Sirius went down for breakfast the morning after his Sorting, wearing the house scarf provided even though it was late summer weather outside. He loved the castle. Some of the people in it ruled, the rest sucked. And he loved being normal, a Gryffindor, like James who laughed so easily.
He made himself small as he worked his way to the farthest table. When he sat down he noticed he had owl post.
Dread filled him. The red envelope the bird was carrying was smouldering hotly. His friend from the train, and housemate, and dormitory mate, spoke in a clear voice. “It's a Howler. Just open it and then... well, just run!” James Potter had many howlers even in Preschool.
Sirius gingerly took the Howler and suddenly, fire sprang to life and filthy smoke as from a congealed mess in a cauldron engulfed them. BOOM! And then it began. A voice of deadly calm that was somehow magnified ten times at least burst out in a diatribe:
“A fine example to set for your little brother! We didn't raise you to land in GRYFFINDOR, oh the shame, the tradition broken by your thoughtless foolishness. You bring shame on all our ancestors, Phineas Nigellus to Pollux and Irma to Arcturus to your father and I down to impressionable Regulus. Don't you dare think of discarding your duties as a Black, should you ever deserve your surname! Which I DOUBT! If you want enemies, look where you SHOULD have had friends!”
Sirius looked at the Slytherin table. The greasy boy from the train was chuckling, Evan looked incredibly cold. Sirius knew why, because his cousin had hinted strongly at friendship the few times they ever met. Hardest to make eye contact with the Sixth year Andy, his Andromeda, who looked shocked, hurt, let down, disappointed.
The Howler finally curled in a flame and fell to be extinguished right on target in Sirius' pumpkin juice.
“Well she's relaxed and calmed down,” Sirius said, reaching for sausages. He gave a sarcastic smile and wave at the Slytherin table. James put a hand on Sirius' shoulder. James was there, and Sirius would not forget it, snakes in his shoes? Not for long. The two were real practical jokers and adept with a wand for eleven year olds.
If there was a way Mother could make him a pariah in both houses she had managed it. At the Slytherin table, the thin dark boy with the big nose wore a curious half-smile, and his dark eyes were glittering. Sirius hadn't thought much of him on the train, but he was used to people like that. A streak of dark grandiosity ran through the Black family's blood, it seemed,
The Slytherins looked damned unpleasant. Sirius wanted fun, and he had a great new friend in a way he had never imagined having before, like something out of a novel. Never, ever could he forget James Potter.