Cherry Wine

September 1st, 1971

Sirius Black was not at all nervous, thank you very much. He was of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and therefore he was confident and walked with his head held high. If he felt like he was going to piss himself just a little bit as he trailed behind his mother and father through Kings Cross, he wouldn’t admit that— not even to himself. And especially not to Regulus. 

“You promise to owl me every week, right?” His brother spoke softly to him as they stopped outside the entrance to the platform, gripping his hand tightly enough that Sirius thought it possible he would never let go. Sirius smiled down at him, something like guilt pooling in his gut at the thought of leaving and not taking Reg with him.

”I promise,” he all but whispered back, squeezing his hand. The brothers had a habit of that— speaking in whispers to each other, drawing as little attention to themselves as they could. It felt better that way, safer. Of course, Sirius only whispered when it came to Regulus. In every other instance of his life, Sirius was loud and brazen and bright and everything a Black shouldn’t be. From the moment he was born he made himself known in every room he walked into (which, it could be argued actually was a very Black family thing to do, but Sirius made himself known for all the wrong reasons). He never sat still, not at those blasted formal family dinners, not during his piano lessons, or his French lessons, or his Italian lessons, or even in his fathers office, as he was scolded and berated and made to feel like scum beneath the feet of the rest of his family. He also took to adopting the very opposite beliefs from his parents and cousins, rolling his eyes at the notions of blood purity and wealth and the so-called “Sacred Twenty Eight. ” He opposed that suffocating authority in his life in every way he knew how, and had plenty of scars to prove it. 

But with Reg, it was different. With Reg, it was like every instinct he had that usually possessed him to be fiery and loud and rebellious was smothered by his instinct to keep his brother safe. With Reg, all he could think about was protecting him and shrinking the both of them down until they were so small nothing could touch them. With Reg it was just different. It always had been. He reckoned it always would be.

“Come, boys,” Walburga beckoned, her stony gaze fixated on the muggles that passed the family by all around them, “This place makes me sick.” Sirius tutted, fighting the urge to roll his eyes lest he be blasted by some sort of painful hex, muggles looking on or not. Regulus, holding Sirius’s hand even tighter now, however that was possible, pulled him through the platform gate, eager to follow his mothers orders before Sirius could decide against it. Orion followed behind them and the family Black was now surrounded by the utter chaos that was platform 9 ¾. The platform was huge and so, so loud. It was full of life. It was wonderful, if a little overwhelming. Sirius had never seen so many witches and wizards in his entire life, including at those huge family events he hated so much. He gaped, open mouthed at the families all around in bright robes and with wet eyes, hugging their children and bidding goodbyes as trolleys pushed past at every angle. 

“Wow,” said Regulus, his eyes darting around and settling on a small family across from them. Sirius followed his gaze and observed two older people, who almost reminded him of Father Christmas and Mrs. Claus. They were hugging a boy no older than Sirius with jet black hair that stuck up at every angle and glasses that sat slightly askew on his face. 

“Stop it, mum,” the boy said as his mother planted kisses on his cheek, although it didn’t seem as though he wanted her to stop at all. Sirius promptly turned away. 

Regulus engulfed him in a tight hug. “I’ll miss you,” he spoke, “so much.” Sirius smiled softly at him. Regulus was the only person in the whole world that Sirius had ever been soft for. 

“I’ll miss you too, Reg.”

Sirius couldn’t tell if he was more nervous or relieved when he finally got on the train. Obviously any time away from his parents was welcome— they tended to make him feel like there was no oxygen left in his lungs. He would miss Regulus, though. He wasn’t necessarily afraid for Reg, his brother had always been the golden child and Sirius was fairly certain he had never even had so much as a stinging hex from their mother. Still, it didn’t feel right leaving him there. He shook off the feeling, burying it deep down within him to dissect later. As he walked the length of the train, he found that almost every compartment was full, aside from one that held his cousins. He shuddered and kept walking until he got to the very end, where the last compartment held just one boy. 

He opened the door, peering in at him. “Hey- mind if I sit? Everywhere else is full.” The boy jumped at the intrusion, looking up at him and nodding quickly before going back to reading his book. Sirius sat down across from the boy and studied him. He was taller, and slightly lanky. He had an ashy brown sort of hair that looked like it needed to be brushed and, perhaps most interestingly, he was riddled with scars. All kinds: Thin, pinkish, straight scars; raised bumpy purple ones; deep, red gashes that Sirius doubted would ever go away. They made him want to call out to the boy– made him want to say I'm here, do you see me? I have them too. I have them too. Can you hear me? Please hear me.

Instead, he said, “I’m Sirius. Sirius Black.” The boy glanced up at him and smiled slightly. Despite his scarring, or perhaps because of it, Sirius thought he was quite cool looking. 

“I’m Remus,” said the boy, “Remus Lupin.” Sirius grinned at him. He had a good feeling.

Just then, the compartment door flew open and two more boys came bustling in, shutting and locking it behind them, giggling and shushing each other as they peered through the glass.

“I think we lost him,” said one of them, who Sirius now realized was the boy from earlier with the crazy hair and the loving parents. He sat up a little straighter. 

“Lost who?” Said Remus, closing his book. Crazy hair boy laughed, a bright, sunny thing. He turned to his friend, a short, stout boy with blond hair and a nervous disposition. 

“What did he say his name was, Peter?” The short boy, Peter, shrugged, looking exhilarated and on the verge of a panic attack all at once. Crazy hair boy shrugged, too. “No idea, then. I pantsed him. He was a right git, though. Insulted my family.”

“Did he?” Inquired Sirius, “What’s your surname?” At this, the boy sat down next to Sirius and held out his hand. 

“Potter,” he said proudly, “and I’m James Potter.” Sirius took this information in as he looked at the hand outstretched before him. Potter . He was Sacred Twenty-Eight, then. Not disgustingly so, as Sirius was sure he had heard his parents call that family “ Mudblood lovers” and “ Blood traitors” and “ scum of the earth” before. They would certainly kill him if he even dared to associate with a Potter. Sirius shook the hand. 

“Sirius Black,” he said, much less proud than James had been to announce his heritage. James made a face. 

“Blimey,” he said, “sorry to hear it.” The compartment went quiet for a moment, as Peter and Remus watched with bated breath to see how Sirius would react. Sirius stared at James, at that knowing grin that spread across his face, and promptly burst into laughter. James quickly followed suit, as did Peter and Remus. The nervous energy that had sat like a rock in Sirus’s stomach all day began to fizzle out. 

The four boys made easy conversation the rest of the journey to Hogwarts. James told them all about the boy they had pantsed, ( “His hair was so greasy I thought it might catch fire!” Peter had said, which made James laugh, which made Peter’s face go pink) , and Sirius and James groaned about the life of an Heir, about music lessons and language lessons and boring black tie events they had both been dragged to. They bonded very quickly, in fact so quickly that Sirius was quite sure he had known James his entire life. Remus was quieter, but still chimed in here and there in all the chatter ( “No Peter, I’m fairly certain they won’t make first years wrestle a troll,” he said, patting Peters arm in comfort when the shorter boy had wondered aloud about how the sorting ceremony worked) . The sorting ceremony was a topic none of them much wanted to touch aside from James. Remus was very opposed to the idea of ending up in Ravenclaw like his father, ( “I mean, I do like to read, but they sound like a right bunch of bores, don’t they?”) and Peter seemed quite sure that he wasn’t going to be sorted at all. Sirius himself couldn’t decide which fate would be worse– ending up in Slytherin or ending up literally anywhere else. He supposed Ravenclaw might not be too terrible, but if he was sorted into Hufflepuff, or Merlin forbid Gryffindor , his parents would probably feed his soul to a dementor or something. James, on the other hand, was ecstatic at the idea of being a Gryffindor. 

“My whole family has been Gryffindor for centuries! My dad even has the Gryffindor motto tattooed on his forearm.” Sirius snorted. The only motto ever heard at Grimmauld Place was Toujours Pur, or always pure . 

“Merlin,” said Sirius, “If I got sorted into Gryffindor I'm not sure what I would do. Mother would maim me, I think.” James considered this for a moment.

“Yeah, probably,” he said, “but I think you’d be a really good Gryffindor.” Sirius made a face. “No, I’m serious!” continued James, “you’ve got that lionhearted spirit about you.” Sirius just shrugged, but he felt strangely invigorated at that. At the sureness James carried when he said it. James had said Sirius would be a good Gryffindor. Granted, James had just met him. All the same, the idea felt dangerous. It felt strangely exciting. It felt impossible.

“I guess we’ll find out,” he responded, an entirely new kind of nervous energy bubbling to the surface within him. 

And find out they did. Sirius was one of the first to be sorted, after Abbot ( “Hufflepuff!”) and Avery ( “Slytherin!”). He walked up to the front of the hall with an entirely false confidence and legs that felt akin to jelly. Sitting himself on the tall wooden stool, he picked at the splintered wood as the Sorting Hat was lowered over his head, the faces of his fellow students disappearing to make room for the darkness that engulfed him. The Hat smelled kind of like mildew. Sirius scrunched up his nose. 

“Hmmmm,” the Hat beckoned from everywhere, the sound of its old voice radiating inside Sirius’s skull, “curious.” Sirius gulped. “Another Black, then? How intriguing. You’ve a very strong mind… intense morals… a keen sense for adventure and a strong yearning to belong…” 

“ Would you please hurry up?” Sirius thought, his nervous energy bouncing around inside him like a ping-pong ball. He wasn’t a fan of being analyzed. The Hat chuckled.

“Yes, alright then,” it said, seemingly making up its mind. (Do hats have minds?) “This is certainly a first.” Before Sirius could ask what that meant, the Hat shouted out to the hall one huge, life altering word: “GRYFFINDOR!”

As the hat was removed from his head, Sirius swore that his heart dropped all the way to his feet. There was absolutely, positively, no way . He sat on the stool for another few moments, frozen with shock. He was terrified and giddy all at once, trying to picture what Mothers face would look like when she got the owl. He hoped the images he came up with were wrong.

“Mr. Black,” the voice of Professor McGonagall pulled him out of his thoughts, “If you would be so kind as to go and join the rest of Gryffindor house at their table?”

“Oh,” Sirius muttered, his cheeks now burning red, “R-right then, yeah.” He hopped off the stool, ignoring the Slytherin table completely for fear of making eye contact with one of his cousins. He made a beeline for the Gryffindor table, and sat down on the end with his head in his hands as the Sorting continued. Remus was the next of the group from the train to be sorted, with the only other new Gryffindor so far being a redheaded girl named Lily Evans. They both watched as Remus made his way onto the stool, and Sirius couldn’t help but notice a slight limp in his left leg as he walked. He was promptly sorted into Gryffindor, and as the hat was removed from his head, Remus turned to smile at Sirius, as if to say “ We're in this together! Isn’t that exciting?” And, despite his impending doom, Sirius couldn’t help but feel that it was. Remus took his seat next to Sirius and patted his arm. 

“Hope your Mum doesn’t maim you, mate,” he whispered, half-watching as Mary Macdonald was sorted into Gryffindor. 

“Me too,” Sirius replied, “although I suppose I have the rest of the year to learn protection spells.” Remus laughed even though Sirius wasn’t really joking. Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene Mckinnon were also sorted into Gryffindor, and promptly took their seats on either side of Lily and Mary across from the two boys. Both Remus and Sirius perked up when it came time for Peter and James to be sorted, momentarily pausing their riveting game of thumb wars to watch. Peter, much to everyone's surprise, especially his own, was sorted into Gryffindor. James, to no one's surprise, was also sorted into Gryffindor. The two sat down, with James beside Sirius and Peter beside Remus. 

“Told you you’d make Gryffindor!” cheered James, slapping Sirius on the back with fervor. He smiled brightly at Sirius, a dimple forming on his left cheek. Something warm settled in Sirius’s chest.

“How did you know?” Sirius asked, transfixed by the sureness that radiated around James Potter. He carried himself with such confidence, such brightness. Having grown up in the darkness, Sirius felt drawn to that light. James just shrugged, brushing his untamed hair out of his eyes.

“I didn’t,” he said, grabbing a handful of nuts from the middle of the table and popping an almond into his mouth, “I just hoped you would be.” Sirius just blinked.

“Why?”

“So we can be best mates, obviously,” James responded, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Sirius grinned at this, a kind of sunshine swimming in his eyes that he had never known before.

“Obviously,” he echoed, wrapping his arm around James’s shoulders, “how could I have been so stupid?” James laughed at this and proceeded to shove an almond up Sirius’s nose, which led to a small but furious battle between the two boys to see who could fit the most nuts in their nostrils before sneezing. Sirius made it to six before Peter jumped out of his chair and pointed at the newest student being sorted.

“That’s him!” Peter blurted, “that’s the boy you pantsed on the train, James!” Remus, Sirius, and James all leaned forward in their chairs, trying to get a better look at the mystery boy. As he pulled almonds out of his nose, Sirius noted that the kid really did have very greasy hair. 

“Blimey,” said Sirius, “he looks constipated.” The four boys burst into laughter as the hat was lowered over the kids greasy-haired head. 

“Hey!” Lily Evans piped up, kicking Sirius’s leg under the table, “Severus happens to be my friend!” James pulled a face at this.

“His name is Severus? ” He said through his laughter, “Merlin's beard, it fits him so well!” Lily glowered at James, huffing and turning around to watch Severus be sorted into Slytherin. She deflated a bit and turned back to glare at the boys, who were giggling amongst themselves at the new nickname (Snivellus) that Sirius had dawned onto Severus. 

“Quit bullying him!” she snarled, her face burning a shade of red only rivaled by that of her flaming hair, “he hasn’t done anything to you!” James rolled his eyes.

“He called my family blood traitors !” James retorted, crossing his arms. She blanched and rolled her eyes, looking like she wanted to say more, but turned to Marlene and ended the conversation there. Sirius had a fleeting suspicion that she hadn’t really known what that meant. He found the idea of not understanding the complexities of pureblood culture dizzying. He lowered his voice slightly and turned to James.

“So that's what he said?” Sirius muttered, “What’s his name? Snape? I’m almost positive he’s not even a pureblood.”

James shook his head, “Nah, I think he's half blood.”

“Yeah, half wizard, half slimy troll.” At this, James snorted.

“I’d been wondering about the smell!”

The rest of the evening was possibly the most fun Sirius ever had. The four boys spent the feast talking about everything from their favorite Quidditch teams (James was very passionate about Quidditch, Sirius learned) to what they thought their classes would be like. Peter reckoned that transfiguration seemed the most difficult, but James was most excited for that class. Remus just seemed happy to be there. They also got to know the girls some and the talk turned to their families (Dorcas and Marlene were halfbloods, but Mary and Lily were both muggleborn). Sirius and James were obviously both pureblood, as was Peter, but Remus was a halfblood. Sirius had never been around so many non-purebloods in his life. He reckoned his mother would have a fit. Normally, the thought might scare him, but tonight, surrounded by all of his new friends in the warm light of the Great Hall, his stomach full of delicious food and his ears ringing with laughter, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. In fact, he didn’t think much about his family at all until that night, after the boys had claimed their beds in the dorm room and put on their pajamas. Listening to Peter snoring and staring up at his ceiling, Sirius tried to make any sense whatsoever of the day's events. He had heard his entire life how vile Gryffindor was– how awful it would be to have to go through seven full years in any house but Slytherin. But he found it wasn’t so bad at all. The common room was warm and inviting, with a great fire roaring and huge, ridiculously comfortable looking armchairs. The reds and golds of the dormitory has set Sirius at ease in a way the green and silver of his bedroom at home never had. He felt at home. He felt so at home it scared him, because what was he supposed to do with that? How was he ever supposed to go back to Grimmauld place and pretend that it was where he was meant to be when this place had made him feel more at peace than he had in his whole 11 years? It was almost painful that a group of boys he had met only hours ago had made him feel more like he belonged than his family ever had. It was painful, actually. It hurt more than any stinging hex he’d ever been given. He sighed and got out of bed, abandoning any notion of sleep and sitting up on the window ledge to peer at the moon. He looked at the sky, littered with stars, his family's namesakes, and wondered if Regulus was looking too. They used to hide out in the attic of the house together at night, looking out the small circle window and admiring the constellations together after their parents had gone to sleep. The thought of Reg looking through that window all alone tonight made Sirius tear up, if only a little bit. He sat there for a while, staring at the sky, wondering if it was staring back, until he was pulled out of his thoughts by a shuffling noise over James's bed. He quickly wiped his eyes as James tiptoed over and sat down next to Sirius on the ledge. 

“Hey,” James said, setting his chin on his knee and fiddling with the leg of his pajama pants.

“Hey.”

“How come you're awake?”

“How come you're awake?” 

“I asked you first!”

“I asked you second.” James rolled his eyes, but Sirius didn’t miss the smile that crept onto his face. 

“Fair enough. I’m a bit nervous about starting school, I think,” James confessed. 

“The great James Potter? Nervous? How ever could it be?” James just shrugged. They sat in silence for a minute, until Sirius spoke up again, “I'm scared, too.” 

“Then we can be scared together,” James smiled. Sirius could get used to that James Potter smile. 

“That doesn’t sound very Gryffindorly of us.”

“I think being scared and doing it anyway is the most Gryffindorly thing you can do.”

“I guess you’re right.” Silence again. After an hour or so, James stood up, patting Sirius’s shoulder.

“I’m going to sleep. Got to have my beauty sleep if I’m going to impress everyone with my incredible wit tomorrow.” Sirius laughed.

“Alright, I’ll go too then.” Sirius and James both buried themselves under their respective covers, and Sirius fell asleep to the sound of James’s words swirling around his mind: we can be scared together.

The next morning, Sirius found himself eating breakfast to the lovely sounds of James and Lily arguing.

“You are an arrogant toerag!”

“All I said was that you looked nice today!”

“And you think I’ll like you after you were a bully to my best friend just because you complimented me?”

“No– yes? I'm confused.”

“Idiot.” Lily said, grabbing her rucksack and leaving the table. Sirius buttered James’s toast and slid the plate over to him,

“I think she’s still mad about us laughing at Snivellus.”

“Oh, you think so?” James retorted, shoving the toast into his mouth at a record pace, “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“No clue why she cares so much,” Remus chimed in, “he doesn’t seem very friendly, if you ask me.” They all peered over to the Slytherin table and watched as Snape glared daggers at James.

“I think he’s going to try and kill you in your sleep, mate.” Sirius said solemnly. 

“Or he could just do it at potions,” Peter said, popping a strawberry into his mouth, “we have it with the Slytherins our first class today.”

“Ughhhhhh,” James groaned, falling dramatically onto Sirius, “don’t make me go!”

“It’s the first lesson ever James, you can’t very well miss it,” Remus said, stealing a strawberry from Peter's plate.

“Why don’t we think of a way to make class with Snivellus a little bit more interesting?” Sirius said, mischief swimming in his eyes. James shot up from his slumped form.

“You mean, like prank him?”

“Well, yeah, what else?”

“I think you're my soulmate.”

They walked to the dungeons with vigor in their step, giddy with anticipation. Remus, ever so brilliant, had read ahead in the text and suggested that adding porcupine quills to a hot cauldron might cause some nasty face boils. It was perfect. It was so perfect that Sirius might have even felt bad about it, had it not been for their running into Snape before class began. James had accidentally bumped into him as they made their way through the classroom door.

“Ugh, don’t touch me!” Severus grimaced, brushing off his robes like James had some nasty disease.

“He didn’t do it on purpose!” Peter piped up, before quickly moving to hide himself behind Remus.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, crossing his arms and raising his brow, looking horribly like his mother, “now he’s going to have to wash his robes about a hundred times to get rid of all the grease!” James, Remus, and Peter all laughed, and Severus turned to glare at Sirius, his jaw clenching in anger. 

“Oh, its you ,” he sneered, hardening his gaze even further, “I’m surprised you even showed up to class today, I would’ve thought the shame of being sorted into Gryffindor with your family history would be enough for you to lock yourself away for the rest of your life. Or maybe you're waiting for your parents to lock you away first? I’m sure they'll be so pleased to find out just how much of a disappointment their heir is.” Sirius lunged forward, anger rising in him so quickly he thought he might burst if he didn’t sock that slimy git in the face right now – but Remus grabbed a hold of the back of his robes, leading him away and rolling his eyes at Severus as they passed. 

“What did you do that for?” Sirius whined to Remus, anger dissipating more the longer he looked at him.

“We’ll get him back when the time is right, it would be stupid to blow it now.”  Remus said, sitting down at the table beside Peter and opening his book to the first chapter. It was then, as he glanced over at James grabbing the list of starter ingredients for each of the four of them, and slipping some porcupine quills into his robes pocket as he did so, that Sirius remembered what they were planning. 

“Oh,” he said, sitting down and opening his book too, “right.” Remus smiled and shook his head as James returned with the ingredients, smirking. 

“This is going to be so good ,” he said, sitting down and opening his book as Slughorn began to address the class.

The class was entirely uneventful at the start, but after the syllabus was gone over and the class began to attempt to brew a Wiggenweld potion, James walked by Severus’s table under the guise of grabbing more salamander blood and minutes later Severus’s cauldron had erupted, splashing him and every Slytherin within a few feet of him in the concoction. Sirius had to try very hard to stifle his laughter as half of the Slytherin first years were escorted by Slughorn to the hospital wing to get their faces de-boiled, with Snape's condition being the worst. He looked like a giant wart (“ even more so than usual” , James had whispered) and it was perhaps the funniest thing Sirius had ever seen. He high fived James after Slughorn was safely out of sight. As if summoned, Lily Evans came stomping over to their table.

“You!” She pointed at James, her eyes narrowing in a terrifying amount of anger, “you did that! Didn’t you?” She crossed her arms, as if awaiting a response.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” James retorted, in quite a posh manner indeed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and pretending to read a page of the textbook, “I’ve been focusing diligently on my studies.”

“Hear, hear,” Sirius said, copying James’s manner as he added a bit of Wiggentree bark to the cauldron, “we have no time for something as hilarious, and might I say incredibly intuitive, as sabotaging poor old Snivellus’s cauldron.” Lily scoffed, glaring at the two of them like she was trying to explode them with her mind.

“Don’t worry,” James said softly, “I’ve heard great things about Madame Pomfrey. I’m sure she’ll have him back to his old, revolting self in no time.” Peter snorted from behind them.

“You are perhaps the most foul creature to ever walk the planet, Potter,” she said promptly, turning around and going back to sit at her own desk. 

“I’m going to marry that woman,” James said, resting his chin in his hand as he watched her furiously add salamander blood to her potion.

“Sure you are, mate.”

Professor Slughorn came back ten minutes later looking very flushed indeed, and by that time, the class was over. He seemed to have no idea how Snape's potion had been so disastrous, and so the boys walked into their next class, Transfiguration, completely unpunished. It was very encouraging. They sat down in the same order they had in potions, with Sirius and James at the table in front of Remus and Peter, and shared very confused looks with each other as the only occupant of Professor McGonnagall’s desk was a small tabby cat. It stared at them curiously, tilting its head to one side. James copied the movement. The cat stayed there, unmoving for several more minutes until the entire class had taken their seats, when it promptly leapt from the desk and took the form of McGonagall before it could hit the ground. 

“Bloody hell ,” James said, seemingly very delighted, “That was so cool!” Professor McGonnagall set her gaze onto James and pursed her lips.

“Mind your language,” she spoke sternly, “but I thank you for that riveting assessment of my skills.” 

“Anytime, Professor.” She nodded at him slightly and turned to address the class. 

“Good morning, students, I trust that you are all very eager to learn the noble art of Transfiguration, so I shall not bore you too long with introductory statements. I am Professor McGonnagall, your Professor and head of Gryffindor House. I’m quite sure all of you are itching to learn how to transform into an animal as I’ve demonstrated, but I’m afraid we are going to have to start with something quite simpler.” James raised his hand.

“When do we get to learn how to turn into animals?” He asked, knee bouncing in anticipation. She smiled slightly at him.

“I’m afraid the art of becoming an Animagus is very advanced magic indeed– not even N.E.W.T students become Animagi in their time here,” she said plainly, ignoring the way James deflated, “Now, who can tell me exactly what Transfiguration is?” Lily Evans raised her hand before McGonagall had even finished asking the question. 

“Transfiguration is known by wizardkind as the art of turning one thing into another, changing the form and appearance of an object by altering its very molecular structure,” she said proudly, as if reading from a script.

“Very good!” McGonagall mused, “I see someone has done the reading early. A point to Gryffindor.” Lily beamed. “Now,” continued McGonagall, “if you would all turn your books to chapter one, we can begin our lesson on turning matches to needles.”

Sirius had thought turning a match into a needle would be far too easy, but by the end of the lesson, only James had managed to successfully transform his match completely. Remus’s match had gone slightly pointy on the end, and Sirius’s had turned slightly silver, but neither had managed to do it as well as James. Peter hadn’t managed to do much of anything with his match at all, aside from lighting it on fire so many times that he had to get three new ones. Infact, the only person in the whole class who had come close to James was Lily, whose match had turned metallic and even pointy, but she couldn’t seem to figure out how to remove the match-stub from the end. In any case, they had a free period before lunch, so Sirius, Remus, and Peter followed James to the owlery so he could send a letter to his parents about his achievement. 

“The day isn’t even over yet,” said Peter, trudging up the stairs behind them, “shouldn’t you wait until tomorrow?” James just shrugged as he began writing on a scrap piece of parchment.

“I’m sure I’ll owl them tomorrow, too,” he said matter-of-factly, “It’s weird not being around them all the time.” Remus considered this.

“I suppose it is,” he agreed, “I miss my mother like a limb and it’s only been a day.”

“Exactly!” said James, finishing his letter and tying it to the leg of a school owl, “and I’m sure they’ll want to hear from me lots, anyway.” 

“I suppose,” said Peter, “but I’m hungry. Can we go down to lunch now?” Sirius was grateful for the change of subject. 

As they made their way down from the owlery and into the Great Hall, Sirius tried to ignore the ache in his chest. He felt that, perhaps, there was something very wrong with him. He knew that his parents were stricter than others, but he had never considered how fundamentally different his family was from his peers. Sure, he understood that many families weren’t so posh and pureblood-obsessed, but he hadn’t realized that it was normal to feel nurtured by a parent like his friends did. He hadn’t realized that some children had parents who wanted them to write about something as simple as doing well on an assignment. He felt wrong. He felt wrong because he knew his parents didn’t miss him, but also because he didn’t miss them either. Why was it that he could breathe so much easier away from them? Why didn’t his friends feel like that, too? He understood, perhaps, that Remus and Peter might have an easier time at home, but James was the Heir to a Sacred Twenty-Eight family. He had said himself on the train that he had been subjected to language lessons and fancy events and taught all his life how to be proper and polite, so why was it that he didn’t feel as though his parents were dictators in his home? Maybe he does , Sirius thought to himself, Maybe he owled them because he wants them to be proud of him . He thought that this was more likely– that James was overcompensating so his parents didn’t consider him a failure. Sirius could understand that. He clung to that notion– to the idea that he wasn’t the only child with a home devoid of love. It couldn’t just be him. It couldn’t just be him because that would make it his fault, and he didn’t know how he would ever handle that. They sat down at their usual spots and James piled food onto his own plate before frowning at Sirius’s empty one. 

“You alright, mate?” He asked, setting his fork on the table and turning his attention to Sirius. Sirius blinked at him, his depressing train of thought evidently derailed.

“Yeah,” he lied through his teeth, making himself a sandwich that he really didn’t want, “never better.”