Last night, out to dinner, I had a talk with Lily. See, James told her about my ambition, my wonderful project, and, to my great surprise, she said she thinks it's a great idea. Actually, I think I just might have passed out at some point for the shock: for one thing, Lily had never ever said – not my face, at any rate – that she thought I'd had a good idea. Never. In almost ten years of knowing her, not once. I mean, that's saying something. Especially since we're talking about me, you know.
Second of all, she always said that I'm way too conceited as it is, and now she's actually encouraging me to write a whole book about myself?
You will agree with me that this didn't make sense at all. I mean, I thought about it for a long time, and there was only one logical conclusion – and it wasn't good; not completely unexpected, but nevertheless not good: Lily must be madly in love with me, just like everybody else, but she's torn since she knows James is my best friend and he really likes her, and he would get really depressed if she were to dump him for me. Poor bloke.
And poor Lily. She probably thinks she has a chance with me. How will I break it to her that I already have a girlfriend? Helen would kill me if I even so much as considered Lily.
Especially since the two of them are best friends.
God, what an intricate situation! Talk about a love triangle…
More of a love pentagon.
Which becomes a love dodecahedron if we were to include all the members of my fan club. Actually, it would become something larger than a dodecahedron, but I don't know how to call a polygon with something like a million sides.
I never did like Arithmancy very much.
Anyway, back to my talk with Lily. During our conversation, Lily actually gave me some very interesting tips – but then, she's a reporter for both the Daily Prophet and Wizard News: she was bound to be good at writing.
In any case, she gave me some sort of guidelines to use, to make sure I stay on topic, because she reckons otherwise my readers might get a little confused and won't understand very much about my life. Now, we don't want that, do we?
I think this is a fabulous idea. I trust you've already realized my tendency to get sidetracked rather easily, and my inclination to lose all too frequently my own train of thought. Therefore, guidelines indicating which periods of my life I should address in which chapters sound dead useful to me.
Lily also advised me to put here and there my own memories, to add a bit of – what was it? – liveliness to the whole story, and even interview some people who have inspired me and helped shape me in the fantastic wizard I am today – the best Auror around, the most handsome model that wizarding fashion magazines have seen in a while, not to mention winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award for the second year running, and, now, even the best writer on the market (excluding, of course my two favorite Muggle authors: one J.K. Rowling – dunno if you've heard of her – and Hallie Black, a fabulous writer who even shares my last name and who has written oh so many stories about me!) – at some point in the book. I reckon that would be kind of cool, too, even if I think I'll have some trouble setting up an interview with John Lennon, seeing as he's already dead, and I highly doubt I could track up his ghost anytime soon.
So, let's get cracking, then. All right, I reckon I should still get started with my youth, even if, I must admit, I have tried to remove these memories. I'm not being melodramatic here, trust me when I say I really haven't had the happiest childhood in the world.
Things started well enough till I was about three, I think. That's when Regulus was born. No use denying I was jealous of him. I was insanely jealous, mainly because my parents started from the very beginning comparing him to me, and somehow, I was always the idiot out of the two of us.
It all began innocently enough: when I was a baby, I kept my parents (or actually, the house-elves… I doubt my mother ever read me a bedtime story…) awake at night because of my constant wailing. My mum, being the caring and loving mother she was (please notice the sarcasm) used a soundproofing charm on my room, so she could at least sleep in peace, bless her, leaving me, all alone and desperate, to be cared for by the house-elves.
And she was actually surprised if I cried even more? How would you feel if you'd just had a horrible nightmare and instead of finding your loving mother there to hug you, you found yourself staring into the huge and scary eyes of someone like Kreacher! No wonder I was traumatized! And if, you know, seen by daylight Kreacher might look ugly, at night, when it was all creepy and eerie, the effect was horrifying!
My mother was angry when I would still… you know… when I couldn't control my… my bladder at the age of six. But really, you try waking up with Kreacher's menacing grin right in front of your face! Yuck, even thinking about it now gives me the creeps!
Then, like I said, Regulus was born, and he was such the perfect baby! Never cried, never yelled, and he downright cooed even when Kreacher held him! So, while she still soundproofed my room, my mother actually brought my brother to sleep in hers and my dad's room… which left me feeling alone, left out, and, as I mentioned, insanely envious of Regulus.
Even as time went by, Regulus and I never did have such a bonding relationship. We didn't curse each other, but we weren't friends either. We were just brothers. When people came to my parents' house for one of my father's boring business dinners, the two of us always had to act polite towards the guests and friendly with each other, because rule number one of living in The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black was 'Appearances count a lot more than feelings'. Therefore, we always had to act like the perfect little gentlemen, living in a perfect little family, in a perfect little house, away from awful scum like Mudbloods.
Mudblood… I think that was the very first word my mother taught me. The very second one was 'bad' (obviously associated with the first one). I remember learning that Muggle-borns were below us since… since always, actually. Never, ever talk or fraternize with one of Muggle ancestors. Try to avoid being in the same room with one. Treat them with repulsion and distaste, because that is all they deserve.
Unfortunately for my parents, I've never been much of a rule-abider. If someone tried to put down some laws for me to follow, I'd do my very best to do the exact opposite. Maybe this is just part of my personality, part of who I am. Or maybe I became that way, due to the fact that, as brainwashed and lonely as I was, I had been grown-up so spoiled that I almost amazed myself. If I didn't get things my way, I'd throw a fit and start tossing all my toys at our house-elves (Kreacher was my personal favorite, actually), and while they didn't approve when I didn't set by their rules, my parents always encouraged this kind of behavior on my part. I was rich, the future heir of the enormous Black fortune, and could therefore do anything I pleased. As long as, of course, appearances weren't involved.
I think my parents made a huge mistake by letting me grow up this way. Because just as I didn't follow the house-elves' instructions, it didn't take long for me to realize I did not want my parents, my family, and my birth to influence in any way my life. I wanted to be capable of deciding things on my own.
So, while still incredibly convinced that Muggle-borns were filth, I began rebelling to my parents' orders. I remember this one time, when I was seven…
FLASHBACK
That day was going to be my very first day at Bullpustule Academy of Enchantment and Thaumaturgy. I know, an awful name, don't tell me about it. Bullpustule is actually a very expensive primary school, which you cannot attend unless you are, of course, a pure-blood.
Most wizards don't even bother with primary school, teaching themselves their kids how to read and write, since they know they will learn the abc's of magic at Hogwarts. But not my parents. Saying I went to Bullpustule practically showed I was already better than other wizards my age, who either couldn't afford it, or weren't admitted because of their birth.
"Sirius, hurry up!" my mother spat as she dragged me along the road toward Salisbury Street, where we were supposed to grab a portkey for my new school.
Hurry up? How could I hurry up? I was walking in the Muggle side of town, something I'd never done before! I was fascinated. I was even hoping to catch a glimpse of some Muggle, to see if it was true that they had green skin and four eyeballs on their forehead. That's what Kreacher had told me, anyway, and the way my mum talked about them, you'd think they were slugs.
"I said, hurry!" she murmured menacingly yet again.
But I was not to be hurried. "Look, mummy," I said, awed. "Is that a Muggle?" I asked, rather impressed. I was pointing at a tall woman in her forties, who was positively gaping at the two of us. I immediately thought that her gazing open-mouthed at us was due to the fact that Muggles had, of course, inferior brain activity than us. Thinking back on it now, I think it was because my mother and I, despite being in a Muggle neighborhood, were both wearing long robes and dark cloaks.
Why, you ask? You couldn't seriously think my mother would have actually worn Muggle clothes! Had it been for her, she would have destroyed everything Muggle!
My mother didn't even answer my question as she tugged me along. After a few minutes of walking in silence, a figure approached us. She, too, was wearing black robes and a cloak, and as she came closer to us I was able to recognize her.
"Oh, Eurydice," she said, addressing to my mother, "oh, the shame!"
My mother stopped to frown at her sister-in-law's flustered expression. "What is it, Polyssenna?" she asked.
Personally, I'd never really liked Aunt Polly so much (not that I was allowed to call her that… but I did it anyway!). But then, I've never really liked any member of my family, so she really was no exception. Aunt Polly was a blond-haired witch with gray eyes – and the same look like she's got dung under her nose that was common to almost all of my family members.
She had three daughters. The eldest, Andromeda, was the only one I did like, since I felt she was a lot like me; she was already in her sixth year at Hogwarts, though her family wasn't really happy with her, as she had not only been sorted into Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin, family tradition, but she'd also been spotted associating with awful Mudbloods. Then there was Narcissa: she looked a lot like her mother, and she was a lot like her as well; she had no problem believing that Muggles were scum, and was ready to do everything to please her parents. Finally, the youngest one of Aunt Polly's daughters was Bellatrix. Boy, was she frightening! She was only a few months older than me, but she was scary, no kidding! She and I looked a lot alike: both dark hair, tall, and rather distinguished features (for seven-year-olds at least).
"Oh, Eurydice, you have got absolutely no idea what Aeneas has just informed me of!" she said dramatically.
"Polyssenna, please tell me, and try to make it quick. Today will be the boy's first day at Bullpustule," answered my mother haughtily.
Aunt Polly rolled her eyes. "That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you, dear," she explained. "Bella is also starting today, you know." Only then did I notice that Aunt Polly was not, in fact, alone, but that she was accompanied by her two youngest daughters: Cissa was looking rather worried, whereas Bella was merely smirking.
"Well? What's the hold-up?" asked my mother rather impatiently. She didn't want a Black to be late for his first day of school… didn't I already tell you that appearances are everything?
"As I was saying," continued my aunt, "Aeneas Malfoy has only just been to see me. He's been informed that the Portkey to Bullpustule is faulty, and the Ministry is too busy with some other idiot causes and will not send anyone over to repair it, so—"
"Certainly they do not expect us to go by Muggle means?" my mother spat.
"That is what Aeneas vainly tried to explain to the Minister, but we all know old Bagnold is good friends with that other Mudblood-loving fool, Dumbledore…" finished Aunt Polly.
"I'd like to go the Muggle way," I spoke up, curious as to what could be so dangerous about it.
"You will not," ordered my mother, "and keep your mouth shut unless someone asks for your opinion. We wouldn't want to give a serious Headmaster like Marcus Worple the wrong impression…"
Aunt Polly frowned at my mother pointedly. "I'm not saying I want my girls to mingle with such riffraff, but how are we going to get them to Bullpustule?"
"What did Aeneas say?" my mother asked. The Blacks and the Malfoys had always been good friends.
"He asked me to let him know what we decide. All the families of this area have the same problem."
"I think, Mother," interrupted Narcissa, "that the best thing to do would be to wait until the Portkey is fixed, and then go to school."
"How many times have I told you, Narcissa, that first impressions are very important? We don't want to be late on the first day of school," answered Aunt Polly.
"True," answered my mother, "but maybe your daughter is right. How would we look blending with Muggles and Mudbloods to get there? We're the Blacks, Polyssenna, dear, not a bunch blood-traitors like the Fawcetts or the Potters."
"Does that mean no school?" I jumped in, grinning.
"Sirius! How many times have I told you not to speak unless asked to?" she spat angrily. She turned back to my aunt. "Really, I don't know what to do with him, anymore. I don't see where I've gone wrong with him!"
Aunt Polly laid her hand on my mother's arm in a comforting way. "It's not your fault, Eurydice, dear. Look at how Andromeda's turned out! And I did not raise her differently than my beloved Narcissa here."
I glared. Looking back, I reckon that might have been a good opportunity to practice keeping my mouth shut. I didn't, however. "I'm still here, you know. You don't have to talk about me like I can't hear you or anything." I paused to draw breath. "And, my dear Aunt Polly," I emphasized, knowing she hated that nickname, "I don't think there's anything wrong with Andy!"
The four women surrounding me stared at me for a moment in disbelief. My mother then spoke up. "That's it, Mister, not another word out of you! We're going home, now, and you wait till your father hears what you've just said! You'll be very sorry indeed, boy!"
And without even saying goodbye to her nieces and sister-in-law, she hurriedly dragged me back home.
END OF FLASHBACK
Aww… Lily really ought to be proud. I've already put in my first memory! She's really got to stop saying I don't listen to her when she talks.
Anyway, I don't even wanna get into what I had to go through at home after that little incident. If you must know, however, Mr. Malfoy had always had a rather large influence at the Ministry, so they got the Portkey repaired in the end. I, however, began attending Bullpustule a week after that, once I'd gotten out of St. Mungo's.
Talk about scary.
Anyway, Bullpustule wasn't nearly as bad as I feared. But then, growing up in the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, I really was rather prepared for just about anything concerning punishments and scolding.
The worst time, however, was that one time when I had only just turned ten. It was going to be my very last year at Bullpustule, since I was getting finally old enough to attend Hogwarts (about that… my mother had actually almost succeeded in convincing my father to send me to Durmstrang, since she feared that my already 'weak and troubled personality' – which translates into my not wanting to listen to their rules – might only have been worsened by being exposed to the mindless babblings of the Mudblood-lover – which translates into Dumbledore. However, when she heard that both the Malfoys and my cousins were being sent to Hogwarts, she decided to have me attend it, too, since starting early to get connected with the 'right' families would have been a great plus for me later on).
Anyway, that time at Bullpustule, I think I really must have crossed the line. As I've already said, I've never been much of a rule-follower. The teachers hated me, because I, ignoring 'appearances', was a real trouble-maker, for them. Hadn't it been for my family's great influence – and a respectable amount of gold, too – they would have kicked me out on the very first day.
But that day… well, I'd always been getting in trouble every other day, but teachers usually restrained from sending notes home, believing that with punishments they could obtain obedience from anyone. They hadn't met me yet, of course. So, when they finally started to see how potentially dangerous I was to other students (and I'm not just talking pranks here – even if they were actually rather good for a ten-year-old, if I do say so myself) with all my gibbering about not wanting my family and birth to influence my life, they began worrying.
Teachers got downright alarmed when, during an argument in class, I actually had enough guts to stand up and say that I really couldn't see what was so wrong with Mudbloods; that I'd never met one, and thus decided to reserve judgments on them, and that I'd actually be rather thrilled to get to know one, betting he'd probably be smarter than half of Bullpustule put together.
The howler I got the next morning from my parents was the least of it. But I'd rather not get into detail here… haven't we put enough angst in just one chapter?
So, my ladies, I bet you're all dying to come to the rescue of this poor little hero. See how much I've had to go through when I was a child?
"Yeah, that explains why as of right now over half of your brain cells are missing, and thus even so much as assuming you could think would be—"
"—like expecting Snivellus to wash his hair. I know, I know, you've already told me that. You know, Prongs, if you have to come here overhear my thoughts, you might as well get a bit more original with your snide remarks," I muttered, looking over at my best friend who had, just like yesterday, entered my room – and destroyed my privacy – without my knowledge.
"Maybe you should quit talking out loud to yourself, then," he said, grinning. "Plus, don't tell me to get creative with comments; you have yet to understand that any pun with your name isn't – and never has been, for that matter – remotely funny."
I glared at him. "You wound me, Prongs. I siriusly think that any joke I have to say concerning my name is siriusly funny." I paused, smirking. "Guess how I'm going to call this autobiography."
"Siriusly Me?" he asked.
I gaped. "Okay, admit it. You can read my mind."
"No. Number one, Padfoot, you have no creativity whatsoever," he said, still smirking. "Number two, I was sure you were going to include some pun concerning your name. And," he finished, his smirk more pronounced than ever, "number three… it says so on the piece of paper you're writing on."
I glared. "Meh."
He grinned. "C'mon, wannabe author, get downstairs that dinner's ready."
I continued to glare at him as I followed him out.
A/N: So, how did I do this time? I really hope you liked this chapter, even if it's not nearly as funny as the first one was. But then, I don't exactly imagine Sirius's youth as something exceedingly funny. Now, before anyone bites my head off, let me make this clear: I have no idea when John Lennon actually died. I reckon it had to be around 1980, so, since this story should happen in 1979, if he was actually still alive, please bear with me, okay? Thanks.
Oh and, by the way, I apologise for the 'mistakes' concerning the girls' ages, but when I wrote this story, JKR had not yet provided us with her Black Family Tree. Therefore, while I have easily changed Sirius's parents' names in order to fit with her characters, I couldn't change the girls' ages without having to rewrite the whole story. Sorry!