Alpha, Beta

Sirius finishes Hogwarts with flourish. He has enough NEWTs to start his own private collection. His best friend, James, has one NEWT more, though Sirius keeps insisting he only got it because he cheated on his Divination exam.

Both his parents died in his final year whilst on a fancy cruise to Monaco. The boat accidentally veered off course and collided with a pirate ship. Sirius still has the formal letter announcing their deaths. It's the only tangible thing of theirs he has left.

Regulus started work for Gringotts after finishing Hogwarts. Now, he is head of the department that sees to large parts of the British wizarding economy; not that he needs the money he earns with it. He's married.

Sirius, on the other hand, can't really decide what he wants out of life. He travels and has affairs; pointless ones. The latest product is sitting at his kitchen table at the moment, her blonde hair dazzling in the sunlight pouring in.

She isn't wearing a shirt.

Sirius can't remember her name.

'It's dusty,' she says, in a distinctly upper-class accent, tinged with French. Sirius refuses to speak French nowadays, so she has to make due with English. 'This house, is it old?'

Oh, Merlin, he chose a chatty one. 'Not really,' Sirius lies, because he can't recall where he picked her up, and saying fifteen-thousand-and-twenty-five to a Muggle woman means more trouble than he's prepared for.

'I want to explore,' she insists, standing up and when Sirius sees the mischievous spark in her eyes, he remembers why he chose her. Trouble. Sirius likes trouble. Trouble is different from everyday orderly life.

'Not very much to see,' he offers, but she ignores him, striding out of the kitchen with her head held high. Sirius contemplates telling her Kreacher is still here.

Oh, the house is his, there's no question about it. He gave Regulus his share of the inheritance, of course, but the houses in Italy, Austria and Britain are his. He's never cared too much for the stocks or the investments, though, so he lets a little red-haired chit called Evans take care of things.

She's good with numbers. James has a thing for her.

'Coming?' she asks, and he follows her up the stairs and then the next flight, and the next, until they reach the spacious attic that used to be his Great Aunt Elladora's (he took the heads down four years ago. Kreacher tried to poison him for a month).

It's even dustier in here, and she sneezes. Sirius thoughtfully offers her a handkerchief. She rolls her eyes, takes out her wand, and murmurs a spell. The whole place shines, dust-free.

'Thank you,' Sirius says, when he turns to her, and as she leans on her tip-toes to kiss him, he sees a magnificent grand piano. The girl's blond hair hides a row of flawlessly polished keys and glass round standards from view.

'But – Oxford.'

James hasn't said anything else for the past twelve and a half minutes, and Sirius is getting short with him.

'Yes.'

'Why –'

'I want to, that's all.'

Sirius decides to study Law. He doesn't know why he chose that particular course, other than for the fact that it's easier to charm his way through that than Science. It's probably because he's always liked to talk.

He also, somewhere, thinks he might find Remus here.

But that's only somewhere.

He's doing this for himself.

After all, his parents would keel over and die at the mention of their son – their prestigious son, so full of promise and such an attractive candidate for young pureblood parties to marry – at a Muggle university. The thought thrills him.

Four brutal years later, he's earned himself an Undergraduate degree. He spent his last year in France, studying international law, but he found it so boring he decided to radically change his course. He decided to specialise in criminal law, and as Oxford bored him, he transferred to Cambridge. Money, apparently, spoke an international language.

His first lecture starts late in the afternoon, so he figures he has enough time to take a kip in his apartment.

This results in him being late, five minutes just barely, and that won't do on his first day, will it?

His knock echoes through the corridor, but there is no answer; he slides in, anyway. The Professor has already started, standing in front of the blackboard below, and Sirius wavers, before stealing into a seat next to a pretty girl who looks half his age.

'You are all here because of your exceptional talent for learning. Cambridge's criminal law course does not allow slacking off. Either you are effortlessly brilliant or you aren't. Those who feel they cannot meet up to my expectations can leave now.'

There are a few nervous laughs, scattered along the seats. Sirius unpacks his bag steadily and hopefully without any noise.

'Good, no deserters,' the Professor says. 'Ah. The empty seat is empty no longer.'

It takes all of two seconds for Sirius to notice he's being talked to. He opens his mouth to offer an excuse, but the Professor raises a hand.

'My lecture starts at three thirty precisely. You will find that I cannot be bothered with students who cannot bother to show up on time. Leave.'

The girl gives Sirius a sympathetic look as he stands up and leaves, for the life of him not knowing why he's blushing.

Sirius is waiting for class to be over. It's November; the corridor is drafty and his legs are cold. Finally, the door opens and steadily, people come out.

'It's Maria.'

'Sorry?'

'My name. It's Maria.'

The girl whose eyes he could feel boring into the back of his head is in front of him now, her pretty brown hair untied and books clutched to her chest.

'Oh,' Sirius replies, not realising sitting next to her meant he'd have to talk to her. He doesn't do the younger ones. They whine.

Maria raises an eyebrow, and then lowers it again, sighing.

'I'm just telling you, you should apologise. Your first impression wasn't very good.'

Something about her annoys Sirius. 'Thank you,' he says, curtly and formally, and she takes the hint and leaves him there, alone.

He might as well take her advice then. Even though he was quite sure that's what he had intended to do all along. Obviously, or he would not have waited.

The class seems ridiculously quiet as he makes his way down the steps; rows of empty seats and desks. The Professor is wiping notes and theories off the blackboard (when Sirius gets closer, he catches the word "Plato" in careful handwriting, but the rest of the sentence is gone when he blinks), and Sirius clears his throat.

The hand on the eraser stills and lowers, leaving a cloud of chalk dust in the air.

'Professor, I wanted to apologise for my tardiness this morning. I quite understand you removing me from your class, as my behaviour was greatly disrespectful.'

'Well,' the Professor says and turns around. His glasses catch the sunlight, temporarily hiding his eyes. 'You've always had a problem with that, haven't you?'

'Sir?'

The Professor takes a step closer. 'I read up upon all of my students, Mr Black. You seem particularly ... skilled at being late.'

Sirius clenches his jaw. God, what an annoying, annoying man.

'Fifteen thousand words on Plato, his theories and the overall similarities with our own criminal law system, Mr Black, due tomorrow. Perhaps one of your classmates will be taken enough with your display of this morning to let you copy their notes.'

'Yes, sir,' Sirius replies levelly, because what else can he do?

The Professor lays the board eraser on the desk and takes off his glasses. 'Don't worry. I'm not very strict at all, as you might have realised.'

'I –'

'I won't remind you of the time my lectures start again. You are on time tomorrow, or you can try your luck at something else. Maybe the French department will take you.'

'I will be on time, sir.'

'I'll send notice to the Choral Scholars; they might feel like accompanying you.'

'Fuck, you're annoying.'

It's out before Sirius realises it is, and then he winces. Great going, Black. Absolutely fantastic. Next, you'll be holding hands and picking daisies together.

'You were, too. Frustratingly so.'

The Professor paces past him with easy, methodical steps. He pauses, turns once more. This is the first time Sirius has had a proper, non-sun blinding look at him.

'I'll answer to Professor Lupin in the future, if you don't quite mind, Mr Black.'

The End.