CHAPTER ONE
The First Spell
AUGUST 6, 1971
"Monsieur Auclair?" Regulus asked, his eyes wide and curious. "What will Hogwarts be like?"
Sirius Black looked up from his book—Infamous Tales of European Wizarding Families—and eyed his tutor, curious as to how he'd choose to respond. Regulus, of course, had asked their parents this question nearly a dozen times before Walburga had hexed his mouth shut. Neither Orion nor Walburga were particular forthcoming with answers to this particular question, other than furious mutterings of "Mudbloods and blood traitors, roaming the halls like they have the right to be there."
Alphonse Auclair, the gruff and most recent tutor for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, let out a grunt. "Haven't the foggiest," he grit out. "Went to Durmstrang, didn't I? That's where all the great pure-blood houses go, I expect."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "You're not from a great house, Auclair. You're one step up from a blood traitor," he said with a sneer. He didn't particularly like to point it out, but it was true. He'd heard his mother say it nearly a hundred times. The Auclairs, though great in numbers now, were scattered all around France and Western Europe. That being said, they were a relatively young line of pure-bloods. Nothing compared to the awe-inspiring lineage of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. "Besides," Sirius said, ignoring Auclair's glower and turning to Regulus, "Durmstrang's full of nothing but dark wizards. Hogwarts is way more fun. 'Dromeda told me so."
"Hogwarts," Auclair said, baring his yellowing teeth, "has had no shortage of their own bits of riffraff over the years."
"Are the ceilings really enchanted to look like the stars?" Regulus asked, ignoring the tension between Sirius and Auclair.
Sirius tried to hide his smile. He'd told Regulus about the ceiling in the dining hall after reading about it in Hogwarts: A History. Regulus always loved the stars.
"'Course not," Auclair said before Sirius could reply. "I expect Hogwarts's ceilings are perfectly normal."
"And you would know this how, exactly?" Sirius shot back. "Seeing as you have no imagination to speak of and went to Durmstrang, how would you know what Hogwarts's ceilings look like?"
"Wonder and awe are mere parlor tricks to make Muggles and Mudbloods remember their place," Auclair growled. "No respectable wizarding institution would waste the time and resources on such audacious and tedious spellwork, when there's practical magical instruction to be done."
Annoyed, Sirius reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a folded bit of parchment. It bore his name and a broken wax seal. "Even so," he said, waiving the letter in Auclair's face, "Mother and Father seem to have decided Hogwarts is best. Got my letter a few days ago."
"Yes, of course you did," Alphonse said, his nose wrinkling at the parchment. "'Suppose a brat like you will be sorted into Hufflepuff. No spine to you whatsoever. No stomach for the, ah… More demanding magic."
Hufflepuff? Sirius nearly cringed at the thought.
"That so?" Sirius replied, instead, throwing a wink at Regulus. Sirius flexed the fingers of his right hand, reaching for the tingle of magic that seemed to dwell just beneath the surface of his skin.
A bolt of red light shot from Sirius's pointer finger and hit Auclair square in the chest. The tutor's long, wiry hair stood straight up, as if he'd been electrocuted, and instantly turned from a stunning white to a bright, flamingo pink.
Regulus rolled off his chair onto the floor, clutching his stomach, as he collapsed in a fit of laughter.
Sirius smirked and snapped his book closed. He wiggled his fingers playfully, the magic still dancing between them. "How's that for audacious and tedious?" he said.
Regulus just laughed harder.
"Why, you little—" Auclair reached into the pocket of his robe for his wand, pointed it, and muttered a curse.
Sirius was ready. He leaped out of his chair, throwing the book in the general direction of Auclair, and dived behind the coffee table. Auclair's curse, having missed Sirius by quite a significant margin, hit the high-backed armchair in which he'd been sitting instead. The arm chair let out a shriek and contorted in what Sirius guessed was the chair-equivalent of constipation.
"Ah, Auclair," Sirius chided. "You aren't supposed to curse us. What would Mother say, if you deprived he of the immense pleasure of doing it herself?"
Auclair roared in fury, drowning out the shrieking chair.
Regulus howled, tears streaming down his face, grin wild and unable to cease his fit of laughter.
Auclair readjusted, aiming again for Sirius, but before he could mutter a spell, Sirius stood up, meeting his tutor in a well-practiced dueling pose. Except instead of a wand, Sirius Black had only his fingers and the magic coursing through his veins.
Another red bolt shot from Sirius's fingertips, once more hitting Auclair directly in the chest. This time, his once-expensive, dark green robes changed into a shade of neon orange that greatly clashed with his bright pink hair.
Regulus cackled and roared, clapping his hands when he had to stop laughing to catch his breath.
A string of French curse words flew from Auclair's mouth as he looked down at himself. Then, turning from Sirius, Auclair grabbed Regulus by the back of his neck, his wand trained on Regulus's forehead.
Instantly, the triumphant smile disappeared from Sirius's face. Regulus let out a small whimper.
"Don't you fucking dare," Sirius growled, trying to ignore the fact that his voice cracked when he spoke.
A wicked, twisted grin spread across Auclair's face. "Ah, there's that Slytherin fury. I knew it was there somewhere."
"Sirius—" Regulus choked out, but Auclair silenced him with a flick of his wand.
Sirius grit his teeth together. "Let him go. He didn't do anything. You want to punish me, so do it. Not him."
"And still with that brazen stupidity," Auclair sneered. "So unbecoming of the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."
"ALPHONSE!" roared a voice from the doorway.
All three of them turned to see the looming, well-to-do shape of Walburga Black watching the scene unfold with something akin to hellfire blazing in her soulless, grey eyes.
"Release my son, Alphonse," she snapped, and instantly, Auclair obeyed. Even a cretin like Auclair knew better than to test the patience of Walburga Black. Regulus tumbled to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, brushing off his robes and hovering close to Sirius's side. Sirius didn't miss the tremor that went through his younger brother's body.
"Sirius!" Walburga said, her voice a little too loud, a little too grating on his already-frayed nerves for Sirius to entirely hide his flinch. His mother gestured at his tutor. "Fix him. Now."
Knowing better than to talk back to his mother, Sirius suppressed an eye-roll and flicked his wrist at Auclair. His robes instantly reverted to their original color, as did his hair, save for a bright pink streak, right down the center of his scalp.
Walburga gave him a harsh glare, her lips pressed in a thin line.
"Sorry," Sirius muttered, though he was not even remotely so. He gestured to the sparks of magic flickering between his fingers. "Best I can do. It's still a bit unpredictable."
This was, of course, not even the least bit true. Sirius Black had considered himself the resident expert in wandless magic since he turned eight years old. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, naturally, was warded against all sorts of magic, both protecting from the outside and concealing the secrets within. With no enforceable restriction on underage magic, Sirius had perfected a series of simple hexes and jinx, all easily accessible with varying flicks of his wrist.
Regulus, though a year younger, was not nearly as skilled or practiced as his older brother in wandless magic. The magic he displayed was predominantly accidental, as was standard of a wizard his age. Sirius, on the other hand, had something of a knack for charms and enchantments, despite never having owned a proper wand.
Walburga, of course, knew all of this, and had bragged to Druella about his knack for wandless magic whenever the occasion to lord Sirius over his cousins arose. However, now, looking at the pink streak in Auclair's hair, Walburga said nothing to contradict Sirius's excuse. Instead, she said, "We're going to Diagon Alley."
Sirius blinked, unable to hide his surprise.
"You, apparently, are in need of a proper wand," Walburga said. "Kreacher and your father shall meet us there. Come, now, Sirius." She held out her hand.
With a wide-eyed glance at his brother, Sirius went to his mother's side, though he did not take her hand. Instead, she grabbed his bicep, his arm clutched tightly between her well-manicured fingers.
Sirius tried and failed to suppress a grimace. He did not particularly like to be touched, even if it were his mother and it didn't inherently hurt to be touched. Not unless she was also in the process of cursing him. The Blacks, themselves, were not a particularly physical family. Personal space was valued above all else and physical contact, if ever utilized, was usually accompanied by a certain degree of punishment.
Regulus, of course, was his one exception. Touching Regulus neither came with the burning pain of physical contact with someone of a lesser bloodline, nor did Sirius ever view it as a punishment to have Regulus's hand clasped in his, or his hand resting on his younger brother's shoulder. It was merely comfort, plain and simple, between two young, yet long-suffering souls.
Sirius tried to pry his arm out of his mother's grasp, only to earn himself a harsh yank that nearly ripped his shoulder from its socket.
"Regulus, back to your studies," Walburga commanded.
Regulus immediately obeyed, picking up the book that Sirius had hurled at Auclair and opening it up to a random page, pretending to pick up right where he left off.
Walburga turned her hellfire-gaze to Auclair. "Alphonse, I leave you in charge." He nodded, obediently. Walburga lowered her voice. "I feel it necessary to remind you that the discipline of my sons is mine and mine alone. You will not raise a hand against either of them again, no matter what this one might do." She shook Sirius, to emphasize her point. "Am I understood?"
"Of course, my lady," Auclair said with a slight bow, a lock of his pink-streaked hair falling in his face.
Sirius didn't bother hiding his smirk. Regulus watched them, and Sirius didn't miss the flicker of fear at the thought of being left alone with their recently slighted tutor. He strained to catch Regulus's eye. "I'll bring you back something, yeah?" Sirius said.
Regulus gave him a weak smile and nodded.
Without another word, Walburga yanked Sirius down the portrait-lined hallway, all the way to the entrance hall. "We will discuss your punishment later," she hissed in his ear.
Sirius swallowed the bile rising in his throat and tried, instead, to think of the wonders that awaited him in Diagon Alley.
Orion Black and Kreacher were waiting outside the Leaky Cauldron when Walburga Apparated across the street, Sirius plastered closely to her side. As soon as the woozy feeling settled in his stomach, Sirius took a good step away from his mother, extracting himself from her and going to stand opposite his father.
"Sirius," Orion greeted him, before planting an obligatory kiss on Walburga's cheek.
"Father. Kreacher," Sirius said in return, as Orion ushered them all through the doors to the Leaky Cauldron.
Sirius had been here before, most recently with his cousin, Andromeda, the year before to celebrate her graduation from Hogwarts. She'd escorted him and Regulus to Florean Fortescue's Ice-cream Parlour and the Black brothers finally met Andromeda's secret boyfriend, but only after they'd been sworn to secrecy. Ted Tonks was a Muggle-born wizard, the first one Sirius had ever properly met. Pain had shot up his arm when Ted shook his hand, culminating in a all-consuming burning caused by the tattoo on Sirius's chest. He'd managed, however, to keep a straight face and hide his sigh of relief, when finally Ted released his hand and the burning stopped. Andromeda had shot him a grateful look and Sirius had felt rather brave, for having endured the pain of touching a Muggle-born. Regulus, on the other hand, had let out a whimper of pain and yanked his hand away from Ted, only after a second, before fumbling an excuse about too much roughhousing.
Sirius wasn't entirely certain as to how Andromeda had been able to so casually touch Ted throughout their excursion. He knew for certain, despite the many rows she'd had with her parents, that Andromeda had the same tattoo that he and Regulus did. Every member of the Black family shared the brand: Toujours Pur, in black ink, right above the heart, given to each new branch of the family tree on their eighth birthday, as a sign of eternal fidelity to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
The tattoo, of course, was enchanted. It burned, when in skin-to-skin contact with anyone of a lesser bloodline. Even with pure-blooded blood traitors, the tattoo sent spasms of pain throughout his body. Touching a Muggle-born—even just to shake his hand—was something akin to the Cruciatus curse.
Sirius should know. After meeting Ted Tonks, he was familiar with both.
The Leaky Cauldron was relatively empty, compared to the last time Sirius had been there. Now, it was early August, and as most families tended to wait until closer to the start of the school year, most of the patrons were well beyond their Hogwarts years. Walburga and Orion ushered him and Kreacher through the Cauldron without much dallying.
Once in Diagon Alley, proper, Walburga pulled her family to a stop. She looked from Orion to Sirius, then finally to Kreacher. "Kreacher, go fetch Sirius's cauldrons, books, and quills," she said. "The three of us are going to Madam Malkin's. Orion, you need new robes as well."
"Yes, Mistress," Kreacher said, bowing his head, before slinking off.
Sirius tried to hide his cringe. The last time he'd been fitted for robes was right before his grandmother's funeral, nearly two years ago. It had been a rather dreadful experience, considering Madam Malkin was a half-blood and he'd tried to jerk away nearly every time she touched him. He ended up with more pins in his arm than one of his poor dead grandmother's pin cushions.
"Don't you whine," Walburga snapped, catching the look on his face. "I owled her both of your measurements last week. Try them on—ensure that the likes of her didn't muck up something so plainly simple—then we'll be gone. I have other business to tend to today. I do not have time to dawdle in a half-blood's shop."
"Indeed," huffed Orion.
When Sirius was finally done changing into his own robes—after more than a few minor adjustments to his new robes and decidedly more than a few mutterings of, "Incompetent, half-blood. Really, Orion, when is someone respectable going to open up a tailoring shop in Diagon Alley?"—he strolled to the front of the shop to see his parents standing over a small table filled with memorabilia from each of the four Hogwarts houses. They hadn't noticed him just yet, so Sirius stopped short of getting their attention, listening instead to their hushed voices.
"We should get him a few Slytherin ties and scarves," Orion said, testing the material of one of the ties. "That way we won't need to send it to him once he's already at school."
"He hasn't been properly sorted yet," Walburga replied, her nose turned up a little.
"He'll be Slytherin," Orion said, incredulous. "Of course, he'll be Slytherin. Every Black that's gone to Hogwarts has been Slytherin."
Walburga's lips formed a thin line.
Orion inched closer to his wife and lowered his voice. "You think he won't be?" he hissed, the threat evident in his tone.
Walburga grabbed up a scarf. "Of course. Sirius will be Slytherin," she snapped.
She grabbed a few more Slytherin scarves, then turned to see Sirius standing there, trying his best to not look as though he'd been eavesdropping. She snatched the tie out of Orion's hand and, with the scarves she'd picked, she shoved them into Sirius's arms. "Here," she said forcibly. "Slytherin ties and scarves, so you're prepared. I grabbed an extra scarf for Regulus. You did say you'd get him something, didn't you?"
Sirius took a moment to get his bearings. "Yes, I did." He hadn't exactly had a scarf in mind when he'd been thinking of what to get Regulus, but he didn't dare contradict his mother. He'd rather been thinking about getting Regulus something from the joke shop Andromeda had mentioned in her last letter—Gambol and Japes, or something—though he didn't dare bring this up with his parents. The Blacks had no time for such trivial things.
Sirius figured that, sooner or later, both his parents would be engaged in other things, affording him the perfect opportunity to sneak away to find the joke shop. It'd happened before. Orion and Walburga, though overwhelmingly strict, were not exactly the most attentive parents.
Looks like he wouldn't have to wait long. Walburga looked him up and down and said, "Good. A scarf will do fine. Orion, pay the half-blood—though I hardly think she deserves it, with all those adjustments she made to Sirius's robes. Honestly, I might not even have bothered sending measurements ahead, for as long as it took!" She shooed her husband towards the counter and a red-faced Madam Malkin. "I have a meeting at Gringotts and you best make your way to Knockturn Alley."
Ducking his head and stumbling slightly under the mass of the box that held his new robes and scarves, Sirius tumbled out the door, only to run smack into someone. Naturally, the box went flying, and Sirius himself landed on his arse.
Rolling his eyes, Sirius flicked his wrist and the box of robes and scarves righted itself, shaking off dust as the robes folded neatly back into their box. He carefully tucked the box under his arm, so as not to drop it again.
"Merlin, sorry! You alright, mate? Wait—woah. You can do wandless magic?"
A hand grabbed his arm and yanked him up. Sirius winced. The touch burned—enough to make him want to yank away just to avoid the pain—but it was nothing like touching Ted Tonks or Madam Malkin. Pure-blood, blood traitor, then, if he'd have to guess. Sirius hastily shook off the helping hand and finally got a good look at the other boy. He was tall—nearly a head taller than Sirius, much to his chagrin—with brown skin and black eyes. His hair stood up in every direction and, unlike Auclair, Sirius didn't think it was the result of a curse. His hair just seemed to naturally… do that. A pair of glasses sat slightly askew on his nose.
"Yeah, uh," Sirius began. "Wandless magic isn't so tough once you've got the hang of it."
Sirius flicked his wrist again and the boy's glasses straightened on his face.
The boy grinned, all toothy and white. "That's so cool!" he exclaimed. "I've only been able to do some accidental stuff so far. Made dinner burn once, when I sneezed too hard, but nothing like what you just did. You'll have to teach me!"
Sirius smiled. Blood traitor or no, Sirius decided he liked this boy. "You're on, mate."
A man came stumbling towards them, the near-spitting image of the boy in front of him, just about fifty-some years his senior. The man wore a relatively nice set of robes—nothing like the finery that graced the Blacks' wardrobes, mind you—and had the same outlandishly untamable hair as the boy, just streaked with significantly more grey.
"James?" the man said, looking around. "Where'd you get off to, then? Oh, Merlin, there you—"
The man pulled up short, once he caught sight of Sirius.
The boy—James—looked from the man to Sirius, before thrusting out his hand under Sirius' nose. "James Potter," he said.
Potter?
Sirius eyed the hand for a second, wary, before he drew a breath and shook it once, twice, then released, managing to hide the glimmer of pain that shot through his arm. (Mostly. James kind of gave him a weird look.) "Sirius Black," he said, matter-of-factly.
James's face fell, as Sirius knew it would. He'd heard of the Potters—from his mother's furious ramblings about, "All the sodding blood traitors allowed to walk free these days." Sirius was rather certain that James Potter had heard just as many stories about the Blacks. Gossip was like currency amongst pure-blood families, even blood traitor pure-blood families.
"SIRIUS!" came his mother's voice.
Oh, ruddy brilliant, Sirius thought. She'll think he's consorting with blood traitors, then. He'd be dead for sure if he let on that he actually liked the Potter boy.
Orion came out of the shop behind his wife, then pulled up short when he caught sight of the Potters. "Fleamont," Orion said, not bothering to keep the disdain out of his voice. "I see that hair potion of yours is as useless as ever."
Sirius would have blushed if he had any sense of shame left in him, after years and years of his parents being unspeakably rude to anyone they deemed as less than themselves.
James Potter, on the other hand, flushed red in anger. He looked between Orion and Sirius, clearly ready to explode and defend his family's honor.
As subtly as he could manage, Sirius shook his head, warning James off. He didn't particularly care to see James fall victim to one of his father's more subtle and, well, legal curses. Sirius had no doubt that Orion would curse James, despite being in the middle of Diagon Alley, especially if James questioned Orion's authority.
James gave Sirius a look, opened his mouth all the same, but only stopped when Fleamont Potter rested a hand on his son's shoulder. "James here will be starting his first year at Hogwarts in September," Mr. Potter said, not bothering to hide the glint of pride in his eye as he spoke. "Your Sirius is too, if I remember correctly."
Walburga grabbed Sirius by the back of his neck and maneuvered him in front of her. She placed her hands on both his shoulders and kept him there with an iron grip. "Yes," she said. "He is. Sure to be top of his class, too."
Mr. Potter smiled, and if Sirius didn't know better, he'd almost say there was pity in his eyes. "I'm sure," he replied. Then, to Sirius, he said, "That was an impressive bit of magic you did there, son. And without a wand, at that."
James beamed at him. Sirius managed a small smile and a muttered, "Thanks." He tried not to notice how his mother's grip tightened.
"And Regulus?" Mr. Potter asked, politely.
At this, Sirius smirked. Sirius loved bragging about his younger brother. "He'll start next year. He's quite good at flying, too. He wants to try out for Quidditch as soon as he can."
"Sirius," Orion hissed.
James's smile widened and he ignored Orion Black. Sirius liked James more, just for that. Not many people have the gal and the daring to so blatantly disregard Sirius's father. "Really?" said James. "I love Quidditch! Dad got me a Nimbus for my birthday last spring, but I can't bring it just yet. First years aren't allowed to try out. Reckon I'll make a decent Chaser, though, next year."
Sirius grinned. Regulus was the one who loved Quidditch most amongst them, but after years of listening to his little brother go on about it, Sirius had become quite the fan himself. "What's your team, then?" Sirius asked.
"Holyhead Harpies," James said. "Mostly 'cos of my mum. She has a friend on the team. Who's your favorite?"
Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but Orion cleared his throat, rather obnoxiously. Sirius bowed his head to hide his annoyance, and did not answer James. "We really must be going, Fleamont," Orion said. "Nice seeing you, then. Come along, Walburga."
"Yes, goodbye, then," Mr. Potter said, with a small, polite wave.
Pleasantries fulfilled, Orion stalked off towards Knockturn Alley. With her hand still latched onto Sirius's shoulder, Walburga followed her husband. Sirius managed a small smile in James's direction before he was dragged after his mother.
"You are not to associate with that boy, Sirius Black," Walburga hissed, though they were not quite out of earshot. Glancing back, Sirius could tell that James had heard. His dark features—so obviously almost always graced with a smile—fell into a scowl at Walburga's words. "Always associating with Muggles and Mudbloods, those Potters. Blood traitors, the lot of them."
Sirius didn't say anything. He merely tailed after his parents, box tucked under his arm, and tried to figure out how he was going to get to Gambol and Japes without Orion or Walburga noticing.
His parents parted ways, as Orion ducked into Knockturn Alley. Walburga and Sirius soon found Kreacher, laden with so many boxes already that Sirius didn't even feel guilty about handing the house-elf one more from Madam Malkin's. His mother sent the house-elf off again, this time to go wait for Orion at the Leaky Cauldron, before finally dragging Sirius into Gringotts.
A well-dressed, but otherwise grubby goblin greeted with a slight bow, and a reverently muttered, "Mrs. Black. Mr. Black. So good of you to come."
Walburga smoothed out her green, silk dress and turned to face her son. "Sirius, stay here. I shall return shortly."
Sirius, of course, highly doubted this was the case. His mother's visits with the Gringotts's money keepers hardly ever qualified as short. A plan already taking flight in his mind, Sirius said, "Of course, Mother."
She pointed a manicured finger at a bench in the corner, by the entrance. "Stay right there, Sirius, and do not leave this place," she warned. She gave him a hard look, before following the grubby goblin into the vaults.
Sirius strolled over to the bench and sat. He waited all of four minutes—just long enough to ensure that his mother's meeting was not going to be an unpredictably short one—before he strolled up to the goblin waiting behind the counter.
Reaching into his pocket, Sirius pulled out the bag of money he'd been saving for Regulus's gift. The goblin at the counter glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. Sirius flashed him a smile. "Ten Galleons, to not tell her I'm gone," he told the goblin, sliding the coins across the counter.
The goblin eyed the money, but did not take it.
"Ten more," said Sirius, "if I return and she still doesn't know I was ever gone."
The goblin smirked, and took the coins, pocketing it in his tiny suit. "Pleasure doing business, Mr. Black."
"Ta," Sirius said, before hurrying back out to Diagon Alley.
It didn't take long at all for Sirius to locate Gambol and Japes, as the storefront was a painted obnoxious, alternating shades of yellow and blue. Inside, it was just as Andromeda described: wizarding candies and treats lining one wall, jokes and items of mischief lining the other three. Sirius went directly to the back wall—he'd be caught dead with candy in Grimmauld Place—and began pouring over the shelves.
There was a one-eyed parrot, wearing an eye-patch, resting on a perch in the middle of the store. Underneath its perch, there was a handwritten card that read, Silas, the Slightly Psychic Pirating Parrot. Sirius suppressed a laugh, and weaved his way through the shelves. Though there were quite a few other patrons currently perusing the shelves of Gambol and Japes, Silas's one eye followed Sirius as he made his way around the shop.
"Hello, Darkness, my old friend," the bird sang, in an atrociously off-key screech.
Sirius gave it an incredulous look, but turned his attention back to the wonders before him. Dungbombs, Whatz-itz, Exploding Quills… Sirius couldn't take his eyes off them, the possibilities utterly overwhelming.
Though not, he thought, upon further consideration, the type of thing Regulus would like.
"Tell me something," a voice said behind him. Sirius froze. "When we're at Hogwarts, are you ever going to speak to me?"
Sirius turned to stare into the bright, black eyes of James Potter. "And why wouldn't I?" he asked.
James shrugged, hands stuffed in the pockets of his robes. "I expect you'll be in Slytherin, then, seeing how you're a Black and all."
"And you'll be Gryffindor. What's your point?"
James scoffed. "Slytherins and Gryffindors don't exactly get along."
Sirius considered this. "You and I get on fine."
"Do we?" James challenged, almost as if he were looking for a fight.
"Thought so," Sirius said, casually. He'd been surrounded his whole life by people looking to pick fights; he knew how to avoid escalating the situation.
"What about what your mum said, about me being a blood traitor?" James asked, with a huff. "Do you agree with that?"
Sirius shrugged. "Don't know if that's something for me to agree or disagree with," he said, absently rubbing the tattoo on the left side of his chest, under his robes.
"What the hell does that—" James snapped.
Sirius cut him off. "Think I know better than anyone that you don't get to choose your family, Potter." He paused, reveling a bit in James's curious expression. "You don't get to choose your fate and you don't get to trade in the lot your given for something better."
James stared at him, unblinking, as if Sirius had suddenly sprouted horns.
Sirius let out a sigh. "I've got to believe, despite all that, that I do still get to choose some things for myself. So…" Sirius stuck out his hand. "Hi. My name's Sirius Black."
James eyed his hand, like he didn't quite believe him, but took it all the same. "James Potter," he said. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Black."
Sirius smiled and held onto his hand for as long as the pain permitted, which, given their first handshake, was a vast improvement. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Potter," Sirius said, finally drawing his hand away and suppressing a sigh of relief.
From the center of the room, the one-eyed parrot squawked loudly. "Black and Potter, Black and Potter. Don't they make good cannon fodder?" Silas, the Slightly Psychic Pirating Parrot chanted.
Both boys froze, looked first at the bird, then each other, then burst out laughing.
"What's it mean, cannon fodder?" snorted James, between laughs. "If you or I were ever to fight a war, we'd have whole armies to fight in our names, now, wouldn't we?"
"Of course," Sirius said, with a smirk. "People would volunteer to die in our names, Mr. Potter. There'll be no 'cannon fodder' for the likes of us."
"Stupid bloody bird." Wiping a tear from his eye, James stuffed his hands back in his pockets. "What brings you to Gambol and Japes, Mr. Black?"
"Well," said Sirius, looking around. "I had hoped I'd find something for Regulus—my brother. Have any suggestions?"
"Loads," said James. "What's he into?"
Sirius considered this. Regulus loved Quidditch, of course, but already had his own broom as well as memorabilia from all his favorite teams. He had a copy of nearly every book he could possibly want—thanks to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place's extensive and slightly illegal library—and their parents had given the both of them the finest wizarding chess set that money could buy last Christmas. Sirius wanted to give Regulus something special, something that'll keep Sirius close while he's at school.
Then, remembering Regulus's reaction to learning about Hogwarts's Great Hall, Sirius said, "He loves the stars. We're all named after them, obviously, but Regulus has always loved learning about them and mapping them."
"I know just the thing," James said, with a wide smirk.
James stepped towards him and, without a second thought, swung an arm across Sirius's shoulder. Rather shocked by this development, Sirius didn't have time to suppress the yelp of pain that shot through him, but he didn't shrink away. The pain, though not as intense as Sirius knew it could be, was hard not to notice, and after a few seconds, he ducked away from the friendly arm.
"Sorry," he muttered, rubbing again at the tattoo as the burning faded back to nothing. "Not used to it, 's all. It's nothing you did."
James gave him a weird look, then slapped his arm. "Don't worry about it." He turned back to the shelves before he could see Sirius flinch.
"For ye be warned, young Sirius Black. You'll lose your soul and won't get it back," Silas, the Slightly Psychic Pirating Parrot sang.
Sirius froze. He turned towards the bird. "What did you say?"
The bird repeated the line, over and over.
Now, Sirius wasn't one to unquestioningly believe prophecy—too unpredictable, far too vague for his taste—but he couldn't help feeling overexposed at the parrot's words. Something cold, with long, icy fingers settled into his bones and began to tug at his heart, clawing it open, exposing the black nothingness to the rest of the world.
Suppressing a shudder, Sirius schooled his face back to neutral. He met James's eyes, and shrugged it off as best he could. "Sodding chicken."
Together they turned slowly towards the bird, who was now whistling a rather well known children's tune. One of the owners, standing next to the parrot—Grigori Gambol, from the name pinned to his robes—shot James and Sirius a sheepish grin. "Sorry, lads," he said. "Ol' Silas here gets a bit worked up. He don't mean nothin' by it."
Sirius ignored the nothingness that seemed to burrow its way into the very core of his being. He turned back to James. "So," he said, forcing his voice to sound normal. "What've you got?"
James reached for an ornately decorated tea-cup on the top shelf. "Cosmos-in-a-Cup," he said, rather proud of himself. "Fill it with water, then splash it wherever, and all you'll see is stars. If your smart enough, you might even be able to charm the stars to stay put, like in the Great Hall at Hogwarts."
Sirius smirked. Oh, he was definitely smart enough. "Brilliant. Thanks, mate," he said, sincerely. "Now, what about you? What are you in the market for, Mr. Potter?"
James shrugged. "Nothing, really. I loaded up on most of this stuff last week. My dad comes down to Diagon Alley quite a bit for work." James rubs the back of his neck. "I just came in here to see if you'd talk to me. You seemed decent enough, when you met, you know."
"Decent?" Sirius wrinkled his nose. "I'm wounded, Mr. Potter. Never say such a thing about me again."
James laughed. "You have my word, Mr. Black."
Sirius glanced out the window. Seeing as there was no shrieking woman tearing out of Gringotts and shouting his name followed by numerous obscenities, Sirius figured he was still in the clear. "Let's pay for this, then," he said. "I've got to get back to my mother before she notices I'm not where she left me."
Sirius walked up to Grigori Gambol and handed him the money for the Cosmos-in-a-Cup, expertly avoiding any actual physical contact with Gambol. Sirius wasn't too keen on finding out Gambol's blood status right now. Then, together with James, the two boys turned to exit the shop.
Silas, the Slightly Psychic Pirating Parrot, of course, chose that moment to screech out:
"Sirius Black, how tragically flawed
Thought he might be the man to kill God
Now Nothing's dictating
And that dark kiss is waiting
For the murder of the man who killed God."
This time, Sirius felt his face flash red. Who the hell was this bird, that it thinks it knows enough about him to be saying such things for all the sodding world to hear?
James comes to a stop next to him, at the entrance of the shop, both their backs to the bird and proprietor. Sensing his reaction, James said, "Sirius, it's a stupid bird. It doesn't mean anything. Besides, it's only slightly psychic. There's a good chance he just likes writing limericks."
Sirius ignored him entirely. "Do you want to see a nasty little parlor trick?"
James hesitated, but only slightly. "Hell, yes."
"Thought so," Sirius said. "Do you have a wand yet?"
James gave him a look. "What? No. Dad's got me an appointment with Ollivander next week."
Sirius smirked. "Excellent," he said, and flicked his wrist.
James turned just in time to see all the feathers on Silas, the Slightly Psychic Pirating Parrot disappear into thin air. The bird—now looking rather like a plucked chicken with an abnormally large beak—tried to let out an indignant squawk, only to find that its vocal cords were no longer functioning properly. The sound that came out of the bird's beak instead sounded rather like a foghorn.
"Salazar's balls, Sirius!" James laughed. "How did you—"
"SILAS!" wailed Grigori Gambol.
Silas let out another long honk.
"We should get out of here," James said, making a grab for Sirius's arm.
Sirius dodged him, narrowly avoiding James's hand, and waved him off. "It'll be fine. Trust me?"
After a second, James nodded.
Gambol turned his attention to Sirius and James, a look of pure rage making the vein in his forehead pop. "YOU TWO!" he roared.
Sirius tried to look as innocent as possible. He was quite good at it, really, having perfected his who, me? face at a young age, whilst tormenting Bellatrix and Narcissa at any given Black family function. James, on the other hand, looked as guilty as a sinner in church.
"What?" Sirius said, with just the right amount of practiced aristocratic arrogance. "Oh, my. James, look what's happened to Silas!"
James, with his eyes wide, looked back and forth from Sirius to the bird. "What—oh. Poor sodding parrot," he managed.
"It was you two," growled Gambol, pointing a finger at them. "Ol' Silas was singin' about you, Black. That's why you've done him in."
"Couldn't have been us," Sirius replied, shaking his head.
"How's that then?" snapped Gambol. James gave him a look that asked the same question.
"First of all," Sirius said, "we're both going to be first years, which means we can't use magic outside of Hogwarts without getting the Ministry on our tails. Do you see any owls from the Ministry?"
Gambol waited a moment, but no owls appeared. "No," he muttered.
"Second," Sirius continued. "Neither of us have wands. I'm off to see Ollivander next and James here won't be around to see him for another week. How could we have done that to Silas without wands?"
Gambol glanced suspiciously between the two of them. "Turn out your pockets, then," he said. "Prove you've got no wands."
Sirius and James obeyed and there were indeed no wands to be found.
Gambol leaned against the nearest shelf, both confused and upset.
Sirius flashed Gambol a smile, feeling a little bad about what he'd done to Silas. "Cheer up, mate," he said. "Could've been any number of the things in this shop that backfired." Gambol nodded along in absent agreement. Sirius turned towards the door and winked at James. "I reckon the foghorn thing should only last an hour or so. Then ol' Silas will be back to spewing out uncomfortable and unwarranted prophecies. The feathers, ah… The feather's will have to grow back on their own, I'm afraid. Shame, that."
James and Sirius fled the shop before they were able to witness Gambol's reaction.
"That was bloody brilliant!" James said, once they'd rounded a corner, well out of sight of Gambol and Japes. "You've got to teach me how to do wandless magic! It's a bloody lifesaver."
"It's all in the wrist," Sirius said with a smirk.
James laughed. "But—wait. Why aren't we—or you, rather. This was all you—getting owls from the Ministry. Technically, we—well, you—did use magic outside of school."
Sirius waved him off. "Wandless magic tends to register in the same category as accidental magic, meaning the Ministry isn't exactly in a hurry to enforce the legislation. Otherwise, they'd have to arrest every poor sod that sets their mother's cooking on fire when they sneeze."
James shoved him and Sirius winced once more. Merlin, James Potter was a physical guy. Sirius had never met someone so inclined towards physical contact with virtual strangers. "Hey, I didn't set her cooking on fire, I turned it straight into charcoals. There were no actual flames involved."
"Whatever you say, mate," Sirius said. He glanced down the alley towards Gringotts. "I should probably be off, then, or I'd be pushing my luck well beyond its worth. It's never good to be caught disobeying Walburga Black."
James gave him a look that so plainly said, You call your mum by her first name? After a second, he shook it off and beamed at Sirius. Once more, James Potter held out his hand. "Right then. Nice meeting you, Sirius Black. I'll see you at Hogwarts, where though we shall be in rival houses, we will fall madly in love with each other, start a minor war between our two houses, get married in secret, and off ourselves before the end of the final act."
Sirius was rather taken aback by this and, for once, didn't exactly have anything to say.
James laughed at the blank look on Sirius's face. "It's a play," he prompted. Sirius's face remained blank. "Romeo and Juliet. By William Shakespeare? It's famous."
"He's a Muggle, then, this Shake-sparrow fellow?" Sirius asked.
"Yes."
"Haven't read many Muggle books."
James shook his head and laughed again. "I can tell. No matter. I'll see you at Hogwarts, Sirius."
With a slight eye roll and a silenced groan, Sirius—for the third time today, mind you—shook James's hand. "See you at Hogwarts, James."
The two boys parted ways, undoubtably friends.
Sirius made it back to Gringotts without a hitch. He slipped the goblin behind the desk his last ten Galleons before once more taking his seat on the bench next to the door. He waited a whole ten minutes before Walburga Black emerged from the vaults, a shiny, new pair of ruby earrings dangling from her ears.
She gestured for Sirius to follow her and he obeyed without a word, the Cosmos-in-a-Cup tucked safely in the inside pockets of his robes.
Sirius mouth dropped open when he walked through the doors of Ollivander's shop. The shop was packed with shelves, stuffed floor to ceiling with intricately decorated wand boxes of every shape and size. Sirius could feel the magic floating in the air, coursing around him, infusing each wand with a unique flavor, a unique… well, if he didn't know better, he'd almost say personality.
"Do not gawk, Sirius," Walburga chided. "It's unbecoming."
Sirius snapped his mouth shut.
Walburga looked around the shop. "Ollivander is the best in the world at his craft," his mother said, searching the shelves for said proprietor. "He is not, however, the most prompt."
As if on cue, Garrick Ollivander emerged from a back room. His robes, though probably once expensive, were now rather shabby and covered in a good amount of flakes and fine powder—sawdust, if Sirius had to guess—but his eyes twinkled as he saw Walburga and Sirius.
"Ah, Mrs. Black," Ollivander said, nodding to her, rather than shaking her hand. Sirius raised an eyebrow at this. He wondered if he knew not to touch her because of his bloodline, or was merely intimidated by the presence of Walburga Black. "Ebony wood, with a thestral hair, core, if I'm not mistaken. A family heirloom, yes? Made by my grandfather."
"Yes, of course," Walburga said, as politely as she could manage.
"May I see it?" Ollivander asked.
Walburga gave a slight nod. She pulled out her wand and offered it to him.
Ollivander very deliberately avoided her fingers as he took the wand, holding it reverently in his hand. Sirius narrowed his eyes. Clearly, Ollivander was avoiding physical contact with his mother, yet he had to have some magic in his blood if his grandfather had made Walburga's wand. That meant he was either a blood traitor—unlikely, given how highly his mother had spoken of him, and really, she tended to put blood traitors on the same level as Mudbloods—or a half-blood. After being poked and prodded by Madam Malkin all morning—plus the three separate handshakes and slew of casual touches from James Potter—Sirius wasn't too keen on feeling like his blood had been set on fire again.
"Ah, yes, such a rare wand, this," Ollivander said, entranced. "Such remarkable beauty, laced with such darkness and potential for danger."
Sirius almost scoffed. He was quite familiar with the types of curses that came out of that wand. Darkness was a bit of an understatement.
Ollivander carefully handed the wand back to Walburga, again avoiding her fingers. He then proceeded to look Sirius up and down. "Something a bit different for this one, I think," he said, and Sirius sucked in a breath. Different usually meant punishment in the Black house. "Tell me, Master Sirius, have you yet performed any accidental magic?"
Sirius nodded, opening his mouth to reply, but his mother beat him to it. "He's quite adept at wandless magic, actually," Walburga said, matter-of-factly.
"Really?" Ollivander said, surprised. "Quite unusual for a wizard of your age. Would you, perhaps, be able to demonstrate?"
"Sure," Sirius said, looking around the shop for something to charm. He caught sight of a vase filled with four dead tulips on the front desk. He pointed the tulips out to his mother and Ollivander, reached for his magic, and flicked his wrist. The tulips sprang to life, no longer wilting, but bright yellow and in full bloom. Sirius smirked at Ollivander's expression and flicked his wrist once more. This time, the four tulip bulbs began singing an Italian opera, in perfect, four part harmony.
"Remarkable," Ollivander said, applauding quietly.
Sirius flicked his wrist one last time and the bulbs stopped singing.
"Such control of wandless magic is highly unusual, my dear boy, for someone of your age," Ollivander said. "Best find you a wand to compliment your talent. Cypress is quite good with non-verbal magic, as is ash. Willow too, if it suits you."
Ollivander flicked his own wand and boxes came flying off the shelves.
Walburga cleared her throat. "Dragon heartstring, I should think for Sirius, Mr. Ollivander," she said.
Ollivander bit his lip, looked almost like he wanted to argue, but said instead, "Of course, Mrs. Black."
A few of the boxes he'd pulled flew back onto the shelves.
"Try this one, Master Sirius," Ollivander said, holding out a dusty, grey wand. "Thirteen inches, ash, with a dragon heartstring."
Sirius took the wand. It felt heavy and wrong in his hand, but he held it up anyway. He glanced at Ollivander for further instruction.
"Try levitating the tulips," Ollivander said. "Non-verbally, of course. Can't have the Ministry thinking I allowed you to utter real spells in my shop."
Sirius nodded and, concentrating, flicked the wand at the flower pot. A bolt of red light shot out and shattered the vase. "Don't think this is the one," he said to Ollivander handing the wand back. Then, he flicked his wrist, and the vase knit itself back together.
"Right, then," Ollivander said. "Try this. Willow, this time."
It went on like this for nearly an hour. Ollivander would hand Sirius a wand—varying the length and the wood type, but never the core—and each time, Sirius would try to levitate the tulip vase, it would either explode, shatter, or, with one particular wand (ebony, like his mother's), disintegrate entirely. Each time, Sirius would sigh and hand the wand back, then use his wandless magic to repair the vase.
Ollivander, naturally, became increasingly flustered as each progressive wand failed. He seemed to know what disappointing a Black could do to one's physical safety, let alone their reputation.
Walburga's frown deepened and her foot began to tap impatiently. "How much longer, Mr. Ollivander? I would like to take my son home before the start of the term."
"O-of course, Mrs. Black. Of course," Ollivander stammered. Then, he gestured at Sirius. "If I could just—" Ollivander suddenly stopped talking, as if reconsidering what he'd been about to ask.
"If you could what?" Walburga snapped. "Out with it, Mr. Ollivander."
Ollivander hesitated. "Sometimes, in rather difficult cases…" he started, then trailed off. "If I could just take his hand, I might be able to discern which type of wand best suits him. With your permission, of course."
Sirius frowned. Thus far, taking the cues from his mother, Sirius had avoided any physical contact with Ollivander, for fear of the pain. He shook his head. "No," he said firmly, before his mother could speak. "Absolutely not."
A half-second later, Walburga said. "Fine. Do it."
"No!" Sirius snapped.
"He's a half-breed, not a Mudblood, Sirius," Walburga said, hellfire blazing in her eyes, clearly not pleased that her son and hair had talked back to her in public. "Do it so we can go home. I'm sure you'll be wanting to give Regulus your little trinket."
Sirius froze. Ah, so this was punishment, then. She knew he'd snuck away while she was conducting her business at Gringotts. Bloody, backstabbing goblin, Sirius thought, viciously. Vaguely, he wondered if Walburga knew he'd met up again with James Potter. Deciding it best to not push his luck, Sirius extended his hand to Ollivander, with a muttered, "Yes, Mother."
With an apologetic glint in his eye, Ollivander took Sirius's hand.
Pain shot up his arm, fire in his blood, and Sirius fought every instinct to yank his hand back. Instead, he grit his teeth together, to keep from crying out, as Ollivander turned his hand over, examining the lines on his palm and the movements of his wrist.
After nearly two minutes, Ollivander released him. Sirius sprang back, knocking into a shelf and clutching his arm to his chest. He let out a whimper, barely suppressed a sob, and let out a long breath, as the pain slowly evaporated back to nothing. He hated showing weakness in front of his mother—in front of a stranger—but it fucking hurt and there was not much he could do about it.
"Well, then," Ollivander said, looking guiltily between Sirius and his mother. "I think I have just the thing."
Ollivander scampered off to the back room. Sirius could hear shuffling, then a crash, then a curse, then some more shuffling. Walburga continued to tap her foot impatiently. Finally, Ollivander reappeared, holding a single, straight wand. He held it out to Sirius.
"I've been working on this one," he said. "Bit of a special project, really. Try it out, then, Master Sirius."
Sirius glanced suspiciously at the wand, but took it all the same. He spun it around in his grip, tested its weight and strength. This wand felt different—felt good—like maybe it'd been made specifically for him.
"Go on, then," Ollivander said, with a knowing smile. He gestured at the tulip vase.
Sirius flicked the wand at the vase and, instantly, the flowers sprang into midair and hovered there. Sirius whooped in triumph. "Think you've done it!" he exclaimed, throwing a broad smile at Ollivander. Sirius flicked his wrist again, and the vase did a flip, dumping the flowers and water out at the top of the loop and catching them once more at the bottom.
Ollivander clapped his hands together. "Ah, perfect fit, then?"
"Perfect," Sirius agreed. "I'll take it."
Walburga crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the wand in Sirius's hand. "What's it made out of, then?" she demanded.
Ollivander hesitated. "Willow," he said.
"You tried a dozen willow wands before. How come this one works?" Walburga snapped.
"Well, you see," Ollivander said, looking reverently at Sirius's wand, "this wand is from a special willow tree. A young tree, enchanted at that, just planted at Hogwarts. Willow wands are excellent with non-verbal spells—probably the best, mind you—and are suited for those with the greatest potential. This willow tree, more specifically, was enchanted to protect and defend, a resolute guardian of a closely-held secret. It has a special quality to it that no other wood possesses; that is, the weirder of this wand is destined to fight fiercely for the secrets he holds, for the protection of the ones he loves."
Sirius's eyes widened. That a wand like that had chosen the likes of him… Sirius couldn't fathom it. That sounded almost like he was brave or something, and Sirius Black knew in his heart of hearts that he was very much not brave. He'd learned to fear a great many things.
Walburga's brow furrowed and her frown deepened. "What's the core, then, of this special wand?"
"Ah," Ollivander said, clearly stalling. "I've had a rough go of it, trying to find a core that would compliment such a unique wood. Phoenix feather, of course, would not do. Too unpredictable, that. I'm not entirely satisfied with the end result of this core—it fits, sure, but I'm not entirely certain it's complementary to the special qualities of this willow wood—but Master Sirius seems to be suited just fine for this wand, so there you have it."
"Out with it, Ollivander," Walburga growled, but Sirius already knew what the wand master was going to say. There was only one thing it could be, if Ollivander feared Walburga Black's reaction.
"Unicorn hair," Ollivander said quietly. "Enchanted willow wood, with a unicorn hair core, twelve inches long, exactly."
"Excuse me?!" Walburga growled.
Sirius looked down at his wand in awe. No one in his family had ever had a unicorn hair core.
"The most faithful of all the wand cores," Ollivander continued, the hesitation and fear in his voice evident. "But, ah, yes. Unicorn hair does tend to wither away into nothing if it's forced to perform Dark Magic."
Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat. He refused to look at his mother, terrified of her rage at this new development.
"But, ah, the bright side," Ollivander said, holding up a finger. "The first spell uttered with a unicorn hair core will, of course, determine the—ah—the character of the wand itself, as well as that of its wielder." He threw a half-joking wink at Sirius. "Best wait until Hogwarts before you attempt any verbal spells, I reckon."
"Right. That's enough," Walburga snapped. "How much, then? We must be going. No use in staying here all night trying to find a better match."
Ollivander gave Walburga a significantly discounted price, from what Sirius understood was the average cost of specialty wands. Sirius highly doubted Ollivander would give such an offer to anyone other than a highly displeased Walburga Black, but the alternative seemed to be incurring her wrath, which, from experience, Sirius knew to be a far worse fate.
Walburga didn't speak to him the whole way home, but Sirius couldn't be bothered to care. He finally had a wand. A wand that had chosen him, specifically, and one laced with contradictions, down to its very making, much like Sirius Black himself.
Apparating right outside the Muggle-repelling wards that surround Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Sirius immediately sensed something was… off. His mother, calm and collected as ever, shoved Sirius away from her side and opened the front door. House-elf skulls and ancient family members in ornate portraits adorned the entrance hall.
"Orion and Kreacher shall be around shortly," Walburga said. "We shall discuss your punishment for disobeying my direct order and consorting with that Potter boy then."
Sirius bowed his head and winced, almost anticipating the punishment. Whatever his parents cooked up, it was bound to leave him aching for days. "Yes, Mother," he said, before slinking off.
Temporarily off the hook, Sirius wove his way through the halls, twirling his new wand between his fingers. "Regulus?" he called. "Reg, where're you at?"
He paused, waiting for the reply. The house remained silent. Then, he heard the front door open once more, and the booming voice of his father carry throughout the halls as Orion asked Walburga how their trip to Ollivander's had gone. His parents' voices defended into hushed, angry whispers as Sirius turned another corner. Still no sign of his brother.
Sirius frowned. "Regulus?" he called again.
Still no reply.
Sirius turned on his heel, heading back towards their study, where he'd left Regulus with Auclair earlier. "Regulus?" he said, hesitantly, as he pushed open the door.
Sirius registered the muffled cry before his brain fully wrapped himself around the sight. Auclair, still with that brilliantly pink streak in his hair, had Regulus pinned against the opposite wall, both hands clasped around his throat. Regulus's feet skimmed the ground—he wasn't tall enough to touch—and Auclair supported Regulus's entire weight by the hands around his throat. Sirius gaped in horror, dazed for a second, as he watched Regulus's lips turn blue.
"You're a filthy, entitled little bastard, you are," Auclair hissed, his face contorted in fury.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" Sirius shouted, pointing his wand at Auclair. "Let him go!"
Auclair whirled his head around, but did not release Regulus. Regulus clawed at the tutor's hands and mouthed Sirius's name, over and over, his eyes wild with panic.
"LET HIM GO! LET HIM GO! LET HIM GO!" Sirius roared.
"He'll get what he deserves, right bastard," Auclair growled. "Only need one heir, after all."
Before Sirius even had time to properly think about it, he raised his and shouted, "CRUCIO!"
A bolt of green light shot out from his brand new, enchanted-willow-with-unicorn-hair-core wand. Auclair went rigid for a split second, the fell to the ground, wailing out in pain. He contorted on the ground, trying to wiggle out of the curse, but to no avail. Sirius held him there, writhing in unspeakable pain.
Regulus dropped to the ground, clutching his throat and coughing.
"SIRIUS!" yelled his mother, from somewhere behind him.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw his father come to stand next to him. Orion drew his wand and pointed it at Auclair. "Release him, Sirius," Orion said, remarkably calm, given the situation.
After three more seconds, Sirius obeyed and lowered his wand. Auclair let out a long, drawn out moan of relief. Sirius glanced at his father, suddenly terrified of incurring punishment for torturing their tutor. "He—" Sirius started, pointing an accusing finger at Auclair. "He was… And Regulus—"
Sirius cut off, when suddenly, Regulus ran across the room and threw his arms around Sirius's neck, sobbing. Ignoring both their parents, Sirius held his brother tight against him, carding fingers through Regulus's thick, black hair, trying to soothe him. Eventually, he forced Regulus to step back, so Sirius could get a good look at his neck. Dark purple bruises were already forming on Regulus's skin, in the perfect shape of Auclair's hands. Sirius growled in anger and gently pulled Regulus back against his chest. Only then, does Sirius dare to look up at his father.
Orion's expression had hardened. "Auclair, what happened?"
From his place on the floor, Auclair let out a broken, bitter laugh. "Little bastard—" he coughed, loudly, and Sirius was sure he saw blood come up. "Fucking bastard said my family were nothing but blood traitors, the whores of Europe, that—"
"Crucio!" Orion yelled, flicking his wand. Auclair collapsed again, letting loose another wail of pain. "You will not speak of my son in that manner, Auclair," he spat. Orion turned back to Sirius and Regulus. "In your own words, Regulus. What happened?"
Regulus kept his face buried in Sirius's chest, but risked a glance up at their father. "What he said," Regulus muttered. "Then he grabbed me by the throat and started choking me."
Orion nodded, then turned his focus back to the writhing tutor. "You were given the terms of discipline upon your employment, Auclair. No one of lesser blood was to lay hands on either of my sons. If you had problems, you were to take it up with Walburga, who would then handle their punishment. Only a Black is fit to punish a Black."
Auclair had now been reduced to mere moans and whimpers, as Orion continued to hold the curse.
Then, catching Sirius's eye once more, Orion said, "I'm proud of you, Sirius. Cruciatus as your first curse. Not many can claim that honor, even amongst the Blacks. Perhaps that new wand of yours is not as useless as your mother seems to think."
I'm proud of you, Sirius.
In his nearly eleven years of life, Sirius Black had never heard his father utter those words. He managed a small nod, in response, not quite knowing what to say.
"Since it was you that cast the first curse, I find it only fair for you to deliver the final punishment, Sirius," Orion continued. He nodded to Sirius's new wand. "Finish it."
Sirius was well aware that that was supposed to mean something, but his brain seemed to be having immense difficulty in computing his father's words. "F-finish it?" he asked, rather stupidly.
"Avada Kedavra, Sirius," Walburga said, impatiently. "He deserves to die, for what he's done. Now, on with it!"
Sirius's jaw dropped and he clutched Regulus closer to him. "No," he choked out. "I'm not going to kill him."
His mother's eyes flashed. "You dare disobey me again, after what you pulled in—"
Orion raised a hand. "Enough, Walburga," he said. He turned to Sirius and gave him a long, hard glare. "I'll do it this time, Sirius, but just this once and only because you had the gall to perform the first curse. Next time, if you refuse to finish it, you'll take his place."
Sirius felt his blood turn to ice at the threat. Regulus let out a sob.
The Blacks all turned their attention to their sniveling tutor, still huddled on his knees. "No! Please, Master—"
He never got to finish.
"Avada Kedavra!" A green bolt shot from Orion's wand and Alphonse Auclair dropped dead.
Sirius stared down at those empty eyes and felt cold sneaking up his spine. Auclair didn't look dead, at least nothing like his grandmother had, lying pale and lifeless in her coffin. Auclair looked as though he were merely staring off into space, ready to be roused by him or Regulus, in time for their next lesson and bout of bickering.
Orion tucked his wand back into his robes, as if it were nothing at all that he'd just killed a man in front of his two, young sons. Turning to his wife, he said, "Have Kreacher clean this up. Sirius, we'll discuss your punishment for your actions in Diagon Alley tomorrow."
Sirius found himself nodding along.
"Good," Orion huffed. "Now, off with you. No use standing around gaping, staring at a dead blood traitor. I'll be in my study."
Sirius didn't go down to dinner that night. Though, he doubted if he did show up, that he'd actually be given anything to eat. He was well aware that whatever pride his parents had felt at him performing the Cruciatus curse was short-lived, especially given his afternoon spent with James Potter and the fact that Sirius apparently didn't have the backbone to perform the killing curse.
He lay flat on his back, on his four poster bed, the dark green duvet tucked right up to his chin. He's not entirely certain how long he's been laying there, staring straight up at the ceiling, but he'd guess a few hours, at least.
He'd performed the Cruciatus curse, willingly and without hesitation. Andromeda had told him a few years ago that, in order to perform any one of the Unforgivable Curses, you had to mean it, had to feel the rage welling up in your very soul.
Sirius had felt it, alright. He'd meant it and, to what he thinks should be his great dismay, he's unwaveringly certain that he'd do it again.
Sirius Black was eleven years old and, were it not for the wards on Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, the Ministry of Magic would throw him in Azkaban for the rest of his life.
Maybe he deserved it.
Maybe he'd been fated for Azkaban from the moment he'd been born.
Eventually, after what was probably another hour or so, Sirius pulled out his wand. It felt heavier than it had in Ollivander's and the smooth, willow wood appeared half a shade darker. Maybe it was his imagination, but he doubted it. His wand had a unicorn hair core. Ollivander had said the core would wither into nothing if it were forced to perform Dark Magic, and that the first spell would determine the wand's fate.
It seemed, then, no matter what he chose, Sirius Black was fated for darkness. He'd wither into nothing, just like his wand.
Sirius sat up when he heard his door creak open. Soft feet padded across the wood floor, until there was a rustle of covers and Sirius felt Regulus wiggle close to him on the bed. Regulus lay on his side, facing his older brother, black eyes wide, even in the darkness.
"Siri?" Regulus whispered.
"Yeah, Reg?"
"Thank you."
Sirius turned on his own side, facing Regulus. They were pressed close together, their feet tangling and fingers brushing underneath the duvet. Sirius reached up, his fingers skimming the dark bruises on Regulus's neck.
"I can heal that for you," Sirius said, suddenly. Regulus's eyes went wide. "I know a spell. Or, well, I read about one. Can't really fix that sort of thing without a wand, but I could give it a go. Do you trust me?"
Regulus nodded and bared his neck.
Sirius wasn't entirely certain he trusted himself, especially with his recently-cursed wand now pointed at his little brother's throat. He drew in a sharp breath, sent a prayer to whoever or whatever might be listening, and muttered, "Episkey."
Sirius watched in relative amazement as the bruises faded into pale, smooth, untarnished skin.
Regulus's hand flew to his neck and he poked the skin, his face breaking out in a grin once he realized it no longer hurt. "Thanks," he said, earnestly. He gestured to Sirius's hand. "That your new wand? Can I see it?"
Sirius hesitated only a second before handing his wand off to his brother.
"Wow," Regulus said, running a finger across the smooth, straight wood. "What's it made of?"
"Enchanted willow wood," Sirius said, with a burst of pride that frankly surprised him. "Ollivander said it's from an special tree, at Hogwarts. He said it guarded a secret."
Regulus's eyes went wide. "What kind of secret?"
Sirius huffed a laugh and poked Regulus in the side. His little brother let out an indignant squeak. "If he told me what it was, it wouldn't be a secret, now would it?"
Regulus giggled.
"I'll try to find out, yeah?" Sirius said. "Once I'm at Hogwarts. Kind of want to know myself, after what Ollivander said. He seemed to think this wand was real special." Sirius again thought about the dying unicorn hair core of his wand and felt an unbelievable twinge of guilt.
Regulus, of course, didn't know that the wand was slowly dying. "You'll write me and tell me the secret, once you find out, right?" he asked.
"'Course I will," Sirius said, with a huff.
Regulus grinned and handed the wand back to Sirius. "Do you think I'll get a special wand next year, too?"
"I don't doubt it." Sirius poked him again, this time tickling him a bit more. Regulus giggled relentlessly and retaliated.
After they'd both regained their breath (and Sirius had taken a good kick to a most undesirable location), the brothers lay on their backs, shoulder to shoulder, and stared up at the ceiling.
"Sirius?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you get me anything?"
"Merlin, I almost forgot." Sirius sat back up, a wicked grin on his face. He pointed his wand towards his dresser and said, "Accio Cosmos."
The little tea-cup fluttered over to them. Regulus snatched it out of the air, running his fingers over the intricate patterns. "What is it?"
"Cosmos-in-a-Cup," Sirius said, with a smirk. Tossing his wand aside, Sirius flicked his wrist and the tea cup filled with water. The two brothers stared into the cup, millions of millions of stars swirling in the tiny space. "Splash the water on the ceiling or something, to see all the stars."
"Really?" Regulus asked, his eyes wide, reflecting the tiny stars twinkling in the cup.
"Try it."
Without another word, Regulus held the teacup up and splashed the water towards the ceiling. Instead of liquid, the splash rained down stars around them, engulfing them, swirling everywhere, unto infinity. The Milky Way streaked across the ceiling of Sirius's bedroom, all purple and blue and astoundingly white light.
"'S beautiful, Siri," Regulus whispered, and yeah, it was. Regulus nudged Sirius. "So where are we at, then?"
Sirius smiled, studying the cosmos above him. "There's Orion's belt," he said, pointing, and neither of them bothered to hide a grimace. "Which means… Ah, there. Right south of Orion, that's Sirius. The heart of Canis Major and the brightest star in the night sky."
Regulus reached up, tracing the outline of Canis Major with his finger. "Good dog," he giggled.
Sirius poked him. "Fucking sap, you are," he muttered. He pointed back at the swirling stars. "Regulus is there, brightest one in the Leo constellation."
"Leo?" Regulus said. "The lion?"
"Yep," Sirius replied. "Probably means you'll be in Gryffindor."
Regulus grabbed the pillow under his head and swatted Sirius. "No! Take it back!"
Sirius laughed and shoved him away. "Nah, you'll be Slytherin, like the rest of us," he said, after a moment. "Besides, it'd be a shame if all those Slytherin scarves Mother got went to waste."
"Suppose so," Regulus said. He looked back at the Cosmos-in-a-Cup, still clutched reverently between his fingers, even as the galaxy swirled above them. "Sirius?" he asked. Sirius hummed in response. Regulus gestured to the tea cup. "Is this why you're in trouble?"
Sirius let out a sigh. "Nah," he said. Then, he reconsidered. "Well, not specifically."
"Specifically," Regulus said, slowly, "what did you do?"
"I snuck away from Mother while she was at Gringotts, went to a joke shop, exchanged friendly banter with the infamous son-of-blood-traitors, James Potter, blew all the feathers off a rather annoying psychic pigeon, bought you a cup of stars, then paid a traitorous goblin twenty Galleons to shut up about all of it. He then betrayed me to Walburga Black, and here we are."
Regulus seemed to run that all through his head again. "You're friends with James Potter?"
Sirius shrugged. "S'pose so. What of it?"
"Mother and Father won't like it."
"Didn't think they would."
"Then why bother?"
"He's funny," Sirius said, considering it. "His hair sticks up in every direction and he likes Quidditch. He wants me to teach him wandless magic."
Regulus nodded. "Doesn't it…" he trailed off, reconsidering his question. "Doesn't it hurt?"
"Yeah," Sirius replied, letting out a sigh. He thought of the three separate times James shook his hand, of James throwing his arm over Sirius's shoulder, of the casual touches, of the easy, friendly intimacy James Potter constantly initiated. Sirius shuddered, as the memory of the pain nearly overwhelmed him. "Course it does," he said, his voice quieter now. "But I figure if we're going to be friends, I'll just have to avoid touching him, is all."
Sirius, of course, had no idea how he was going to deter James Potter, but it felt good to say, at least.
"Was it like 'Dromeda's boyfriend?"
"Nah," Sirius replied. "It still hurt. Merlin, it hurt, but not like Ted. James is still a pure-blood, even if he's from a family of blood traitors."
Regulus hummed in response. "Lot of those today. Blood traitors."
Sirius felt that darkness creeping back up his spine. Despite the cosmos above him, despite the comfort of his brother next to him, Sirius felt the weight on his chest, overwhelming and all-consuming. He was sure he was about to drown, lost in the darkness forever.
"Orion-fucking-Black said he was proud of me," Sirius said, rather surprising himself. He didn't want to talk about this, didn't want Regulus to see any more of the darkness and the nothing than necessary. If Regulus knew... Merlin, if Regulus knew what that Unforgivable Curse might have cost Sirius, he'd go running for the hills, leaving Sirius alone, once and for all, with a suddenly empty cosmos shining above his head.
"You don't sound happy about it," Regulus muttered, reaching for Sirius's hand. Sirius wove their fingers together and held on tight.
"I'm not," he said, his voice harsher than he meant. "Not even a little bit."
Regulus gave him a strange look. "Why not?"
Sirius scoffed at his brother's indignant tone. "Because to get Father to say that again, I'd have to do that again, and probably worse. And… And I don't think I can."
In fact, Sirius Black is quite certain that he'd rather die, in any one of the myriad of painful ways his parents might devise.
Regulus frowned and squeezed his hand. "But… Siri, you saved me. You'd do that again, wouldn't you?"
Sirius swatted him. "Of course, but… Reg, did you really say all that to him? Call him a blood traitor and all?"
"Only after you did!" Regulus protested.
Sirius closed his eyes, swallowing his regret. "I know," he muttered. "I know, okay?"
"Then what—"
"I tortured him to make up for my own loud mouth, which, in essence, means I tortured him because he was a blood traitor."
Regulus was genuinely confused. "So?"
Sirius opened his eyes and stared at his brother. Regulus's black eyes—so unlike his own—reflected the galaxy above them, around them, inside them. They were beautiful, his brother's eyes, and so undeserving of the darkness that surrounded them.
"He didn't get to choose his family, Reg. He couldn't help what he was," Sirius said, his voice quiet. "Neither can we."
"He chose to attack me, Sirius."
Sirius shook his head. "He's a pure-blood wizard, called inferior and a blood traitor his whole life—whether it's true or not—because his lineage will never measure up against the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." Sirius couldn't keep the sarcastic edge out of his voice at the mention of his own bloodline. "Years later, some snot-nosed punk—or rather, a snot-nosed punk and his dashing big brother—remind him of what he is, of the type of blood runs through his veins, so he snaps. He attacks said snot-nosed punk, forcing his dashing big brother to step up and throw down the Cruciatus curse. This pure-blood wizard falls dead a blood traitor, because he stood against the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, thereby fulfilling every taunt and jeer that's been thrown at him over the years. He never had a choice, Reg. He was born to become a blood traitor. He was born to die as one."
They're silent a long moment, the stars blazing bright and beautiful just out of reach.
Finally, Regulus said, "If that's true, then what are we born to be?"
Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat. He'd give anything not to be the one to share this particular tragedy with his younger brother.
"There's darkness in our veins," Sirius said, eventually, gazing into the infinite mysteries of the cosmos spread out above them. "This God, this hand of fate, or whatever it is—the very monster that wrote the destinies of pure-bloods and blood traitors, who wrote the darkness into our very souls… That's something I can never forgive. You and me, Regulus? Well, we were born to kill God."
Regulus looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. He curled up next to Sirius, his head on Sirius's chest, right below the tattoo that caused so much pain. Regulus clutched the Cosmos-in-a-Cup carefully between them. "Thanks for the stars, Siri."
Sirius carded his fingers through his brother's hair and planted a kiss on the top of his head. "You're welcome, Reg."