A tall, pregnant woman had apparated into the foyer of St Mungo’s Hospital. She immediately began bossing around everyone she could see.
“You there, with the mole on your chin, get me a Healer! Faster than that! I’m having a baby here, and you’re walking around like you’re taking a stroll! What attitude is that? Stop staring and go help her! Don’t you people have jobs to do?” Two hours of painful labour later, Mrs Black had her own firstborn son “ if not in her arms, then at least in the same room.
In contrast, Mimi Gordon was a young, pretty Healer at the hospital, and she was getting worried. The baby was very small, and it’s breathing was irregular. She pushed an alarm button, and soon the newborn baby was being fed different coloured potions, so that Mimi could hardly see him anymore. She turned to Mrs Black, whom she suspected was getting worried by all the commotion, and intended to offer the soothing words of comfort she had become renowned for. But Mrs Black was asleep, looking quite peaceful amongst the chaos. Mimi frowned at this, but soon dismissed it as exhaustion. The woman had been through a lot in the past couple of hours.
Two days later, and the still nameless baby was improving. Since his parents didn’t seem particularly bothered about responsibilities, Mimi looked after him as best she could with the time she had. In fact, she had grown attached to his soft black hair and blue eyes, which were gradually turning grey. She thought it was appalling that his parents still hadn’t given him a name, and finally managed to confront Mrs Black about this.
“A name? I thought he was going to die anyway?” she asked. Mimi looked scandalised.
“He’s improved so much! You can take him home in a couple of days,” she protested, aghast. “And so I really think that you and your husband should think of a name for him! I’m sorry if parenthood is not an ideal occupation for you, but you’re stuck with it now. Unless, of course, you want to speak to someone about adoption ...”
And, in fact, Mimi knew she would happily take up the position herself, for despite it being unprofessional, she had begun to take the baby’s welfare personally. But this idea was soon shattered, when Mrs Black sneered, and spat out, “And have him got to a Mudblood like you? Him, a descendant of the House of Black? I don’t think that’s going to happen. If you say he’ll live, my husband and I will do what we need to, and don’t you think you can stop us! I’ve seen your kind before ...”
“Mrs Black, please, there is no need for that,” Mimi chastised, and left the room before she said something she might regret.
The next day, Mr Black came to the Hospital, and he and his wife decided to name their son Sirius, a family name which Mr Black thought had a nice ring to it. The day after that, Mimi gave baby Sirius a final kiss on the cheek, and the family left St Mungo’s for Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
Mrs Black did not take kindly to being a mother. Her son was now two, and she despised having to clear up after him, feed him and bathe him. The way she saw it, in the space of just two years, she had been stripped of her former life. She rarely saw her friends anymore, and when she did, they talked of all the things she missed so much about life, and soon she began to dread their visits. The only person she looked forwards to seeing was her sister-in-law, Druella, who had three daughters. Bellatrix was three, only a year older than Sirius, Narcissa was only a baby, and Andromeda was now eight. While their children played, the two mothers enjoyed their time out.
However, neither realised how little their children enjoyed this. Andromeda doted on her sweet faced cousin, but despaired at her sister, Bella, who seemed to go out of her way to be nasty, whether it was to Sirius, or the youngest of them all, Baby Cissy. Little Sirius spent most of his time hiding behind Andy, and being afraid of Bellatrix, just as the dark haired three-year-old wished.
So all in all, life seemed grim for the Black family. And it was about to get worse, when Sirius’s mother found herself expecting another child. Interestingly, when she first realised the truth, her screams could be heard all through the house, and down the street, too.
Around nine months later, Sirius, now three, had a baby brother. Regulus Black was everything Sirius was not. Instead of being born small and weak, he was large and strong. His parents saw the boy as a whole new start, a chance to raise the son they had always wanted. Around the same time Regulus Black came screaming into the world, Sirius was forgotten.
Sirius was six years old, and his mother delighted in the times when he was at the Muggle primary school, for she wouldn’t have to endure the son she had somehow grown to despise so much. He was glad of any excuse to get away, even if he couldn’t invite his friends home. Not that he had many, just a couple of boys who were like him “ smaller than the others, and quieter. But it was the holidays that were worst, when he was stuck in Grimmauld Place, with his younger brother deliberately getting him into trouble.
“Why can’t you be more like Regulus, you worthless rat! Regulus would never knock my vase over!” Mrs Black was screeching at her eldest son on that hot day. “That’s been in my family years, it was given to my grandmother by Grindelwald “ before he was defeated by that fool Albus Dumbledore, that is. And now you have broken it, child!”
Sirius burst into tears as his mother shouted at him. “But you can fix it!” he wailed, desperately. “And it wasn’t even my fault, Regulus pushed me into it!”
“Don’t tell lies, Regulus is a good boy! He would never do such a thing! But you, on the other hand! You did it on purpose!”
The fire roared a bright green, and Sirius’s father stepped out, along with Mrs Black’s brother, Alphard.
“What’s all these tears for, eh lad?” asked Sirius’s uncle, ruffling his hair.
“That ... that child knocked my vase over!” his sister spluttered. “The one that was given to our Grandmother!”
“Oh, Wally,” he laughed jovially. His sister glared at this nickname for Walburga “ her real name. “It was an ugly old thing anyway. And it’s easily done, is it not? And just as easily fixed,” he said, winking at Sirius. “Reparo.” The pieces of the vile, twisted vase shot back together easily, and Alphard dusted off his hands, unnecessarily. “That’s that, then. Now, shall we go into the Parlour?” he suggested, in a put on, overly grandeur voice. He picked up Sirius, and lead the way. Sirius’s parents, who rarely communicated with speech, looked at each other angrily, but followed willingly.
Later that night, Sirius was woken to the sound of raised voices. He opened his door and crawled out onto the landing, trying to listen. He quickly worked out that it was his Uncle and mother quarrelling. He imagined his father sitting in the corner, letting his wife do the talking, yet nodding and grunting every so often in agreement.
“You’re too hard on the boy! He’s only six!” Alphard was saying.
“Don’t tell me how to raise my son! It’s all him, Regulus didn’t turn out so bad!” Sirius’s mother screeched.
“Regulus is a spoilt brat, and half the time, when you punish Sirius, it’s all Regulus’s fault! Sirius just needs some love from his family, and he’d soon forget all his insecurities, just give the boy a chance!” Alphard had a note of pleading in his voice.
“How dare you? You think I will stop giving punishment where it is due because my weasel of a firstborn is too shy? You dare question me? I shall raise him how I see fit!” she cried. Sirius heard glass smashing, and presumed his mother had threw something in her rage.
“You never understood this, did you? He will turn out the opposite of how you want! Just look at the boy! He’s underfed, he’s grubby and his eyes have lost their life already! He’s six years old, woman, just let him be!” Alphard cried.
“I refuse to listen to this any longer, from my own brother! This is my house, I look after it, and I will not have guests who don’t respect me or my principles!” Sirius’s mother said, calmly, but with a primness in her voice, that meant she was doing her best to control her anger.
“Then you won’t have many guests!” Alphard yelled. Sirius heard a loud crack, and presumed his uncle had disapparated. He tiptoed back to his room, not fully understanding what he had heard. But he knew that he wouldn’t be seeing his uncle very often any more.
When he was ten, and Regulus was seven, things weren’t much different. Sirius continued going to the Muggle primary school, so he would be “out of the way”, and yet Regulus was homed schooled by his mother. “No son of mine is mixing with filthy Muggles!” she would say. Sirius didn’t bother to point out the rather obvious fault in this statement. He knew not to take it to heart though, he was used to being declared an outsider. Besides, he would rather go to school than be taught by his ghastly mother.
By this time, Andromeda had long since left for Hogwarts, and Sirius learnt that soon “ in just a year “ he would get a letter from them, himself. He could go away for whole school years at a time if he wanted! Sirius couldn’t wait. It was also around this time that he had his growth spurt, unusually early for boys. He was soon the tallest in his class, and felt physically stronger. He began exercising in his bedroom, eating more (usually by sneaking into the pantry under the cover of darkness), and soon his confidence grew as well. The boys at school stopped trying to push him around, and he even stood up to his vindictive brother, making him cry. But it was worth being locked in his room for.
He was desperate to go to Hogwarts. With nine months to go, in January, he began crossing days off on his calendar. With seven months, in March, he began planning his escapades. With five months, in May, he began stealing his father’s wand and trying to perform simple spells in his bedroom, which never amounted to anything, but that didn’t stop him trying. Finally, in July, he got the long awaited letter. He pestered his mother to reply as soon as she could, and eventually she clouted him round the head, and sent the owl.
In August, he went to Diagon Alley with his parents, and they bought him all of his things, until all that was left were his robes. His mother dropped him off outside Madam Malkin’s, and then left to do some “personal shopping”.
Inside the shop there was a boy with black messy hair and glasses waiting with his fussy looking mother.
“Jamesy, stop fidgeting. And can’t you get your hair flat?” she began stroking his head, but the hair bounced up again as soon as she let go. The boy winked at Sirius and stuck his tongue out. Sirius did likewise, and he and the boy both grinned. “Jamesy, why are you pulling such silly faces?” his mother asked, now brushing him down, trying to get rid of the dust sticking to his clothes. The two twin girls being fitted currently were done at the same time, and James and Sirius stepped up.
“Hi. I’m James!” the boy grinned, as if Sirius could not have possibly worked this out beforehand.
“Sirius Perseus Black,” Sirius said. He held out his hand, but the witch fitting his robes swatted it down, when it pulled the fabric out of place.
“You’ve got a funny name, Serious Percy-us Black,” James laughed, and the witch fitting him told him to stay still, fussily.
“It’s Sirius. Not Serious, that silly,” he told James, who giggled impishly.
“Sirius-ly?” asked James, and almost toppled off his stool, he was laughing so hard.
“Jamesy, keep still!” his mother warned. James looked at Sirius and rolled his eyes. Now they both giggled.
“So will it be your first year?” asked James, and Sirius nodded. James jumped up and down in delight, “Me too, me too, we could be in the same house!”
“Please keep still!” the fitting witch, cried, exasperatedly, when all the pins came loose once again. James didn’t seem to notice.
Sirius had done by this point, but James was nowhere near finished, as the fitting witch had been forced to start again so many times. “Well, I have to wait for my mum to come back, anyway,” Sirius told James. So he stayed and talked to his new friend for five minutes, until Mrs Black arrived, paid Madam Malkin, and they left.
“See you on the train!” James waved after Sirius enthusiastically, so that all the pins came out of place once again.
“For goodness sake!” came a shrill female voice, as Sirius and his mother left the shop.
“Why were you talking to that boy?” she asked, icily.
“He was talking to me!” Sirius cried indignantly, “I couldn’t ignore him! And anyway, he’s my friend now.”
“Do you know who that was? The Potters are scum, that boy’s father is an Auror, he put a lot of my friends in trouble!” she snapped at him.
“Aren’t Aurors good guys?” asked Sirius, confused. In the comics he had stolen off Regulus, it was always the Aurors who appeared at the last minute to stop the bad guys.
“That depends on which side you’re on,” his mother muttered, darkly.
Finally “ finally “ September the first arrived. Sirius bounded down the stairs into the kitchen, at six in the morning. Only the house elf was awake.
“Good morning Twinky! Could you rustle up the biggest breakfast possible for little old me?” he asked, batting his eyelids and simpering.
“Yes master!” Twinky bowed so that her knobbly nose touched the floor, and Sirius thanked her, bowing back exaggeratedly, and laughing. Soon, he was tucking into a vast traditional English breakfast. The minute he was done, he ran upstairs and got dressed. Then he unpacked and packed his trunk a couple of times, and only after all this did his parents finally drag themselves out of bed. By this time Sirius was hungry again, so ate breakfast with his family.
“Why is he so happy?” demanded Regulus, flicking bits of bacon fat at his brother.
“Because, Reggie-poos, I don’t have to look at your ugly face for months!” Sirius trilled happily, wolfing down his second breakfast.
“Don’t speak to your brother like that, boy!” hissed Mrs Black, but he just shrugged.
Sirius swallowed his last mouthful and left the table running up and down the stairs a few times, then doing a circuit of the house and garden at top speed four or five times. Then he repacked his case once again, and it was finally time to leave for Kings Cross.
“Whoopee!” Sirius cried, jumping up and down, “I’m leaving! Goodbye forever, Smell-old Place!”
In no time at all, they were at Kings Cross. Sirius knew what to do, as his parents had filled him in on the way. He charged through the barrier, straight onto Platform 9¾.
AN: A pretty depressing chapter to start with, but things will go uphill from here. After all, there’s lots of Marauders stuff coming up!