Chapter four:

The lonely silence Sirius experienced his first week at school didn't last long. Word quickly spread among the First Years that Sirius had already mastered most of their courseload. As a result, Sirius left his outcast status almost overnight, and was chiefly popular among the females of his year. Marlene McKinnon in particular had asked Sirius for regular help with her Transfiguration work, and in exchange offered her notes in History of Magic. Sirius was well-versed in events involving pure-blooded families, but his governess considered any history involving muggles or muggle-borns to be useless. As a result, Marlene's notes were quite helpful.

Sirius and Marlene met in the muggle studies section of the library twice a week; Marlene insisted they were less likely to be disturbed here, and she was right. The older students who frequented this corner of the library kept to themselves, and no pure-blooded Slytherin would dare step foot there. Sirius often brought extra reading material to their study sessions, but he and Marlene never did get quite as far in their homework as he would have liked. After the first thirty minutes or so, Marlene would often push her homework aside and start chatting animatedly. It was impossible for Sirius to focus at that point, but he didn't want to be rude. Marlene and her friend—Mary, Sirius realized later—were the only people in the school who actually seemed to enjoy his company.

The rest of the student body was a different story entirely. Just as Sirius had resigned himself to the role of social outcast, he was suddenly the center of attention. Professors were impressed with his advanced skill, the Slytherins were glad he hadn't embarrassed them too much, and the Gryffindors mostly looked on with the sort of bemused expressions a hen might have at finding a foreign egg in the nest. It was odd to be simultaneously the most popular and yet most disliked student in the school. The younger students were happy to be seen talking to him in the Great Hall or in class, but determinedly ignored him otherwise, whispering to their friends behind his back.

Sirius had hoped his cousins might step in and save him embarrassment at meal times or on weekends, but there was no such luck. Andromeda made it a point to say hi to him in the corridors, but was often too busy with her N.E.W.T. level classes to pay him much mind. Sirius was sure Lucius was still rather sore about the incident involving itching powder at one of the endless Black dinners, and so he and Narcissa refused to acknowledge him whenever possible.

As a result, Sirius quickly learned to fill his spare time with studying or exploring the school grounds. He quickly found several empty corridors, secret towers, and even a tunnel that he was sure led off school grounds. His favorite spot was a hidden tower near the Defense Against the Dark Arts classrooms—it was little more than a spiral staircase that led nowhere for three levels, but it had a view of the lake and most of the front lawn. It was here Sirius hid most weekend afternoons, practicing the homework from the Second Year syllabus. Once in a while, feeling brave, he would practice the curses his mother often used when she was angry.

After only three weeks, the secret hideout to avoid public shame had suddenly turned into a much-needed safe haven.

Sirius wasn't sure how it had started, but he suddenly found himself surrounded by a gaggle of girls almost every morning at breakfast. They giggled more than they talked to him, and Sirius was left looking from one fresh face to the other in quiet confusion. The Houses were expected to keep to their respective tables at mealtimes, but that didn't stop girls from all Houses—even two brave Second Years from Slytherin—from constantly flocking around him. The other Gryffindor boys looked on in amusement, but never intervened.

"Choosing a future Mrs. Black already, eh?" Potter had mentioned in passing once, a wide, lopsided grin on his face. It was the most he had said to him since their first day of class, and Sirius wasn't sure whether to be insulted or laugh at the joke.

Professors often called on Sirius in class, even though he never had his hand up anymore. Peeves had developed an annoying habit of bowing ridiculously low to him whenever Sirius passed. And still the girls continued to follow him around the school, while no one other than Marlene really seemed to talk to him.

It wasn't until his personal property started disappearing that Sirius finally got an answer to all the weird behavior.

"All my quills are gone!" he said, clearing his mostly-empty bag onto the table. He and Marlene were huddled away in the Muggle studies section after class one day in late September.

Marlene giggled at that.

"What's so funny?" Sirius asked, mystified.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?"

Sirius stared back at her blankly.

"Your fan club," she offered, trying to suppress a smile. "They've stolen all your stuff as trophies."

"That's completely ridiculous," said Sirius dismissively. He was irritated at being found quill-less once again. He would have to ask his parents to send him a package.

If they would talk to him, that is. Sirius was sure his father was out of the country on business, but Walburga Black had remained notably silent since Sirius began Hogwarts.

"You can have one of mine," Marlene offered, pulling out an extra quill and handing it to Sirius. It was a cheap one, Sirius noted, very unlike his own expensive quills and prone to blotting ink. Still, he was grateful for something with which to write.

Sirius pulled his homework toward himself, but was unable to concentrate. "What do you mean by 'fan club'?" he finally asked.

Marlene looked up from her book and grinned again. "Well, they're all in love with you, obviously—"

Sirius' eyebrows shot up. This was not the answer he had been expecting. "Excuse me? Where on earth do you get that idea? They never talk to me, they stare at me whenever I pass by—"

"Only because they're all too shy," said Marlene knowingly.

Sirius' brow furrowed. "So instead of saying 'good morning,' they steal my personal possessions?"

Marlene shrugged. "Yeah."

Sirius rolled his eyes—the bad habit was slipping back now that he didn't have his mother to constantly berate him for it. "I don't understand it."

"Then you're not as clever as you seem," Marlene said cryptically. Seeing the look on Sirius's face, she added, "You're…mysterious."

"I'm what?"

"You have a certain…je ne sais quoi. Like, it's the way you talk for example, as if you're royalty or something."

Sirius's brows knit together. "I'm not familiar with much popular slang, but the way I speak is hardly—"

"And obviously your good looks and wealth help," she added, ignoring Sirius. "But it's more to do with the fact that you're brilliant in all our classes, but you don't seem to think so. Believe me, it's so refreshing to see humility among purebloods—"

"But I'm not brilliant—"

"See?" she interrupted. "Exactly what I mean. You're mysterious."

Sirius felt his face flush in spite of himself, and turned back to his homework. "This whole school is mysterious," he muttered to himself.

"Are you going to the Quidditch game this weekend?" Marlene asked, changing the direction of the conversation.

Sirius hesitated. He would like to go, but not if it meant sitting alone in the stands like an idiot.

"Because Mary and I are going, if you want to sit with us," Marlene continued, flipping her hair over one shoulder.

"Er, all right, then," Sirius decided. "Should we meet in the common room beforehand?"

"Don't worry, I'll come find you," Marlene assured him.

She did exactly as promised that weekend, and she, Sirius, and Mary made their way through the school and down to the Quidditch pitch together. The excitement about the first game of the season was infectious. Students were chatting animatedly with each other over the two competing teams—Ravenclaw and Slytherin—and Sirius felt his spirits lift for the first time since the Sorting. Until, of course, his cousins caught sight of him.

"Sirius!"

Sirius turned his head to see Narcissa and Andromeda, who were surrounded by a few older Slytherin students.

"Where are you going?" Narcissa asked, frowning. She was dressed in an emerald green sweater, and her blonde hair was pulled back into a neat pony tail secured with green ribbon.

Sirius's frown matched her own. "To the Quidditch game?" he said, confused by her question.

"Yes, I know that," said Narcissa, her voice full of superiority. "But you don't need to ask for help finding the pitch. You will of course be sitting with us during the game—"

"We're his friends," Marlene interrupted hotly, not at all intimidated by the Fifth Year Slytherin.

Narcissa genuinely looked surprised at that. Andromeda was too busy chatting with her friends to pay attention to the conversation, and Rabastan Lestrange sniggered.

"Oh, I didn't realize…" said Narcissa. Her tone was apologetic, but Sirius knew that the only person she was sorry for was himself. "McKinnon, isn't it?"

"Yes," Marlene said defiantly.

Sirius watched as Narcissa and Lestrange's eyes found his own and gave him a knowing look. Half-blood. Not worthy of associating with the Black family.

"I know your older brothers," Narcissa continued. "They seemed to learn their place well enough; it's a shame you haven't yet learned yours."

Marlene took a bold step forward, wagging a finger in Narcissa's face. "My place is going to be in your face in a minute—"

Narcissa and Lestrange erupted into laughter.

"You really are a poor excuse for a witch," said Lestrange waspishly. "A physical fight? Use your wand, you blood-traitor—"

Andromeda turned around to see what all the fuss was about, and caught sight of the expression on Sirius's face. "Rabastan, put your wand away! Dueling with a First Year? Cissy, you're a Prefect—stop arguing with them," Andromeda admonished them.

Lestrange rolled his eyes. Narcissa shot her older sister a disparaging look, but did as told. She raised a pale eyebrow at Sirius. "If you find the time between all your new social circles, your cousins would love if you joined us for the game." With that, she and Lestrange marched off. Andromeda rolled her eyes, but she and her two friends followed.

"What a cow," said Marlene hotly, watching Narcissa with narrowed eyes.

"She's not a cow, she's my cousin," Sirius spoke up.

Marlene rounded on him. "So you're siding with her?"

Sirius frowned, not expecting this sudden turn of events. "Well, I do think she was very rude—"

"You know what? Go sit with them instead," Marlene said. She grabbed Mary's shoulder. "Come on—he doesn't want to sit with anyone beneath his status—"

Sirius stood rooted to the spot, stunned. In less than five minutes he had managed to argue with his cousins and his only friend without having said anything at all. His mother had trained him for five years in the art of conversation, and yet nothing about those lessons could have prepared him for communicating with his peers.

Most of the entrance hall had emptied out at this point; all the students were filing into the Quidditch Pitch. Sirius was tempted to turn on his heel and practice a particularly nasty Blasting Spell to channel his anger out, but knew that he couldn't. He would have to be seen at the game. And while Marlene may no longer be talking to him, his cousins had no choice. He was the heir to the family name.

Sirius absentmindedly smoothed down his sweater, his hands brushing over the silver Slytherin tie pin underneath.

"Thank Merlin," said Narcissa several minutes later when Sirius had joined them in the stands. She shook her head, combing her long ponytail with her fingers. "I am so glad you came to your senses—do you have any idea what it would look like if you had sat with them?"

"Yes—I would have been sitting with the members of my own House," said Sirius waspishly, still too angry to be civil.

"No," said Narcissa slowly, like she was speaking to a dimwitted toddler. "Everyone would have seen the Black heir sitting with a group of raucous half-bloods and blood traitors over his own family. Perhaps you're itching to rebel now that you're out of my dear Aunt Walburga's sight, but think of Regulus—what kind of precedent are you setting for him when he comes? The embarrassing older brother who associates with riff-raff, or the respectable heir who upheld the family name?"

Sirius didn't reply. He knew in the back of his mind that Narcissa was right, but he hated it none the less.

"If you have to associate with them, then do it privately," Narcissa continued knowingly, examining her cuticles for perfection. Her tone was more gentle now. "That is what your Common Room is for, is it not?"

Down below, Madam Hooch's whistle blew to signal the start of the game.

"Oh, there goes Lucius!" said Narcissa excitedly as the players took off. Malfoy was a Chaser for the Slytherin team, and easily spotted by his white-blonde hair.

Sirius watched the game without much interest. He clapped politely whenever Slytherin scored a goal, but otherwise sat stock-still in his seat, staring straight ahead.

"All the Slytherin Chasers have new brooms," Narcissa was saying, though Sirius wasn't sure to whom. "The Nimbus One-Thousand. Fastest broom on the market."

Next to her, Rabastan Lestrange was watching the game with half-hearted interest. "Their brooms aren't much good if they can't get around the Ravenclaws to score—look, they keep getting knocked off course by the bludgers—if I had been allowed to stay on the team—"

"You were a bit too forceful," Naricssa told him sternly. "You sent half the Hufflepuff team to the infirmary last year."

Rabastan grinned widely at the memory. Like his elder brother, Rabastan had a darkly handsome face and a sort of dangerous, maniacal glint in his eye. After his Cousin Bella's wedding last summer, Sirius had been forced to interact with the Lestranges more often. They were a rather cruel pair, but Sirius preferred them over someone like Mulciber.

"I was the best Beater the team ever had—"

Narcissa looked over at him. "Jealousy does not become you," she said in a bored voice.

Rabastan laughed loudly at that. "Nor you, Cissy," he said. "I saw the way you eyed our siblings at the wedding—don't worry, I'm sure Lucius will be bullied into proposing soon enough."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Narcissa said loftily.

"You two mind yourselves," Andromeda said, getting to her feet. "Don't teach Sirius anything Aunt Walburga wouldn't approve of."

"Where are you going?" Narcissa asked, looking over her shoulder at her sister.

"If you must know, I need to make use of a bathroom," Andromeda said pointedly. Narcissa waved her off and turned her attention back toward the game.

"Aunt Walburga wishes to know what you would like for Christmas dinner," Narcissa told Sirius a moment later.

Sirius frowned at that, turning to look at her. "When did you speak with Mother? Why hasn't she asked me herself?"

"My dear Aunt says you haven't written her and it breaks her heart," Narcissa continued, eyes still following Malfoy's path on the Quidditch Pitch.

"So she writes to you but not to me?"

"And you write to Regulus but not your Mother—"

"I've written her!"

"When?"

"The first day."

"And since then?"

Sirius hesitated. "Well, no—I was rather hoping she would write me back. I thought she was ignoring me out of disappointment."

Narcissa shook her head. "My esteemed Aunt is likely very busy with her current engagements and has not found time to coddle you. You ought to write her more often, Sirius—she sees letters going to Regulus but not to herself. How do you imagine she feels? She worries that you're alone in Gryffindor, and fears that perhaps you no longer consider it an importance to write her."

Sirius's head was spinning. He knewhis mother was not broken-hearted. This was a game. Sirius was sure his mother had been ignoring him, and asking such a silly question of his cousin was a deliberate provocation. It was maddening because Sirius had written her, but leave it to Walburga to insist that it wasn't enough. "I will write her and tell her myself what I would like at the Christmas dinner," he finally said, gritting his teeth.

"Lovely."

"In fact, I will waste no time and do it now," Sirius added, getting to his feet.

"Now? Surely it can wait until after the game—"

"Not when I've made my dear Mother wait this long to hear from her son," Sirius replied with barely-concealed sarcasm. He got to his feet and made his way through the stands. The other students ignored him as he passed, too focused on the game, which was currently tied forty to forty. Sirius ran a hand through his hair in irritation, and could feel his hands shaking.

He had been left—alone—in Gryffindor, and his Mother had the nerve to ignore him all month and yet write to his cousins? And not only that, but to pass along silly messages through them?

Sirius descended the rough wooden stairs angrily, but the crowd was far too loud for his thunderous footsteps to be heard. He rounded a corner just outside the edge of the stands and stopped dead in his tracks.

It was his cousin Andromeda, and she was entwined with a boy Sirius had never seen before. Andromeda was laughing at something the boy was saying in her ear, both oblivious to their sudden intrusion. The boy leaned into Andromeda, pulling her close before their lips locked.

Sirius turned on his heel at the sight, not quite registering what he had just seen—and was clearly not supposed to see. Pureblooded or not, none of the Black girls were to be seen alone with a wizard until they were betrothed—and there was no such plan for Andromeda. Aunt Druella often remarked how her middle daughter might be "too old" to find a husband if she couldn't select a suitor among her peers while in school, but Andromeda had always insisted she wanted to finish higher education before settling down.

It was just a cover. Andromeda had a secret boyfriend.

Sirius found a different exit for the stands, this one leading toward the Hufflepuff changing rooms. He hurried up the path that led back to the school, mind racing. He had no intention of writing Walburga, even if she was playing games. Instead of heading directly for the Gryffindor Common Room, Sirius found his secret staircase near the Defense Against the Dark Arts classrooms. He paced the stone floor back and forth several times, twirling his wand impatiently between his fingers before finally stopping it and aiming it at the stone wall in front of him.

"Confringo!"

The surface of the stone wall was blasted apart by the spell. It was not as dramatic as the description in Sirius's dueling textbook, but impressive nonetheless for an eleven-year-old.

There was something oddly soothing about the destructive spell, and Sirius' anger was beginning to lessen. He practiced the spell over and over until there was a sizable explosion of red and orange sparks that left behind a rather large burn mark on the stone. Feeling thoroughly exhausted now, Sirius repaired the wall, grateful for his governess teaching him the useful spell. The burn marks were still there, but Sirius doubted whether Filch would be able to figure out who had done it.

His anger thoroughly dissipated, Sirius left his hide-out in the tower and made his way to the Gryffindor Common Room. The game was undoubtedly still going on because the tower was completely empty. Sirius sat down on the edge of his bed and pulled some parchment out of his school book.

Dear Mother and Father he began. He rolled his eyes, trying to think of the most effective way to make peace, despite having done nothing wrong.

I apologize for my lack of correspondence—sure—and hope that is letter finds you both well.

I am enjoying my classes, and am the most advanced in each one. So far Defense Against the Dark Arts has been my favorite, although the Potions Master Horace Slughorn is certainly engaging.

Professor Slughorn had been a huge relief to Sirius. After rumors of Sirius's academic excellence spread around the school, Slughorn had invited Sirius to some private party. Narcissa explained to him that it was affectionately known as the 'Slug Club,' and only "important people" were ever invited. This ensured Sirius had an opportunity to connect with the right students in the school, even if he was still a social pariah.

I have not had much opportunity to socialize with my peers lately, but I do hope to join one of the many school clubs soon. Gryffindor is certainly lacking in some areas, but I have made efforts to become acquainted with the purebloods throughout the school.

Well, not exactly. But the thought of Sirius socializing with purebloods should put his parents at ease.

My dear cousin Narcissa has informed me, Mother, that you have been inquiring after my preferences for the Christmas dinner. As always, I should be happy with whatever you select for the main course, requesting only cherry tart for desert.

I shall write again, and much more timely than this letter finds you. I hope to hear from you soon.

Tujours Pur,

Sirius.

Sirius read and re-read the letter several times before he decided it was good enough. There wasn't much substance to it—only a handful of short paragraphs—but it was still a letter nonetheless. Sirius sealed it and headed back downstairs. In the time he had been writing, the game must have ended. Students were milling back upstairs, excitedly discussing the game. They ignored Sirius as he passed, and he ignored them in turn. Sirius made use of all the side stairwells he had discovered in his lonely walks, avoiding the crows of the main staircase. The last set of stairs led down to the basements, but Sirius was willing to double-back if it meant avoiding the entrance hall. He emerged from a large portrait of peacocks and suddenly found himself face-to-face with none other than James Potter and Peter Pettigrew.

"How did you get down here?" James asked, frowning. In his arms were several bottles of butterbeer, a loaf of bread, cheeses, and part of a ham hock. Behind him Peter was carrying a chocolate cake.

Sirius was too distracted by their odd load to pay any mind to the question. "Why do you have so much food? More importantly, where did you get it?"

He and James locked eyes again.

"Let's pretend we didn't see each other," James offered, stepping around Sirius. Peter scurried after him.

Sirius shook his head, heading in the opposite direction toward the owlery. Lyra was snuggled up against an enormous barn owl, and was not happy to be woken up with the task of delivering a letter. "I know, I know," Sirius told her soothingly. "But Mother's already having a fit, so let's just get it over with."

With the letter sent, Sirius was left to wander the school until dinner. He didn't feel like returning to Gryffindor Tower, and nor did he want to socialize with his cousins. Instead he decided to explore the eastern part of the school, and accidentally stumbled across a secret entrance to the Prefect's bathroom. Sirius made a mental note to himself to start writing all of this down—there were so many abandoned wings and hidden passageways, and he would never be able to memorize them all.

With dinner came the usual odd loneliness Sirius experienced despite being surrounded by people. Marlene was undoubtedly still angry with him, because she and Mary made it a point to walk past him without so much as a glance and sit with Lily Evans. Sirius poked at his food half-heartedly, having very little appetite despite skipping lunch. He briefly entertained the idea of at least becoming acquainted with his dorm-mate, Remus Lupin, but the boy had fallen ill and was tucked away behind a private curtain in the infirmary.

Sirius skipped desert and headed back upstairs to Gryffindor Tower much earlier than the others. He had endured a month of this outcast status, and it was unbearable—how would he survive seven years?

Maybe he could write his parents and request that they transfer him to Durmstrang.

Sirius pushed open the door to his dormitory, and saw a rather worn-looking Remus Lupin sitting on his bed, surrounded by homework. Surprised to see him out of the infirmary, Sirius blurted out, "Are you feeling better?"

"Loads, but I'm afraid I've fallen behind on my homework," said Remus sadly, looking around at the piles he had made.

"The teachers aren't going to give you an extension for your illness?" Sirius asked, frowning.

"Well, they might—I don't want to ask," Remus said quickly. "I want to stay caught up."

Sirius walked over to his own bed, but found he had nothing to do; he had already prepared the homework for his classes for the next two weeks. He looked back over at Remus, who was scratching his head with his quill and frowning. "Would you like help?"

Remus looked up, surprised. "Huh?"

Sirius cleared his throat and spoke more loudly this time. "Would you like help getting caught up?"

Remus hesitated, looking around the room despite the fact that no one else was there. "I mean, yes, if you don't mind—"

"Of course not, I offered to," said Sirius, sitting down on the other side of Remus's bed. He picked up Remus's Potions essay and skimmed it over. The general content was correct, but he was missing a lot of key details that Sirius knew Slughorn would look for.

"I'm terrible at Potions," said Remus, as though he thought he had to explain himself. "It just doesn't stick with me."

"It's a very precise subject," Sirius commented, pulling a quill toward himself and writing in the margins of the essay. "And a very fickle one. I never liked it either," he added.

Remus smiled at that.

"Obviously you'll want to re-write this," Sirius told him. "I've added notes all over it—but it should bring your essay to the required length, and I have no doubt Slughorn would approve of it."

Remus looked it over, his lips moving silently as he read. "Can you explain it to me? I mean, your notes catch me up on the assignment, but I'd really like to understand it for myself, too."

"Er, all right," said Sirius, skimming over the essay Remus handed back to him. "The most important part of determining the strength of Forgetfulness Potions is understanding the difference between simmering and a reduction. Our textbook says to simmer at a low temperature for forty-five to sixty minutes—this allows for most of the effects of the Valerian Sprig to burn off, resulting in a mild potion. If you were to reduce the potion—that is, boil rapidly and uncovered for less time, the Potion would become more intense."

"So it's kind of like cooking," Remus mused.

Sirius handed him back the essay. "I wouldn't know—our House Elf does all our cooking."

"So what about this 'wave your wand' business?" Remus asked. "It's listed in the directions twice, but I never remember when I need to do it—or even why, for that matter."

"I am not sure of the reasons why, but anytime you leave your potion untouched after a particular phase or its completion, you do it," Sirius replied, shrugging.

They worked through his Charms homework next, and Sirius showed Remus a few tricks to getting the week's Transfiguration assignment more precise.

"If you do a bit of math first," Sirius explained, writing it out. "It makes the Transfiguration much easier to carry out because you know exactly what to visualize. So if our snuffbox is approximately five ounces, and has a concentration factor of two, you'll see that it requires approximately sixty-seven percent wand power to get a table-standard goblet."

"How do you know all this?" Remus asked him. "I mean, my dad taught me and everything, but you're so…precise."

"My brother and I grew up with a governess, and perfection was expected of us," said Sirius, shrugging.

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Oh, well, that must have been quite stressful—my dad told me it's common for children to have difficulty controlling their magic until about the age of twelve or thirteen."

"If you don't mind my asking, why did your father take over your lessons? What about your mother?"

"My mother's a muggle," Remus answered carefully.

Years of living under the Black matriarch had taught Sirius careful control of his facial features. He knew that Remus had heard all about the Black family's political views, and no doubt assumed Sirius to be the same. And while there was undoubtedly a difference between purebloods, half-bloods, and muggle-borns, Sirius didn't necessarily think it was a negative difference. Just…they were different, that was all.

Before either could speak, the dormitory door flew open and James and Peter stumbled in, yawning. Sirius checked his watch and saw that it was a quarter to ten.

"Well, I think that ought to be enough for tonight," he said, moving toward his own four-poster to prepare for bed.

"Thanks again," Remus said, gathering up his homework and placing it safely in his book bag.

"Any time," Sirius said. It was a habit to respond politely, but Sirius genuinely meant it. Remus might be the wrong type of friend on all levels, but he was perhaps the nicest person Sirius had met yet. As Sirius dressed for bed and lay back on his four-poster, hidden by his scarlet hangings, he tried to fight the nagging feeling in his chest; the beginning of what would become a five-year battle between two relentless forces.

Of course Sirius didn't know this, yet. No, on this October night at eleven years old, Sirius laid in bed and wondered if his parents would be very upset by him pursuing an acquaintance with a half-blood, even if most of it was teaching him. If purebloods really were superior, then Sirius could justify a friendship with Remus by using his own advantage to educate the half-blood.

It was a far leap, but the potential friendship was worth the plunge.