Author's Note: I don't own anything. And if I did, I would be making money off of this. But I'm not. So please don't sue.

Chapter Two
The Portrait

"SIRIUS! MAIL!"
An eleven-year-old boy, medium height and build, with rather messy, dark hair, stumbled out of bed. He was rather ordinary looking, nothing special, save for his eyes, which were as bright and as blue as sapphires in his face. These were clouded over with sleep now, and were not as brilliant as usual.
The call came again. "SIRIUS! MAIL!"
He rubbed his eyes and yawned, nearly tripping over a pile of clothes at the foot of his bed. Swearing loudly, he kicked them aside, glaring at the mirror, which had said, "language, young master!"
He pulled on a set of worn Quiddich robes and some slippers, still rubbing his eyes, yawning, and stretching. The call came again. "I'M COMING!"
He stumbled sleepily down the stairs, absently ruffling his hair with the hand that wasn't trying (in vain) to keep his balance by way of a death grip on the railing. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sirius tripped over that stupid troll leg umbrella stand, as always. Someday, he vowed, he'd move that damn thing.
He yawned again, walking past the house-elf heads on the wall, gazing up at them sleepily. They had always freaked him out, but today, he was too tired to care how scary or unjust those stupid heads were.
Sirius turned into the kitchen, yawning and rumpling his hair absently again, nearly tripping over his younger brother, Regulus, who was munching on some toast while sitting in the doorway. A stream of tired curses uttered from his mouth, earning a hard look from both his mother at the table and the house-elf cooking at the stove.
"Watch your mouth, mister." His mother reshuffled the Daily Prophet she was holding. Pointing her wand at Sirius's mouth, she muttered "scrougify," rather absently.
Sirius dodged the curse, not particularly wishing for his mouth to be washed out with soap, and it hit the wall, leaving a pink, bubbly mark where it hit. He yawned again. "Mum? You said something about mail...?"
She waved a hand towards his chair, and Sirius noticed the gray owl sitting on the back, clutching a rather thick, beige, parchment letter in its beak. He took the letter from it and it flew off through the open window above the sink.
He slit it open and began to read the first piece of parchment silently, pulling out his chair with a foot and sitting down.
"Who's it from?" Regulus looked up from his toast.
"Some boarding school... Hogwarts..." He looked down the page. "I've been accepted."
"That's nice, dear." His mother flipped the page of the paper. "Did I mention the meeting that your father and I went to last night? There was this wonderful speaker, Tom Riddle..."
Sirius wasn't listening. "This looks interesting... All these new books! Mum, can I go to school here?"
His mother stopped babbling for a moment and looked at him over her glasses. "Ask your father, dear."
Sirius sighed and started on the plate of eggs that the house-elf placed in front of him. Somehow, he knew that was going to be her answer.

***

"Absolutely not! I forbid it!" Sirius's father's strong, deep voice came out of the kitchen. The door was closed, but he could still hear his parents arguing.
"But Lester..." His mother's voice was a bit softer, a bit more under control. "It'll be such a wonderful opportunity for him. Besides, that Tom Riddle..."
"Ah, now THERE'S a man with the right idea." Come to think of it, his father sounded rather drunk. "Not at all like Dumbledore, the muggle- lover. I don't want any son of mine going to a school with a headmaster like that..."
"But... Children... Durmstrang... Better?" His mother's voice was softer now, and Sirius only caught snatches of conversation.
He turned to the large family portrait adjacent from the door he was leaning against. There was his mother, half a foot shorter than her husband, hard, dark eyes shining with something akin to happiness but not quite. Her long, dark, wavy hair, done up in a bun every time Sirius had ever seen it, hung in waves down the back of her blood-red, medieval-style dress. A dark ruby hung on a gold chain around her neck, flashing as she moved her head and accentuating her rather ample bust. Her hands were on Sirius's father's arm, but she removed them and placed them on her tiny waist as he watched her. Her eyes darkened further still and she shook her head and glared at him in distaste, as if scolding him for eavesdropping.
"No, Angela, what don't you understand about this?" Sirius's father was yelling, roaring, really. "I was going to homeschool him!"
Sirius cringed at the thought. Homeschooling? With his father? He looked to the portrait again. His father stood on the left side of his mother, beetle-black eyes hard and unforgiving. His dark hair was perfectly parted on the side and slicked back, presumably with his 'Morgan's Ultra-Hold Hair Gel'. He was wearing long, black dress robes with a high collar that fit well around his tall, muscular frame. With one hand, he held a gold-topped cane; the other was bent for Sirius's mother. He frowned at Sirius, looking disappointed in even the thought that he might rebel against his family.
"But Lester, it's what he wants!" Sirius's mother's voice came out strong from the kitchen.
"FINE THEN!" His father stormed out the door, not even noticing Sirius, who was now sitting under the portrait, watching. "LET THE BOY DO WHAT HE WANTS! I. Don't. Care."
He took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter; he'll still be who he is. It's not like he's Regulus."
Sirius looked up at the third figure in the frame, his little brother. With the same dark eyes and hair as his father, they were practically copies of one another. They were even wearing matching robes. He had a smug grin on his face, and his father's hand rested on his shoulder as both parents looked fondly at their youngest son, the favorite.
And there was Sirius, his piercing blue eyes standing out sharply from the rest of the family, although they were half hidden beneath the shock of hair falling into his eyes. He wore simple black robes and was sitting on the ground, as if not even in the portrait, leaning against the frame rather boredly. The forgotten son.
Finally noticing their son, Sirius's father and mother turned to him. Sirius's mother cleared her throat and spoke, looking rather nervously at her husband. "We've decided, Sirius."
"Yes?" He knew the answer.
She cleared her throat again. "It's your decision, whatever you want."
So they didn't care. Somehow, he knew that would happen, too.