Intended

[four]

There are no birthdays in this house. The number of house-elf heads on the wall has marked each passing year with additions, so when his father calls him to the study, a seven year old Sirius stares askance at the gruesome calendar-of-sorts and shrugs.

There are no birthdays in this house. When he enters the study, there are men there, men he does not know. Some of them look old, like the portrait in his room of his great-grandfather; some, teenagers who bear all-knowing smirks along with their fine aristocratic features. They all stop talking as he walks to his father, all daring him to turn and look at them as they look at him. All failing as he defiantly raises his chin and marches to his father as he has been taught to do so.

‘Come, Sirius.'

It is the first time he has been recognized and addressed by name. It has always been ‘boy' or ‘child' before this; tradition dictates that a boy only be recognized when he is deemed ready to join the ranks of all Blacks before him. The first stage of his education is complete; it is time for him to realize who he is.

His father has a quill in his hand and a very old piece of parchment is on the table. He wills himself not to read what is written on the parchment because that is unbecoming of a Black.

‘Andromeda?'

When the pale girl with the sheet of sleek black hair steps out of the shadows, Sirius realizes that he does not need to read what is on the parchment; he knows. And he has known for a very long time. His mother had told him on his fourth birthday that he was a man of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, and on the fifth that he must accept his responsibilities. On his sixth, he was told of the traditions of the Blacks and made to understand the importance of purity of blood.

On his seventh, he is supposed be bound to another. And as the heir, he is only allowed to take another Black as his Intended, as has been done for the generations past, as his own father had done when his seventh approached. Black begets Black, and he must never forget it. They have chosen Andromeda for him; he is not to question their choices, at least, not when he doesn't particularly mind them.

His fingers shake as he reaches out for the quill that his father holds out to him, and a cloak is thrown over his shoulders as someone thankfully misinterprets his shaking for cold rather than apprehension. He is nervous because he is so excited and scared and just so terrified of everything that's expected of him that he has forgotten how to spell his name. To ask would be very unbecoming of a Black.

When he is handed the silver ring in the shape of two entwined serpents, Sirius realizes that this may well be the most important day in his life. He is still shaking as he reaches out for Andromeda's hand, but the slim fingers dance out of his hand as she pulls away. He knows that he must not clutch at his cousin's fingers to stop her; it is conduct most unbecoming of a Black, but this time he must not let go or terrible, terrible things will happen. So when she consents to letting him hold her hand, he is relieved.

When he slides the ring onto Andromeda's finger, she looks away from him and the corners of his mouth droop a little because he can hear the murmurs behind him, the surprise from her father at her defiance. Her fingers still rest on his hand, tips of nails brushing his palm in a way that's a little ticklish but a little odd, and her other fist is clenched around the ring she is supposed to make him wear. He offers his hand this time; he consents to her taking it in hers because that is what he is supposed to do, like a good little Black.

When she finally slides the ring onto Sirius' finger, the men clap politely. He can hear someone behind him clearing his throat but he doesn't pay attention to it because he is looking at the two serpents that now encircle his little-boy finger and wondering if he really likes the ring. He is bound by this ring, by this promise that he has not made but will have to carry out, nonetheless, when he comes of age, like it or not.

It is only when the man speaks loudly, so that the small crowded chamber is filled with his voice that Sirius looks up, wondering what else is expected of him now.

‘Well, now that the ceremony is done, let the two seal it. With a kiss.'

And when she kisses him, Sirius closes his eyes. He doesn't know what a kiss is, but as he feels Andromeda brush her lips lightly on his he smiles because it feels nice, like feathers from torn pillows billowing in his room or a flower he had stolen from a girl's hair. He knows she is kneeling; being older, she is also much taller.

But when he opens his eyes, Andromeda is far, far away, standing in a corner with her father, and he wonders if the emptiness and unhappiness he suddenly feels is just another part of what the adults call ‘kissing'.

Sirius is but a child, but he is a child of the House of Black. There are no birthdays in this house, only initiations to remind all of them that childhood is not something intended for a Black.

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