The Hogwarts Express, Sirius thought, might have sprung from another century. It was big, red, and actually driven by steam. Or - magic, surely. He even doubted that there was a person driving the large engine at the front, and if there was, they surely had an easy job keeping the colossal machinery going, as most of it was, indeed, powered by magic. The good Cardinal had, again and again, liked to point this out in his early years.
Great-uncle Ferdinant. Sirius closed his eyes.
Memories of this (or rather: last) year's Christmas Eve were invading his brain once more, making him cringe unpleasantly. It had not ended well. Not well at all. A fight, and not an entertaining one, a few insults, and a crying boy. The one who had uttered the insults in the first place. Severus Snape.
'Serves him right,' Sirius thought. 'Always teasing me about not being in Slytherin. Always hiding under his daddy's big fists. Who does he think he is?' He crossed his arms and glared out of the window. Snape was right. He knew it. Every word had been a painful truth. That's why he had ended up on the floor. That's why his mother had had to separate them and send him to his room. That's why the rest of his holidays had been more of a horror than anything else. Sirius scowled. 'Why do I have to be different?' he whispered. 'Why is it I was deprived of the opportunity of keeping up the family tradition? I am older - and smarter,' (he grinned) 'than Regulus. Why should he be mother's darling all of a sudden? When, clearly, he hasn't enough brain cells to disembowel a House-Elf?'
He sighed and leaned back in his seat. He was alone in his compartment at the very back of the train. Every now and then people had come and peered in, but, seeing his mood clearly mirrored on his dark face, had left him alone again in a hurry. Even Severus Snape had turned up once, but he had not dared linger. Naturally. He was, partly at least, responsible for the mood Sirius was now in. He was, Sirius realized with some surprise, the perfect firstborn son his parents had always wished for and never quite had. Even if he was tiny. And stupid. And greasy. Snape, as opposed to him, Sirius, seemed to have 'what it took to become great once'. A shudder made its way down Sirius's back and he grit his teeth, involuntarily, at the thought of Severus Snape. With his frighteningly penetrating stare though his black, usually glittering eyes. His quiet, sometimes squeaky voice, and his bent figure, shuffling along the Hogwarts corridors... and yet - so spot on with some of his observations. Spot on and capable of using them against you so that it hurt. So that you could not help but explode. And hit him.
Mother had said it again and again. If he did not change, her eldest son would end up in Azkaban. Or worse, on the side of fools and mudblood lovers like Dumbledore. Or Angus McGillivray. The old boozer.
Sirius clenched his fists and stared out of the window, determined not to show what was going through his head at this particular moment. People might stroll into his compartment at every minute of this journey.
'Sirius, you are my son. Your father's son. And you really should behave accordingly. Do you understand that?'
'Yes, mother.'
She had slapped him. She had never done that before. And still, the worst thing about their fight after Christmas had not been physical harm. She hated him. They all hated him. Because of what had happened earlier this year. Last year. What had happened in September. That he did not have what it took to be sorted into Slytherin. Like all the respectable purebloods. Like all the family.
'Even Andromeda has made it,' his father had said, and the disappointment in his voice was really what had caused Sirius to make a vow. A vow to himself that he would try and survive his next years at Hogwarts. The time that he was doomed to spend in Gryffindor. He would show them what was inside him, despite the obvious. Despite the fact that he had been sorted into a house that, traditionally, was inhabited by mudbloods and muggle-lovers. He would show them that he was, after all, a Black. A true Black. Superior from head to toe.
His compartment door slid open and Sirius jumped.
'Evening mylady. Got a few minutes to spare?'
It was Lucius Malfoy. Of course. Who else would have the guts...
'Shut up and come in,' muttered Sirius, embarrassed about being so jumpy. 'What do you want?'
'I do not have much time,' said Lucius in his usual, slippery tone. 'As you know, I am not supposed to hang out with...' he pretended to choose his words wisely, 'Gryffindors.'
Sirius pulled a painful grimace and motioned him to sit down. 'I do not care.'
'But I do,' snapped Lucius. 'As opposed to some, I know not to get caught off guard. Some of us do have a drop of wizarding pride left in their blood, you know.'
'I am not a lover of muggles, Lucius,' snarled Sirius impatiently. 'I am the victim of unfortunate circumstances. That's all!'
Lucius sighed and raised his eyebrows. 'Whatever,' he said smoothly. 'Father says not to trust you one minute, but I have a bit of respect left for you and your family, even if you haven't. So I have come to tell you something.'
Sirius made an attempt to look just as superior as the young Malfoy, but could not help feeling that he was failing horribly.
'Yes?'
'It is one simple bit of advice,' said Lucius, looking as calm as ever. 'Do not let yourself get wound up too much. Especially not by Severus Snape. I know he has the ability of driving just anyone up the wall within seconds - and he doesn't even intentionally do so - but you of all people should know this by now, so... I advise you to leave him alone. It is as simple as that.'
Sirius glared at him.
'Are you saying that because your father asked you to look after the little chizpurfle?'
'I told you,' said Lucius, his voice assuming just a dash more seriousness, 'that I respect you. And would like to help you on your way through seven strenuous years in Gryffindor house. We are family, after all. But if you decline my help, I shall happily inform your parents that you switched sides before you even got the chance to prove yourself worthy. Slytherin-worthy, if you know what I mean.'
'I have already failed that test,' snarled Sirius. 'The hat put me in Gryffindor, in case you hadn't noticed.'
'That is not the point,' said Lucius, now more serious than ever. 'It is not about what others think you are, but about what you choose. Which side will you be on when the war comes one of these days, Sirius Black, have you ever thought about that?'
Sirius gave him a blank stare. 'War? Have you gone mad? There won't be a war. Don't be ridiculous. What are you talking about, Lucius?'
The fair-haired Prefect bent down just an inch so that his face was now less than a foot apart from Sirius's.
'The war against mudbloods... and muggle lovers.'
Sirius leaned back, completely overcome by surprise and disbelief. Was Lucius serious in what he was saying? How could he know a war was coming? How could he be - so sure?
'That is ridiculous,' he said again, unable to find any other words to describe what was going on inside him. 'There won't be a war. Who would be fighting it? You know our parents. They like to talk, but when it comes to acting out what they believe in -'
'I am not talking about our parents,' said Lucius calmly. 'I am talking about the near future. About our future, Sirius.'
'Well, that... that...' Sirius was lost for words for a whole minute. 'That's future, isn't it?' he said helplessly after a while.
'The war will come,' whispered Lucius. 'With or without your consent. But what say you? Will you take your chance when it is time for choices one of these days? Or will you creep over to that filth-loving scum and choose the losing side as so many others have before you?'
Sirius thought for a while. 'I think... I'll know what to do,' he said finally. 'Don't worry, Lucius.'
The elder boy smiled and left the compartment. Sirius stared after him, not knowing what to think.
'For someone who got blasted off his feet by a mere stunner he's got a mouth as fat as can be,' he thought with a contemptuous grin. 'I daresay he is getting worse than Potter. Who is he to advise me in the first place?'
But he was right. Malfoy was right, and Sirius knew it. He had to be careful. He was treading on dangerous grounds being constantly surrounded by Gryffindors. Spending most of his time in their commons, doing homework prep with them, sleeping in their dormitory... None of this could be exceedingly healthy, he decided, and finally resolved to fight for as long as possible. Fight for his family, his beliefs and his pride. Until death, possibly.