Sirius Black and the Heir to Slytherin
Chapter 10—"Black" Magic
The summer passed slowly. With no classes, Sirius really had little to do with his time except try to avoid Filch, McGonagall and Meadows. Dumbledore hadn't been around much since the discussion of Grindelwald. In fact, the only times he saw the headmaster anymore were when Sirius had an attack and would need a potion for the pain. But those instances were few and far between. Even Hagrid was curiously absent much of the time, so Sirius was basically left on his own. He often spent time in the library. He was no longer searching for Patrono Sangre. That clearly was getting him nowhere. Instead he'd begun to look up other books with varying uses. The shelves of divination books had been tempting. Sirius had considered studying that in the hopes of learning how to tell not only when Voldemort was going to strike, but who the victim would be, but after flipping through a few of the books, Sirius discarded that idea. It looked too complicated to learn, and there was no one who taught divination at Hogwarts to help him. Anyway, Sirius wasn't sure he wanted to risk seeing his own future.
So Sirius switched his focus to defense against the dark arts. He at least understood the basics of that. He spent most of June studying the books, learning a lot of history, and a great deal more about the creatures. The chapters on lethifolds were interesting and the werewolf information was fun to read, if not entirely accurate. Sirius had raised and controlled some of Voldemort's own werewolves, so he knew more about them than the average schoolboy, and apparently a bit more than Mr. Scamander. None of what he read really helped him improve his practical skills, though, and that was what he really needed. Once or twice Sirius was tempted to ask Meadows for help, but then he'd remind himself that the old man was once an auror, and that would change his mind.
It was nearly July when Sirius stumbled upon a book on Grindelwald. He was already late for supper, and was gathering books from the table and putting them away. Just as he was finishing up, he knocked a book from the end of the shelf. It was labeled The Rise and Fall of Grindelwald. Sirius picked up the slim, dusty book. He hesitated for a moment, halfway through the motions of putting it away, and instead flipped the book open, curious to see what version of the story this book gave. He never made it past the first page.
"Upon these pages is the sorry history of a wizard that stretched too far for power, and as a result, fell into hell: Baron Grindelwald Black.
Sirius reread that first sentence twice before he believed what he saw. Black. Grindelwald was a Black. And Dumbledore had to have known when he'd given Sirius that name.
Frustration welled up inside of him. Dumbledore was the first person Sirius had trusted, and Sirius had been betrayed by him. This was why he didn't trust people. Before he even realized what he was doing, Sirius found himself bursting into the Great Hall, book in hand, anger clearly showing on his face.
Supper was over and Dumbledore was the only one left in there, which was good, because Sirius was sure he'd have made a scene. He froze in front of the headmaster, breathing hard. He hadn't realized he'd been running.
Dumbledore turned and looked at him, smiling faintly. "I was just about to have the house elves deliver your supper to the library," he said. Then he caught a look at Sirius' face. "What's wrong, Sirius?" he asked softly.
Sirius slammed the book down on the table, open to the first page. The sound echoed loudly in the empty room. He pointed at Grindelwald's name. "Why?" he asked, his blue eyes blazing.
Dumbledore didn't have to ask what Sirius meant. It was evident by the way the headmaster thoughtfully furrowed his brow that he understood.
Sirius didn't give him a chance to answer. "Of all the names, why did you pick Black? Do I remind you of him? Is that what you see me becoming? Because if that's the case, why not just leave me to Voldemort?" Sirius fell silent, not to wait for an answer, but because he'd run out of things to say.
"No," Dumbledore said firmly. "I don't see that. What I see is a powerful boy who has been treated unfairly and sent down a dark road, then given a choice to completely turn to dark magic or face the injustice fairly. Yes, in some ways you and Grindelwald started the same, but you both chose different paths. Grindelwald was the darkest mark on a dark family tree. I thought that family could use someone to redeem them before it was too late. That's all. Perhaps it was wrong of me." He spread his hands and bowed his silvery-white head.
Sirius stared uncertainly at the old man. It was hard enough for Sirius to trust; he wasn't sure if it was worth risking betrayal a second time.
And it seemed that Dumbledore sensed this uncertainty in the boy. He leaned forward, looking Sirius straight in the eye and said, "Have I ever given you reason to mistrust me, Sirius?"
Sirius didn't answer, and the headmaster continued. "You have my word that I won't lie to you. I need you to trust. If you can't believe me, then you need to find someone you feel you can believe. But I want you to know that I believe in you. You are not your father. You are not Grindelwald. The paths of our lives are not determined by our families or our friends, but by our choices." He fell silent.
Sirius just nodded and gathered up the book to return to the library.
"Sirius, would you like to dine here with me?"
Sirius shook his head, no.
"Then I'll send it up to your room"
Sirius nodded and hurriedly left. His room would be good. He had a lot to think about, and he needed to be alone.
Three weeks later, Sirius sat on the landing between the house wings, poking a rather bored looking porcupine with his wand, while trying to look up a spell in the most basic transfiguration book he could find in the library. After the discovery of Grindelwald in the dark arts texts, he'd decided to pick yet another area of study. As a result, he'd been trying to learn the basics of transfiguration for the past few weeks. It seemed that now was as good a time as any to test out his hard work. So, he'd gone to Hagrid's garden looking for some beetles to transfigure into buttons, but all he'd found were some grubs and a porcupine. Turning a porcupine into a pincushion was a more advanced spell, but Sirius decided to try it anyway.
"Spiko transfigorum!" he said, swinging his wand down in a graceful arc toward the porcupine.
Nothing.
Sirius glared at it. "You're supposed to become a pincushion, you stupid thing."
The uninterested porcupine tried to waddle away, but before it could reach the stairs, Sirius levitated it and brought it back. He couldn't figure out what he was doing wrong. Maybe he wasn't using enough power. He stood and tried again, this time putting much more force into it.
"Spiko transfigorum!" Again he swept his wand in a powerful arc. This time a few small sparks fizzled out and singed its back, angering it. Spines suddenly shot in Sirius' direction, and he only just managed to freeze them midair before he was struck. Thank God he'd aced charms.
As the spines dropped to the floor, Sirius' tempter flared. He pointed his wand.
"Inflammar—"
Then he froze, realizing what he'd almost done. Lighting a live porcupine on fire just because he was angry was definitely malicious intent. Not that this knowledge made him want to do it any less. He hesitated while his more violent instincts tried to overpower his fewer and more recently acquired morals.
The porcupine had begun waddling to the stairs again, when Sirius heard an unexpected voice from behind him.
"And what mischief are we up to now, Mr. Black?"
Sirius spun to see the stern transfiguration professor staring at him through her spectacles.
"Nothing," he muttered.
McGonagall arched one eyebrow and assessed the situation. "So, you were doing nothing with a wand and a porcupine, Mr. Black? Is this a new pet, then?"
Sirius didn't answer, willing her to leave.
It didn't work, not that he'd really expected it to.
She stood silently, waiting for an answer. Finally he sighed, giving in. "I was trying to turn it into a pincushion, okay?" He pulled himself up to his full height, which was impressive for a twelve-year-old.
McGonagall, however, wasn't impressed. "You needn't sound so aggressive, Mr. Black. It was a simple question." She eyed the porcupine as it paced by the top step. "So, you're finally trying? As I've told you before, if you'd actually taken the time to work on your basics, you wouldn't have this problem. No one is above practicing."
Sirius glared. He'd played the good boy all year, even if his reputation seemed to argue that, and he was finally fed up. "Practice! Do you tell that to the muggleborn, too? Do you expect them to have their basics perfect? If not, why do you always pick on me?"
McGonagall had a look in her eye that said just how badly she wished she could take points from his house for his attitude. Her sharp eyes flashed and her lips were pressed together in a thin, angry line. "No, Mr. Black, I do not have the same expectations for them. Their first year schedules include a basic skills class if you must know. But according to Headmaster Dumbledore, you came from a strong wizarding family—"
"—who hated transfiguration, hated Hogwarts, and taught me no basic skills for your class."
At this outburst, McGonagall went dead silent. Sirius suddenly felt deflated, like a balloon, now that he'd lashed out and admitted his failings . . . well, one of them at least.
He was startled when the professor finally did speak in a surprisingly gentle voice. "Your parents haven't taught you anything for my class . . . Why didn't you mention this sooner? We could have put you into the basic skills class."
"I tried," Sirius admitted. "But you wouldn't listen . . . because I'm a pureblood," he added miserably. "It's hard to practice something you don't understand, you know." He met her eyes, unwittingly showing his frustration. Allowing her to glimpse a small chink in his armor. For a moment he wasn't Sirius Black, the troublemaker or Sirius Black the Slytherin. He was just a frustrated student who had been doing everything he could to stay afloat in her class and still had almost failed.
It must have struck some chord with McGonagall, because suddenly she said in a far gentler voice that Sirius hadn't heard since she'd taken him to get his books, "Well, why don't you show me what you're doing, and maybe we can get you caught up before school starts."
Sirius didn't know what to say. After a year of fighting this teacher tooth and nail, he'd almost forgotten how understanding she'd been for that month he'd spent in the Gryffindor wing before his first year.
McGonagall swished her wand gently and flicked it up, saying, "Windgardium leviosa." The squirming porcupine floated back to Sirius and dropped in front of him. "Show me," she said.
Sirius sent McGonagall a nervous look. Again, he swung his wand arm down in a powerful arc, and not wanting to fail in front of her, put as much force into it as he could. "Spiko transfigorum!"
And once again, he wound up with nothing more than a very angry porcupine.
Sirius flung his wand at the wall in frustration. It hit with a sharp crack and clattered to the floor, rolling away. "I can't put any more power into it than that!" he snapped.
She walked over to his wand and picked it up, fingering it. "Dry up, Mr. Black. You've got it all wrong." She brought him his wand and held it out to him. "This wand is oak, isn't it?"
Sirius nodded, taking it from her. It took a lot of self-control not to just throw it again.
"Well," she said in a dry voice. "It looks like a good wand. You're lucky it's so sturdy, or you likely would have broken just now with that temper of yours. I'm sure it will serve you well in defense against the dark arts, but it isn't the best you could have for transfiguration. It will work, however, if we can get you over your greatest hurdle."
"I told you, I can't practice!" Sirius cut in.
"You may lower your voice, Mr. Black. We've already established that," she said, unruffled. Then her voice took on a businesslike tone. "You mentioned not having enough power. What you fail to realize is that my subject does not rely on power, but rather on method and coercion. It doesn't matter how strong you are if you can convince the object to change." She lifted her wand again. "Watch."
For once, Sirius really focused on her movements as she said firmly, "Spiko transfigorum."
She was right. He felt no burst of power, yet with only a swish of the wand and a firm voice, a perfect pincushion seen rested at his feet.
"You try," she said before changing it back.
Sirius tried again to no avail.
"You're still using too much force," she said. "This is transfiguration, not dueling."
Sirius opened his mouth to protest, even as he straightened out of a nearly dueling position, but McGonagall cut him short.
"I hear you're very good in potions. Is that right?"
Sirius nodded.
"Well, then, you should realize that not all magic requires power. If you needed to make a basic antidote, you would find the right ingredients, mix them together in the correct order and heat or cool it in the correct manner. So, if you needed a much stronger antidote, would you go into a dueling stance and shoot power at the cauldron?"
Sirius had been staring at her, trying to puzzle out what she was getting at. When she made that last comment, he snorted. "No, of course not. You'd wind up blowing up the potion before you got anything accomplished. You'd mix it differently."
"Exactly. So, why do you insist on shooting magic at this poor porcupine? All you're going to do is risk blowing it up. Every magic has its own quirks. That is one of the most important basics you need to know. Now, try again. Close your eyes if you have to."
Her voice was getting animated, and Sirius could sense her love for the subject as he watched and listened. He was actually feeling a little bad for her. She didn't seem to understand that he wasn't going to get it. He dutifully closed his eyes at her request. At least she wouldn't be able to say that he didn't try.
"Good," she went on as soon as his eyes were closed. Now, picture the porcupine. Imagine what it would be like to be in his position."
"Give me a break," he thought. "It's a porcupine. How in hades was he supposed to know what a porcupine felt like?" He let out a small snort.
"Laugh all you like, Mr. Black. To gain any skill at all in this subject, you must learn humility. How can you plan on convincing anything to change if you can't come up with a good reason why?"
"You didn't make the rest of the class do this," he replied, defensively, briefly opening one eye to look at her.
She sent him a stern look and crossed her arms. "This is how I teach the basic skills class, which you should have been in this year. If you want to pass my second year class, you need to know these skills. They may seem ridiculous, but they're second nature to most of the students in your year. That is why they didn't have to learn it."
"Sorry," he mumbled, vowing to keep his laughter to himself. "Fine," he thought. "I'll think like the stupid beast. Why would a porcupine want to be a pincushion? So it can be stabbed with needles? Not likely. So it can be filled with sawdust and sit in a dusty corner? No. So this stupid Slytherin will stop bugging him and leave him alone? Probably." He sighed. And even as he was about to open his eyes and give up, the thought slipped into his mind. "Safety. Isn't that why it tried to stab me in the first place? Because I kept zapping him. It would be safer. I could change it back. Or at least McGonagall could. It wouldn't hurt that way. If it just agreed. And it would be safe."
The strangest sensation came into Sirius' mind as he thought about it. As though his own mind were touching, probing another. Gently nudging the other down a different path. Safety. That path is safer. Try it. I'll help you. Who would hurt a pincushion? The mind moved, ever so slightly, and as it did, almost without thinking, Sirius lifted his wand and said, "Spiko transfigorum."
And the other mind was gone . . . no . . . still there, but different somehow. Sirius opened his eyes. It still looked like a porcupine. He felt like throwing his wand again, but then he noticed something from the corner of his eye. He looked closer this time. That's when he noticed it. The spines weren't spines at all, but several silver needles. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start.
"Did you feel it?"
Sirius had almost forgotten that McGonagall was there. His head snapped up and he met her eyes.
She was smiling. "Did you feel its mind waver? This is a good start. Now that you see what we're doing, would you like to try some more?"
Sirius just nodded, ready to practice all night if he had to.
Two hours later, he had managed a pincushion that still had feet and whiskers, but was a vast improvement over his previous attempts. And it was taking a lot less work.
"Good," McGonagall said. "That's enough for today, I think. You've progressed more quickly than I'd expected."
"So, I'm doing better?"
"Do you really need to ask?" she said, looking over her spectacles. "You know, it's that self-doubt that is your biggest weakness now. Remember, you need to believe you can change a thing before you can convince it to change." She glanced down at a small gold watch attached to a chain on her belt. "You should be getting to bed soon, but practice. I think you'll do fine."
She was just walking away when a thought crossed Sirius' mind. "Professor? One question."
She turned back. "Yes?"
He flushed a little. "I did a lot of reading, trying to figure out where I was going wrong, and I came upon a chapter on animagi. If transfiguration is just convincing a thing to change, and animagi change themselves, then why is that transformation so hard to learn?"
"Think, Mr. Black. What could possibly be more difficult than convincing yourself to change?"
This stopped him for a moment. Then he said hesitantly, "Professor?"
"Yes, Mr. Black?"
"If I need more help getting caught up before school starts, could I—well. . ."
"Of course," she replied softly. "My door is always open. Now, goodnight."
Sirius watched her walk up to the Gryffindor wing. He picked up his malformed pincushion and slowly slipped up to the Slytherin dorms. He'd practice more tomorrow.
And Sirius did practice. He had little else to do with his time, so he spent most of it catching up on his class work. He'd even gone so far as to get advice from McGonagall now and then. So, by the time summer was ending, Sirius had not only improved to where he should have been, but he'd also surpassed some of the skills of a typical first year student. Now that it was no longer hard work, it was actually starting to get boring.
He'd mentioned that to McGonagall, but she'd just smiled and handed him a different book from her shelf, suggesting he practice from that to "hone his skills." He had dutifully taken the dusty old book to his room and cracked it open, checking out the first few chapters. It had a lot of the things he already knew, but there were a lot of other lessons as well, and a few things that were so archaic that he couldn't make much sense of them. When he looked in the inside flap, there was no date, but written neatly in faded emerald green on the first page was the previous owner's name: Albus W. P. B. Dumbledore. Obviously this must be the old first year text Dumbledore had taught from, before he'd become headmaster.
So, with nothing better to do, he began practicing these new spells. At first they were a little confusing. The introduction rambled on in centuries-old terminology about "inner strength" and "the power of one soul to nullify the choice and force fate on another." After the first paragraph he decided to skip to lesson one.
The first few lessons were spells that he was already familiar with. Sirius smiled at the lesson for Spiko transfigorum. At least this book gave the basics on how to block the spines if you were to screw up.
Chapter two was different, though. Most of these were spells he'd never heard of. A few, he even suspected had been pulled from the book's later editions for safety's sake. But most of these new chapters were at least partially doable, and added some challenge to his summer.
By the time school was about to start, and he was to get his own textbooks, he'd become quite good at the first five chapters of Dumbledore's old book. He kind of regretted having to return the book to McGonagall. It must have been obvious, because when he tried to give it back after Hagrid returned from Diagon Alley with Sirius' new texts, she suggested he keep it until he was done with it.
By the day the train was to arrive, Sirius was feeling better about himself than he could ever remember having felt. And now Lily was coming back. He felt for the first time like he could do anything. Maybe even handle playing a team sport. Because the idea of quidditch still worried him. Just because he'd caught himself up in class work didn't mean he wasn't still miles behind everybody in social skills.
And Hagrid was no help. Rather than let Sirius sit in the Great Hall and wait for everyone to arrive, Hagrid had insisted that Sirius come to the train station and meet up with his friends.
Sirius didn't know what friends Hagrid was talking about, but here he was, standing alone on the platform as students slipped past him in droves. Hagrid stood on the other side of the platform, gathering the first years while Sirius tried to be inconspicuous as he looked for Lily. It wasn't until too late that he realized the train had more than one exit, and he'd missed her coming off another. Frustrated, eh turned away from the train and began walking toward Hagrid, even as a wave of Slytherins, the final batch of students, exited the train, Malfoy and Snape among them. Not wanting to become part of the trio again so soon, he slipped behind a partition as the group walked by. It was here, partially obscured by a brick wall, that he overheard some boys talking: Potter and Lupin. Lupin was looking like hell again, with Potter politely ignoring it. Or perhaps they'd already discussed it on the train...
James scowled as Snape, Malfoy and half the Slytherin quidditch team walked by. "There go the Slytherins," he grumbled. "One big pack as usual."
Lupin glanced at the group. "Black's not with them. That's a first," he replied mildly.
James shrugged. "I know. He wasn't last year, either. I hear he gets here early."
Lupin looked thoughtful. "I wonder why."
A small, blonde Hufflepuff who'd been listening in from a nearby bench suddenly piped up. "Maybe he's a dark wizard! You know, I heard that his folks are death eaters or something."
Sirius bristled. Even though it was true, what right did this kid have spreading rumors about him? Sirius was perfectly capable of earning a bad reputation without his help. Sirius glared at him and suddenly recognized the boy as Pettigrew, one of the little rumor mills in History of Magic.
Pettigrew continued, even as Potter and Lupin exchanged somewhat skeptical looks. "Maybe they taught him all sorts of illegal spells and he just apparates here."
Potter shook his head warily. "No, Dumbledore would never let him in then." He looked to Lupin for support.
Lupin was nodding.
"But he let Malfoy in," Pettigrew protested.
"No," Lupin said firmly. "He didn't. That was the last headmaster. And no one knows for sure about Malfoy's father. Anyway, Black could know all the illegal spells in the world, and he still couldn't apparate here, not matter who he is. There are spells protecting Hogwarts, and that's one of them. Professor Binns mentioned it last term. You can't apparate any closer than the forbidden forest."
"You actually listened to him?" Potter asked incredulously.
Lupin smiled. "How do you think I passed his exam?"
Pettigrew, noting he was being shut out, cut in again. "Well, maybe he's from a rich family, and they think he's too good for the train. Maybe they bring him themselves."
"Maybe you could learn to mind your own business," Sirius snapped, stepping from the shadows, his glaring eyes giving him a fierce look. Sirius had the urge to hit Pettigrew.
Potter, ever the hero, stepped in. "Leave him alone, Black. He's not hurting anything."
"Right," Sirius said tightly. "Because I'm not anything, right?" He shifted his glare to Potter.
"That's not what I said," Potter replied, angrily, stepping toward Sirius.
"That's exactly what you said," Sirius growled.
"He has a point," Lupin said softly. Everyone stopped to stare at him. Even Sirius.
"What?" Potter exclaimed. "Remus, he was going to beat this kid up! Whose side are you on?"
Lupin looked uncomfortable, but he stood his ground. "I'm not taking sides, but it's true. Black's name was being slandered."
"It's not slander if it's true," Potter said in a matter-of-fact voice, "and I know most of the Blacks."
Sirius' grim smile was cold enough to freeze. "But do you know me, Potter?"
The messy haired boy was about to argue when Hagrid tramped over, the wide-eyed first years following behind.
"Come on, yeh four. We 'aven't got all day!"
Lupin and Pettigrew quickly gathered their bags. As Potter passed Sirius to get to the carriages parked on the other side of the station, he said softly, "We'll finish this later."
"Count on it," Sirius snapped before following Hagrid and the first years to the boats.
When the other boys were out of earshot, Hagrid said brightly, "See, now, was that so bad? Yeh met some friends already." He beamed.
"Sure," Sirius thought, looking back for a parting glare at Potter. "Like I'd ever want to be friends with them."
Author's Note: Shorter Author's note. Sorry about the wait. Two weeks this time! But I was busy getting "The Choices We Make" up as well as having to get the Rurouni Kenshin fanfictions that were screaming to come out posted. Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter. Please review! And stay tuned for Chapter 11: Starting Something. (So the chapter titles are starting to suck... I guess I'd rather the titles suck than the chapters themselves, right?) See you!
