Prongs,

I can’t come this summer. My parents have gone even crazier than usual and they won’t let me leave. I would just sneak out, but they took my wand (long story) so I can’t.

I’ll fill you in on the train in a few weeks.

Say ‘hi’ to Moony and Wormtail for me,

Padfoot

Sirius dropped his quill on the desk and capped the ink bottle. He shook the letter around in the air for a moment to make the ink dry faster, then folded it up and sealed it.

He tied the letter to James’ owl’s leg and it took off, flying out the open window and off into the darkness of the night.

Sirius slid the window closed and flopped back on his bed, picking up his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, flicking through it to find his place.

His stomach growled loudly and he pressed a hand to it. Stop it, he silently warned. Then he went back to his book.

“Double Eight Loop: A Keeper defence, usually employed against penalty takers, whereby the Keeper swerves around all three goal hoops at high speed to block the Quaffle.”

THUMP. His father must be home.

Sirius marked the page, setting the book aside, and sat up straighter. Very faintly, he could hear the sound of his father yelling, throwing something.

Sirius shivered and drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Orion sounded angry.

His stomach rumbled again, louder this time. Stop it. You’re not getting fed. Not after…after everything.

Orion loomed over his son, his dark eyes burning with fury. Sirius stood defiantly in the middle of the living room, refusing to look away from his father’s livid gaze.

“You no good little traitor,” his father spat, taking a step forward, closing the gap between him and Sirius to only a foot. “How dare you even speak to that muggle-loving scum?”

Before he could retort, a fist came from nowhere and struck the side of his face, knocking him to the floor. He blinked until the black spots cleared from his vision and stood.

“Bad enough you were sorted into Gryffindor, with all the Mudblood filth.” Another punch, this time to his mouth, and Sirius felt his lip split, felt the warm blood flow down his chin and drip onto his shirt.

“Anything’s better than Slytherin,” he snapped, regaining his balance.

“How dare you?!” his father roared, shoving Sirius to the floor.

Before he could stand, there was a sharp kick to his ribs and he gasped in pain.

“You’re so weak,” his father taunted. “Pathetic.”

Sirius, rose shakily, a hand protecting his side. Orion was baiting him, he knew, waiting for an excuse to really hurt him. Sirius wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He remained silent.

“You ruin everything,” his father continued. “You’ve soiled the name of ‘Black’ with your treachery.”

Sirius glared daggers at Orion, but still refused to speak. If anything, he wished his name wasn’t Black; that he could refuse to be affiliated with this family.

“You’re a burden to your teachers. So stupid…” his father shook his head.

Sirius almost laughed. He was one of the top students of his year, with almost perfect marks in every class.

“Don’t you smirk at me, you ungrateful son of a bitch!” Orion bellowed, hitting him again.

Sirius calmly picked himself up and dusted off his robes. He wouldn’t let his father know how much his body ached already.

“You even drag down your Quidditch team,” his father said, his eyes glinting with malice. “Lost the cup last year because you let in too many goals, didn't you?”

Sirius froze, the fierce look he had been giving his father dying for just a moment. Orion was right and he sensed weakness.

“You’re much too slow to be a keeper. Too heavy to fly fast. You’re weighing the team down, literally.” Orion laughed, a wrathful sound rather than one of mirth.

His father wasn’t right, was he? It couldn’t be…

“You know I’m right, I can see it,” Orion said, laughing again. “You’re a failure, Sirius, and you deserve to be punished.”

And Sirius couldn’t argue with him.

Orion had beaten him, left him lying on the dusty rug of the living room blinking blood from his eyes.

When he had summoned the energy, Sirius had hauled himself up to his room, where despite his pain, he denied himself the luxury of collapsing onto his bed and giving in to unconsciousness.

Instead, he stood in front of the mirror and thought. He grimaced at the purple bruises coloring the side of his face, but then put that aside.

He stared instead at his stomach, which somehow was much larger than he had thought. His arms, which used to be well-muscled, were now just gross. His father had been right. He was much too fat.

Now, Sirius got off his bed and went to stand in front of the mirror. He scrutinized his appearance very carefully.

As far as he could tell, nothing had changed. The bruises were faded and yellowing, but excluding that, he looked exactly the same as he had five days ago when he had first stood in front of the mirror, horrified by what he saw.

He had hardly eaten since then, mostly out of fear of what his father would say. He didn’t want another fight. His body still ached from the last time. So Sirius only ate when Regulus managed to snitch some food to give him in his room, where he was being forced to spend the remainder of his summer holiday. Not that it mattered.

The whole fight had been about going to stay with James. Since he couldn’t do that, he really had no inclination to leave his room.

It was better, in fact, that he was up here, because his parents forgot about him. After he had had a few shots of firewhiskey, his father couldn’t remember that he had locked Sirius in his room. He only knew that he wasn’t around to torture. That was fine with Sirius.

It had never been as bad before as it had been the last time. It was different, this time, somehow.

Sirius didn’t care about being beaten over being a Gryffindor, over not hating muggles, because he knew he was right. He was doing the right thing, and by facing his father, he knew he was a true Gryffindor: brave. He felt like he could fight back; he was right, and he didn’t have to take this.

It was an entirely different matter when he knew his father was right. When he knew that he deserved to be punished for what he had done, when things really were his fault. Then he had to just take it.

When that happened, he wasn’t a courageous Gryffindor. He was a fat screw-up who was too weak to fight back.

The rattling of trolleys and yells of old friends echoed off the walls of Platform Nine and Three Quarters, a cacophony of excitement.

Peter tugged his trolley to a place next to the train, then leaned against his school trunk, waiting for his friends to come help him drag all his stuff into a compartment.

He felt conspicuously alone in the crowd of animated teenagers who shrieked greetings to those they hadn’t seen since last year. He hadn’t seen James and Remus since they met in Diagon Alley two weeks before, and he hadn’t seen Sirius since June. He had spent his summer alone, and now he was waiting by himself again.

Peter hoped no one would see him and try to start something, not now. Not when his friends couldn’t help him out.

He kept a sharp eye out for anyone he knew, and was rewarded only a few minutes later when one of them appeared.

Remus slowly made his way through the crowd, his nondescript brown hair causing him to almost blend in with those around him. All that set him apart was the paleness of his skin; it looked as though he had not seen day light in months. His expression was serious, though patient, as he politely requested admittance through the crowd.

Upon seeing Peter, an easy smile spread across his face and his pace quickened until he was standing with his friend.

“Hello, Peter,” Remus said.

“Hey, Remus,” Peter replied, trying to hide his relief at finally having some company. “D’you know where James and Sirius are?”

“Haven’t seen them. I haven’t seen Sirius all summer, and he barely wrote,” Remus said, a small frown playing across his features.

“I’m sure he was just busy,” Peter said, already searching the crowd again.

His eyes lit on another familiar face as James made his way through the crowd. James, though, did not have to ask to be let through. The masses of people seemed to part to allow the Quidditch hero passage, reaching out to slap his hand as he walked past. James grinned easily, obviously enjoying the attention.

The features of James’ face were strong and definite, from his perfectly shaped nose to his hazel eyes to the even, white teeth that showed when he smiled. He looked sure of himself, and everyone could see the confidence that radiated from him, and they respected him for it.

James messed up his hair, and Peter watched with a mixture of fascination and awe. Any other guy would look stupid with messy hair, but on James, it worked. He didn’t just look like he had just gotten off his broomstick; he looked like he had just gotten off his broomstick after diving a hundred feet towards the ground at high speed, snagging the snitch just before his opponent, and thus securing the Quidditch cup for Gryffindor yet again. And all the others certainly acted like that was exactly what he had done.

James stopped in front of Remus and Peter, still grinning. “Hey.”

They nodded back at him.

“Where’s Sirius?” James asked, suddenly seeming to realize his friend was not yet present.

“Over there,” Peter pointed, having just spotted him.

As it had done for James, the crowd parted for Sirius. But unlike James, Sirius didn’t seem to relish the attention. He walked past, his dark eyes set on where he was going, rather than what was going on around him.

Though both dark-haired and handsome, no one would ever have confused Sirius for James. Sirius had the sort of features that made him look both strong and delicate. He had clearly lost weight over the summer, as he always seemed to during holidays from school, but even this did nothing but accentuate his features and make him all the more good-looking.

His pale skin seemed even more so in contrast with his straight, midnight-black hair, which fell to his shoulders, though the pieces around his face just barely brushed his cheekbones.

People nodded and greeted him as he passed, though they did not cheer for him as they had for James. Something about his expression told them that now was not the time.

Peter watched this, and he wished he was more like Sirius and James. He wished he was as popular as they were, as good-looking as they were. Instead, he was short and round, with dull brown hair. He had a pointed face and small eyes. The only reason he didn’t get picked on constantly was that Sirius and James simply didn’t allow it. He was grateful for that, but he would rather be like them himself than have to depend on them.

As he walked up to his friends, Sirius’ expression changed from one of extreme focus to one of happiness. He halted in front of them and smiled.

“Hey. Feels like forever since I saw you.”

“It has been, Padfoot,” James said, pretending to scowl. “What, are you trying to ditch Peter or something?”

Sirius laughed. “No, Prongs, I was actually trying to get rid of you. Too bad you’re too thick to realize it.”

James and Sirius slapped palms and shook hands.

“Should we get on the train?” Peter broke in anxiously, checking the clock on the wall and seeing they only had a few minutes.

“Yes, we should,” Remus said, beginning to drag his trunk towards the nearest door.

Within ten minutes they were settled into a compartment with the myriad of things they needed for school, as the train slowly began to creep forward and they started the long journey to Hogwarts.