Dedication: For Laura, Jess, and Lei, my best friends, my adopted family, my Marauders.
It is the most curious of all sensations when you realize that something you once despised has been turned into something you love, simply because one person or one experience was able to change its meaning.
He doesn’t think he’s ever truly known the meaning of family. It has always eluded him, run from him, hidden in shadow, as if he were not worthy of its warmth. Sometimes” a lot of times” he believes he isn’t.
He doesn’t think he’s ever truly known the meaning of love. Sure, he might only be eleven, but he’s read enough about it to know he should have at least felt it from his mother by now. Yet even the word feels awkward on his lips, like the sensation of trying out a foreign language for the first time.
Love.
Family.
Sure, he might only be eleven. But Sirius Black already feels he was never meant to know either of them.
He shifts nervously from foot to foot, eyeing an unknown red-headed boy from a short distance and waiting with bated breath for his own turn, when the Sorting Hat will dictate the next seven years of his life. Funny, he remarks inwardly, that of all things, a hat should decide so much.
“Slytherin!” shouts the Sorting Hat, and immediately the strange boy’s face relaxes and assumes a casual smirk. The long, silver-laced table to the far right erupts in applause.
Sirius remembers to feel nervous when he hears his name being called. He swallows, clearing his dry throat, and forces a calm, composed expression. Striding to the limelight, he whisks back his elegant black hair and feels the hat lower over his forehead.
“Oh, my my, what a curious character we’ve got here!” says the Sorting Hat; and though the voice is clear and distinct, he innately knows that no one but he can hear it. “Such a gifted young man… yes, talent and intellect to spare, not to mention a healthy dose of wit. Very cheeky, aren’t you? Oh, no, much more than that” rebellious. My, what a handful you’ll be. Though… what’s this?” The voice pauses and Sirius strains his ears. “Ah,” returns the voice, smooth and confident now. “Of course. Compassion. Courage. Empathy. Plenty of empathy. Oh dear, and a bit of sadness too. A deep longing for something more, something greater, that sets you apart from your peers. That might outweigh the stupendous amount of arrogance. Hmm. We shall see.”
Again there is an extended silence as Sirius fidgets in his seat. He can see a million eyes peering at him from the four House tables, and when his gaze lands on the red-headed Slytherin in the corner, he feels his heart sink.
He’ll probably end up in that sodding House exactly like the rest of his family. Just at the mere thought of it Sirius feels a burning sense of dread that his life has ended before it had a chance to begin.
But the Sorting Hat chuckles lowly above him. “Yes, definitely an enigma, Mr. Black,” it chides. “A most mysterious case, if ever I’ve seen one. But a case wrapped in red and gold, nonetheless.”
He has just enough time to raise a questioning eyebrow before the voice booms past his ears and announces loudly to the hall, “Gryffindor!”
His vision is fully restored as the hat is removed from his head. He senses his eyes grow wide with disbelief. How is this possible? He” he’s a Black.
He’s dead.
He hasn’t even made a single step in the direction of the Gryffindor table and already his mind is providing a disturbing visual of his mother, screaming and bawling about how he has disgraced his family.
Yep. Definitely dead.
Family. It all came back to that one little concept. A concept he still does not grasp the meaning of.
“Mr. Black, please join the other Gryffindors,” says a cool woman’s voice from behind him.
His head snaps up as he realizes he’s still standing on the makeshift stage. But with awareness comes comprehension that the rushing sound in his ears is not that of his blood pumping furiously through his veins, but that of a riotous, applauding table to the left. Kind faces grin up at him from a haze of gold and red decorations.
He smiles.
Stumbling to an empty seat, Sirius watches as a chubby, blue-eyed girl is sorted into Ravenclaw. A dozen children after her, a pale, sandy-haired boy shuffles shyly to the stool. The Sorting Hat doesn’t wait long before assertively pronouncing the young man to be a Gryffindor.
The boy ambles towards the table and slumps in a chair directly across from Sirius, allowing a clear view of the very faint shadows under the newly sorted boy’s eyes. He appears tired and worn, but there is a beautiful glint in his gaze that gives away how excited he is beneath the layers of poise and uncertainty.
The Sorting Hat was quite right to note Sirius’ acute level of intelligence.
But not even Merlin himself would have been able to surmise exactly what that sandy-haired boy would eventually come to mean to him later.
“You’re Sirius Black, aren’t you?”
The feast had just ended and all the students were filing away to their respective Common Rooms, Prefects shouting over the din of laughter and discussion in a futile attempt to guide the first years.
Now, however, Sirius is prevented from obeying the commanding tone of his Prefect, as he is distracted by an unfamiliar voice and turns around to meet it.
“Err, yeah, I am.”
The tall, thick boy takes a step closer and surveys Sirius through a mass of white-blonde hair. His eyes are alive with curiosity as they scan Sirius’ every feature. “You look more like your mother now.”
His brows knit together. “How d’you know my mum?”
The boy extends a cordial hand and Sirius takes it cautiously. “I’m Lucius Malfoy. We’re related, though it’s been several years since we’ve met. You were perhaps seven the last I saw you.”
Sirius’ mind fights for recognition but offers no useful images. “Oh.”
Suddenly, the boy named Lucius leans closer but continues to speak at full volume. “I find it revolting that a name such as Black, a name with such pureblood caliber, would be subjected to a House such as Gryffindor.” His words come out bitingly cold, and his eyes never cease their journey around Sirius’ young face.
Sirius opens his mouth furiously, but Lucius raises a steady hand. “Not,” he starts to amend, “that it is your fault. Of course, I understand. That Sorting Hat has been ready for the furnace for decades, if you ask me.”
“Listen, I don’t care if I’m not in Slytherin,” Sirius divulges, struggling around the crowd that is now thickening around them as more first years pour from the Great Hall.
Lucius’ eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “Are you sure?” he asks condescendingly, traces of a sneer tugging on the corners of his lips. “Professor Dumbledore might allow you to switch Houses if””
“Thanks, but no thanks,” says Sirius, his patience waning. “There’s nothing wrong with Gryffindor.”
Lucius regards him shrewdly. “And are you quite certain your mother will agree?”
Sirius’ mouth hangs open stupidly, unsure as to how to respond.
“Somehow I know she will be equally repulsed,” spits Lucius.
Again his family has come back to haunt him. His surname seemed to cling to him with a death grip, etching its way into every minuscule aspect of his life. It is suffocating. Overpoweringly brutal.
He reflects for the hundredth time that he doesn’t understand the meaning of love, simply because he’s never experienced it. And he doesn’t understand the meaning of family, because he’s never really had one. So it is doubly unfair that now, at Hogwarts, he should be so completely bound to a name which holds absolutely no personal connotation” no personal value.
And he just doesn’t understand.
He swallows these thoughts and glares hard at Lucius. The blonde glares back and inches nearer. Soon, he is less than a foot away, his wand pointing at Sirius’ chest. “You haven’t even been here a day and already you humiliate your family,” he leers. “I would watch myself if I were you. You’re alienating your alliances in Slytherin and no Gryffindor will want to associate with a Black.”
Heart lurching anxiously, Sirius feels his confidence pool at his feet. He had not thought about that. He had been so relieved to have been sorted into Gryffindor” so relieved that he had, for once, escaped his name” that he hadn’t considered the possibility of which Lucius now spoke.
“You’re wrong,” Sirius says boldly, surprised by his own daring. “No one’s going to care that my””
“Wrong?” Lucius questions smugly. “You are naïve. They all know who you are. Everyone does. Names such as ours follow us. I am proud of such a fact. You are disgraceful. Mark my words, Black. You’ll be utterly alone and your pathetic””
“No, he won’t.”
Sirius spins around. Directly behind him, wearing a plainly defiant expression, is a stick-thin first year with outrageously untidy black hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He shoots Sirius a comforting look before turning back to Lucius, chin raised.
“He won’t be alone, Malfoy,” repeats the first year boy, “because unlike Slytherins, Gryffindors don’t judge people by stupid, shallow things like last names.”
Lucius’ face scrunches up in disgust as he looks down his nose at the young boy. “And who in the bloody hell are you?”
“James Potter,” he answers promptly, “and don’t forget it. Because as much as names mean to you, I know you’ll want to remember mine.”
Lucius snorts. “Why is that?”
“Because I’m pureblood too,” he replies, “but you mark my words. I’ll be famous cause of my own merit, not because I was born with a silver sodding spoon in my mouth.”
Lucius Malfoy’s pale cheeks turn a deep shade of enraged crimson, but James Potter isn’t paying attention.
“Sirius, was it?” he asks, offering his hand. “I’m James. Come on, we’d better hurry, I’ve got no bloody clue where our Common Room is.”
Sirius shakes James’ hand lightly, casting one last glance back at Lucius as they walk off. Lucius’ pointed face is the epitome of rage, but he spins on his heel and stalks off to the dungeons without another word.
Watching James from the corner of his eye, Sirius feels he should thank him. But the black-haired boy seems to have already forgotten the incident as he jogs cheerfully up the stairs, occasionally checking to make sure Sirius is still beside him.
Sirius Black doesn’t think he understands the meaning of family any better now than he did a month ago.
Yet as he races to his new Common Room, he can’t help but recall the evening’s vexing events.
And as he does, Sirius realizes that whatever family is, he wholly and unequivocally hates it.
He is sitting idly on the long red sofa in the Common Room when it comes. His stomach has been a bundle of knots since his encounter with Lucius four nights ago, but now” now those knots are on fire. A faint wave of nausea pushes its way up his windpipe when the barn owl drops the whirling, red envelope into his hands.
Jumping from his seat, Sirius snatches the Howler and dashes for his dormitory. Maybe if he can bury it under a layer of pillows no one will hear it.
“SIRIUS BLACK!”
Or not.
He frantically scans the room for a place to stuff the screeching letter” a crevice, a cupboard, anything. But looking around him, he sees only a half dozen curious faces peering expectantly at the parchment in his hand, amused glimmers shining in some of their eyes.
“GRYFFINDOR?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MORTIFYING IT WAS TO DISCOVER MY SON WAS SORTED INTO GRYFFINDOR?!” the Howler wails, twitching ferociously in Sirius’ hand.
He closes his eyes. Blood is rushing to his cheeks and he can feel it burning beneath his skin. Face hot, he slumps dejectedly down the stone wall beside the staircase” the staircase leading to his quarters. He’d been so close to escaping this embarrassment.
“AND THEN TO HAVE LUCIUS MALFOY INFORM ME THAT YOUR FILTHY ARSE WOULDN’T EVEN PUT IN A CHANGE OF HOUSE REQUEST WITH THE HEADMASTER?! DISGUSTING! UTTERLY REVOLTING! YOU SHAME ME AND OUR ENTIRE FAMILY!”
He squeezes his eyes harder and balls his hands into fists. If he hears one more mention of his snotty, pompous family he might explode into a Howler himself.
“I AM SEEING TO IT THAT THE HEADMASTER CONSIDERS REPLACING YOU IN SLYTHERIN! AND YOU WILL BE GRATEFUL THAT I AM SO CARING AS TO STOOP TO SUCH A LEVEL! DO YOU HEAR ME, SIRIUS BLACK?! NEVER IN MY WILDEST NIGHTMARES WOULD I HAVE EXPECTED THIS! GRYFFINDOR! YOU STAY AS FAR FROM THOSE CHILDREN AS POSSIBLE! AM I CLEAR?”
The letter bursts into flame and disintegrates into a thousand wispy puffs of smoke. Sirius hisses in pain, for the fire has licked the side of his thumb a little too hotly.
Cursing under his breath, he flings his head back against the wall and lifts his legs like steeples before draping his arms over his knees. He inhales deeply, trying to ignore his stinging thumb and wounded pride… not to mention the six pairs of eyes he can feel burning holes through him.
“Are you all right?”
Sirius’ eyes snap open to reveal a pallid eleven-year-old crouching down in front of him. He instantly recognizes him as the sandy-haired boy who’d sat across from him at the Sorting ceremony.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” mumbles Sirius, averting his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the well of pity and concern in his counterpart’s.
“Your thumb looks pretty scorched,” the boy points out quietly, sounding apologetic, like he’d brought up a topic he wasn’t supposed to talk about.
Sirius’ gaze flickers to his hand. “I’ll run it under some water later.” Even as he speaks the words he isn’t sure why. It is as if he is reassuring the boy before him that he’ll be okay, which would indicate the boy cared. Who really cared about Sirius Black?
“Well, actually, I”” he stops, and Sirius notices a light blush creeping up the kid’s neck. “I think I know a spell that might heal it. If” if you want?”
Sirius is thoroughly confused by the boy’s kindness. But he nods numbly and holds up his hand for inspection.
It only takes a quick wave of the young man’s wand, and instantly, like a match crashing in a bucket of water, the pain is gone. Sirius blinks up in surprise.
“Thanks. Where’d you learn that?”
The fellow Gryffindor allows a tiny smile. “I checked out a book on healing spells from the library.”
“Library? You’ve already been to the library?”
The boy nods shyly, causing his hair to fall lightly across his eyes.
Sirius can’t stifle a short laugh. “Sure you weren’t meant for Ravenclaw?”
The color rises higher on the boy’s cheeks, but he responds quickly. “I don’t know… I mean, I trust the Sorting Hat. It’s been around for ages, hasn’t it?”
At this, Sirius is reminded of his own Sorting troubles. He turns his head and sighs deeply, gazing down at the charred envelope at his foot. “I wish my mum was as casual about it as you.”
The kind-faced boy offers a gentle nod of understanding. “Yeah, I heard that Howler.”
“You and everyone else in a twenty-mile radius.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” the boy begins carefully, “why does she care so much?”
“Because he’s a Black,” someone answers for him.
Sirius looks up to see a familiar face topped with familiar black hair approaching their corner.
“And I’m a Potter,” he announces proudly, “though… maybe that’s not quite as impressive.” James feigns a look of thoughtful contemplation.
The sandy-haired boy chuckles, and in spite of it all, Sirius can’t help but join him. Still laughing, he says, “Trust me, there’s nothing special about my family.”
“Oh, I know that,” James assures, “it’s your loony mother that’s bent on sticking you in the dungeons for seven years.”
James offers his hand to help Sirius from the floor. Sirius takes it, stands, and brushes off his robes.
Turning to the boy who had healed Sirius’ burn, James says, “Call me James. You are…?”
“Remus,” the boy provides, standing to full height.
“Well, Remus, you don’t care if Sirius has got a last name from a box of crayons, do you?”
Remus appears as if he isn’t sure whether to chuckle or be offended on Sirius’ behalf, but Sirius shoots him a soothing grin. “No,” says Remus, tucking his wand back in his robes. “Doesn’t make any difference to me.”
“Good chap!” James exclaims, leading the other two to cushioned seats by the fire. The other eyes in the room went back to focusing on their work, and Sirius feels a sudden upsurge of gratitude for these two boys called James and Remus.
Remus lowers himself to a chair and fidgets with his hands. James practically throws himself upon the sofa. Sirius, though, notices a small, round boy sitting beside his be-speckled friend.
“Oy, sorry,” says James at once, apparently picking up on Sirius’ hesitation. But instead of addressing Sirius further, he turns accusingly to the boy next to him. “You worried about this bloke’s surname?”
The round boy shakes his head, peering up at Sirius with quiet wonder.
“Great,” says James. “Sirius, this is Peter. Peter, meet Sirius. Peter and I met on the Hogwarts Express.”
Sirius nods and forces a faint smile before sitting on Remus’ right and completing their circle. The boy named Peter goes back to watching his bishop attack James’ rook, and Remus barely suppresses a low laugh when James’ boyish features light up with indignation.
“Checkmate. Sirius, you want to play?” asks Peter as he resets the pieces.
“Yeah. Actually, want to try exploding snap?”
James agrees exuberantly, proclaiming, “I’ll play Sirius and winner plays Remus. Right?”
“Right,” Remus approves happily.
As they play, Sirius laughs more in the span of ten minutes than he has in over ten years. James is hilariously competitive and Sirius isn’t afraid to take the mickey out of him for it.
When Sirius wins, Peter jumps up in excitement and screams, “Brilliant! I’ve been playing games with this codger for three days and that’s the first time he’s been beaten at exploding snap! How’s it feel, James?”
James scowls good-humouredly. “How many times did I beat you, Peter? Sixteen? So I reckon it feels sixteen times less terrible.”
All four erupt in laughter, rolling on the ground and forgetting the game completely. James shoots a hex at Remus, turning his hair a shocking shade of pink. “Sorry!” he hollers in surprise, “I didn’t know what that’d combination would do, I just”” but he is cut off, as Remus mutters some nonsense word, flicks his wand with amateur experimentation, and relocates James’ eyebrows to his lips.
Soon a battle of jinxes breaks out, none of them having any idea what spells they’re actually casting. By the end, Remus’ pink hair is in braids, Peter’s ears are transfigured into toads, James’ relocated eyebrows are nine inches long, and Sirius’ skin is turned an unnatural shade of dark chocolate. Remus conjures a shirt to go with it, reading: “Seriously Black.”
They sat in the infirmary a half hour later, each of them receiving a good long lashing from Madam Pomfrey about wand safety and responsibility. Somehow they manage to keep straight faces throughout, but when Pomfrey turns her back to retrieve a potion for Peter’s ears, James pokes Sirius with his wand one last time, turning his skin a brilliant shade of blue.
Remus whispers that they’d gotten in enough trouble as it was, but even in the few short hours of knowing him, Sirius can see the laughter in his eyes which negates his remarks of caution.
And for the first time in his life, Sirius feels the laughter in himself.
For the first time in his life, Sirius Black is able to forget who he is.
“I see you have found some friends, Remus,” muses a deep, airy voice.
Sirius looks up from his lunch and into the twinkling eyes of Professor Dumbledore. He shoots a look to Remus and notices his friend smiling warmly. The two seemed to know each other at least moderately well.
“Yes, Professor, this is James, Sirius, and Peter,” introduces Remus.
Dumbledore gives a courteous bow. “A pleasure. Allow me to personally welcome each of you to Hogwarts.”
The other three mumble their thanks.
“Actually, Remus, I was hoping to borrow your friend Sirius for a brief moment. I promise not to keep him long.”
Sirius’ eyebrow shoots up. He casts his gaze to James, who only looks back at him with a perplexed expression.
“Is this about my mum, Professor?” Sirius asks, feeling a tugging instinct that his guess is right.
Dumbledore peers down at him in silence for a moment, seeming to gauge whether he should broach the subject in front of others. Eventually he decides it is Sirius’ choice. “It is, in fact. I received an owl from her late yesterday afternoon.”
Sirius feels a weight drop in the pit of his stomach.
The last two days were blissful. For forty-eight beautiful hours, he had forgotten about his horrible family. He had forgotten how inadequate he would always be to them, and how he’d forever feel the sting of guilt for not being the son his mother wanted. He had forgotten that he was fused to a concept so thoroughly outside his realm of understanding, and that he would always, always, be reminded of that every time he did something as simple as write his name.
Before he can erase the pain of remembrance and respond to Dumbledore’s questioning gaze, James is speaking.
“Sir, he doesn’t want to switch Houses.”
“And we don’t want him to switch, either,” chimes Remus.
James nods approvingly. “His mum’s just being a bit…”
“Elitist,” Remus provides. “No offense,” he adds hurriedly.
Sirius can only mutely shake his head. He can scarcely believe what he’s witnessing. People… friends… begging the Headmaster to let him stay? Such attachment is just as foreign to him as the meaning of family itself. Yet he feels a swelling of something unidentifiable pick at the back of his mind.
“Besides, he’s already started classes with us,” offers Peter.
“Right, exactly,” James agrees hastily. “And it’s not even””
“Boys, boys, calm down,” chuckles Dumbledore. “I only wanted to inform Sirius that, unfortunately, we do not allow students to switch Houses once they are sorted.”
Sirius’ head snaps up. James and Peter holler excitedly and Remus reaches across the table to give Sirius a pat on the shoulder.
“You’re” you mean I’m in Gryffindor… permanently?” he sputters.
Dumbledore nods.
“Excellent!” he exclaims happily. The four boys share broad, teeth-baring grins, and Sirius is sure he is floating.
“I will be owling your mother tonight,” Dumbledore continues, specks of light coming alive with amusement in his bright blue eyes. “I hope she is not too displeased.” Something in his tone is ironic and it does not escape Sirius’ notice.
But with that, the Headmaster is gone, striding back towards the teachers’ table.
James’ toothy grin does not falter. “See that?” he says, “you’re dead stuck.”
“Or just dead in general,” he mutters, but there is such mirth in his voice that James knows to brush it off.
Then, with a sudden look of concentration, James lowers his fork and eyes each of his friends with deft consideration. He lingers for a moment on Peter before one corner of his mouth tugs into a crooked grin.
“What’re you thinking, James?” Remus asks suspiciously.
“I’m thinking that this is the right time to tell you lot about… an idea I’ve had.”
Peter tilts his head to one side.
“Well, you know how this blasted castle is impossible to navigate without getting lost?” James queries.
Sirius snickers. “That’s only you.”
“Shut it,” he snaps playfully. “Well, regardless, this idea… it’s going to take some time. A lot of time, probably, but that’s all the more reason to start now.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “See, mates, I was thinking” we’d do much better with our pranks if we had a map.”
The Sorting Hat was quite right to note Sirius’ acute level of intelligence.
But not even Merlin himself would have been able to surmise exactly what that map would eventually come to mean to him later. Nor could anyone have guessed exactly what those three boys would come to be to him later.
Sirius Black was born into a cruel, loveless family. He was neglected in every way that counts. His mother made him feel worthless and hallow. And worst of all, his name” a thing he had no choice in deciding” haunted him like an omnipresent shadow, looming over his heart with weighty significance.
So it was no surprise that he did not understand. It was no surprise that his mind raced with wonder and curiosity when others spoke of family, and love, and friendship, with admiration and ease. It was no surprise that he was left with a gaping void in his soul, a void with bruised edges and battered memories.
And he doesn’t think he’s ever truly known the meaning of family. He doesn’t think he’s ever truly known the meaning of love. But as he watches his three new friends talk animatedly about an all-knowing map, the swelling sensation that picks at the back of his mind returns.
Eventually, he realizes what it is: meaning.
The meaning of family, he decides, cannot be defined by books or rumors. Family is something created, not something born into. Family can be one person or many, and it can be relatives or friends. Family is recognizable not by similar physical traits or a shared last name, but by sparkling eyes, small moments of caring, enduring moments of sacrifice, and countless moments of love.
He knows he will never have such a family waiting for him at Grimmauld Place. He knows, somehow, that his mother will never love him.
And sure, Sirius Black might only be eleven.
But as he receives another hearty pat on the back from Remus, and glimpses into the mischievous eyes of James, he understands:
At least I’ll always have a family here.
And whatever family is, Sirius decides”
“Oy, Sirius, you up for another round of exploding snap?”
”he wholly and unequivocally loves it.