I am writing this in my brother's room, at his old desk (which is definitely of better quality than my own) in his old room.

I tried to begin it in mine, but the walls seemed to close in on me, and all I could see was her face as she smirked at the posters which wallpapered my room. I can still see that smirk, clear as day. The most annoyingly lovely expression in the world.

She stopped at one, I remember, of a blonde, busty muggle straddling a motorbike, and delicately pressed one finger against the girl's face, as though testing the quality of the paper.

"Tasteful," she'd said, one eyebrow raised, lips curved into an expression of elegant disdain, "I do so love what you've done with the place."

Reg's room is so much less crowded. The memories are sparse in here, and oddly, considering that the task at hand is to remember, this seems to make concentrating easier. I suppose it will be hard enough to dreg up my past without thoughts of her distracting me.

It is currently about two in the morning, and the little bit of sky I can see through Reg's window is a sort of murky grey-blue. Almost black, actually, which seems rather appropriate. I'm not sure of the date, but I do have an idea that it's a Wednesday. It is quite possible that I am wrong- the days all seem to blur here.

But all that is unimportant.

You should know, mysterious somebody, that I am writing this for you. Thoughts of you dragged me here at this indiscriminate hour to pen an explanation for my absence in your life.

It's Harry's fault, actually.

I suppose it is childish of me to foist the blame onto my 15year old godson, but I never claimed to be anything other than childish. Being childish was natural when I was a child, sort of charming when I was young and handsome, and now as I approach middle age, has become a habit. And so I shamelessly point the finger at Harry. When you're thinking back on your happy ignorance and wishing you had never found out, it is on him that you should vent your no doubt considerable anger. I'll explain why later, for now just take my word for it- scream, shout, slap him across the face.

You have my permission.

And, with your family history, I have no doubt that your tantrums will be of epic proportions. After all, with true dramatics for parents and the magic equivalents of the antichrist for grandparents, vicious overreactions are pretty much your legacy.

But enough of these pleasantries. We're not at a tea party or a ministry function. This isn't a pleasant conversation. This, mysterious somebody, is an account of my Hogwarts years.

Or, more accurately, an account of my life.

Before and after? Well, I walked around and breathed and spoke, but I wasn't alive. Not in the sense that I'd define the word.

Before the events of this manuscript I don't think I was fully awake; after I was simply a shell of what once had been.

The rest of my existence has been rather black and white, but in between, that brief, vivid flash of colour, that was me. That was my life, and therefore that is the subject of this tale.

I'm not sure that this is even a good idea.

Would it be simpler to write an impersonal account of my life from day one? Would you prefer that? But I think you'll like this. After all, you're like her, and this is what she would have told me to do.

"You think she cares about your third birthday? About the time you had the chickenpox? Do you really believe she'd be interested in an account of the months you've spent cooped up in your ancestral home, wallowing? Show her you, Sirius, help her understand."

I think that was what she would have said. And I imagine, being her, she would have said it in a rather patronizing and sardonic tone.

I had promised myself that I would not allow the memories to swamp me- that I would not reminisce. Reminiscing, she always maintained, is for old people. She always said that if you have time to reminisce, you are not living.

Maybe she was right.

But I am not living, not really, and I think I will have to swamp myself in memories to do this; maybe that is the only way I will get it done.

And it has to be done, mysterious somebody, it simply has to. Because you deserve it. Whether you burn it or treasure it will be up to you, but either way, you need to see this.

You need to read these words, to understand them.

You're so young, and no doubt so foolish. You have to know more than what you do now, to understand the past and how it shaped everything that is happening in our world today. You need to understand how the people that surround you became who they are. And more than all of that, you need to understand me.

After all, a daughter deserves to know her father, doesn't she?

…

Well, this is the part which people would call 'the beginning'. I'm resisting the urge to pen 'once upon a time' in huge, swirly cursive across the top of the parchment.

It is difficult, but I will prevail. After all, as foreign as it is to me to want to be taken seriously, this time I must.

I suppose that this is where I tell you about my family, my early years. If I wanted to, that is.

I don't, of course.

Why should we go there, mysterious somebody, when they have brought the both of us nothing but pain? And on top of that, why revisit my family when they seemed for my entire childhood to be so torturously dull? I speak truthfully; nobody would ever have believed that evil could be boring, unless they lived with my parents.

Those years of my life seem to meld into one massive grey blur. And nobody likes grey.

So I will begin with bright crimson. That is, in a compartment on a crimson train. It was on this train that my adorable 11year old self sat, speeding over a bridge towards a place I had only ever dreamt about, sitting opposite a boy destined to play a key role not only in my life, but in history itself. At the time we begin this, however, he did not look particularly impressive. In fact, with his messy hair, round glasses and gaping mouth, he reminded me of a particularly startled (and inexplicably hairy) goldfish.

"What?"

I observed somewhat resignedly that the boy looked genuinely at a loss. Obviously such declarations were completely foreign to him.

I repeated myself- slowly, "I said that Hogwarts is great because gives us a way to get away from our families."

The boy shook his head, his expression slightly bemused "well, I guess," he crinkled his nose thoughtfully, pushing his glasses askew, "but, well, I mean…." I watched him, arms folded, smirk in place. His floundering for a reply made him look small in my eyes- I always preferred people to be decisive. But even as this thought crossed my mind, he met my gaze, and with a crooked grin said, "well, you must have a terrible family."

I nodded in agreement, returning his smile. For the moment, we were completely alone in the cabin, without anyone else to impose themselves on our newfound camaraderie.

We'd had company earlier- a pretty girl and a boy who distinctly looked like he could use a shower- but my new friend and I had teased them til they left. This was, in fact, the rather inauspicious beginning of our friendship.

(Do try not to judge me, mysterious somebody. You must understand- this boy really needed a shampoo)

There were some other boys in the compartment, but they had exuded neediness and nerves to the point that I was irrationally repulsed by them. The boy sitting opposite me now had none of that, and as we laughed over the sheer horribleness of my family, I felt the beginnings of affection for him.

He had told me his name- James Potter, blood traitor- and with a twinkle in his eyes asked if my illustrious ancestors wouldn't be rolling over in their graves with horror at our friendship. I solemnly informed him that my illustrious ancestors were far too dignified to roll anywhere. "More likely," I told him, "they're scowling in their coffins."

He leaned forwards with a grin and said, "tell me more."

And so, with a complete lack of respect for my family name, I regaled my new friend with tales of their snobbish ways and odd hang-ups until we were both rolling on the floor with laughter. I could just imagine my mother standing over us, watching our behaviour with her famous sneer, and this image spurred me on, as it always did, to take my mischief further. Soon, I was entertaining James with impressions of my mother, my horrid aunts, and even- tentatively- my father.

"But it doesn't matter all that much now," I told him, as he clutched his sides over my monologue as Aunt Lucretia, "I'm finally getting away. I don't need them! I won't even have to think about them until holidays. It's great!"

This realization, as obvious as it should have been from the time I boarded the train, seemed to lift a weight from my shoulders. I felt so free suddenly, and so completely light that I could fly.

James grinned at me from across the compartment, his eyes warm with understanding. "I can imagine." He said, "you must feel weightless."

In another situation, any other situation in fact, his words would have inspired a cruel round of mockery by yours truly because no statement could be more deserving of the label 'useless wank'. But right then and there, it fitted perfectly.

From that moment on, I associated James Potter with freedom.

But even as that little bond was forged- something which I already sensed would lead to a very good friendship- James continued.

"I reckon," he said slowly, "something horrible is always made a bit better when you laugh at it, don't you? That's why I like you, Black. Looks like you live with a bunch of cruel harpies, but Merlin do you make it into something hilarious."

I could have taken offence. I could have dismissed his attempt at empathy with a sneer. But I didn't. Mostly, I think, because 11years is too long to go without a friend, and he was offering even more than that.

His little speech told me something about the two of us. We would be more than friends- we would be brothers.

Humour me while I jump on ahead.

Where do you want to be placed?

I scoffed tearing my gaze away from the stormy enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall to shoot a condescending look up at the wide brim of the sorting hat, "you tell me, mate," I suggested, "aren't you supposed to read my thoughts? Gaze into my soul or something?" I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, "Isn't that what you were pretty much created to do?"

I want you to say it out loud. The hat replied, apparently unfazed by my rudeness. I hated it when I couldn't faze people.

Besides which, its request? Stupid. What would the point of that be? The sorting hat had seemed so much more interesting in my mind. I cast a quick gaze over to the table furthest from the entrance, where my cousin sat, watching my eagerly. Eyeing the silver and green banners in disgust, I sighed- time to get this farce over with.

"Fine. I guess you know best- after all, you're the hat." I sighed again, trying to rein in my sarcasm. "Anywhere but Slytherin."

Why?

I considered, then grinned, "because my mother would be proud if I were in Slytherin."

The hat chuckled, and my affection for it grew slightly.

With that malicious streak, you would fit Slytherin perfectly, It told

me and I shrugged.

Well then. Defiance implies stupidity. Or bravery, How about we try…..

GRYFFINDOR!

A cheer went up and I pushed the hat from my head, carefully arranging my features into a blank expression. After all, it just wouldn't do to wear my triumph on my face. But inwardly, I was laughing, already composing a letter to my mother.

'…and all the professors tell me they're sure I'll do well. I've made friends (all pureblood) and we're all settling in well.

Enjoying everything immensely.

Regards,

Sirius.

PS: was sorted into Gryffindor…."

It would be fabulous.

My walk to the Gryffindor table was probably only a few seconds long, but it felt like a lifetime. All eyes were on me. That roar of approval? I'd inspired it. I'd been raised with a sense of superiority over others, but I suppose it wasn't til that moment that I realized something- I might not like my family, I might rebel tirelessly against them, but their certainty in their place above all others was a trait I seemed to have inherited. I didn't like the attention- I felt entitled to it. The realization that the dislike I'd born for my parents since birth hadn't prevented them from influencing my personality cowed me a little. I took my seat with an uncharacteristic lack of flair.

But then, somebody in red and gold clapped me on the back, and I realized that it didn't matter that I felt worthy of attention. I may be a little like my parents, but that wasn't what they'd see when they heard about my sorting. No, they'd be gaping like fish over the fact that their precious heir was in Gryffindor.

I felt a thrill of fear at my defiance, but more than that, a wave of triumph. Mother's stern assurance that I would be in Slytherin had no power over me- I controlled my own actions, tradition be damned!

Still standing in the line, James gave me thumbs up and another lopsided grin. Obviously his mind was working in a similar way to mine. I sketched a mocking bow and waggled my eyebrows at him. He applauded with a laugh, ever the clown. It was a pity he'd be so long getting sorted, we were only in the Cs.

"Hey, congratulations." I looked over my shoulder.

An older boy with flaming red hair grinned at me from the other side of the table. I cast my eyes over him in an automatic evaluation. His friendly, open grin and lack of reserve told me straight away that he was no proud pureblood. That made his enthusiasm somewhat strange, "yeah, thanks." I said, confused.

"Welcome to Gryffindor," the boy continued, stretching out a freckled hand, "I'm Arthur. Arthur Weasley. And you are…I didn't catch your name, sorry," he shot me yet another grin, "I know it started with a B or a C…."

"Black" I filled in, "Sirius Black."

Arthur Weasley whistled through his teeth, "wow." He said, bewildered, "a Black. In Gryffindor." He blinked a few times, evidently in shock, "wild."

"Yeah, pretty." I agreed nonchalantly. From his reaction to my name it was fairly clear that if he wasn't pureblood, he was no muggleborn either. My best guess, and I could practically feel my mother's influence on my thought patterns, was that he was from an old, but less prudish wizarding family. I didn't know of the Weasleys, but I could tell that he knew of the Blacks, and my presence in his house unnerved him.

I was actually surprised that he hadn't noticed when I was sorted; after all, there were quite a few people who had.

One in particular.

I turned my eyes back to the Slytherin table. Bella was looking straight at me, her eyes an eerie mimic of my own.

When the hat had bellowed 'Gryffindor' for me, there had been two battling emotions in the Great Hall. Something akin to triumph from the red and gold table I had been walking towards- an 'in your face' to their rivals. And from the silver and green table on the far side of the hall? Furious disbelief.

No doubt Bella had told them all that I would be in Slytherin- her smart, cutting, brat of a cousin.

She was ridiculously proud of me like that. But I had embarrassed her by being sorted into Gryffindor of all places. I had proved her wrong. And she could not understand how it had happened. She just couldn't comprehend it.

Bella didn't accept what she didn't understand- she never had, and her rejection of the fact of my sorting was plain to see in her eyes. By her side, one of the Malfoys gave her a sympathetic glance, which morphed into a glare full of rage as his gaze shifted to me.

You could have been great his glare said but you chose the wrong side. I proclaim you 'enemy'.

I didn't give a shit. I met his glare with a condescending smile. His eyes flashed with anger and shock, but he held my gaze. In the last instant, our exchange seemed to have turned into a staring competition, and neither of us wanted to be the first to break it. My smile turned vicious, and I inclined my head without looking away. Aside from my confidence, my parents had bequeathed me with an inheritance which all members of our family seemed doomed to posses- what we called the 'Black stare'. I turned it on Malfoy now.

He could not intimidate me, I tried to communicate with my trademark defiance. Nobody could.

I was startled from my reverie by a roar of pride from the red head across from me. His joy was mimicked by the entire table. I joined in, in my own way, clapping politely as I searched for the source of the uproar.

Someone else had joined our ranks.

The pretty girl from the train, her long red hair swinging behind her, approached our table with her head held high.

Back in the waiting line, her oily haired boyfriend looked sick. She smiled at him and absentmindedly sat down next to me.

I scooted over to give her more room accompanying my 'gallantry' with a dashing smile. I think it was that expression which made her recognize me- how could anyone forget my arrogance?

And I? I remembered her pretty hair and eyes, and more than that, her apparent immunity to my charm. Even as I watched, she sniffed and scooted away from me.

I grinned; people who dislike me interest me beyond anything else. This may sound conceited to you- it probably is- but there were few people around who actually didn't like me, and someone who found me repulsive was novel, a challenge.

"Yeah, that was my reaction, too" I said knowingly.

The girl stiffened, interest obviously piqued. "What?" she asked, trying to disguise her confusion as resentment.

"When I saw my reflection in the mirror this morning," I clarified with a lazy grin, "I almost sneezed as well. Weird, huh? Maybe I'm allergic to myself."

"I'm certainly allergic to you," she said primly, and I laughed.

"Yeah, I know. You better not look me in the eye now, it might give you some sort of reaction. Better not introduce yourself, either. Too risky."

The girl smiled, her face angling just slightly more toward me. You should know, mysterious somebody, that I am in my element when it comes to charming girls.

"I wasn't going to," she said, sniffing again.

"Quick," I gasped, shielding my face with my hands, "turn away before you come out in hives!"

She laughed despite herself and stretched out a hand, "Lilly Evans."

"Sirius Black."

"Serious?" Lilly turned to face me now, frowning slightly on top of her smile, "you don't look serious."

I shrugged, "well, you don't look like a lily. You're far too big, and the wrong colour. It's parents, they're pretty stupid."

Lilly laughed, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She had to be the sweetest person in existence. Despite how horrible I'd been to her earlier, she was willing to try and be friends. But the thing about people who are nice, and willing to put the past behind them is that they assume you will do the same.

I've never been a nice person. And I never put the past behind me.

I glanced up at that moment, and saw the greasy boy from the train glaring at me intensely.

"Woah," I said and Lilly automatically followed the direction of my gaze, "could you tell your boyfriend not to curse me? I don't want to spend tonight in Mungo's with kumquats growing out of my nostrils."

At the word 'boyfriend', Lilly turned away, prim again, but I was relatively unconcerned. Now at least she knew I wasn't ever going to be best friends with the oily boy, even if she herself seemed so lovely. And after all, I had seven years in which to charm her again.

Another cheer.

Both Lilly and I stayed seated, smiling and clapping, both slightly unsure of the protocol for first years. I was at that point getting very hungry, staring at the empty goblets and shiny clean plates and wishing hopelessly for a whole troop of sorting hats, one to each head so that the process was instantaneous.

"Sorry, can I sit here?" I looked over my shoulder.

The boy staring down at me had the most apologetic smile, but above it, he had eyes the colour of a shiny new galleon. I thought it was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. But his eyes couldn't hide the fact that he looked a little ill, with his school robes already dishevelled and his hair messed up in a way that didn't quite pass for 'cool'.

"uh, yeah, I guess," I decided with a frown, "as long as you don't throw up." He grinned, and suddenly, I liked him.

"What about if we compromise; I'll aim for the side if I feel the need?" he suggested. I laughed and scooted over for him, keeping my place next to Lilly.

There was an awkward silence while the boy waited for me to introduce myself. But, mysterious somebody, I was raised a Black, and however much I rebelled against it, it is in my (our) blood never to appear eager.

The boy seemed to sense this. With a wry grin he held out a hand, "Remus Lupin."

"Sirius Black." I supplied, shaking his hand.

We smiled and then by mutual agreement looked back to the sorting.

"Macmillian, Terese." Professor Mcgonnagal called out and I groaned.

We would be waiting here forever.

I considered Remus, " so, me and Lilly-flower here were just discussing the inappropriateness of names. Sure seems like you should be involved. Your parents very into wolves?"

Remus jumped half a foot, turning green at the same time and upending an empty goblet with a clatter. In response, the red headed guy from before turned around and frowned us into silence.

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice hoarse.

I was confused, "your name. Remus. Lupin. Remus as in Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome who were raised by a wolf. And Lupin. Lupine. Wolf like."

His fists were clenched and he was breathing rapidly, "yeah, right. My name, of course." He forced a laugh.

"Are you ok?" I asked, cautiously remembering my earlier concerns; I had not envisioned spending my first night of freedom covered in vomit.

Remus nodded, eyes darting from side to side in a golden blur of nerves, "yeah. I just- I had a bit of a bad experience with a wolf once. It uh, made me really nervous around them."

"Right." I wasn't fussed. I couldn't care less about his childhood experiences. What mattered was what he was like, which seemed to be nice enough. And even if I didn't feel the same instant connection with him that I had with James, his disheveled appearance suggested that he was no stuck-up little brat. I knew my mother wouldn't approve of someone so messy, and so I knew we would be friends.

Another roar from our table.

This time, Lilly stood up and cheered with the best of them, but Remus and I stayed seated; I out of lazy nonchalance and he out of nerves.

Pay attention here, mysterious somebody, because this next person is important.

The newest Gryffindor boy made a beeline for me and I watched him with halfhearted curiosity. He was the least likely Gryffindor you could imagine; a small, pasty, rotund thing, moving awkwardly along in a way that could only be described as scampering or scuffling. Why he would choose to come to me, probably the least approachable first year in his house, was beyond me. Remus and Lily were both much friendlier than I, hell, even the older Arthur Weasley would have seemed a smarter choice for someone who wasn't a natural at making friends. He reached me and stopped, a look of pleading on his face.

"Hello," Remus said kindly, proving my earlier point.

The boy beamed at him gratefully, then turned expectantly back to me.

"Do I know you?" I asked, trying to temper my tone so I didn't sound like a bully.

"J-j-jam-James said I should sit with you!" he gushed.

I looked up- James was nodding. "Fine," I said amiably, "there's some room on the other side of Remus."

The boy nodded and scuffled obediently over to Remus' other side.

"Hey, I'm Remus." Remus said with a welcoming smile, a statement which was both polite and redundant.

"Pettigrew." The boy wheezed.

Even Remus looked confused, "your name is Pettigrew?" he asked.

I grinned, "join the club! We have here lily-flower, serious and wolf-man." Remus blanched under his smile, "all of us have inappropriate names."

Pettigrew looked aghast, "Peter!" he cried, "Peter!"

"What?"

"I'm Peter, Peter Pettigrew." He amended, literally panting as though he'd run a marathon.

"Ah." I said knowingly, "well, that's not half as interesting now, is it? You'll just have to sit off to the side with our charming, but boringly named….."

"Potter, James." I resisted the urge to sit up straighter as I watched the James mount the steps and place the hat on his head, instead maintaining my bored slouch. I berated myself for caring so much, but I really wanted James in my house. A lot. And so, even though to look at me, one would think butter wouldn't melt in my mouth, inside I was a nervous wreck.

I waited in suspense, watching the play of expressions across James' face as the hat deliberated. Reluctantly, I smiled; he was so very bad at concealing his emotions.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Another roar of approval.

"Good." I said, relieved. Remus gave me a sideways look full of appraisal. "I met him on the train," I explained.

Remus nodded, "yeah, it's just that I reckon that was the first time you actually said something today which you actually meant."

Remus, mysterious somebody, was always very perceptive.

James practically ran towards us, his head held high and a winning smile on his face.

"Taking a lap of honour?" I asked sarcastically. He laughed and sat down between Lily and I.

"James Potter," he said with a grin, and all the others murmured their names.

Except one.

"Sorry," James said, leaning in closer to Lilly, "didn't catch that."

"You weren't meant to," she snapped, turning even further away. James frowned, obviously he was new to being disliked as well.

"Don't worry," I told him, "she's just worried about her boyfriend, aren't you, Lilly-flower?"

"Go die." She snapped, and James shrugged and turned around.

"I'm starved," he said simply, "when is dinner?"

And here, mysterious somebody, I must jump ahead yet again, thankfully mere hours into the future, when my new friends and I had gorged ourselves on pasties and pudding and everything on offer in the way that only growing boys can without throwing up.

We skip now to a small and somewhat predictable scene. It takes place in one of the many halls at Hogwarts, into which I was suddenly pulled on my way to the common room.

"Bella, no! I told you, it's ok."

My cousin practically spat with anger, "ok?" she gave a hollow laugh, "the last thing this is is 'ok'! I mean, all the Blacks belong in Slytherin, everybody knows that! The hat must've made a mistake…."

"There was no mistake." I said wearily. The conversation had been going around in circles for almost an hour, but nothing I said made any impression on my cousin- it was as though she couldn't hear me.

Bella had always showed signs of selective deafness.

Never more so than at that moment, striding back and forth, her 12year old shoulders squared purposefully.

"Don't worry, we won't take this lying down! I'll call father, and he-"

"Bella!" I grabbed her by the shoulders, "seriously, it is fine! I don't mind being in Gryffindor, no, listen! I even have friends-"

She wrenched herself away from me, "friends?" she hissed, face a black mask of anger and disbelief, "friends? What are you saying Sirius, are you listening to yourself?"

"No," I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice, "am I talking? Wow, must be a reflex action..."

"Be serious." Bella snapped. I laughed and her eyes flashed. When they did that, it was always a strange experience for me, like I was watching myself get angry in the mirror.

"Calm down, Bella," I said softly. "This is hardly the end of the world, after all. So I'm in Gryffindor. Along with hundreds of other students...why the fuss?"

"The fuss" Bella intoned in a voice which was obviously carefully even, "is that you, Sirius, are a Black. And Blacks do not belong in Gryffindor. They do not now and they never will. Remember that you, Sirius, have brought down a legacy."

She gave me a final solemn stare and strode off, her steps echoing in the empty hall. It was as dramatic an exit as one could possibly make when they're 12years old and wearing their hair in plaits.

I watched her go, and then sighed, turning around and wondering in which direction my common room was.

"Finished, then?" I spun on my heel to meet the gaze of a dark haired boy with skewed glassed.

"James," I said, trying to hide my relief. "Come to fetch me, have you?"

He laughed and began to walk away. He did not need to check if I would go with him; we both knew I would. Somewhere along the line, we had become a team.

But Bella's words lingered in the back of my mind, refusing to disperse.

Me. Sirius Black. Apple of my mother's eye.

Bringing down a legacy.

I quite liked the ring of that.