Written for Quidditch League Season 9.
Team: Kenmare Kestrels
Position: Seeker (Reserve)
Prompt: Charlus Potter/Sirius Black
Word Count: 1333

A Different Sort

Sirius rubbed his boot on a spot on the carpet, an urge to scream building up with every second that passed. He was grateful for the home the Potter parents had given him, he truly was, but they were so different here. Their family dynamics were nothing he had ever experienced before. He didn't understand—he had spent the majority of the last five years living with James, and Peter and Remus, so why did he feel like such an alien here, in the Potter household?

He lifted his foot up from where it was abusing the carpet and sat down on it instead, his back against the wall in this hallway he had run off to. While the Potters' place wasn't as big as the one he grew up in, it was still large, and Sirius hadn't ever been to this part of the house. The hall was dimly lit, and there were portraits on both sides of the hall, placed some distance apart but still quite close together.

He looked at the one right across the hall. The plaque at the top read Hardwin Potter—one of the Potter ancestors, Sirius presumed. So this was their ancestral hall. He really shouldn't have come here.

Sirius stood to get back to the dining room, he needed to apologise to the three Potters, both for leaving the dinner abruptly and for intruding upon their ancestral hall, when one of the plaques caught his eye.

Charlus Potter. Why did that name seem so familiar?

Sirius thought back to all he knew about the Potter family. Charlus had been James' uncle? Then it hit him. This was the man who had married a Black woman. Dorea.

His feet moved of their own accord, coming to stop right in front of the portrait. Charlus was dozing, dead to the world (literally, a part of Sirius' brain supplied), but Sirius stood rooted to the spot, dozens of questions flying around in his mind. How had a Black fit in with a Potter? How had that worked out?

Sirius was best friends with James, no questions about it. They were all but brothers, but they weren't alike, apart from the goofiness and the aloof nature the others saw. James was free, alive, wholly genuine. He laughed without a care, loved without a care.

Sirius… tried to act like James, but even when he tried not to, his actions were always measured, his mask ready to slip back onto his face each moment, even as he tried to keep it at bay. That was why he made such a good prankster. Sirius lied easily. He made the best excuses, manipulated people's words with ease, played with the younger years' minds like they were pieces of chess. He… he was a Black, just like all the others in his family.

When he was little, he had thought Andromeda was different, but apart from their mutual non-acceptance of the whole Blood Purity drama, she was still the same as everyone else, too. It was what had allowed her to keep Ted a secret until she was ready to leave.

How, then, had someone as dark as him fit with people who seemed like purity personified? Sirius needed to know.

"You aren't a Potter."

Sirius paused in his thought of how to greet a portrait he had no reason to speak to—he shouldn't even be here—freezing at Charlus' words.

"No." He cleared his throat. "No, I'm not."

The man in the portrait was frowning. "What're you doing here, then?"

Sirius stayed silent. What, indeed, was he doing here? The last time he had been in this place was two days ago, and since then, things had been mostly fine, but the question had been bugging him so much. So, with the three Potters experimenting in the kitchen (he had pleaded an out), he found himself walking down to here.

"My name is Sirius Black."

"Oh?" Charlus' frown eased. "I have heard about you from my nephew! Aren't you one of those Marauders?"

Sirius nodded. "Yeah, that's me."

"So what brings you down here, young Sirius?"

Sirius let out an incredulous laugh. Charlus didn't look much older than himself in the portrait, and the man was currently holding a pompous expression, a stark contrast to the strictness he had been emulating earlier, and it looked utterly silly on him. The man burst into giggles himself, muttering 'sorry's between the laughs.

Were all Potters this ridiculous?

"Sorry, it's not often that anyone apart from the family comes down here, and you looked so lost."

Sirius frowned. "I, uh, came down to talk to you, actually."

"Oh?"

"I was here a few days ago..., I'd run away from dinner." Charlus raised an eyebrow at that, as if Sirius was being a child, and he felt an urge to either defend himself or stomp his feet. It was utterly ridiculous, how he was having a mental conversation with a Potter portrait. They were all so… weird. "You were asleep then."

"Ah, I'm sorry, I don't have much else to do," Charlus said, ruffling his hair with a hand. "You should totally have woken me up."

"No, it's okay."

"So, what did you want to ask me?"

Sirius paused. How exactly did one word such thoughts? "Er… it's kind of a weird question?" Charlus silently prompted him to go on, so Sirius tried again. "It's like… I'm a Black? And you lot, the Potters, are so different—"

Charlus let out a loud snort at that, and Sirius glared at the portrait, which only made him laugh harder.

"Sorry, oh dear. I apologise, Sirius, but would you believe me if I told you I've had this exact same conversation before?"

Sirius paused. Had Dorea felt like this, too? "With your wife?" he asked.

Charlus nodded. "She wasn't my wife then, mind you. I brought her home for the holidays, and two nights later, she locked herself in the guest bedroom." The man chuckled. "It took such a long time to get into the room, and she was mortified. I guess she was just overwhelmed?"

"Uh-uh." Sirius could really relate. Overwhelming, that's what the Potters were.

"We lot are family people, I s'pose. We poke our noses into each others' business like there's no tomorrow. We're around each other all the time, and to an outsider, it might seem a bit too much?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, suddenly feeling very tired. He slumped down on the floor in front of the portrait, and Charlus gave him an amused look. "But you're also so different as people."

"Just because we're different doesn't mean we're better, Sirius." Charlus' words were serious this time, his voice holding a weight as if to urge Sirius to believe it. "Dorea taught me so much. She was different, yes. But she was smart, and beautiful, and good." He paused, as if choosing his words. "I know this because she had all these insecurities, too. As if being a Black made her less. And I need you to understand, Sirius, that it does not. James comes down to talk to us old folks sometimes, and I know you mean the world to him. Never think of yourself as less because you grew up in a different family, with mannerisms, principles and ethics dissimilar to others'. People are different, everyone is different, and it doesn't matter. It's what makes us individuals. What matters is our actions, and who we choose to be, yeah?"

Sirius wasn't quite sure he understood. Charlus' words seemed to answer more than just his question, but he also felt at peace. The Potters were larger than life, and Sirius tried to fit in, but maybe he didn't need to be like them to be a part of them? Was that what Charlus was trying to say?

He nodded at the man in thanks and started to walk back to his room. He needed time to figure it all out, but for now, he was okay.