Intended

[eight]

For three days, Sirius refuses to talk to anyone. He writes a letter to his parents telling them of the mishap and gets a howler that explodes before he can take it out of the Great Hall. He hears his mother's voice berating him for letting the whole family down and being a disgrace to the name of Black and the other students in the hall laugh at him as he runs from the hall with his hands clamped firmly over his ears.

For three days, he skulks in shadows whenever anyone in Slytherin house passes because he is not worthy to even be seen by one of them. He sees a boy he knows, Severus Snape, and he envies him his hooked nose and his greasy hair and his book on the Dark Arts that he tucks away secretly into his schoolbag, for Snape is so much more a Slytherin than Sirius will ever be. He envies the way his cousin Bellatrix places a hand on Snape's shoulder, a hand that has never been there to encourage him and now never will be.

For three days, he does not wear his ring. The snakes on it appear dull and tarnished now, a mocking reminder of everything that was expected of him and everything he couldn't be. He has knows that he has been thrown here, into the house of the foolhardy Muggle-lovers and wonders what he did that merits such a punishment. Hasn't he been a good son, a good Black, a good heir?

For three days, he is insanely jealous of his little brother Regulus, at home, the spare suddenly finding himself elevated to heir as the latter position cannot belong to a Gryffindor. He knows that his mother will never speak to him again, and that ceremonies in his father's study are not meant for him to witness anymore.

On the fourth day, Andromeda finds him locked in the girl's bathroom. Behavior very unbecoming of a Black, but Sirius doesn't care. When she opens the door, he is trying to flush his own head down a toilet, and doesn't hear the sound of the lock clicking shut again. He does notice, however, when she grabs him by the back of his robes and swings him around to face her. His hair is plastered to his forehead and there are droplets on his lashes and even as she opens her mouth to start berating him, he spits a mouthful of toilet water out at her, splashing it down the front of her robes and over the prefect's badge.

Her mouth is set in a thin, hard line as she takes a step towards Sirius. In a tiny bathroom cubicle, one step takes her right to him, and he can see that she is angry. He tenses himself as she raises her hand, fully expecting to feel the power of her slap across his face. Instead, she only pushes the hair out of his eyes, slicking it back.

‘I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.'

‘Well, I don't want to be in Gryffindor!' he cries hotly, his face red from his exertions and from the deep shame he feels when he sees her. His skin is feverish and he feels a fatigue that has nothing to do with the three sleepless nights, but more with disappointment, a disappointment that now he'll never be good enough for his Intended. ‘I'm a Black! I'm supposed to be in Slytherin!'

‘Being in Slytherin isn't anything to be proud of… I wish I was brave enough to be in Gryffindor.'

‘Huh?' He blinks water out of his eyes and tries to ignore the feeling of her cool hand on his skin. He can feel the ring on her finger scratch his cheek and hear the shaking in her voice and he wants so desperately to ignore what she's telling him because suddenly he doesn't want to know, he doesn't want to know, he doesn't want to hear why she's crying.

‘It all gets worse, Sirius. One day, you're going to wish that you never were a Black,' she says softly, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, so close that he can feel her breath tickling his lips as she speaks. ‘You're going to hate everything the Black name stands for, because it's the worst thing in the world. We're blind, Sirius, we're nothing. Just pretty little purebloods who're told to play with each other because Muggles are supposed to be dirty. We're just little idiots who need to open their eyes, and no one's been brave enough to try… no one's been brave enough until now…' she murmurs. She rests her head on his shoulder and he unsuccessfully tries to stand still but can't because she's leaning against him now as if she has no strength of her own. Her hands are on his shoulders and he holds onto fistfuls of her robe, still having to tiptoe to reach her, still having to stretch to place his arms about her neck in what he hopes is a comforting gesture, but not so much as before.

It scares him a bit but he finds himself clinging to her as if his life depended on it, because she is his only comfort.

It scares him a bit but he pretends not to notice when she chokes back a sob, kissing his cheek, still murmuring so that only he can hear her.

It scares him a bit but he pretends not to hear when she calls herself a coward.

It scares him a bit when he thinks of what she's just said and finds himself believing it.

It all just scares him.

But only a little bit.

*