Intended

[six]

Hogwarts itself is far, far away from home, and on the train ride to school Sirius settles himself into an empty compartment near the back of the train. He had wanted to sit with Andromeda but she had gone off with all those other… ‘ Prefects,' Sirius thinks contemptuously as he recalls the gangly boy with the mop of blond hair who had grinned at him and then led Andromeda away. He had seen the badge on his chest, a P emblazoned over the picture of a badger, and he had sniffed disdainfully at the boy when he had been told that he couldn't trail after his cousin into the carriage they had gone into.

He thinks that if the prefects don't have the decency to treat him with the respect that he feels he deserves, he's not sure he likes them.

He stares out of the window, watching the countryside. Already, he misses home. He won't admit it, but the swaying motion of the train is making him nauseous, a feeling he fights down. As much as he'd like to throw up, he has not eaten anything for hours. A disgusting taste rises in his mouth, something that burns his throat and makes him wince, but the look is gone in an instant.

A Black is not affected by such trivial matters.

An old man passes with a food trolley, and he stops at the compartment. From where he sits, Sirius can see that the trolley is piled high with sweets and confections of all kinds. He wanders slowly towards the door of the compartment, one hand in his pocket, feigning nonchalance. His mouth waters, and his stomach gives off a loud rumble that even the man can evidently hear, for he says, ‘My, lad, you'd better have something or you'll be absolutely famished before we reach!'

‘I'll have…'

But even as Sirius opens his mouth to say something, he remembers his cousin Narcissa mentioning that the man who takes the trolley down the train is, in fact, a Squib. The look on his mother's face then, a look of distaste, wanders before his eyes and he can almost hear her reproaching him for even thinking of taking something from the hands of a person who is not fit to wash the boots of any member of the Black family, and he retracts his hand hastily.

‘On second thoughts, I don't want anything.'

The man shrugs and wheels his trolley away from the compartment door, and Sirius stares at his retreating back, biting his lip and unconsciously patting his stomach as it rumbles again.

Even if he is ravenous, he will tolerate the hunger, for the heir of the Blacks must be prepared to tolerate anything.

*

[seven]

When Sirius lines up in front of all the other children before the sorting, he can see Andromeda, sitting by herself at the end of a long table. He wants to catch her eye but she refuses to look up at him, and he longs for home and the summer before he came, because he misses her presence next to him.

She looks so lonely and he wonders why she isn't sitting with their other cousins. They are all congregated around the center of the long table, a line of girls and boys in black with their green and gray scarves and narrowed, sneaky eyes that pretend not to be interested in him. Narcissa sits tall and haughty in her seat, shushing the excited children next to her, her prefect's badge glimmering against the deep black of her robes. Bellatrix stares him down, one corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk as she whispers into the ear of the boy next to her. Neither of them seem to care very much about Andromeda, only him, and it unnerves him a little to think that he is the focus of their cold smiles.

He runs the fingers of his right hand over his ring, the serpents seemingly glaring at him with their hollow eyes and their little engraved serpentine tongues flicking over one another. He has always played with the ring when he's nervous, and now he feels even more nervous when he spots Andromeda doing the same. The feel of the snakes' tongues under his fingertips is just as soft and light as Andromeda's kiss, but it makes his stomach turn to ice and his throat dry, so that when he is called, he has nothing to do or say or think but to stumble forward blindly because it is expected of him and wear the old tattered hat because apparently, that is what he is supposed to do.

‘Well.'

‘Well what?' Sirius thinks, wishing that the hat hadn't been so big that it slid over his eyes because now he can only see the darkness within the hat, and it isn't something he likes very much.

‘ Another year, another Black. I'm assuming that you intend to be a Slytherin, right?'

‘Most Blacks are in Slytherin.'

‘Ah, that's exactly what your cousin Andromeda told me, right before I told her that she was more of a Ravenclaw.'

‘RAVENCLAW? But… but she's not in Ravenclaw!'

‘Yes. A very clever girl, but far too ambitious, really… she wanted to prove something to her sisters, she told me… something about having proper Black pride. That overpowered everything, even if she was the smartest girl in her year. In fact, you're much like her… you do have quite an intellect, I must say, yet… there's a bit of the typical Black Slytherin ambition in there too. I take it that you are a first-born?'

‘ I… '

‘Oh, but of course, silly me, you are. That stubbornness couldn't belong to anyone else. Hmm… there's quite a bit of bravery in the mix there! And what else… my, what a surprise! Loyalty? A loyal Black?'

‘So?' Sirius thinks, subconsciously clenching his fists because he's afraid of what might happen.

'Well, loyalty is a feature of Hufflepuff House, and I'm sure you'd be an interesting addition…'

‘NO! Not Hufflepuff! Please, anything but Hufflepuff!' he pleads with the hat. He could not bear the shame if he was the only Black sorted into Hufflepuff, the ‘soft' house.

Come to think, he couldn't bear the shame if he was the only Black not sorted into Slytherin.

‘Anything but Hufflepuff, hmm? Well, I know that most Blacks are in Slytherin, but you, my boy, are different. Quite a courageous one you are, I'll say, it's all in here, above everything else… that, and a habit of rushing into things without a thought of the dangers involved. I am very sure that you are more cut out for being a… GRYFFINDOR!'

Sirius only hears the last word being shouted out to the hall. There is no sound at all, and when the hat is pulled off his head, he is aware of the many pairs of eyes all staring at him…

Including Andromeda's. She seems to have the most disbelieving stare of all, her eyes so wide that Sirius can see a little bit of the white surrounding her dark irises. But it is not a stare like the others, harsh and hostile; it is one that leaks with happiness like the tell-tale tears she now cries softly. Her hands come together in a clap, the sound breaking the silent spell that seems to have befallen the hall.

Clap… Clap… Clap… Clap.

And even as he makes his way to the Gryffindor table, where they all give him too much space to sit, he stops when he passes her and begs her to stop clapping. He is ashamed. He is a Black, but he is not in Slytherin. He holds her hands together, willing her to stop, and wishing that the light in her eyes would go out because he has finally understood what shame is and he is disgusted with her for clapping when he does not even deserve her.

Most Blacks are in Slytherin.

Most… but not all.

*