Disclaimer: All names, characters, places etcetera belong to JK Rowling. If they did belong to me, I'd be somewhere in Ireland, drinking whiskey and learning Irish dancing from Michael Flatley.
Chapter 1: Of choices and Jerusalem
"SLYTHERIN!", the hat shouted, prompting a loud round of applause from the respective table. The boy under the hat blinked. So that was it, then. All done with, all the worrying, all the uneasy smiling, all the hoping he'd be placed somewhere else... He marched confidently towards the Slytherin table, an appropriately frosty smile on his face, as he tried to convince himself he had made the right choice. It was, after all, what his parents had wanted for him, what he himself had been raised to desire with all his being. And he had, hadn't he? Enough to convince the hat to put him there, anyway, and that had to mean something, right? "Talented, brave, impulsive and ooh, very loyal indeed… Are you sure Slytherin is what you want ? You would make one great Gryffindor…" the hat had said...
It didn't matter anyway, Sirius Black reassured himself, under the arrogant demeanour his mother had taught him well. Not anymore. He was exactly were he was supposed to be, away from mudbloods and blood traitors, away from any sort of negative influence whatsoever. He was with friends. Well, allies, anyway. Friends were not acceptable, they were only for sentimental weaklings. 'Blacks hunt alone', his father always said, and he was going to prove he was a real Black. And yet… He winced imperceptibly as one Lupin, Remus was placed in Gryffindor. They'd exchanged a few words on the train and he'd seemed quite nice… No matter, a voice sounding very much like his mother's echoed in his head. He was a Slytherin now, which meant no inappropriate associations. And even though he had to admit, at least to himself, he wasn't quite where he would have liked, he would stick to it, because he was a Black and Blacks were supposed to be Slytherin through and through - cold, cunning, always on their toes.
"…and thus, according to Hieronymus Barkleton, the first wizard appeared. However, according to most other historians, this theory is not only unverifiable, but also nonsensical, as…" Sirius was bored out of his mind. History of Magic, he decided, was definitely not the best subject they could have chosen to start Monday's class period with. His thoughts had already begun to drift away, and he'd only been exposed to Professor Binn's drowsy voice for five minutes. His classmates obviously felt the same way, as most of them were fast asleep, their heads resting on the pieces of parchment they were supposed to be taking notes on. Severus Snape was the only one still paying attention and avidly writing down information about the beginnings of wizarding history. Sirius figured Snape would be only too glad to hand out his notes to the Black family's heir, and so he gave up trying to pay attention, allowing his mind to wander.
Avery, Black, Dearborn, Snape, Yaxely. The Slytherin first-years. He still felt strangely out of place with the others, despite the congratulatory letters he was sure to receive from his relatives soon. He had an unnerving feeling they wouldn't help him shake off the vague distaste he sensed when he thought of his colleagues. He'd met Avery and Yaxely the previous year - their proud ancestry could almost rival his own, and so they were considered to be appropriate companions to the heir of the house of Black. They had both seemed to him to be rather unimaginative, shallow-minded twits, obsessed with blood purity, but then again, that sort of thing was to be expected with their sort of upbringing, and Sirius had to remind himself that not everybody had an uncle Alphard. Maybe they'd grow out of it, although the chances were very slim indeed, and Sirius wasn't feeling very optimistic at that particular moment. He didn't know the other two at all, but he'd done his best to try and figure them out the previous night. Dearborn struck him as a very withdrawn boy, never participating in a discussion, unless asked a direct question, and definitely not someone to try and start a friendship with (alliance!, Sirius had to correct himself for the hundredth or so time). And Snape was just some oily, long-nosed idiot that Sirius would never be able to befriend - not only had he never heard of the boy's surname, which meant his parents would firmly object to any form of association between them, but Sirius also felt some sort of natural revulsion towards him. Something told him it was not going to be an amusing seven years.
"You'd better wake up". A slightly sardonic voice rang somewhere above his right ear, just loud enough to wake him up without drawing too much attention to itself. Sirius opened his eyes to an almost empty classroom and a pair of black eyes peering into his own.
"I wasn't sleeping!" he promptly lied. Long-Oily-Nose had no business criticising his betters.
"Which would probably explain both the absence of notes on your rather damp parchment, and your obnoxious snoring during half the class." Snape's ironies didn't help keeping Sirius' temper in check, and he was just thinking about what hex he was going to use on the self-righteous bastard - because Sirius Black most certainly did not snore, or drool on his parchment - when Snape's decidedly annoying voice rang again in the now empty classroom, informing him that, unless they wanted to get detention from McGonagall, they had to find a way to go all the way to the fourth floor in five minutes.
And this, naturally, they didn't do. Instead, already ten minutes late, they both found themselves staring belatedly at a suit of armour Severus was quite sure they'd already encountered at least three times before. "And didn't it just have to be the only one in the whole castle that passionately sings 'Jerusalem' every time anybody tries to talk to it", Severus thought, exasperated.
"Look, you useless piece of delusional metal" Black shouted at it, seemingly not very pleased with the thing himself, "either you tell us the way to the Transfiguration classroom, or we're going to do some very horrible things to you!"
"Walk upon England's mountains green..."
"Oh, that was brilliant, Black, what can I say" Severus said, with his usual malignant calm. "Yes, magnificent, threaten it with all the horrible things you're going to do to it."
"Shut up. Look," the other said, pointing his wand menacingly to the offensive piece of armour, "I am very capable of taking you apart, piece by little piece!"
"And was Jerusaleeem, buildeeeeeeed hereeee…" the suit of armour proudly replied.
"Look, the thing doesn't even know basic grammar..." Trying to be the voice of reason obviously wasn't going to work, as Black was nowhere near giving up.
"We may look like young, innocent first-years", he stated, a ferocious tone trying to seep into his eleven-year old voice, "but that does not mean that we can't inflict some grievous harm to you!"
"Bring me my speaaaars, oh clouds unfoooooold…"
"I don't think it's going to cooperate, Black", Severus said, and it was probably the greatest understatement he'd ever uttered in his life.
"Oh really? And what does your undoubtedly wiser mind suggest we do?" Black could apparently be very annoying when he wanted to.
"Well, I don't know, find someone else to guide us, maybe?" Severus asked, with just as much contempt in his voice. He was not about to be outdone by a Black.
"Nor shall my swooooooooooord sleeeeeep in my haaaaaaaaaaaand…"
"Or at the very least," Snape continued, unabated, "someone with more ear for music." Black seemed slightly stunned by the suit's unprecedented attempt at reaching those high notes, and so he finally nodded, although Severus couldn't figure out if he was doing it out of a genuine appreciation of his idea, or simply out of a sudden, unstoppable urge to get away from that blasted suit of armour. And right then, Severus couldn't care less, either way. They both fled, desperately trying to escape the rusty piece of metal, before it had a chance to reach the 'Till we have built Jerusalem on England's green and pleasant land' part.
"Bloody crusaders and their bloody bigoted suits of armour, with their bloody need to sing about bloody swords..."
"Black, for the last time, shut UP! You're not helping."
"Well, I don't see you coming up with some brilliantly helpful cunning plan! We're already lost, might as well swear a bit about those bloody useless bastards who decided to put a bloody school in a bloody huge bloody castle - what's the point, honestly, they only ever use twenty bloody rooms anyway, and why the bloody hell did they have to have bloody suits of armour, and the bloody..."
"Black?"
"Yes?"
"I think I know how to get to the Transfiguration classroom. In fact, I think we're standing right in front of the door."
"Oh, do you, now? Do you really?" After twenty minutes of wandering through dark, pointlessly long hallways, Sirius had had enough with the little self-righteous greasy bastard standing in front of him, massive nose high in the air. Oh, he was going to show him! "And how exactly have you reached this undoubtedly brilliant conclusion? Was it a sudden waft of transfiguration, oozing from behind that door straight into your overly eager nostrils? Was it the Angel of Grease, showing himself to you in all his greasy glory to reveal the greasy path upon which you must walk? Or was it the God of Gits himself, whispering to you from beyond that door, in the sacred language of gittish, which only true gits may understand, to walk the gittish path and join him in all his undying gittish glory?" Ha! That ought to do it.
"No", Snape answered, raising an eyebrow. "Actually, it was the huge sign on the door." He stepped aside, to reveal three large notices on the wooden door. "You know, the one that says 'Transfiguration classroom', right below the one with 'Minerva McGonagall' on it, but above the 'One house point shall be deducted for every minute of lateness' one?"
"Ah. That one. Hmm" Bloody suits of armour, bloody castles, bloody sarcastic know-it-alls, bloody hell, I am never going to bloody live this down "Indeed. Well spotted."
"Yes. I thought so myself."
"See, I would've gone for one of the, er, other three, er... options."
"Yes, I'm sure you would have. Shall we?" he added, in his usual silky voice, before Sirius had a chance to reply. "We've already lost ten points just thanks to your generous...option... offering."
Sirius spent most of the rest of day desperately trying to avoid Snape, his fellow Slyherins, who had for some reason decided it was his fault they had lost forty-eight points in the first day of school, Snape, Professor McGonagall, who had spent the entire class period frowning at him, despite his matches-to-needles transfiguration skills, Snape, James Potter, who had inexplicably tried to hex him twice already, and, not least of all, Snape. This, coupled with his new-found hatred for suits of armour of all shapes and sizes, meant that when he finally retreated to his dorm, he was exhausted from the constant sudden flinging himself behind tapestries, covered in cobwebs from the very same activity and starving (at lunchtime, he'd just grabbed the first thing he could from the table and fled; as it turned out, it happened to be a small recipient containing cockroach clusters. At dinnertime, he hadn't even tried.). He had, however, found a secret passage leading close to the Transfiguration room behind one of the tapestries, so he was quite pleased with himself when he flung himself on his bed, not bothering to change into those horrible pyjamas aunt Druella had sent him for Christmas, they were green with moving silvery snakes on the sleeves, terrible taste that woman has, just terrible...
Author's note: Constructive criticism is much appreciated!