A/N: Uh-oh. I'm starting a Harry Potter fanfic? Well, let's start with an introduction shall we? I'm Idiosyncracy (with a C). I've recently been converted to a Harry Potter fan girl.

So let's clapclapclap and go YAY for HC!

But either way, I'm sure as hell a proud one! See, anime and all things Japanese was initially my kind of style, but with the (quite forced) help of a dear friend, my writing mind broadened!

So give it up for KitKatPyrophobia! I swear, school hasn't been the same since we met all those years ago…Nonetheless, it's been great. I've even watched A Very Potter Musical, what, three times now?

Anyway, I'm trying to keep this short and quite sweet. Without further ado, let the reading ensue!

Dislcaimer: Well this is the first time I've said this: I don't own Harry Potter

"In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence."

- Simon and Garfunkel "The Sound of Silence"

The air was thick with silence. The only audibility was that that of the broad wire ropes, lowering the hunkering grandiose wooden frame, occasionally protesting the few wrenching movements.

The skies hung heavy with malice; an ethereal weight seemed prepared to rip the very seams of the clouds. They rumbled with a low, perilous hum to the east, foreboding yet another nightly storm in London. The many shades of grey of the area— grass, trees, clouds—dismally complimented the many shades of black on the ground.

The silence was broken by a woeful woman's scream.

She collapsed pitifully, clutching a black laced handkerchief while, once beautifully applied, make-up messily ran down her pallor-stricken face.

Deteriorating, she was.

The cool porcelain of her exterior, hardened by her infamous family name, chipped and marred with every deluge of emotion. All that she was probably most capable of doing was clearly lost by that moment.

The black mass around her remained silent; only one sympathetic man offered aid to the widow's physical, and soon to be mental, instability. The oak-darkened coffin relentlessly lowered, mockingly creaking and swaying into the earth.

Cruel reality began seeping into one particular young boy, dreadfully observant and aware, just as a single icy raindrop made a landing atop his raven-black head. He glanced around at the shapeless faces of all colors and origins around him.

Death stared back.

He looked at his widowed mother, deceased father, and his two shivering younger brothers. Save for the now-relentlessly pelting needles of ice, the air was thick with silence.

These types of scenes were far from new for Sirius Black. Though, he couldn't help but feel horrible empathy for that of the boy in front of him.

While a cluster of nearly one hundred people crowded the lowering coffin, all splendidly dressed in the finest blacks and grays of fabrics, the fifteen-year-old boy was quite plainly clothed in his regular school attire; a Hogwarts robe, fitted for his growing Fifth Year body, a Gryffindor crest proudly displayed on his chest, barely fended off the pangs of chills that dribbled through the cloth. Rubbing his arms for comfortable friction, he could only look at his watch.

Any moment now that memory, like the many others, would be over.

He waited as the ancient-looking wizard ahead of the crowed droned on with dry, shallowly-sympathetic words of remembrance of the poor bloke who'd lost his life.

"We gather here today in the remorse and remembrance of—" The name blurred.

As the time continued to tick on, he thought he might as well absorb his surroundings for the time being. Who knew when or if it would ever serve him purpose? The beyond-dead grass beneath his school shoes crunched loudly, making it the only other sound accompanying the man's voice and the wrenching ropes.

Not many seemed to be too upset at the loss of who he guessed to be the woman's husband; quite frankly, they seemed to be more self-concerned than they were for the poor woman. He even saw one man glance at his wristwatch, and then pick at his nails.

How bad Sirius felt for the dead man was immeasurable. Must've not been one of the more popular wizards.

Sirius began to think spitefully of the time being wasted in yet another dreary memory while he had more than enough tests to study for back in class. And, though none of the dreary London rain even touched him or his clothes, he was steadily becoming irritated at the scene that wasn't showing any signs of ending. A roar of thunder sounded as a clap of lightning followed; it's close and dear friend.

Only minutes later, the air began to thicken and become solid. Sirius was more than ready for this feeling to finally return. He couldn't afford to miss another lesson of Potions at his failing rate.

As he closed his eyes, he felt the unpleasantly-familiar slurping feeling; his body felt as if it was being lifted up and trough a dense tube.

What felt like his feet left the dead crunchy grass of the gloomy cemetery, and his mind was painfully thrown into his body, which was comfortably placed in a position as if he'd been sleeping in class all along.

The collision into his body gave his body a start; he jolted forward. His head, which had been positioned to lean most of his weight into his hands, comically collided with the desk in front of him with a muffled thump. Remus Lupin, two seats to his right, had let out a discreet snort of laughter.

As his black eyelashes fluttered open, he squinted in the poor lighting of Potions class, rubbing his rapidly-reddening forehead.

Shoving Remus in the shoulder for being amused at his pain, he could guess nothing of substantial importance had been missed, as Professor Slughorn continued to painfully murmur on with class. Omni-colored spots cartwheeled across his sight before tauntingly fading.

He took a sweeping glance of the room, testing other's reactions. Most were staring off with dull expression in every odd way; others were creatively doodling and looking up occasionally, appearing as if they were taking notes. Some were staring, probably too intently, at the professor, as if in dire attempt to beat the painful drone of a lecture in their minds.

But another good portion of the classroom had checked out, just as he did, for the day.

Almost immediately after he roused, a crisp piece of chalk was hurled swiftly, and with a good amount of force, across the classroom. For a moment, Sirius believed he'd been caught again, for what the professor believed was, sleeping.

He really didn't feel like serving another detention during another important Quidditch match, which he absolutely could not miss.

James had almost skinned his arse the last inopportune time he'd screwed around.

But the fleeting white mass was, in fact, not purposed in his direction, keenly hitting the forehead of Peter Pettigrew with expert precision. Glancing down, two people to his left and one seat back, Sirius began to laugh at his stirring friend.

Drool had been considerably close to cascading down the student's openly-gaping mouth, as he too had clearly been coaxed to sleep by the pattering rain pellets on the window and the oddity of warmth in the room.

"Mr. Pettigrew, I believe you should be practicing your sleeping schedule when the time is of most opportunity to you and your house, instead of making a mockery of my lesson." Professor Slughorn harshly reprimanded the boy as the class burst out in raucous laughter.

As Peter began to scramble for his bits of parchment, reddening in doing so, the bell miraculously saved him and, more than likely, Gryffindor House some trouble.

"Padfoot, you are one lucky bloke for skimming off that well. No one would've ever guessed you were asleep, the way you set up." Remus laughed as the many students gathered their belongings and filtered out of the class in small groups. Girls happily chattered plans for that night or the following day, and boys yawned their way back to their respective common rooms.

Sirius smiled sheepishly, but then decided to change that into a smirk. "I try to be the best at what I do." He jokingly winked, turning to see the other two Marauders clambering up. James was laughing himself to tears at the bluntly noticeable white mark the chalk had left on Peter's forehead, spot on.

The other, however, hadn't the faintest clue as to why.

"Oh would you can it Prongs? It's over! It's done." Wormtail's fuzzy blond eyebrows were beginning to furrow, half in frustration, half in embarrassment.

"Hah, I'm not laughing at that, Wormtail." Running a hand haughtily through his unruly mess of black hair, James Potter attempted to calm himself, though chuckles escaped him.

"And don't think I didn't see that stunt you pulled, Padfoot; though you're way better at making it look natural." Prongs playfully thumped Wormtail's back, accidentally making him slap himself in the mouth as he tried to wipe his face. The lot of them laughed simultaneously at their uncoordinated friend.

"Ha, whatever. Let's just get out of here before The Slug gets a chance to corner us." Sirius rolled his eyes and fastened his school bag. Double Potions, every bit miserable as it sounded, was luckily the last of the lessons for the day, though no activity seemed to be appealing as the rain only intensified.

Sirius inwardly sighed in relief; to his good fortune, no one was able to notice a hitch in anything. He ran a hand through his hair, straightening the mass now long enough to pull into a low ponytail.

The group steadily staggered out of the dungeon and began ascending up the many flights of stairs necessary to make their way to the Common Room.

Thoughts from the previous memory he had experienced, and the many before, began to cloud his mind. Prongs' animated chattering, and Moony's lighthearted laughs faded gradually.

Sirius had never been what some would call normal.

Compared to his motley crew of friends, however, he should've been considered the closest example to normal. In fact, apart from Remus' nice-guy face, he was probably the most approachable. But for almost three, going on four, years he's been plagued by…

Well, he didn't really know what to call them.

What do you call being thoroughly hurled, mentally that is, into the minds of people you've never met?

He supposed they could be what most would consider memories, though who knew for sure? Hogwarts was a very elaborate duplex of enchanted people, beasts, and objects; its own self being the prime example. However, how these remnants of people lives and/or subconscious came into play was beyond the raven-haired boy.

Apart from the many ghosts that roamed the grand halls, no matter their origin, Sirius knew none of them had any correlation with his... problem. At first, he'd suspected that the memories of the school's specters were scattered around the grounds, just as their bodies had been left to wander.

But that notion had quickly been discarded as the situation turned out to differ from his initial theory. The mind-altering recollections were only confined to the rooms to the building, not outside in any way. The first idea had also left out one very important variable that affected the situation the most:

Sirius Black appeared to be the only person within the walls of the school who was able to witness these memories.

Not only was he cursed to see figments of unknown people's reminiscences, but he was forced to habitually experience them. He was obliged to, in a sense, take part in them, as if there was someone needing him to do so. His question nowadays lay within wh—

"Sirius, watch out!" A frantic voice called from ahead of him. In the split second that was given to him, he realized it was his own name that was being called, not his nickname, by Remus, one of the Marauders.

That only meant danger.

Just as soon as the observation concluded, Sirius successfully collided into a poor unsuspecting girl passing by.

From impact, the two fell onto the paved walkway and groaned simultaneously in pain. From the scattered hardbacks and parchments, he realized she had been carrying an extensive array of books without magic, thus making the fall that more painful.

The clatter had caused the prominent noises of the hall's inhabitance to quiet slightly. Most turned to witness what the matter was.

Sirius sat up from his aching trip, face down, mind you, into the ground and rubbed his forehead for what felt like the millionth time that day. A crowd had gathered to witness what caused the raucous clatter, and a burst of laughter sounded from behind him.

Sirius swiveled to glare at James, who had been more than delighted at the embarrassing scene unfolding. Turning to the girl, he realized he had tripped over the foot of Lily Evans, a nice-hearted girl and a fellow Gryffindor Fifth Year.

And the same person James held the largest amount of fancy for.

The raven-haired teen hardly doubted there wasn't any connection between the overdone bout of laughter and the girl being present.

"Sorry about that Lily. I wasn't watching where I was going." Sirius sincerely apologized as four of her friends rushed to her aid.

He began picking up parchment from every direction and cast a self-conscious look around him every few seconds. Remus also had dropped his bag and assisted in the clean up. As the crowd realized nothing of any interest was going to ensue, the hallway traffic resumed as usual.

"Oh no, it's perfectly fine, I promise! I was the dolt who wanted to prove I could do things Muggle style to bet my friends. I couldn't see over my books." She smiled at Sirius as she tossed her deep red hair that fell into her eyes.

Analyzing the girl, Sirius could see why James had such an affliction for her. She was pretty enough, and held one of the top academic positions in the school. Her bubbling personality made it that much easier to make conversation with her; no matter what kind of teacher, student, boy, girl, or creature you were.

Accepting the apology, the group clambered around the hallway. James seemed to quiet as he noticed Sirius and Lily now talking to each other with ease. Many of the younger years halted and moved out of the way, though it was really the pair of Fifth Years that were imposing.

Just as he had bent to pick up the last piece of parchment, Sirius' insides froze. Time appeared to stop as the edges of his vision began to blur.

The air condensed and became hot and sticky, and the compressing feeling of being forced through a straw returned. Sirius had never planned on experiencing more than the usual amount of memories today, nor should he have. But luck was becoming more and more of an enemy to him as the day rained on. The air only continued to thicken.

"Oh. Shit."

A/N: I actually ended this earlier than I initially planned on.

I found that it was befitting. Plus, this chapter is more of a prologue to what I have planned for further chapters. I know it's short, but hopefully this will help feed your hunger for more!

Look forward to more drool dripping, finger licking, supermegafoxyawesomehot Sirius exposition

Idiosyncracy[Is Bliss]