BLACK AND WHITE
The Art of Idiocy

Chaos.

Utter chaos.

That was what had became of Platform 9 ¾. Trunks were maneuvering through the air wildly, thrashing around uncontrollably as they were undoubtedly under the influence of rather unstable levitating charms. A mass of people flooded over the worn concrete floors, all sporting various forms of impatience on their anxious faces. Unidentified objects were zooming around in the air, coming dangerously close to contact with several unsuspecting heads and some even doing so.

Oddly enough, a strange assortment of objects seemed to have developed a life of their own, for a now shrieking quill had sprouted two miniscule, duck-like legs and was waddling away frantically from the wrath of an enraged tomato.

Students were shoving anxiously through the crowd, their eyes scanning the scene before them for parents lost in the muddle, friends that had not yet been greeted, etc., and amongst the disarray of it all stood a rather befuddled Samantha White, still a bit shaky from running headfirst through what seemed to be a completely solid brick wall without experiencing a very nasty head-on collision.

Merlin, the train leaves in three minutes and from the looks of it, no one's even boarded, she thought to herself, bewildered by the lack of order and precision Hogwarts executed. They'd have a right fit back at Andromeda's.

A bitter taste settled itself on Samantha's tongue as she recalled her old school, Andromeda's All Girls Preparatory, with more than slight distaste. There, everything was performed with such suffocating exactness that Samantha often felt like she couldn't breathe. Even if she was outside, surrounded by a vast expanse of fresh air waiting to be inhaled, she still felt constricted. There was never a spontaneous, unplanned moment, a lesson that involved anything that wasn't completely controlled, not one second of blissful uncertainty desecrated the walls of Andromeda's.

It was more like a finishing school, really, where you performed perfectly, behaved perfectly, and even spoke perfectly, for diction and grammar were held in high esteem. It didn't matter if you gave the correct answer to a question, for nothing less was expected of you, but if your pronunciation was slightly off, you supplied a week's worth of gossip.

Although Samantha had excelled greatly there, her short temper and rather feisty attitude made her terribly impatient, which was not a virtue at Andromeda's. She somehow managed to keep her easily flared anger in check throughout six grueling years of provocation, and by provocation it wasn't anything like teasing or bullying, it was more the moronic, completely ignorant things people had the nerve to say.

Although Andromeda's had been pristine in manners and etiquette, boasting students well-learned in a weighty minimum of five languages, drama and catty remarks were unavoidable at any all girls school. Many a time it got ugly. Very ugly.

Nevertheless, it was over. I'm glad to be rid of that, Samantha thought sourly as she surveyed the frenzied mess before in a new light. Better, she thought, smiling appreciatively. Much better.

"...and remember to stay out of trouble, sweetie, we don't know how strict the professors there are. Oh, and send letters every week or so, just to keep us up on what's going on. And I bought you a subscription to the Daily Prophet, just so you know the latest news. You have to be up to date, what with you-know-who rising and all..." her mother babbled on and on for what must've been forever before she finally felt satisfied with her mandatory lecture, and took a moment to smile warmly at her daughter. "My baby, all grown up."

Samantha sighed as the predictable layer of salty tears coated her mother's deep brown eyes. "Mum, big scenes are fun and all, but could we skip the melodramatic bit just this once?"

"Yes, of course, dear. Wouldn't want to embarrass you on your first day," she said with an airy laugh, though she was still wiping her eyes and sniffling terribly. "I'm going to miss you, Sammy."

Samantha winced at the nickname her mother had grown so fond of, but she swallowed her protest, not wanting to spoil the overly sentimental moment, and nodded in agreement. "I'm going to miss you too, Mum."

"Sam, you're the best big sister ever!" Shelby cried, though Samantha was sure her mother couldn't see the insincerity and maliciousness in her eyes.

"Step-sister," Samantha grumbled under her breath so her mother wouldn't hear her, and then almost lost her balance as Shelby threw her pudgy arms around her. She recoiled slightly before reluctantly giving Shelby a pat on the back at her mother's pointed expression, then sighed in relief as she was relieved of her grasp.

Her mother opened her mouth to say something, surely about sisterly bonding or something equally sickening, but the warning whistle thankfully sounded from the train, causing an increase in the frantic shouting surrounding them.

"Well, then, I guess this is it!" her mother sang cheerily, but her voice was cracking and tears were yet again threatening to spill down her cheeks.

"I guess it is," Samantha murmured, finding herself feeling strangely wistful. Sure, she always felt sad to a certain degree when she left her mother for an entire year, but she felt an extra twinge of melancholy regret this time. It must've been because it was a new school, and her mother would be even farther away than she used to be. The whistle sounded again, breaking her from her trance, and she smiled as her mother enveloped her into a tight hug.

"I love you, sweetie. Have a great year, and don't forget to write," she said sadly as she broke away from her.

"I won't, Mum. I love you, too," she replied, then after a rather violent battle in her head, added, "Bye, Shelby."

"Bye!" she chirped, her pigtails bouncing stupidly.

"Goodbye, Mum."

"Goodbye, Sammy," her mother echoed wistfully.

Samantha turned around to face the train entrance where now only a few stragglers remained, and she felt a wave of nerves wash down her body. She tentatively walked over to the stout witch checking the boarding passes, feeling alarmingly timid and out of character.

"Name?" the witch squawked rudely, looking up at Samantha through horn rimmed glasses expectantly.

"Samantha White," she responded firmly, craning her neck to peer inside the train at what lay ahead of her. The witch ran a plump finger down a long roll of parchment before coming to a stop somewhere near the end.

"Samantha White, incoming seventh year?" the witch asked, looking up questioningly.

"That's me," she nodded assuringly as the witch eyed her suspiciously.

"Alright, on you go," she quipped, waving her hand dismissively. Samantha took one final look at her mother, who smiled back at her reassuringly, and took a deep breath, exhaling shakily. Well, here goes nothing...

Sirius Black sauntered casually across Platform 9 ¾, ignoring the persistent warning whistles whining from the Hogwarts Express. They wouldn't leave without me, he thought smugly, smirking at the inane number of girls who undoubtedly knew of his absence at this very second. The entire female population would go on bloody strike.

He spotted a pudgy witch with frizzy black hair glaring at him from atop of horn rimmed glasses, but her glare immediately melted away as he gave her a smile. He waltzed over to her carelessly as if he wasn't ten minutes late, which he indeed was, and flashed her another charming smile.

She blushed and smiled shyly, looking down at her feet. Her gold pendant had the name "Edna" embellished on it in a flowery scrawl. "Edna, love, I must say you're looking lovely this year."

The witch blushed furiously, waving her hand in the air in an "Oh, stop it" type fashion and shook her head embarrassedly. "Mr. Black, you are too much, really."

He grinned at her, and she ducked her head down into her long scroll of parchment, unsuccessfully trying to hide the fresh blush that had tainted her cheeks. Sheesh, even stony old broads like this aren't immune, he thought amusedly, letting his eyes sweep across the now completely empty platform.

Ever since the fateful day he had charmed a pretty, blonde salesclerk at Honeyduke's to give him free sweets at the tender age of six, he realized he was destined to be Sirius Black, irresistible ladies man.

From that pivotal moment on, he began using his charm and dark good looks to no end on the female population, be it adult or child, to wriggle his way out of homework assignments or steal a girl's candy.

After eleven years of practice, saying that he had mastered the art of charming women was an absurdly vast understatement.

Yet, as utterly carefree it may have seemed, there was a slight problem with this predicament.

Perhaps more than slight.

Few knew it was all simply a front, a mere mask to hide behind. Sirius' entire life was full of a darkness that the happy families surrounding him a meager twenty minutes earlier would have no way of understanding.

A darkness filled with the twisted shackles of hatred and abandonment.

He had a hollow spot in his soul that nothing seemed to be able to fill, despite how lucky and happy his whole facade of a life appeared to be. Sure, he possessed an impressive amount of money, was unnervingly bright, incredibly popular amongst his fellow Hogwarts class, and Merlin knows he'd had his fair share of girls.

Yet there was still an emptiness within him that nothing could take away, not even the honorary Marauders that held so near and dear to his heart. The greatest prank in the history of Hogwarts couldn't even begin to fill it, for it was a spot in his heart that was reserved for, corny though it may sound, love.

No, not the brotherly love and compassion he held for the Marauders. That was something quite different. It was the imperative, paternal sort of love only your family could give you. The type of love that soothed away your worries during the evening, for you knew somewhere beyond the walls of your bedroom, someone was worrying even more about you, thinking incessantly about your well-being. The type of love that was unconditional, unfaltering, and everlasting...

The type of love that Sirius had secretly spent a small part of his life searching for, attempting to achieve, before defeatedly surrendering to a life of family feuds, betrayal, and ultimately, abandonment.

But this acceptance of harsh reality indeed took its vengeful toll. In Sirius's mind, he didn't need his family at all anymore. They were a whole bunch of worthless nutters who suffered from drastic superiority complexes.

Indeed, their minds were utterly caught up in the pureblood mania that had swept over the wizarding world, a mania that Sirius wanted nothing to do with. He was sickened by the atrocities being committed upon innocent people solely based upon who their parents were. To him, it was a bloody holocaust.

When his parents found out about his views on the matter one night during what ended up being a rather violent dinner, a rift was forever set. Their son Sirius was a failure.

Consequently, though bruised and battered both emotionally and physically, he spent the rest of his life proving to everyone that he was different from what his last named advertised. He declared it his primary goal, and set off to achieve it almost immediately.

This task was greatly helped by his being placed in valiant Gryffindor, a house that portrayed nobility and bravery, as opposed to Slytherin, a house which boasted of pride, cunning, and shrewd superiority. Every Black in history, save one, had been sorted into the dark, wicked likes of the Slytherin house, reveling in its grandeur and proclivity toward pureblooded wizards.

Needless to say, his designated house came as a bit of a shock to his family. A bit of a nasty shock.

However, the sorting gave Sirius the emphatic boost he needed to prove himself. He began by showing through various acts of valiance the nobility, kindness, and warmth he possessed. Almost immediately, he befriended James Potter, a Gryffindor and fellow Marauder, and together they set off making history in the school. They were both eager pranksters, making a name for themselves in any way possible.

Somewhere along the way they befriended Remus Lupin, a serious, more sensitive boy, though a prankster at heart, and Peter Pettigrew, who no one really knew how he fell into the equation, but somehow, it just fit. The four Marauders: Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. All nicknamed after their animagus forms. Mooney, the werewolf, Wormtail, the rat, Padfoot, the dog, and Prongs, the stag. The four became like brothers, like a family of their own...

Nevertheless, there was a certain emptiness that accompanied the notion of being loathed by your family that was unavoidable. But Sirius just learned to deal with it. That's what he's learned to do with everything, deal. Forget, but never forgive. Yes, that was Sirius... funny, charming, carefree Sirius...

"Mr. Black?" the frazzled witch repeated timidly, and Sirius shook his head slightly, wrenching himself out of his unfocused gaze and bringing his eyes back to her. He smiled, despite the troubled sensation thoughts about his family always brought to him.

"Ms. Edna?" Edna blushed again, giggling girlishly, which seemed out of place on a woman of her age.

"Actually it's Mrs. Edna," she replied pointedly, though her cheeks were still a dangerous looking crimson.

"What a shame," Sirius murmured, and the witch actually looked slightly remorseful. He couldn't help but smirking smugly at her weak, sad frame. "Well, darling, I must be going." The poor witch looked crestfallen. "Wouldn't want the train to leave without me. Till another time, I suppose," he said, flashing her a charming smile that made her sadness morph into rather pathetic anticipation.

Without another word, he boarded the train, eager to begin a new year full of memorable farewell pranks. The Grand Finale, he thought with a smirk.

Geez, can a girl get a ruddy break?

Samantha sighed exasperatedly as she peered into yet another completely full compartment, bustling with airy girls chatting away about some vapid topic or other.

She was nearing the end of the train by now and had yet to find a place to sit. The train was bound to depart any minute, and Samantha wanted nothing more than to settle down so she could properly assess her surroundings. Her trunk was clunking about behind her, making her stumble every few steps as it hit indentations in the floor. This thing is at serious risk of a long, brutal death...

She passed another full compartment, and then her pace slowed as she heard hushed voices slipping from the adjacent one.

"Did it hurt?" a high-pitched voice squeaked nervously.

"Of course it did, you pathetic toad! The Dark Lord does not simply play around!" a much lower voice hissed bitingly. Samantha, who had unconsciously been leaning toward the compartment door in an attempt to hear better, snapped her head back in alarm at the mention of Lord Voldemort.

Only Death Eaters call him The Dark Lord, she thought warily, a red flag of caution shooting up somewhere inside her. These were not people she wanted to associate herself with.

She took a silent step backward, trying to go unnoticed as she distanced herself from the crowd, but her foot caught on the strap of her trunk. She went flying forwards, crashing through the compartment door she so desperately wanted to avoid, landing face-first on the deep blue carpeting.

She hopped to her feet quickly, wasting no time lingering on the ground. She brushed herself off, then reluctantly looked up at the people around her.

A person's normal reaction to someone tripping so moronically would have been amusement, but no such emotion was portrayed on any of the faces staring back at her. Mild shock was the general expression at first, but after a second or two each individual person took on their own.

A sharp nosed blonde girl was overcome by what seemed to be extreme distaste, while a dark featured brunette stared at her with a malice that stole away much of the beauty you could tell she possessed. Something about her was oddly familiar. A beak-nosed boy with greasy hair glared at her warningly, and a sandy-haired boy with flashing green eyes smirked at her wickedly.

None of these expressions served to modify the tension Samantha was feeling, but the one by far made her the most uneasy was coming from a boy with long, white blonde locks and silvery blue eyes. He had a look of utmost contempt, though it was mixed with underlying intrigue and a suggestive smirk. It was this as well as the spiteful iciness his eyes contained that made Samantha shudder involuntarily.

"Aw, is da widdle guwl scawed?" the dark haired girl cooed in a voice that made the hairs on the back of Samantha's neck stand on end. But she shook it off, regaining her composure as she stood up a bit straighter. This girl just challenged me.

"Sorry, but it takes a bit more than an ugly face to scare me," she retorted coolly, smirking inwardly as the girl's malicious smile melted off her face... only to be replaced by a look of murderous rage. Uh-oh.

"WHY, YOU DIRTY LITTLE-"

"Bellatrix, please. Restrain yourself, girl," the blonde one spoke calmly, never taking his glinting eyes off of Samantha. He continuously let his eyes drift up and down her body, though he did it tantalizingly slow, absorbing every personal detail. Samantha felt naked under his searing stare, as if she had been violated on every spot his gaze let itself linger.

"Lucius, did you not see!? THAT FILTHY MUDBLOOD SPOKE TO ME!" the brunette cried, outraged.

"Yes, I saw, Bellatrix - all in all, it was slightly amusing," he responded, voicing the same hint of intrigue present in his gaze.

The girl Samantha assumed to be Bellatrix cried out indignantly, and at this the blonde boy rolled his eyes, tearing his eyes away from Samantha for the first time since she walked in. "Oh, don't fret you stupid girl, she reeks of pureblood." Then he slowly brought his stony eyes back up the length of Samantha's body, resting them on her eyes. "You can tell just by looking at her."

Samantha frowned at this, feeling a sense of defiant pride. She wasn't a pureblood by any means - her father was a muggle as they come, though her step-father was a wizard - and she wanted nothing more than to silence the intimidating blonde with this fact.

It had never really mattered to her, being a half-blood, for she got no sense of shame out of it. She focused on other, more important things, like high marks and life achievements. She thought the pureblood mania going around was absurd, and now with the rise of Lord Voldemort, things were getting dangerous. The horrors broadcast through the news were enough to make her sick.

After the blonde boy, who's name must've been Lucius, made his pureblood comment, the rest of the compartment began to stare at her with a new-found interest. While most took on a spark of curiosity and mild acceptance, the greasy haired boy's glare had yet to falter.

She parted her lips to correct his assumption, though after a moment she thought twice about it. These people were obviously part of the discriminatory few that saw anything less than pureblooded as scum, and they also seemed to be the type to use violence against anything they disagreed with. Admitting that she was part of the group they despised could be extremely dangerous, especially given her attitude and her inability to control her sharp tongue.

The number of eyes on Samantha made her feel unbearably uncomfortable, and the tension in the compartment continued to mount. The sandy haired boy winked at her slyly, sultry desire flashing in his shining eyes. Samantha grimaced, and Lucius must've noticed, for he glanced at the boy suspiciously, then narrowed his eyes at the expression on his face. "Stop staring, Avery, it's awfully rude."

Samantha snorted contemptuously, rolling her eyes. "You're one to talk."

At this, Lucius looked slightly taken aback, but an intrigued smile slowly crept onto his lips. "You don't like me looking at you?" Something about his tone made Samantha uneasy. It was almost twistedly playful.

"Actually I adore being objectified, please proceed," she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes at the stupidity of the question. To her disgust, his smile widened. He stayed like that for a moment, leering at her somewhat thoughtfully, before he spoke.

"Do you have any idea who I am?"

She contorted her face into a genuinely contemplative expression. "Mr. Rogers?"

"Fascinating," he said, leaning back in his seat and staring at her.

"No, you're really not," she replied, preparing for her exit. "I mean, don't get me wrong - being gawped at is oodles of fun and everything, but I think I've overstayed my welcome here."

With that final sentence, she turned abruptly and strode out of the compartment, slightly aware of the fact that it would be incredibly easy for them to hex her with her back turned. But she didn't care, she just wanted to get out of there as soon as humanly possible.

The air in the corridor felt incredibly light and weightless compared to the heavy, tension induced atmosphere of the compartment.

She grabbed her trunk hastily and began to plunker down the aisle, going relatively fast and not watching were she was going out of the desperation to get away from her previous experience.

Without warning, a person flung the door to a compartment open right as she was walking by it, hitting her square in the face. She tumbled backwards, stumbling over her cumbersome trunk and losing her balance, plummeting yet again into an unsuspecting compartment, only this time falling onto her back.

She felt a searing pain in the back of her head near her left ear, causing her vision to blur slightly as she tried to regain focus of her now spinning surroundings. This fall was much nastier than the previous one, and the only thing she was aware of was the sound of laughter accompanying the ringing in her ears.

Oh, so now it's funny, she thought bitterly as she closed her eyes, trying to steady the dizzy feeling she had. Laugh it up while I shrivel up and die, why don't you...

After a couple of seconds, she decided she felt stable enough to open her eyes, and found a very nasty surprise waiting for her on the other side of her eyelids.

Hovering only about a foot or so above her was the same handsome face and shaggy black hair that had bothered her so upon arriving to Kings Cross. He was looking at her with wicked amusement dancing in his eyes, though she was sure she saw mild surprise flicker across the dark grey. "I'm beginning to think you do idiotic things just for me."

Author's Note: Okay, chapter two - a bit on the boring side, and I sort of messed with the time scheme a tad by placing Bella and Lucius in their same year, but hey... I think I can have a bit of a creative liscence, right :o) Anyway, more insight into Sirius and Samantha's past - next chapter will have a lot more humor to liven it up!