First of all, let me explain to you who I am. My name is Sirius. Sirius Black.
I am nothing special. Not really. Not to my parents at least. They think I'm shit. Pure stinking shit. So they sent me off to boarding school at the age of twelve. But don't feel sorry for me. Boarding school is alright. But then again, after living with my family, I'm sure I even would've liked living in a dumpster somewhere in a back alley in some goddamned forgotten town.
But they sent me off to London. This is where I met my three best mates. James was the first boy I met when I first arrived at Holyshite boarding school. Obviously that's not what it is really called, but that's what we'll call it for now. James Potter was a spoiled little brat, anyone could see it, and I wanted to punch the little shit in the face, until I got punched in the face by some other shit, and James picked me up from the ground. Perhaps he wasn't such a little shit after all. We got talking, and we quickly became friends. Which was a good thing, because the spoiled little brat was my roommate.
A year later, a fat and ugly little boy started following us. He had creepy little eyes, that kept following us around the room. A right little creep he was. But hey, he wouldn't stop following us, so we invited him to our table for lunch. And Peter Pettigrew joined our little group. A creepy little fucker, but a nice kid anyway.
I don't think we ever considered adding another boy to our group. We were fine, the three of us. Me, the useless fuck, James, spoiled little brat, Peter, creepy little fucker. We were perfectly fine, the three of us. But then, when we were fifteen, things changed at Holyshite boarding school. A new headmaster was assigned, and he decided that instead of two boys in a room, there should now be four boys in a room. Because yes, let's stuff even more boys into the building. More money for the old fucking bastards who don't even want to teach us. Well, the money probably didn't even go to our teachers. Probably to some rich fuck who owns the building. The three of us got put into a room, together with a new boy, Remus Lupin. A tall, shy boy, who hardly said a word. For the first three weeks, we only knew his name. Until James accidentally vomited all over one of his books after getting drunk. He lost it, called us names that none of us had even heard of. We liked the kid, and decided that he would join our group.
So that is pretty much where we're still at now. Only we're seventeen now, still stuck at Holyshite. And we've got one more year to go before we can be free and fly off into the world, spread our wings. Or whatever the fuck it was that it said in the brochure we got last week. It was all about planning our future, thinking ahead. What the fuck is all that about? No one ever told us about planning our future before now? The future is far away, isn't it? No one told us that we need to think about it now. I don't even have time to think about it now. I really, god honest, cannot be bothered, thinking about the future. I'll think about it when it gets here.
"So what are you doing during the spring holiday?"
Peter is on his bed, biting his nails, his ratty little eyes looking over at me. Right old creepy little fucker he is.
"Fuck knows," I say. Like I just explained, I cannot be bothered thinking about the future. Too busy. With what? Fuck knows. I'm just too fucking busy.
"Aren't you going home?"
He knows I'm not going home. In all the years he has known me, I have never once gone home. Not for Christmas, not during the summer, not in weekends. Not once. So why the fuck would I go home now?
"I'm going home," he announces. "There's this girl…"
Great, here he goes. There's probably some poor girl living near his childhood home, on whom he'll be spying all summer with his creepy ratty eyes. Really, he's a nice guy, but god can he be creepy. Once, there were girls over at Holyshite, for a dance, and most of us talked to them, or danced with them, as you do. Not Peter. Peter just stared at them. All night, he stared at them with his creepy little eyes.
"That's great," I say, when he's done telling me about the girl. Have I listened to a word he said. Of course not. I know, I know, I'm a terrible friend. I'll buy him a beer next time, and then it's all fine again. See, my conscious is clear. There you go.
"Are you not coming to the pub?" James asks. Remus is in bed, reading a book, while the three of us are ready to go.
"We're too young to go to the pub," he says, not even looking up. Goddammit Remus, stop being so god awfully boring.
"Fake ID's."
James holds up four plastic cards, which he had received this morning from some guy in a year above us. They cost James a fortune, but to him it wasn't a big deal. He simply asked his parents for more, and they gave it to him. Spoiled brat. I'm glad he is though, or I wouldn't have had a fake ID, and I wouldn't have been able to get really fucking pissed tonight. And I want to get really fucking pissed tonight, because tomorrow is a day I do not want to face. Not sober at least. So I need to drink enough to still be pissed tomorrow.
"Please tell me that is not a fake ID with my picture on it," Remus says, now looking up, and a big grin appears on James' face. "What if a teacher finds it? Do you have any idea how much trouble we'll be in? How much trouble I'll be in? And it isn't even mine!"
"Mhm… it looks to me like it is yours…" James laughs, holding up the card, looking at the picture.
"James, I…"
"Well, since you'll get into trouble anyway, you might as well use it, right?"
"You give me that card, and I'll keep it safe."
"Sorry, no can do," James laughs, and he hands me the card. Remus gets out of bed, puts his book away, and comes up to me.
"Give me the card."
"No can do." I laugh, and I shove the card down my pants. If it would've been James or Peter, they would've grabbed the card, no matter where I would've shoved it. Not Remus. Shy Remus. Too shy to take the card from me. He looks down at the area where the card must be, and you can almost hear his brain process it, consider the options, and I can't help but laugh, because his cheeks turn a dark shade of red.
"So you're coming then?" James laughs, and Remus sighs and shakes his head.
"I've got no choice, do I? I need to make sure you morons don't lose that card."
"Good."
And off we go. When you're younger, you're not allowed to leave Holyshite. Actually, I'm pretty sure you're never allowed to leave Holyshite, but when you're older, they stop giving a fuck. You become your own responsibility. As we get onto the bus, there are three older ladies, and they look at us as though we're about to rob them. As if.
Sure, we look like shit. Not James, obviously. James looks like a spoiled rich kid. His clothes are worth more than a country estate, I'm sure. His dark hair is a mess, but somehow it just makes him look posh, his glasses balanced perfectly on his nose. His face handsome as anything. He is one of those rich kids, with rich parents, who are handsome, with handsome parents, who have paintings of themselves hanging over a fireplace. And James will go on to have handsome kids, with estates, and paintings of themselves hanging over a fireplace. And that's how it will go on. No one will ever glare at them. No old ladies will ever be scared of them. But Peter, Remus and I? Well, I can't say I blame the old hags for glaring at us. I've explained how Peter looks. Creepy little fucker. Hardly ever washes his clothes. Got holes in them. His hair is all ratty, because he chops it himself. His nails all dirty and chewed off. A ratty, creepy little fucker. Nice kid though. Would never hurt an old lady. I think. It wouldn't surprise me if one day he turns out to be one of those psycho killers, who ends up on a murdering spree. But still, for now, nice kid.
Me? I probably remind them of Oliver Twist. Not the poor little boy, but the little thieves. Like I said, my parents think I'm shit. They don't send me any money. So I get my clothes by stealing it out of dumpsters, or laundry baskets at school. There's a special dumpster at Holyshite, where you can dump old clothes, for charity. It's where I get most of my stuff. Most of it stinks, or looks like it's been chewed on by rats. But hey, I've got to wear something. But that's just clothes. Old ladies should know better than to judge on that, shouldn't they? But I guess the rest isn't much better. My face is nothing special, just a normal, random face. It must be the dark eyes and the messed up hair that does it. Since I was little, people kept telling my parents that I would be trouble. They saw it in my eyes. Very dark. It's not my fucking fault that my eyes turned out dark. Blame fucking genetics. My hair however, I do have to take the blame for. I asked James to cut it, when we were pissed on beers that some older guys had snuck into Holyshite. So a pissed James cut off my hair, which by that point, was in a ponytail. I hadn't cut it for years. I really couldn't be bothered. The fucker simply cut off the ponytail, made some extra cuts, and left it at that. So yes, I look like a real fucking mess.
And Remus? He could look great, if he made an effort. But he cares too much about his books, about getting good grades. He forgets about himself. I suppose it doesn't help that he doesn't have any money either. It made him my thieving buddy. We steal clothes together. Remus is a good guy, he hates breaking rules. But he hates walking around naked more. So he doesn't have much of a choice. The bad thing is, he is very tall. Most of the students aren't. So he has to steal teachers' clothes, and he ends up dressed half as a teenager, half as an old man. A weird, messed up look. A poor man's look, I suppose. A poor tall man's look. His dark hair could be nice, if he made an effort, which he doesn't. He made James cut it, when he wasn't pissed. And it looks alright, crooked, a bit fucked, but alright. But the combination of his half teenage, half old man, half forgotten about himself, half crooked hair. It makes him look a bit of a mess. Also, four halves isn't a thing. I'm shit at maths. But if the old ladies just looked at his face a bit better, they'd know that he wouldn't hurt a fly. Have I mentioned that Remus is beautiful. Not handsome like James Potter. Not pretty, like some boys. He would never be able to become a model. No, Remus is beautiful. I have never met a guy as beautiful as Remus before. His eyes are kind, his smile humble, shy, but warm. Pure, fucking beauty.
