A/N: This is a story for Tani Smiles' First Sentence Challenge. My sentence was (obviously) Ever since I can remember, people have more than enough to say about me.

*I'm not that happy with how it turned out. It kind of popped into my head and I just wrote it down, but personally, I think it's just a tad to much thinking and not enough dialog.*

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter! Alle rechten behoren toe aan Jk Rowling, die een fantastische serie heeft geschreven, iets waar ik enkel van zou kunnen dromen!


Ever since I can remember, people have had more than enough to say about me. First I was 'The Heir', the future head of the family. Later I became the tough one, the disobeying one. I refused to just follow the rules and do as expected. I became the black, no white sheep of my family. In school I was a prankster, one of the infamous marauder gang, padfoot. According to the female population, I was a hottie, a 'most wanted' guy. I was cheeky, flirtatious…

Then, I became a secret warrior, an order member, a godfather, a secret keeper, a traitor, a prisoner, an escapee, a lunatic… and a dead man, murdered…

I wonder whether they would stop thinking about me now, whether they would stop calling me names. Most were wrong anyway. Only a couple of people knew me for whom I really was. Strangers always choose the wrong names for me. Though I cannot deny I'm dead now. They ought to get one right eventually.

I know many of you would want to know how I got here. To be honest, I don't even know myself. I guess it all started when I was eleven and met my best friend, my brother by all but blood; James Potter.

*Flashback*

A young boy with messy black hair was struggling to get his trunk on board of the streaming red train. "Do you want any help?" I decided to rescue the boy of his humiliation.

"Yeah, thanks." The boy answered, looking relieved "My name is James Potter, by the way."

"Sirius." I mumbled, hoping he would not ask for my last name. James seemed like a nice boy, but my father had told me about the Potters, they were purebloods, but strictly against everything the black family stood for. They believed muggleborns were equal to purebloods and deserved a chance in society, something my family found absolute rubbish.

It wasn't that strange I didn't feel completely at ease with this boy. He would just have to add something more to my record, be one of those people who didn't knew me but had to say a lot about me anyway. Hate me for my family's ideas.

It's not like I invented or even supported my family's anti-muggle status. I couldn't understand why they would be inferior to us. That was actually the reason my mother thought I was a complete nitwit who would never pass Hogwarts. 'Cause I couldn't even understand the basic rule of being a wizard: it made you better. But now I'm getting off the subject. We were talking about James Potter.

You know, the boy didn't even ask my surname, even though it was obvious I hiding something. Who was the nitwit now, huh, Mother? I asked him about it later, and he told me he recognized me as a black, but was reluctant to bring it up since I clearly was ashamed of it. Maybe he wasn't such a dung head at all.

Anyway, we went to search a coupé together. We found one, almost empty, only occupied by a weird boy with greasy black hair and a sobbing redhead. James looked at me as if to ask 'This one ok with you?' It wasn't really, I was kind of allergic to sobbing girls, but I nodded anyway. It wasn't as if there were any other compartments available. We entered, and I tried to sit as far away from the girl as possible, though I couldn't help but notice she was damn pretty. James seemed to notice to, as he continued to stare at her and made a desperate attempt to let his hair stay flat. I smiled, the boy was hopeless, I really should teach him how to make a pass at girls properly.

*end Flashback*

Thinking back, I never really got the chance to teach him that, since he refused to practice on anyone that wasn't Lily Evans. And hey, was it my fault the girl didn't like grand and cliché 'proposals'?
James helped me rebel against my family and when they kicked me out of the house, he was there for me. Until he got killed. I remember how I felt, but I just can't describe it.

I went looking for Peter, the traitor, but he tricked me. It was surprising, how dumb he might have seemed when we were younger, that in the end it was him who outsmarted us all, even Moony.

Moony… I falsely accused him of betraying his friends, something he would have never forgiven me for if he hadn't done the same. If one good thing came from Peter (I just can't bring myself to call him Wormtail, our friend) framing me, it was the fact that it saved my friendship with Moony.
On the other side, it was Peter's fault I never got to be the godfather Harry deserved, Peter's fault that Harry had to live with those…those…idiots, to keep it civilized. Harry was being mistreated by them while I was rotting away in Azkaban, still thinking of a way to get even with Peter.

* Flashback*

A paper was lying open, rotting in a dirty cell. A man (Was it me? I think so, but I can't remember much from that period. I try to suppress everything that pops in.) was sitting in a corner, slightly rocking back and forth like a lunatic. 'He's at Hogwarts, he's at Hogwarts' he seemed to mumble. Yes, defiantly me and I was talking about Peter, the traitor. I had to live here in this dark and greasy cell, surrounded by dementors, while he was sleeping on the soft four-poster beds of Hogwarts, nibbling on a piece of cheese, getting to see Harry. Harry. That traitor had no rights! Harry was mine, I had to protect him, raise him…! In my mind a plan started to form.
The determination to get out of Azkaban, drag Peter away from Harry (and while I had my hands on him, rip him to tiny little pieces)and clear my name, seemed to burn in my mind like a fire and made me stronger. The plan was the only thing on my mind and pushed away all the thoughts the dementors wanted me to think, all the memories they wanted me to relive. I felt better than I had in years. All I needed now was an opportunity. So I waited… and waited. I could hear Prongs teasing me already: 'Sirius Black, waiting? A historic day has come! Pads here learned the meaning of the word 'Patience'!'. I almost smiled at the memory before I remembered the situation I was in. Prongs would probably be too sad to tease me. Instead, he would do everything in his reach to get me free.
But anyway, since James was dead, and it's no use to wait for help from the dead, I had to get free on my own. And I would succeed. Or my name wouldn't be Padfoot any longer!

*End flashback*

And succeeding I did! Still, people were talking about my infamous escape from Azkaban. But what exactly had been the use of it? I never really got the chance to be a surrogate-parent for Harry and now I was dead and the traitor, Peter, was still alive. He even got to join his 'O heavenly great master, Voldiewart'. Voldemort, who was defeated the evening James and Lily were killed, was back. The order seemed to do worse than ever…

Yes, I'm a pessimist. I would like to see you behave all jolly-happy after twelve years of Azkaban!

I've got to make my choice now. My options:

1) Die. I could go to 'heaven' or whatever there is after life. Be with Lily and James, waiting for Harry.

2) Become a ghost. I could once more refuse to be what people say about me, and not be dead. Well, not really dead, you get the idea.

I don't know. I get to see Harry if I become a ghost. I could see the outcome of the war. But what after that? When everyone I knew had died, what would there be left for me?
I guess I could go hunt Hogwarts, raise new pranksters and become a concurrent for Peeves.
Ha! Imagine McGonagall's face if she would have to deal with the both of us! Hilarious!

But… you know… maybe… I could… for once… do what people expect from me.
Just for a change.

I bet no one would see that coming!

´´´ Sirius Black```


A/N: Sooo... Did you hate it? Liked it? Review please?