Intended

[three]

In the library, the men gather and discuss family history and power, while the women sit in the family room and pretend to watch the children as they play. This is just another party, another gathering where each pureblooded family tries to outdo the others present, be it in finery or otherwise.

Sirius sits by his mother, staring miserably at the other children who wander in and out of the room as they please. He is supposed to remain here, a perfect little gentleman who is the living proof of the dominance of the Blacks over other pureblood families. At four, he has been trained to listen, to obey, and for that he is pampered and treated as a prince.

It does not mean that he enjoys it, though.

Sometimes he wonders why his parents are so strict on him, rarely requiring him to be present, but still needing to know what he is doing at all times. His mother does not speak to him but to tell him what is expected and his father tends to speak in ways that leave him struggling to understand what is being said. Both of them disapprove of too many things that Sirius likes. They are always sending the house elves after him to call him back inside, to tell him not to touch his father's books, to try and stop him from painting moustaches on the portraits and to wrest his mother's wand away from him before he accidentally sets fire to one of the heirlooms.

It only makes him want to do more, to know why other children are allowed to play outside and simply be children when he has all these rules he is not fond of but still must obey. Even his younger brother, Regulus, is allowed to do more than he is.

His eyes follow various people until he sees his cousins, huddled together in a corner, whispering secrets to each other. Like everyone in the room, they are too wrapped up in themselves to care about anyone else. So it comes as a surprise when one of them, Andromeda, picks her way over to him, plucking at his sleeve to get his attention.

‘Bored?'

He nods. The girl laughs as she around the room. Most of the women are engrossed in conversation, not paying attention to who walks in and out.

‘Come with me.'

‘But what about…' Sirius motions towards his mother, unwilling to disobey even if he wants so desperately to leave this room.

‘Oh, hush! She won't notice if you're gone for a bit.'

And no one does. Sirius is surprised that his mother doesn't say anything when he stands up, slipping his hand into Andromeda's even as she taps her goblet of wine to refill it. He is even more surprised that no one seems to care that they are gone, a couple of his mother's friends glancing over at him only once before going back to their conversation.

If he had known it was this easy, he would have left ages ago.

Still, he is wary when Andromeda leads him from the room and pushes aside a tapestry, revealing a corridor lined with portraits that he had no inkling about. He walks slowly, his ears pricked for even the faintest sound of someone calling for him or footsteps following them, but his caution is soon gone, replaced by natural childish excitement as the portraits stir and stare at him. Andromeda traces patterns into the wall with her fingers, pausing to read the name under each painting- more for his benefit than hers, he realizes, as he can barely read.

‘Mars Black.'

‘Yes, I know. Now move along children,' the man drawls before he turns back to his book, forever lost on the third page to immortality. Sirius stares at him. He has heard so much about Mars Black, about his passion and his madness, but he does not know why the portrait hangs here, in this dim corridor where no one can find it. He moves ahead, now pulling Andromeda along as he moves to the next portrait and tries to read the name himself.

‘And you're Ara… ara… Arachi?'

‘Arachne,' the womant corrects, her voice stiff and commanding. ‘And who are you two?'

‘I'm Sirius. This is Andie- Andromeda. Black.'

‘I had a sister named Andromeda,' Arachne tells them, for a moment slipping out of the stern mask she has been painted into and a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

The next portrait is quite a distance down the corridor, where the air is dark and musty. Sirius isn't too keen to look at it but Andromeda insists that he come with her, and besides, isn't this more exciting that sitting stiffly in that horrible room and listening to their mothers talk about nothing at all? He reluctantly follows her, suddenly filled with a nervousness that has little to do with the fact that he knows he shouldn't be here.

They stop in front of a painting of a handsome youth, dark hair falling into his eyes and flowing down past his shoulders. Andromeda stares at him in awe, reaching out small fingers to brush against the frame. Paint flakes from the spot where she touches the portrait and the young man looks down at her as he quickly moves away from her wandering touch.

‘Watch it!'

Sirius jumps. The man's tone isn't particularly harsh, but there is something in his voice that makes Sirius shudder, something he does not quite understand. He looks up at the painting, squinting through the darkness to try and see the youth clearly.

He is startled when he sees the eyes that settle on him. They are a pale grey, hooded over and clouded, but otherwise the same eyes that he has seen in his own face. The man in the portrait looks surprised, stepping forward and kneeling down in his frame so that his face is only a few inches from the children, his eyes traveling from Sirius's face to Andromeda's and back again.

‘Who are you?'

Sirius feels Andromeda's hand squeezing his as she moves forward.

‘I'm Andromeda,' she says, but she falters on her own name, her voice smaller and less strong than it had been when speaking to the other portraits.

‘And you, boy? What is your name?'

‘Sirius.'

The youth blinks. ‘Sirius… Black?'

‘Yes…'

‘I'm Sirius, too.'

Sirius stares. Andromeda steps forward, her voice rising slightly.

‘You can't be, you're not on the tapestry.'

‘But I am. Or was, rather.'

Sirius has never seen heard of anyone having his name before him, but this young man looks like a Black. Besides, only Blacks have their portraits in this house, so he must be telling the truth. But why would he be here? And why doesn't his name appear on the tapestry?

‘If you're a Black, why are you hiding?' the words are out of his mouth almost before he knows he has said them, and he bites his lip nervously as the man looks him up and down. A thin, odd smile appears on his face, and he raises a hand, beckons for them to come closer. Not sure what else to do, he moves forward, clinging to Andromeda for safety but still curious as to what his namesake has to say.

‘I'm not hiding, children… I've been placed here so that no one can find me.'

‘But… but why?'

A shadow crosses his face. ‘Because I've not been a good Black. When I was alive,' and Andromeda shivers and moves even closer, ‘I didn't listen to what I was told to do.'

‘You were a bad boy?'

Sirius-in-the-portrait smiles again, that same thin smile that makes them both scared. ‘Not a bad boy like you think. I… I didn't agree with what people thought a Black should be. I left the family.'

‘What do you mean, left the family?' Andromeda asks, a distinctive edge to her voice.

‘You know what I'm saying, girl, don't you? Why do you think I was burnt off the tapestry?'

‘You mean…'

The man nods. ‘I still don't think that what they teach you about blood is right. Blood isn't the most important thing and being a pureblood means nothing. But that is something you must find out for yourselves, I think, since your parents will never tell you. They wouldn't like it if they knew you talked to a blood traitor.'

Andromeda gasps, and Sirius turns to stare at her. He has heard the words ‘blood traitor' before, but not often; he has no idea what they might mean, except that it must be something horrible because Andromeda is backing away from the portrait, her eyes narrowed.

‘You… you…'

‘Listen to me…'

‘No, I'm not going to listen… oh, we never should have come here!'

‘Andromeda… Sirius!'

But Andromeda is already storming back up the passage, dragging Sirius behind her. He tries to turn to look at the young man in the portrait but she is going too fast for him to stop. He cannot help but wonder on the man who claims to have his name but has been hidden away from sight, almost forgotten in this lost corridor that now he wishes he had never walked into. His stomach hurts and he can barely keep up with Andromeda, but he does not say anything until they are back outside the corridor again.

‘And-‘

She turns to him, her eyes wide. ‘Sirius, we can't go in there again.'

‘But… but I don't… what was he saying…'

‘Forget about it! Forget he said anything, Sirius,' she begs him. Sirius knows there is something wrong here, but he is tired now, and he doesn't like the way Andromeda is looking at him, as if she is scared of something only she knows about.

‘Okay,' he says, but he doesn't forget. Not really.

*