SEPTEMBER 1971


The elder boy heaves his trolley forward. They reach the brick pillar between platform nine and ten, earning looks from all the muggles as they pass by. The mother is a rather unpleasant looking woman, stately, with expensive attire and pale skin that seems to never have seen the light of the day, and deep grey eyes. Two boys, one clinging to her robes like a lifeline and the other heaving a great heavy trolley stacked with the oddest assortment of items—a golden cage housing a beautiful tawny owl, a polished wooden trunk hunkering at the bottom—walk beside her. They are beautiful boys, with patrician features, finely woven ensembles and gaits that speak of elegance having been hammered into their subconscious from the moment they learnt how to walk.

Yet, they are less boys and more walking portraits and marble statues. The look in their eyes speaks of a nonexistent childhood and a cold, forced independence. The mother has one sinewy hand permanently latched onto the elder boy's shoulder, and perhaps that isn't so odd in itself, but the tense muscles of the boy's back, the slight purse of the woman's lips and the way her nails dig just slightly into the material of his cloak give the impression that it has more to do with admonition than affection.

They pause in the middle of the bustling platform.

The three huddle together as if quite convinced that the people around them will converge and swallow them whole. Indeed, the look the woman seems to be casting at the folks around her makes them all cringe and check themselves for anything particularly nasty hanging off of their coats or out of their trouser pockets.

The boys, however, don't seem to share their mother's acute distaste of innocent bystanders as much and are instead watching the stream of crowd around them with something akin to fascination. The mother notices this, and she digs her fingers painfully into her son's shoulder.

"Keep your eyes to yourself, Sirius," she hisses in rasping tones.

"Yes mother," is his low, toneless reply, but he continues to cast surreptitious glances at his surroundings.

The younger boy, so like his brother, peeks out from behind his mother and whispers something. His mother's nostrils flare but she speaks in even tones, and she seems to be addressing both her sons. The younger listens with rapt attention.

Sirius isn't listening, however. He has caught sight of another boy.

The concept of another boy is fascinating to him. He has been introduced to children his age, two or three perhaps, but he doesn't interact with them. He knows the protocol: he is to show them around the house, educate them on the lines of tapestries peopling the walls, and then politely ask them if they wish to take a beverage before leading them back to the hall, where they are to sit still with the adults, silent unless spoken to, for they are not just 'little boys', but heirs to The House of Nott, of Malfoy, or Lestrange. He has seen himself in the mirror countless times, but the face that peers back at him is always either dolled up in expensive green velvet or heavy golden dress robes or something equally prickly and unpleasant. He is not simply a boy, but the heir to The House of Black, after all.

But there, right there on the platform, is an actual boy, one who wears pants and a shirt, who plays on toy broomsticks with his friends, and climbs guava trees in his backyard, and picks bugs out of the grass, and does all those things that Sirius has seen little boys do on the street outside the window, the one on the topmost floor of their house that faces the London alleys outside and which his father has forbidden him from looking out of.

This boy is no older than he is, by the looks of it, but he is smaller and peakier, with thick brown hair and bright amber eyes. He is talking quietly to a lady, his mother perhaps, who is bending on her knees in front of him, periodically smoothing his hair out of his face as he speaks. She is a very pretty lady, with fresh blond curls and the same shade of gold circling her pupils. A man hovers nearby, tall, gruff, and tired-looking.

"... Can't go through the barrier, Mum. Only magical folks can," Sirius catches the boy explaining softly to the woman.

The mother gives an absent pat on the boy's cheek and says, "That's quite alright, Dad will take you inside then, love."

She pulls him close, giving him a brief hug as the rest of what she is saying is muffled in his hair. Her stance is oddly protective. Then she straightens up, giving his head one last awkward pat and steps back. The father puts his slender hand on the boy's shoulder in a reassuring grip and steers him to the magical barrier with the boy pushing his trolley in front of him. They disappear into the brick pillar together.

Mrs. Black watches them with a sneer. She draws Regulus closer to her, as if afraid that he'd catch whatever streak of uncultured upbringing the family of three has, in those two minutes, managed to convince Mrs. Black of possessing.

"Commoners," Mrs. Black hisses, "such flagrant demonstrations in company... No sense of propriety."

Sirius secretly wishes his mother would hug him goodbye like the pretty woman had hugged her son. He draws closer to her, resting his head very slightly against her side, wriggling so that her hand slides down his shoulder until it is almost an embrace.

Mrs. Black doesn't notice. She continues to mutter under her breath, and then readjusts the hand on his shoulder so that her bony fingers dig into Sirius' back, prodding him toward the barrier. The warmth he felt is gone, and he feels silly for even trying. He knows better than that. So instead, Sirius braces himself against the trolley and breaks out into a run. He closes his eyes as he nears impact, and then opens them when he hears a long-drawn whistle. He has made it to platform nine-and- three-quarters.

There are so many students. Sirius has never seen such a magnitude of children his age in one location. Little siblings chase each other around the platform, old friends greet each other enthusiastically, and the new students drink in the sights with avid excitement. Sirius sees the amber-eyed boy from Kings Cross standing in the corner where his father is talking to him rapidly. A few feet away, a boy with large spectacles is tugging a young girl's long brow ponytail. She ducks quickly, turning to yell at the boy, who laughs and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he backs off, making rude gestures to rile her further.

Sirius feels a sudden desire to join in their frolicking, see what it is like to pull a girl's hair without being flogged by his parents for it, or laugh loudly like the boy was without being told to behave himself lest he wishes to be exempted from dessert for a week, or simply move his limbs on his own accord, without having to ask for permission.

He feels a cold hand descend on his shoulder again. As if she has read his mind, Walburga tightens her grip painfully in a subtle sign of warning. Sirius looks up at her face; it is disapproving as she surveys the gay crowd around her.

"Your sisters will be here any moment. We'll wait for them."

Regulus draws closer to his mother, but his eyes are wide and curious as he takes in the scenes unfolding around him. Inside, Sirius feels quite as Regulus looks; surprised, unsure, and very curious.

"Ah, here they come ..."

Indeed, two girls have just stepped out of the brick wall with their trolleys in tow. The elder one is whispering furiously to the younger, who looks rather cross. They catch sight of Mrs. Black and immediately halt their conversation. The elder one straightens and gives the three of them a polite smile.

"Aunt Walburga."

Mrs. Black nods. "Andromeda."

"Aunt Walburga. Sirius," the younger one acknowledges them, her voice laced with a sickly sweetness. Mrs. Black nods at her. Sirius ignores her. She sniffs disdainfully and flips her thin blond hair over her shoulder.

He nods at Andromeda though, and she returns the gesture quickly. She is sizing him up, trying to assess what has been inflicted on him since they last met. When she concludes that he is quite intact, the wrinkles in her brows are smoothed. She turns to Mrs. Black.

"We're terribly sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Not at all," Mrs. Black replies. "We arrived shortly before you did."

The younger girl glances up at her sister with a hint of irate accusation, but Andromeda doesn't respond. "I'm glad to hear that."

Mrs. Black eyes the two girls carefully. She adjusts the cloak around her, releasing Sirius' shoulder. "I shall be on my way then. I entrust my son's custody in your hands; see to it that he gets onto the trains and stays out of trouble."

She eyes a passing group of chattering girls with mounting distaste. "I do not want him mingling with the ... wrong sorts. You understand."

"Of course," Andromeda says quickly, "I'll keep my eye on Sirius."

"I don't doubt you would," Mrs. Black says, "But I imagine your prefect duties will keep you preoccupied. I rather think Narcissa here could take up the mantle just as admirably."

Narcissa beams at her. Andromeda smiles tightly, "That's quite alright, I should think I could find time ..."

"No need, sister," Narcissa tells her sweetly, "I'll look after our dear cousin."

"I don't need to be looked after," Sirius tells her haughtily.

Mrs. Black immediately whirls on him, flashing him a venomous look as she hisses. "You will obey your sisters, both of them, or face the consequences when you're home next. I should imagine you've had enough floggings for the thought of another to keep you in line!"

This threat keeps silences him, although he glares fiercely back at his mother all the same.

"We should get him on the train," Andromeda says quietly.

Mrs. Black straightens, eyes boring into Sirius' face. "Keep well."

Then with a nod each to the girls, she vanishes back through the wall with Regulus in tow. Regulus waves frantically at Sirius as he disappears into the wall, his face glowing with the excitement that Sirius had forgotten he had been feeling all year until this moment. Sirius waves back and watches them go, feeling slightly relieved.

"Come Sirius," Narcissa titters. Andromeda glances sideways at her before beckoning Sirius to follow.

The train gives a loud whistle and students begin pouring in, parents hovering anxiously near the doors and windows.

"You take care now Eugene ..."

"... Have you your tonic on you ...?"

"KEEP THOSE FINGERS OUT OF YOUR NOSE!"

Andromeda and Narcissa help carry Sirius' luggage onto the train and Poseidon hoots at the sudden onset of jarring noises about him. Enchanted paper planes and small noisemakers fly and crackle about him as the unmistakable cacophony of a large number of youths gathered in a constrained area makes itself heard. Straightening their robes and exchanging a quick word, Narcissa and Andromeda turn simultaneously toward Sirius.

"Sirius, I have to go up front for the Prefects' meeting," Andromeda says, "Narcissa will take you to her compartment. Please ... do take care."

Sirius frowns slightly, wishing he had Andromeda's company instead, but dismisses the feeling with an uncaring shrug. With a last glance at him, Andromeda turns and walks the other way down the corridor.

"Come with me, Sirius," Narcissa croons, swinging her hair around and charming her trunk as well as his to levitate behind her. He follows her quietly, avoiding stray children, hovering trunks, and frogs that seem suddenly to augment in number as they make their way to the interior of the train. With a slight jolt beneath his feet Sirius has only to glance out of the windows to realize that the train has started to move, and he feels an unexpected thrill of anticipation as it strikes him that this is it, he is really off to Hogwarts, finally.

Narcissa leads him to a compartment near the end of the corridor that is obscured by curtains. She clears her throat and pushes the door, ushering a reluctant Sirius to step inside after her.

They are faced immediately with an unpleasant apparition that does nothing to ease the knot in Sirius' stomach. The girl looks down her long nose and fixes him with half-lidded, empty eyes.

"Rosetta Underwood!" Narcissa cries cheerfully, extending her cheek, whereupon 'Underwood' bestows a dry kiss, all the while fixing her daunting eyes on Sirius' face.

"Come in," Underwood grunts, stepping aside to reveal the other members of her gang.

Sirius recognizes most of the people in the compartment. A large number of them have stopped by the Noble House of Black during dinner parties, and some of them are regular visitors. He instantly spots Lucius Malfoy sitting in the center and lording over the company. Malfoy is a regular at the Blacks'; he is from a very wealthy family that traces its pure-blood lineage back centuries. He is also the eldest in their compartment, excluding Blaze, a burly seventh year who looks as lively as a stone carving. Underwood sits back down on her seat primly.

Malfoy glances at the two additions to their assembly, standing at the entrance. "Oh hullo, Narcissa," he drawls.

"Lucius," Narcissa purrs, making Sirius want to retch. Narcissa is evidently on very good terms with Lucius, as she has lost no time in telling everybody at home. Her mother had beamed at her and declared that her many conquests proved her worth. Bellatrix had commented that a boy would be a fool to overlook Narcissa. Andromeda had asked how she had done in school, which had inevitably put a damper on things. Druella Black loudly commented that finding Andromeda a suitor was proving to be more difficult than expected. Sirius had snorted into his drink and mumbled that Andromeda for one didn't need a pretty face alone to prove her worth; she actually had a decent head to go with it. Perhaps not as much as Narcissa, but Andromeda Black is an attractive witch. All the Blacks are.

"You remember my cousin Sirius, of course?" Narcissa continues, putting a hand on Sirius' head. He ducks out from under it. It is a childish thing to do.

Malfoy regards Sirius coldly. "Of course."

Malfoy isn't particularly fond of Sirius, owing to the fact that Sirius' usual sparse conversation with Malfoy involves cheeky comments designed to embarrass him in front of whichever crowd he happens to be boasting to. It is needless to say that Sirius doesn't like Malfoy either. In fact, Sirius doesn't like a lot of people in his family, which makes him rather cheeky in general.

"Aunt Walburga, you see, entrusted me with taking care of him; you know, making sure he's around the right sorts," Narcissa declares to the compartment. Blaze slowly turns his head to fix them with a stare. The rest of the occupants eye Sirius surreptitiously, sizing him up. Sirius eyes them openly, not hiding his disdain.

"Of course," repeats Malfoy, looking a little happier. This is his area of expertise, after all. "Not to worry Sirius, we'll introduce you to the right kinds of people here at Hogwarts. There are plenty of respectable families you can associate yourself with."

"Looking forward to it," says Sirius, but nobody seems to have caught the sarcasm.

"I was just talking about it to Rabastian here, in fact," Lucius continues, gesturing toward Blaze and Crabbe. Sirius had hardly noticed the puny body squashed between them, but as he lowers himself gingerly on the seat opposite, he sees a pinched face flash a sullen look at him.

"You are acquainted, I assume?"

"Yes," Sirius says.

"It's a shame he's joining his third year then, you two would have gotten along."

Both Sirius and Rabastian eye each other like they heavily doubt that.

"The Nott twins are in his year, you know, Eugene and Hasting Nott? Very affluent backgrounds. You should make it a point to keep up an acquaintance with them, Rabastian," Malfoy says.

Rabastian turns his sunken eyes on Malfoy and nods weakly.

"I'm afraid I don't know much about the fresh batch this year," Malfoy continues. He scratches his chin and frowns.

"Fowler's starting," Blaze says suddenly, his voice hoarse and grating, "The eldest after Boston."

"Ah yes," Malfoy says, "Fowler's a good one to collect. His father's in the Ministry, on first name basis with the Minister of Magic himself, I've heard. Well Sirius, you'll do well to stick around him. I'll introduce him to you, if you like. You should have invited him here, Crabbe."

Crabbe grunts, as if forming a sentence is rather too much of an effort.

"Potter's here this year as well," Narcissa adds.

Blaze laughs suddenly, voice spiteful, "The Potters are a joke. The parents are off their rockers and the boy's rather full of himself. A waste of fine blood, if you ask me. I wouldn't want anything to do with that lot."

"The Potters may be a pack of blood-traitors, but that doesn't change the fact that they have connections," Malfoy speaks smoothly, "I wouldn't disregard the Potter boy if I were you. He has Britain's largest inheritance waiting for him to come of age ... it quite largely overshadows yours, Blaze."

Blaze's face immediately becomes sour, and he settles back into his stony stance in his seat and says no more.

"Oh don't fret Blaze," Narcissa titters, "You know Lucius is only teasing. So there's Potter and Fowler. Anybody else?"

"Boy called Snape," Underwood speaks up in her scratchy baritone. "Saw his name on his trunk when he dropped it on my toe, stupid blighter."

"Never heard of a wizarding family by the name of Snape," Malfoy frowns.

"Snape's half-blood," Narcissa pipes up, "He lives down on Spinner's End, a little way from Surrey. His father is a common muggle, and his mother's a Prince."

Underwood lets out a nasty hoot of laughter, "Disgusting. I can't imagine how they allow little freaks like that into Hogwarts."

"It's revolting," Narcissa declares proudly to all of them, "They shouldn't be here. They taint the purity of our blood with their adulterated ancestry. They're crude and uncultured. No dignity—it's because of their muggle pedigree."

Sirius' immediately draws upon his memory of the little amber-eyed boy and his muggle mother with her simple clothes and clear, beautiful face. There was a kindness and strength of resolve in those eyes that neither Narcissa nor Underwood nor any of the people in the compartment could ever hope to possess, and in Sirius' opinion, he has never seen more dignity in anybody he has ever met.

"Now, now, Narcissa," Malfoy says patronizingly, "We can't help that Dumbledore refuses to see sense. He's a filthy muggle-lover himself. What we can do is make those half-bloods and mudbloods realize what they are, and eventually they're bound to get the hint and simply drop out themselves. It's like filth—we can't help where it accumulates, but we sure can help clean it out when it gets dirty."

Sirius feels an acute flash of anger as he recalls the face of the woman on the platform again. He has always had a suicidal habit of dishing out saucy remarks when he should really just keep his mouth shut, and this time is no exception. Before he can bite down on his tongue, the words have already slipped out.

"Just like your mouth, Malfoy."

The silence that follows makes Sirius largely aware of how very loud the train actually is as it clangs and chugs past expanses of green. If he strains his ears, he can even hear the shouts of the students in the corridors through the muffliato cast on their door.

Time to make his exit.

Without a word, Sirius flees from the compartment.


The compartment door flies open, jolting Sirius out of his thoughts.

Narcissa has found his sanctuary rather quicker than he had hoped, although it couldn't have been too hard, seeing as this was the only empty compartment left. She shoots him a sour look and sits unceremoniously opposite him.

"What were you thinking?" Narcissa hisses.

Sirius doesn't reply, lower lip protruding slightly and chin jutting out in a gesture of defiance.

"I'm trying to help you out," Narcissa continues, "and you really ought to behave yourself, these are people who can be your friends, who will be your friends if you just let them, Sirius."

She is right. These are the people who will be his housemates for the next seven years, these are the people he'll live with, eat with, sleep in the dorm with, and he has no choice but to get along with them if he wants a passive, at best, slightly cheerful life at Hogwarts. His stomach feels heavy with the thought. He feels trapped.

"... Lucius especially, such a wonderful fellow, can't you even try to get along? You're so absolutely vile around him, it's so embarrassing!"

Narcissa pauses and squints at him. "Are you listening to me? I will tell your mother about this, mark my words, if you should behave so!"

Sirius has the sudden urge to stick out his tongue but holds it in at the last minute.

There is a feeble cough from the corner.

Both Narcissa and Sirius whip their heads around and are met by a pair of eyes, wide as saucers, staring back at them. The boy has a pale face, slight body, and a faded jumper, and Sirius recognized him as the boy he saw on the Kings Cross platform earlier. He hadn't noticed him when he'd stormed into the compartment. Sirius feels a sinking feeling.

Narcissa narrows her eyes, drinking in the boy's shabby clothing, small frame, and crumpled posture. Her upper lip draws back in a sneer, and when she addresses Sirius, she keeps her eyes fixed on the boy.

"That's the kind of company you want to stay away from, Sirius," Narcissa's hostile glare makes the boy shrink into his seat slightly, but he holds her gaze evenly.

Narcissa acknowledges this as defiance, and sneers, "What are you staring at, boy? Don't you know it's rude to stare?"

The boy doesn't respond; he doesn't tell Narcissa that she is the one who is staring, and she is the one who is being rude, but he simply purses his lips and continues to hold her gaze in a maddeningly calm way.

At the end of his already thin patience, Sirius realizes that he can't take any more of Narcissa's antics, lest he blow his top at her and earn himself a torrent of punishments from his ever-ready-with-the-whip mother. He leaps to his feet, a sour taste in his mouth.

"Let's go," he barks abruptly to Narcissa. He avoids looking at the boy. It is Sirius' fault she is in the compartment disturbing his peace, and really, he doesn't want to inflict Narcissa's conceit on an innocent party.


He hasn't the slightest clue where Narcissa is, nor does he care, for in the last hour he has managed to fill his plate to the brim with more trouble than should be normal for an eleven-year-old boy on a train full of school children. Raging, he stomps his way to the front of the carriage where he had seen Andromeda head off earlier and stops only when he is at the front of the train, facing the Prefects' Compartment.

If he closes his eyes, he is sure to see red sparks of rage shooting behind his eyelids. How dare, how dare that Potter kid insult him, who is he to judge where Sirius comes from? He doesn't know anything about Sirius, about being a Black, because he is just a stupid, spoilt, muggle-loving ...

They'd been getting along perfectly fine until Sirius had made a fatal slip. They'd been talking about Quidditch, Potter jabbering excitedly about the upcoming season and the Chudley Cannon's prospects going in to the first match. Sirius likes Quidditch too and was equally eager to contribute.

"I can't wait to see how their new chaser shakes out," Potter says cheerfully. "I heard he's top-notch."

"Mack Aguillard?" Sirius asks in surprise. "Do you really think he'd be any good?"

"Well why not? He has the best stats of any junior league chaser."

"I dunno, he's played seeker most of his time," Sirius points out.

"Ah well, that only goes to show his versatility," Potter replies sagely. "I reckon it also makes him faster than the others. He's got pure talent, that man."

Sirius shrugs. "I wouldn't keep your hopes up. He's a mudblood after all."

Potter gets up abruptly, and suddenly he is towering over Sirius, looking angry. "Say, watch it! You can't use that word. What that's supposed to matter anyhow, if he's muggleborn?"

Sirius stares up at him in surprise, at a loss for words. He isn't sure why Potter was suddenly so angry, he thought everyone knew that muggleborns had less magical blood in them, that their magical abilities were less strong. It wasn't their fault, of course, which Sirius felt his cousins didn't seem to understand, but it was just a biological fact.

"I mean he's a mud—a muggleborn," Sirius says, frowning. "They're less magical."

"That's a load of toss and you know it," Potter retorts, crossing his arms as he glares down at Sirius. "What an utterly moronic thing to say."

Sirius's face flushes with embarrassment. "Oh shut up, you know I'm right, you're just too self-righteous to admit it."

"You are not right!"

"Am too!"

Potter is shaking his head, snorting derisively. "I should've known. You're just another bigoted Black, just like the rest of them!"

Sirius jumps to his feet, incensed, his blood pumping with rage. "You're no better, you're just as full of yourself as they are. They'd love your company. You can chat about your inheritance, how great your ancestors are, how much your mummy and daddy love showering you in money—you'd fit right in, don't think you wouldn't."

James's eyes flash and he takes a menacing step forward. "I am not a blood-obsessed snake. So why don't you go back to your nasty cousins and leave the rest of be, eh?"

"Fuck off, who needs you anyway," Sirius spits, and he starts to storm out of the compartment, throwing open the door. There is a gaggle of students right outside who seemed to have heard his and Potter's argument and are whispering to each other, silencing themselves at the sight of Sirius.

Fed up, tired, and hurt, Sirius makes a face at them and shoves his way past. "Get out of my way, you idiots!"

His hand makes contact with a short, chubby boy, and he pushes him aside brusquely as he goes. The boy squeals and stumbles, perhaps having lost his balance, but Sirius doesn't turn back. He can hear commotion behind him, and he hears Potter's indignant roar. He doesn't however, hear Potter storm up behind him, so it comes as quite a surprise when he feels a hand pull him back, whirl him around, and then punch him in the face.

Sirius rubs his knuckles and scowls. His shoulder is bruised from where he had fallen when Potter had tackled him and caused them to tumble down the corridor in a tangle of boyish limbs and loud elementary cussing. The elder students had separated them then, the other boys jeering and goading and the blue-eyed plump boy Siirus had shoved aside had wathcing in abject horror and Sirius had suddenly had enough. He had fled the scene in a towering rage and the only person he feels he can tolerate right now is in a bloody prefects' meeting.

Unhappy, lonely, and hurting all over, Sirius slides to the floor outside the door, leaning against the wall to wait for a prefect to step out. He scowls and pulls his woolen coat tighter around him, wondering if everybody at Hogwarts will be so unpleasant and fervently hoping he won't have to be stuck with the likes of Potter year round, and suddenly, he wishes with all his heart that he could just go home because at the moment, that seems to him a happier prospect.

It is a good twenty minutes before the door creaks open, startling Sirius out of his dejected musings. A tall girl with black hair steps out, nearly tripping over Sirius with a cry of surprise.

"What in Merlin's ... Oi! What's the idea eh?"

Sirius jumps to his feet, staring up at the girl. The girl stares back.

"Are you a first year?"

Sirius nods.

She quirks an eyebrow at him, all her previous annoyance disappearing. "Is there ... erm ... something you want?"

"I want to talk to my cousin," Sirius replies.

She cocks her head. "Right. Does this cousin have a name?"

"Andromeda Black."

The girl's face clears. "Ah. And you are ...?"

"Her cousin."

"I got that part, surprising enough," she says cheerfully. "Any particular reason you wish me to drag her out of a prefects' meeting?"

"None that concerns you," Sirius replies coldly.

She smiles at him. "They get cuter as the years fly. Sorry to break it to you young man, but I happen to be the Head Girl, and as such you will find that any business that requires one of my prefects to leave the very first prefects' meeting of the year does indeed concern me."

Sirius flushes slightly but remains adamantly silent. The Head Girl regards him for a few seconds and arrives at some kind of conclusion, for when she speaks next, she sounds cheerful again and less stern. "Well you wait here then, cousin of Andromeda Black, I'll go fetch her."

The lights are dim, and it is dark out so he can only see grey streaks on a black background outside the window next to him. He is curled in his seat with a blanket tucked around him in a way only Andromeda can do, and though he would never admit it, he loves when Andromeda tucks him in. The lady with the cart of candy had come a few hours back and he had eaten a few chocolates, though he wasn't all that hungry. One or two people had come and gone; the Head Girl had come by and had talked to the Andromeda for half an hour, and so had a well-built golden-haired boy with a cheery face who had looked like he was good friends with Andromeda, because they sat very close next to each other for a long time and kept smiling at each other, and he had even patted Sirius' knee while he thought Sirius was asleep.

The gentle rhythmic rocking of the train lulls him to sleep, or perhaps he is just tired from the last few eventful hours. Soon he will be at Hogwarts, soon he will be sorted into Slytherin and it will be back to pretending, back to retreating into his shell and avoiding the world and then there will be seven years of that, but right now, he wants to sleep, because when he sleeps, the world seems a little more friendly, and he feels a little safer. He is a child who has grown up doubting his parent's love because it was so little expressed, but he is a child after all and he craves the gentle reassurance that only Andromeda has ever provided him, and that Uncle Alphard had provided Andromeda when she was little. They are kin in a family of strangers, they are the mutations of a perfectly bred society, and they stick together in thought even when they are miles apart and they watch each other's backs without a word needing to be uttered.

The way Andromeda looks at him sometimes, the way she is looking at him now as far as he can perceive through half-lidded, sleepy eyes, it is as if she wishes he were anywhere but here. Sirius is too clever to feel hurt, because he knows that it simply means she wishes his life were different. Perhaps it is because she sees her own childhood in his—though that might be doubtful, since Sirius is certain that she never blatantly rebelled as much as he does—but she knows exactly how to handle him. She doesn't coddle him and instead pushes him to take care of himself, because they both know that she won't be around forever, but the family name will. She doesn't force him to grow up as his parents do, because that doesn't work and it only serves to cement the part of him that wishes to be a child forever. Instead she lets him be a child, albeit a rather mature one, which he often doesn't deserve. She has always been the mature one, the way Bellatrix is the crazy one and Narcissa is the petty one. She had learnt quickly, and she had worked deftly, and she had figured out her own tricks to surviving, just as she lets Sirius figure out his.

She is no longer looking at him, but talking now, and so is the Head Girl, Edith Jude, and perhaps they are talking about him, but the solemnity of their expressions suggests to Sirius that they are probably speaking of prefect things, although he can't figure out what is making Andromeda's eyes flash like that.

The last thing he remembers before he falls back to sleep is the reflection of the compartment door opening in the window, and he hopes that they haven't reached yet because he wants this moment to go on for a few more hours before he is ready to emerge from his cocoon of blankets and comfort and into the cold world outside.