiosity, confusion, and disdain. He wondered why they weren't happy to have him there, but even when the whispering fell silent, no answers came. Sirius sighed and began to eat in crushed silence.

When the meal was over, he was the first one back to the common room; everyone else hung behind, laughing and talking and introducing themselves. Sirius had tried, but that had gone, well…

"Hello," he'd said, striding up to the older boy and elegantly extending a hand. "Black—Sirius Black." He had manners, he knew how to use them; he'd spent his whole life training for this. Introductions should be a piece of cake.

Mistrustful eyes had stared back at him, looking slightly perplexed. "Black? What are you doing here?"

Then he'd walked away.

Sirius stood alone for a moment, lips parted in outrage, before he slowly lowered his hand, crestfallen, and walked on alone.

Now he sat alone in the common room, staring into the fire. It felt as familiar as his own sitting room—and yet unspeakably foreign. The high-backed chair felt like a throne he no longer deserved.

"Hey," said a voice behind him.

Sirius looked up halfheartedly, sweeping dark hair out of his eyes to see who it was.

Hazel eyes behind glasses that he remembered from the train showed the first sympathy he'd seen all night. "James Potter," the boy said. "Remember me? I'm a first year too."

"Right," Sirius said, silver eyes staring into the blazing gold of the fire. Silver, like the Slytherin banners that should be hanging behind him.

"Bit dull, aren't you?" Potter continued. "Is all your family like that?"

"The rest of my family have been Slytherins," Sirius said darkly.

"That's rough," said Potter, his voice light, but having lost some of its amiability. "You've just got to be different, then."

"Yeah."

Potter gave him a sideways look. "Or maybe not. Well, either way, see you in class."

Sirius nodded mutely, but didn't move. Half of him hoped that if he stared into the fire for long enough, he would fall asleep and wake up to everything being the way that it should be—whatever that was.

So the night wore on. Other Gryffindors came and went, laughing and talking and ignoring Sirius as if he were part of the furniture. It was past midnight by the time he finally crawled into his bed and lay there, staring in frustration at the scarlet hangings above his head.

The next day of classes Sirius was tired, but for the next few days he tried to focus and work as hard as he could. If the Sorting Hat was going to make him a disappointment, maybe he could redeem himself and impress his classmates this way. The only good thing about being an anomaly, so far as he could tell, was that he got to watch the other students. There was James Potter, the boy from last night, who kept casting him curious glances but never started a conversation. Then there was another boy he didn't know, but who kept catching his eye; skinny and scarred, with big, sunken, shadowed blue eyes, a uniform that always seemed too big, and a quiet, hoarse, intelligent voice. Maybe he would talk to Sirius. But he never did.

For several days, a plan was slowly forming in Sirius' mind. The other Gryffindors were always laughing, joking, and pulling pranks on each other; their interactions brimmed with passion and mischief. They were constantly fighting to one-up each other, to be the boldest, the wildest, the most daring. That was how to get noticed.

Sirius knew that even when the rest of him was sinking, any Black worth his pride would be holding his head high. It was time to give that a bit of a twist.

Sirius sat in an abandoned classroom one night with more books spread in front of him than he would ever normally have. He knelt in front of his cauldron in a corner, smoke shifting through colors as it billowed in clouds in front of his face. His hair was tied into a messy knot and he wore a bigger grin than an aristocrat should have allowed, but he didn't care. This was exhilarating—although, admittedly, frustrating. The smoke was off a shade and, no matter what he tried, the potion was too thick. He pushed back steam-damp hair and stirred more fiercely, but it didn't seem to be working.

Behind him, the door creaked open. Sirius whipped around, trying to block his cauldron with one of the books, but the smoke, curling up to the ceiling in a myriad of hues, might have given it away.

In the doorway stood the boy he'd seen that day—the quiet, sickly looking one.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Sirius wasn't sure what he was doing awake, especially given the huge dark circles beneath his eyes, but he replied hesitantly, "Trying to make this potion. I think the recipe must be wrong."

The tired-looking boy walked over and knelt next to him nervously, twisting his robes in fidgety, scarred hands. "Let me see. I'm not very good at Potions, but...maybe I can help."

"All right." Sirius pushed the book over to him. "I was sure I'd done everything right, but the smoke is purple instead of blue and the potion is too thick."

The boy bit his lip and traced the recipe with his finger. "Did you add the—"

Then his eyes found the name of the potion. He glanced curiously up at Sirius.

Sirius twirled a loose piece of black hair around his finger. "It's a…surprise."

"Oh." The boy gave a shy little smile. "Um...I'm Remus."

Sirius looked up at him and grinned back. Somehow, skipping the formal introduction he'd been trained for didn't seem so bad. "Sirius."

Remus' smile widened a little. "Did you add the mint...Sirius?"

Sirius tucked a loose strand back into his knot of hair and looked down at the recipe. "No, I didn't," he muttered. "Of course, I've got to do it over again now."

"I'll help you," Remus offered shyly. "I'm not sure how much help I'll be, but maybe between the two of us..."

"Three of us," a third voice added.

Sirius looked up. "Potter?"

"Call me James," he said amiably. "Who're you?"

"Remus Lupin," Remus said quietly. "We could use the help."

James grinned confidently. "I noticed you two weren't in the dorm and my dad's a Potions expert. I can help."

Sirius grinned back and began sorting through the ingredients. He held the candle he was using up to the book and squinted at the text.

"There," Remus said. "Three stirs clockwise."

"Gently," James added. "You want do do it more like this…"

With three sets of hands and three minds working together, the clouds slowly faded to a brilliant purple and the potion was as smooth as milk. The three young potioneers worked late into the night, but Sirius had never had so much fun. Odd that it wasn't his status, or his family, or any of that that had won him friends. By the time the potion was done, Sirius' hair was limp with steam, James' glasses were fogged up, and Remus had fallen asleep curled up on the floor.

"Nice work," James said softly, studying a spoonful of the potion. "We did it. It's perfect."

"Thank Merlin," Sirius yawned. "We should probably head back to bed…"

James' murmur of reply faded as he, seated against the wall, fell asleep. Sirius smiled and stretched out on the floor in front of his cauldron. He had hardly closed his eyes before he sank into blissful blackness.

The next morning found the three boys disheveled, arms loaded with little glass bottles, hurrying to reach the Great Hall before everyone awoke. They silently worked their way around the Gryffindor table, muffling yawns, until everything was perfect. By the time the other students had arrived, Sirius, Remus, and James were already in place, half-asleep but excited.

Halfway through breakfast, one of the third years opened his mouth to speak and instead sent a tremendous roar rumbling across the table. His friends burst out laughing and began to sip their drinks, trying to see who could roar the loudest. James nudged Sirius, who beamed at both of his new friends. All around them, impressive lion's roars echoed across the table as their classmates laughed. Soon enough, however, the Head of House, a stern woman called Professor McGonagall, strode over to investigate the commotion.

"Who is responsible for this?" she asked sharply.

Sirius looked around for a moment, then slowly stood up, the thrill of mischief making a smile spread across his face. James and Remus waved.

"Detention," she sighed, but Sirius didn't care. The table rumbled with laughter, clapping, and more roars—all for him—him and his new friends. Sirius poured one of the tiny bottles into his drink and, holding his head high with pride, began to roar with them.