Chapter Two: You Have To Make Your Own
Sirius has only ever slept in a room alone before, so having three roommates—especially given that they're basically strangers—is weird. They got back from the kitchens an hour ago, and they're all sprawled out on the bed they've claimed, munching on malt loafs and all talking over each other. "Okay, okay, okay, wait," James declares, shaking both his head and the hand that he's extended in front of himself. "You're telling me you've never met anybody Muggle or Muggle-born before? Like, ever? At all?"
"My parents are kind of—blood purity is really important to them," Sirius says. It's the understatement of a lifetime, but he's not sure he knows these blokes well enough to fully get into it with them yet. "I mean, I've been around Muggles in public and stuff, and I'm sure I've seen Muggle-borns when Mum and Dad would take us to Diagon Alley, but it wasn't until today that I ever actually talked to any of them. When our parents had people over to the house, or people had us over to their houses, they were always purebloods. And my whole family's pureblood—the parts of it that Mum is on speaking terms with, anyway."
"You have parts of your family that you're not on speaking terms with?" says James interestedly.
"Well, I've got a great-aunt who's a Squib, and we don't talk to her family. We've never even met her—I don't even know her kids' names. And my grandfathers have a cousin who married a Weasley, so we don't talk to them, either."
Frowning, Peter asks through a mouthful of malt loaf, "What's wrong with the Weasleys?"
"They're really big on Muggle rights," James explains. "I mean, jeez. I know what my parents say about the Black family, but I didn't know that they're that nutty—no offense."
"None taken," says Sirius, shrugging. It's not like James is wrong, and James hasn't even heard Sirius's mum shout before.
"Wait a second," James adds. "Your grandfathers have a cousin?"
Sirius shrugs. "Our parents are second cousins. It's not that unusual in families that care about keeping the bloodline pure."
"You keep saying 'we' when you talk about your upbringing," Remus points out. "Have you got siblings or something?"
"Yeah, I've got a little brother, Regulus. He's a year younger than me. He's my best friend."
"Lucky," says Remus with a smile. "I always wanted siblings."
"I'm an only child, too, but I always liked it—means I never had to share my toys growing up," says James, grinning. "What about you, Peter?"
Peter shrugs. "I have two sisters, but they're both a lot older than me. Neither one of them is living in our house anymore."
"Well, none of us need siblings now that we're here," says James decisively. "We're going to be all over each other's personal space in this dormitory, just like brothers."
Sirius is a little taken aback by how quick James is to call the four of them family. It's not like they even know each other—for all James knows, any one of them could be a total psycho. Given Sirius's parentage, it wouldn't even be much of a stretch.
But it makes sense, in an odd way—everything is going to be different now that they're at Hogwarts. If you can't live with your family, you have to make your own, right? Everybody from Sirius's old life is gone now—at least, they're gone for ten months out of the year, and until Regulus gets to come to school next year. He'll probably be Sorted into Slytherin, Sirius realizes with some dismay—he hopes that won't mean they won't get to be friends anymore.
It's after one in the morning by the time James insists that they all go to bed. "Remus, you look like you're about to keel over any second," he says matter-of-factly, and it's true: Remus is pale and a little sickly looking, and he seems to be having trouble keeping his eyes open. "Seriously, I don't want to be responsible for making you puke up all that bread pudding the house-elves fed us. Go to sleep."
"Yeah, but with you lot making the kind of noise you've been making, sleep will be impossible." He may be peaky in the face, but he's smiling, at least.
"Then we all should lie down," Peter reasons. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't want to feel like crap when lessons start at nine o'clock tomorrow, and I don't want to sleep through breakfast, either."
But Sirius doesn't sleep when he turns out the lights and curls up under the impossibly soft sheets. Remus and Peter pass out pretty quick—he can hear their breathing go heavy right away—but he lies awake for a good half an hour listening to James fidget endlessly on his mattress. He's actually starting to get a little annoyed with all the rustling, but then James says drowsily, "Dude, cut it out. I can hear you thinking from all the way over here."
"Sorry," Sirius mutters. "I just… this is all so new."
He thinks he can hear James sit up in bed, so he sits up, too, and pulls open the curtains of his four-poster so he can at least look in James's general direction, even if it's too dark to make out much of his face. "Want to know a secret?" James asks. Sirius highly doubts that Peter or Remus is going to wake up, but James is still whispering like he's afraid of being overheard.
"What?"
"I was really afraid to come here. I didn't want to be—I wanted to be a good Gryffindor and be brave, like my dad, and brave people aren't scared of going on new adventures—but I am. I keep trying to throw myself all the way in, like I can force myself to snap out of it, but I don't know. Maybe I don't really belong here."
"You belong here," Sirius mumbles. "Bravery isn't about never getting scared—it's about doing stuff even when you are scared. If anybody doesn't belong in Gryffindor, it's me."
"Why?"
"Because I'm scared of what it means if my family are wrong."
"Wrong about what?"
"About everything. Muggles and Mudb—I mean, Muggle-borns and stuff. I think like them, James. If they're wrong, then I'm wrong, too, and—I think I might be really wrong. Peter and Benjy seem so normal."
"They are normal. I hate to break it to you, mate, but my mum and dad say that the Blacks are pretty backwards."
"I always knew my mum and dad were messed up," Sirius admits. "I just thought… but it doesn't matter what I thought. I could have gone to Slytherin and stuck with them, and I didn't. If I'm going to do this, I should at least commit to it, and that's going to mean… rethinking some things."
"Well, we'll be here for you when you do," says James, yawning. "I've got your back. It's not worth losing sleep over."
Sirius draws his knees up to his chin and puts his arms around his legs. "How is that so easy for you? How can you just—have my back, just like that?"
"I told you already. We're brothers now. You're stuck with me, okay?"
"Okay," Sirius whispers.
Sleep doesn't come until a long, long time later.
xx
When the next morning finally arrives, Sirius, James, Peter, and Remus head to breakfast in a tight, nervous gaggle. To their credit, they only get lost once on the way, but about ten minutes after they admit this to themselves, they bump into a couple of redheaded twins who are happy to show them the way. Sirius vaguely recognizes them from last night's Sorting Feast; they introduce themselves as Gideon and Fabian Prewett—second years, also in Gryffindor.
Once they get to the Great Hall, Alice spots them and waves them over to seats at the middle of the table. "Hi, Sirius! Remus!" she says. "If you haven't met yet, these are my roommates, Mary Macdonald—Marlene McKinnon—Lily Evans—Emmeline Vance. Everyone, this is Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. And—I haven't met the two of you yet. I'm Alice Abbott."
As James and Peter introduce themselves, Sirius sizes up the girls. Lily he recognizes, of course, from the cool treatment they gave each other yesterday; she's sitting at the far end of the group and buries her face in a book just as soon as she finishes scowling at him and James. The girl called Mary is awfully quiet, too; her long black hair hangs over her face like a shield, and she's looking down as a blush rises in her cheeks. Dark-skinned Marlene and pale Emmeline both wave to the boys before returning to their rapt argument over Quidditch teams.
Sirius's eyes linger a moment longer on Emmeline. Her blonde hair is stringy and a little greasy, she's got prominent bags under her eyes, and she pretty much looks like she rolled all the way out of her dormitory the instant she got out of bed today. It's not a judgment or a criticism: on the contrary, Sirius is sort of impressed that somebody who clearly takes so little pride in her appearance could be so animated and confident—that anyone could be so unrestrictedly and unapologetically herself.
Lily and Mary are plain-faced, too, but neither of them is making a peep; Emmeline, on the other hand, is making herself completely at home telling Marlene off for supporting Pride of Portree in the league this year. Besides, even if she's not trying, she's still—well—pretty, with her thin lips and round eyes and the bump halfway down her nose. Marlene's attractive, too, though unlike Emmeline, Sirius would guess that she spent at least twenty minutes in the bathroom this morning to pull off her flawless skin and smokey eyes.
Emmeline glances up and makes eye contact with him, and he colors immediately, but she just grins at him like they're old friends, like it's all an inside joke. Sirius feels a funny sensation in his abdomen and makes a mental note to introduce himself properly to her later.
Owls start swooping overhead at that moment, and he looks up at the enchanted ceiling and hopes to god that Mum hasn't sent him a Howler. She wouldn't, would she? Sure, she's probably angry enough—she's always angry enough that Sirius has to watch his back—but Dad never would have let her mess up the Blacks' reputation like that. Mum may be off her rocker, but she's not allowed to lose control in public, where people might see it and think less of the family for it.
A letter does arrive for Sirius—just one—but it's not a Howler. Mum calls him a disgrace and an embarrassment and a scourge on the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, but honestly, coming from her, that's pretty tame—it could have been a lot worse.
He's disappointed, but not entirely surprised, that Regulus hasn't written him back. Sirius wonders whether Mum and Dad actively forced him not to reply or whether Regulus decided not to of his own volition. He hopes that they forced him—that there's still something to salvage.
There has to be something there, still, between them, hasn't there? This is Regulus, Sirius's best friend in the whole world. That's not going to go away just because of a little red and gold.
Their first ever Hogwarts lesson, Transfiguration, is in Classroom 1B on the ground floor—you'd think that would make it easy to find, but they're all nearly late to class after taking a wrong turn somewhere. Professor McGonagall is even thinner-lipped today, now that they've made a bad impression, than she was at the Sorting Ceremony. No other students are in the classroom: it must just be Gryffindors enrolled in the class this period.
Each desk has room for two. There are nine of them here, but before Sirius can even start to feel awkward about that, Lily marches right up to the front of the classroom, flings her bag down on a chair, and seats herself in the chair next to it. Right, then. James turns to Sirius expectantly, but Sirius mutters, "I'll catch you after class," and steps up to Emmeline before he can change his mind.
"Emmeline, right?" he says, even though he's sure he's remembering her name right.
"Yeah. And you're Sirius?"
"Yep. Are you good with sitting in the back?"
"Always."
But they don't get a chance to actually talk until after McGonagall gives a twenty-minute lecture accompanied by a series of diagrams she draws on the chalkboard. "I'll be honest," Sirius admits as he's getting out his wand and pointing it at one of the matches on their desk, "I don't see how having a bunch of mathematical equations in your head or not while you're casting a spell is supposed to have any effect on how well you say the words or wave your wand."
When he says the incantation, nothing happens except for a pathetic bit of smoke coming out the end of his wand. "Tell me that again after you actually manage to turn that thing into a needle without keeping any of McGonagall's diagrams in mind."
"You're kind of mouthy, you know that?" says Sirius absently, prodding his unchanged match with the tip of his wand.
"Sure, but you'll learn to love me for it."
Again, he's amazed by this self-assured girl who just—believes that she matters, just like that, like she knows she's going to earn it someday. She doesn't sound embarrassed when she says it, and she doesn't make it out to be a big deal—isn't even looking at him, in fact. She almost reminds him a little of Bella, but Bella is just as mad as Mum, if that's possible, and Emmeline seems like she's totally sane—at least, as far as Sirius can tell. More than that, her face is kind, like Andy's.
Without Sirius in his corner, James has partnered up with Peter and appears to be helping him with the wand movement, while Marlene has grabbed the seat next to Mary and appears to be determinedly talking Mary's ear off, as if she can bring Mary out of her shell by sheer force of will. Meanwhile, Alice and Remus are sitting up front, one desk over from Lily, and by far have gotten the furthest out of anyone at Transfiguring their matches—there's already a small pile of ones that have gone all shiny and pointy at the ends.
"Bet you five Galleons that one of them makes valedictorian in seventh year," says Sirius, nodding at them.
"Bet you they start dating by fifth year. They can get married someday and have half a dozen brainy babies together."
"Please. Fifth year? It'll be no later than the end of third."
"I'm just saying, I'm glad I'm not working with either of them right now," says Emmeline. "Now, if I ever have a burning desire to make myself feel really stupid, I know who to sit next to in practical lessons."
"Do you think you'll be much good at magic? I mean, did you show signs of it when you were really little?"
She shrugs. "When I was three, I got in some stupid fight with Jacqueline—that's my big sister—because she wouldn't let me borrow her toy Potions kit, and I accidentally lit her hair on fire."
"So you're pureblood, too?" Sirius assumes—if she were Muggle-born, she wouldn't exactly have toy Potions kits lying around her childhood home.
"Nah. I'm half and half. My dad's pureblood, but my grandma and grandpa on Mum's side are both Muggles. You know, considering that you're a Black, you're actually quite normal." Funny—Sirius has been thinking the same thing about Peter, the Muggle-born, all day. "My dad doesn't always have very nice things to say about your family."
"I'm hearing a lot of that," Sirius admits. "My parents—my family—they're a little… I mean, I'm not denying it."
"You're not going to, like, start treating me really differently because I'm half-blood, are you? Because my mum made sure I grew up with Muggle pop culture, too, and I'll have you know that half the things witches and wizards do in their free time are ripped off from Muggle inventions. Pinball machines and board games and toy typewriters were the shit growing up. Plus, Muggles have TV."
"What's TV?"
"Television? It's like moving pictures, basically, kind of like wizarding photographs, but there's also sound, and all the video clips are spliced together so that they tell a story. You'll have to come over over break sometime so that I can show you. Do you think they let you watch movies here if you take Muggle Studies?"
"Well, is it eclectic?"
Emmeline snorts. "You mean electric?"
"Whatever. That stuff doesn't work in the castle—there's too much magic floating around. And no, for the record, I'm not going to start treating you differently."
"Good," says Emmeline firmly, and she brandishes her wand at her match again.
Here's the thing: he thought he could reinvent himself, get a fresh start, find out who he is, but clearly, everybody in this school already knows that the Blacks are a bunch of pureblood fanatics. When you're a Black, how can you ever start over outside the shadow of your family's legacy?