A/N: This was written for a Challenge #49 posted by Inkfire. However, I'd already had the intention to write this even before the challenge. This short piece interprets Sirius Black as the apostle Peter. The idea wouldn't leave me alone after I watched an amazing performance of the St Matthew Passion. Dear God, the alto aria following the scene "Erbarme dich, mein Gott" is the most beautiful sound I've heard in a long time – the soloist's sustained, light, floating voice was wonderful.
Und Weinte Bitterlich
"Why can't you overrule her? She's not even a real Black!"
My mother, stately, dignified, beautiful. All I have to do is think of my aunt to I realise just how much I love her. She's actually got something of a brain and a sense of self-sacrifice. I've been so much luckier than my cousins.
The look of sympathy slowly disappeared, incompletely replaced by a look of disdain. That's okay. I hate being pitied anyway. It was never difficult to look her in the eye when she yelled at me for making a mess or staying out too late, only when her unpretentious majesty gave way to raw warmth. "This is the way of the House of Black, Sirius. We are water. We will carve our way through the world as we see fit, but we will always be moulded by our forefathers."
"Then I don't want to be a Black anymore!"
Was that a flicker of anguish in her eyes? It passed by so fleetingly. Her even tone came, smoothly, coolly, "A Black you shall be never more."
That night, James's workaholic mother willingly put aside her work to mix up her family's secret hot chocolate for me. I suppose she realised Honeyduke's chocolate would have just been salt on fresh wounds.
"Conflicting feelings do not make either feeling any less valid, hon."
"I do not have conflicting feelings," I protested lifelessly. "I hate them. I hate them all. They're inhuman. I'm not a Black. I'd rather be – be Stubby Boardman!"
In the corner, James, my best mate, the coward who wouldn't fight for my cousin. Six years ago we met, and we harboured mutual dislike. Cassandra Trelawney couldn't have Seen that he would stay up all night long so I wouldn't have to be alone.
When the sky turned the colour of the fumes from an incorrectly made Blood-Replenishing Potion, James coughed out what he'd truly been curious about.
"D'you really want me to call you 'Stubby Boardman'?"
Because I am every bit the coward he is. How many chances did I have to just take Bellatrix and run? She's still too young, but I'll be of age in a few weeks and my Trace will be lifted. We could have just stuck to magical dwellings until then. As for not knowing enough magic to defend ourselves from You-Know-Who, well, he isn't going to bother a couple of purebloods. And I reckon that even if we got on his bad side, another year of schooling won't save us from him. We could have gone abroad; I've always wanted to live in New Zealand. We could have made it work.
I shrugged. Softly, hoarsely, I admitted, "I just don't feel like being Sirius Black."
He must not have had an answer ready, because he'd paced the sitting room three times before he finally said, "Well, over here, you can always just be Padfoot. Always."
Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed.
I wept bitterly.