Prologue
September 1st, 1971
Unlike the rest of her family, Walburga Black had not been surprised to learn that her son had Sorted Gryffindor. Sirius had always been a wild and rampaging lunatic, and Walburga couldn’t deny that her constant spoiling and coddling of him had encouraged his chaotic antics.
It was not the worst thing in the world, she supposed, that a sentient piece of wizardingwear had deemed boldness to be Sirius’s most pronounced trait. Boldness was a coveted trait in their circles, all the more so when it came to Heirs of Sacred Houses. One did not grow to lead the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black by being a meek little sheep after all, and there was no such thing called too much confidence when it came to a member of their blood.
Sirius had always been meant to stand out, Walburga concluded. So she sent off a letter to her son that very night, politely inquiring about his new circle of acquaintances and whether he had made any allies thus far. It was unfamiliar waters that her son, and by extension, all of House Black, was traversing through, and Walburga was intent on using this opportunity to find out more about the enemy as much as she could.
Walburga was relatively pleased with the answer she received. Sirius had made fast friends with the Potter Heir, a supposed blood-traitor family, yet the fact that they remained as pure as any Sacred Family spoke more about them than their words did. There was another boy, Peter something, whom Sirius informed her was a second-generation pureblood. Not very flattering, but Walburga would allow it.
Sirius went on to complain about how there were more Mudbloods in Gryffindor than the rest of the Houses combined, displaying his signature inclinations towards exaggerations as usual. He was being forced to share rooms with a dirty half-blood, who actually seemed to be quite powerful in terms of magic, because Sirius was almost certain the boy had hexed Potter with something similar to a Confundus Charm. Why else would Potter have gotten upset with Sirius for having referred to the half-blood as such? All Sirius had done was speak the truth. Lupin was a half-blood, and he most certainly was dirty, if the state of his shabby robes was anything to go by. Or perhaps Potter’s actions of getting pissed at Sirius was Potter’s own way of expressing his dissent at having to sleep in the same room as that kind of filth.
Walburga tucked the letter into the drawer under her desk, a content smile splitting across her lips. Orion was wrong, there was nothing to be concerned about. Her beautiful boy would excel in navigating the circles of the Gryffindors, as he did in all things. Heir Black would graduate from Hogwarts bolder than any of his predecessors before him, and Walburga would consider herself proud to witness it.