X. Crest
-—Sirius decides to prove his mother wrong.
August, 1971

"Put the Slytherin crest on everything. He's a Black—I don't care if he's not been sorted yet—he won't be going anywhere else."

Sirius sighs heavily and sits down on a chair near the door in Madam Malkin's, half-listening to his mother's irate conversation with the seamstress.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but we're not supposed to do anything to first years' robes—they change automatically once they're sorted into their House—"

"I don't care what you're supposed to do! You will put the crest and the green trim on those robes, or I will take my business elsewhere!"

The young assistant glances at Sirius—he mouths "I'm sorry," but he's not sure if she understands—and calls to the back—"Madam Malkin, if you could come here a moment—"

Sirius' mother taps her foot impatiently, but she does not move while the squat shop owner hurries to the front. "What seems to be the problem?"

There's another large row that Sirius decides not to pay attention to; instead, he turns toward the small family who has just entered the shop, looking nervously at the commotion. They don't look well-off; the boy is scrawny with a pale face and a mop of brownish hair, and his parents look exhausted and worn.

"You might want to come back later," Sirius mutters to them, standing up and trying desperately not to catch his mother's attention. "Mum'll be at this for a while—she loves to argue."

All three of them jump, as if surprised that he's addressing them. "Who might you be, young man?" the father asks, raising an eyebrow as his gaze snaps from Sirius to his son. "A first year?"

"Yeah, and my mum wants them to give me the Slytherin robes..." He makes a face, and though the boy (he's very small, now that Sirius gets a good look at him) shrinks away, the woman only smiles.

"Well, you could always just agree with her now, and get someone to change them at school if you end up being sorted elsewhere."

He blinks at her in surprise; he didn't think he had been that obvious that he didn't want to be sorted into Slytherin... He's always been vaguely put off by the way his family treats others, the way nearly everyone turns up their nose at the mention of Muggles. But he's never mentioned such a thing before, to anyone, because he knows the consequences will be dire.

"Remus here is a first year as well," she continues, pulling him into a one-armed hug and smiling. "Maybe you'll be in the same house? And thanks for the advice—we'll come back after we get a wand, how does that sound?"

Sirius shrugs, glancing over to his mother. "I never know with her. Just see if she's still in here on your way down the street."

"Thanks, honey," she smiles, and Sirius can't help but smile as well; something about her kind face—so different from his own mother's—is infectious. "And don't let yourself get sorted somewhere you don't want to, all right?"

He nods, his grin growing wider, as the three of them make their way to the door. The boy—Remus—turns right before they leave, staring at Sirius for a moment with large amber eyes. Sirius waves (because the kid looks like he could definitely use some cheer in his life), and Remus waves back, a small smile forming on his lips.

As Sirius makes his way over to his mother, prepared to stop this ridiculous argument however he can, he hopes that he is sorted into the same house as that boy. The only kids he's ever been allowed to interact with are his cousins and other pureblood children, and he can barely stand the way they're so prim and proper. But Remus...somehow, he seems different.

And he realizes, now, that he absolutely cannot wait to get to Hogwarts.