Sirius is scared, horribly terrified of failing; of realising he is in fact not talented, not special, not worthy of praise or approval and affection. He is also convinced to be a fake and a fraud: the intruder who isn’t deserving of winning or of that love and merit he so desperately craves. And, funnily enough, that is why he’ll never try his best, why he’ll never push to his limits, always holding back. He doesn’t want to know, because frankly, he is scared shitless of proving his mother right.
Sirius hates her, yes he knows she is mean and horrible and abusive. He knows especially after every one of James’s warm, steady hugs, and Remus’ stupidly funny jokes, even Peter’s unwavering furrowed brow. But deep down, despite how much he hates himself for it, she is Walburga, his mother, and validation from her gives him the most horribly satisfying sense of pride.
The guilt is insane. He can’t help it and borrows his shameful truths deep, deep, deep. Below stupid jokes and boyish pranks, his flawless façade of the cool, tough, untouchable boy- his big reputation.
Yes, Sirius paints it well but it’s also true that every night unfailingly he’s curled under his blankets, his heart beating fast. It’s then when he can no longer escape the bottled up emotions, as they resurface into endless streams of tears, of self loathing and guilt. So is he the intruder? Is he evil for painting the façade of forced smiles and laughter? But they aren’t fake really, he just happens to show only one side of himself whilst hiding the other away.
So maybe he isn’t a fake, however one thing is for certain: he has an immesurable, plunging, soul eating fear of faliure. And whilst the crumpled papers of homework collect dust in the bottom of his bag and endless doodles of ink stain his hands, really, he does care.