Intended

[nineteen]

This year, his parents still come to the platform like they had the year before. Another Black is leaving for Hogwarts- the last of them.

But Sirius doesn't care. He is off as soon as he can, wheeling his trunk through the magic archway to platform 9 ¾, pretending that the old lady in the hideous black dress and her husband in his black and silver regalia are just two other strangers on the platform, just like their son. He can see that Regulus is awed by the sight of so many people packed into one place, and he feels an odd feeling in his stomach, as something inside is jumping around and trying to escape as he recognizes the wide-eyed look.

After all, this had been his reaction last year.

‘Sirius!' someone shouts, and he whirls around in a careless fashion, his hair falling lightly over his face. All traces of his foul mood leave him as he waves enthusiastically to James, and begins pushing his trolley towards the Potters. He is only slightly aware of the shocked look on Regulus's face and the mutters of his parents, and he allows himself a small smirk of contempt as he realizes they are following him.

‘Perfect. They're going to wish they hadn't even bothered to come today,' he thinks as he extends his hand to James.

‘How simply smashing to see you, James!' he says exuberantly, making sure that Regulus, right behind him, can hear his every word. ‘And how are you, Mr. Potter ? How about you, Mrs. Potter ? I hope James didn't bore you with his tall tales of our Gryffindor exploits.'

He doesn't miss Mrs. Potter's amused glance at her son, and James rolls his eyes.

‘Sirius loves playing the ham,' he says, shaking his head, and Sirius gives him a large wink as he subtly motions to the three people behind him. The two boys grin in understanding.

‘Oh, and look, there's Peter! Oi, Pete!' Sirius yells, waving, and he deliberately pushes past Regulus as Peter shuffles up to the group, leading a confused and irate-looking man behind him.

‘And who are these people…'

‘They're my friends,' Peter replies quietly. ‘This is James, and that's Sirius. Guys, this is my s- my Dad.'

Peter's father doesn't look very impressed, but Sirius grins up at him, seeing an opportunity. ‘Absolutely spiffing to meet you, Mr. Pettigrew! I'm Sirius… Sirius Black. Peter has told us so much about you… is this really your first time on the platform? You're lucky, not many Muggles get to see our world at all, but I'm sure that Peter's explained everything to you?' he says loudly, shaking Mr. Pettigrew's hand excitedly. He knows that three pairs of eyes, maybe even more, are glaring at him, but he waits so that he can be sure that his parents have seen him… so that he can be sure that they are burning with discomfort at watching their son, even if he is a ‘blood-traitor', shake hands and talk freely with a Muggle.

He wants them to notice, to blister with hate and disdain. He wants them to see that he has a Muggle-lover and a Mudblood as best friends.

He wants them to hate him as much as he now hates them.

The small gasp behind him tells him all he needs to know. With a huge smile, he walks off beside James and Peter, not even bothering to look back.

*

[twenty]

The ceiling of the Great Hall is clouded over, deep purple and gray filtering over the students' heads. A rumble can be heard from outside as the thunder rolls across the sky.

‘Oi, Black! Didn't you have anything to eat on the train?' James jests good-naturedly from a few seats down the table. Sirius laughs. He is back at Hogwarts, where he has no foul mother to preach to him on how he has besmirched the family name, no stern father who will look at him as a failure. He is back home.

‘I'm famished!' he moans, flinging his wrist to his forehead and pretending to collapse, falling into his chair. A ripple of laughter flows down the table, only dying down when the doors of the hall swing open and a line of very small, very wet first years trail in.

Sirius swallows and looks away, suddenly, all his happiness gone. He feels as if his stomach is twisting itself into knots, because he knows that tonight, another Black comes to Hogwarts. He looks over at the Slytherin table, his eyes wandering away from the knot of students that cluster about the middle. He wants to see Andromeda; he needs to be reassured by her presence even if she's so far away, but her place is empty and Sirius sucks in a sharp breath.

He doesn't know where she is, and he's not sure that he wants to. He can hear a murmur rising from the middle of the table and sees someone pointing to the spot he's staring at, snickering, and miming a hex. He swallows painfully and looks away, and silently promises that he'll go to the infirmary. Later. After the sorting.

After he's watched Regulus being sorted.

Regulus heads the line and all eyes are on him tonight. The hat sings its song, but Sirius isn't listening. He looks at his reflection in the plates in front of him, at the cracks in the house table, even down at his own rough nails, anywhere, except at Regulus.

‘Black, Regulus!'

Sirius hears the sound of his brother's name echoing through the room. He knows that the whispers will come later, that people are chancing a glance in his direction every now and then before turning their eyes back to Regulus. He knows this, even if he does not look up, because he had been expecting it since he set foot on the train this morning. Everyone was talking about ‘the other Black boy' and even as he hears the soft, shuffled footsteps that belong to Regulus, he swallows heavily and dares to look at the small boy, his chin up and a determined look on his face.

For a second, he holds his breath as the hat slides down over Regulus's eyes. The scene seems oddly familiar, but he remembers that once he was the boy who sat on the stool and let a hat decide blindly what his fate would be. Everything he is now was decided on that stool, under that very hat, and he feels a tiny spark of hope smoldering in his chest as the hat takes its time in sorting his brother. He can almost hear the words that will come from the rip on the brim; he can imagine shuffled footsteps making their way to his table and a dejected boy sitting in the empty chair next to him. He can almost imagine the anger that Regulus will feel and the spark kindles itself into a bright flame because he wouldn't mind having another Black in Gryffindor… he could take Regulus around, teach him that Slytherins are mostly gits and how to hex someone around a corner before they could hex you… he wouldn't mind…

Almost.

So when the hat shouts to the waiting hall that Regulus Black is the first Slytherin of the year, Sirius simply shrugs, forcing himself to look as if he couldn't really care, but he feels as if someone has sucked all the warmth out of him. He feels the flame of hope go out as if someone had poured ice-cold water over it. There is a strange, constricting feeling in his chest, but he forces it down, away, and watches as the boy beams and totters off to the Slytherin table.

He wants to tear his eyes away from the scene, but he can't… not while he can see a space being made for Regulus at the table in between Narcissa and Bellatrix, both of them smiling proudly. He cannot look away while the cheers of the Slytherins fill his ears, making them ring; he cannot, not while Regulus stares right back at him, smug and thrilled by his new position. He cannot turn now, not while he can feel the silver of his ring digging into his skin as he clenches his fists in anger and feels all his good intentions towards Regulus slide away like so much rainwater.

His chest hurts even more.

Only when he feels someone nudge him in the side does he look away, the heat rising in his cheeks because he has never been the first one to turn. He can feel a faint throbbing behind his temples, just the beginning of a headache.

‘What?' he snaps at the persistent boy who has been poking him, his eyes narrowing, and he sees the small, frail figure of Lupin leaning away from him, his hands already up in a defensive stance.

‘Isn't that your brother that was just sorted?'

Sirius shakes his head, slowly returning his gaze to the Slytherin table.

‘I don't have a brother.'

*

[twenty one]

Sirius expects that people will stop whispering now that there's another Black at Hogwarts. He expects that he'll be forgotten and that he can wander around the corridors freely without having to pretend that he can't hear what people are saying about him.

But they don't. Sirius knows that his name is on everyone's tongues for still being the only Black who wasn't sorted into Slytherin. If they ever talk about Regulus, say how he's just like every other Black child that has passed these halls, and how he's the ideal Slytherin. So ambitious, the perfect little pureblooded boy… so unlike his brother.

When he hears this, Sirius wonders where his ambition fell short. He can't help but think cynically when he realizes that he has none; his pampered status left him no room, no reason for that, while Regulus was largely left to his own devices, and grew up eager to please, to prove his worth.

Sirius has grown up secure, to be thrown into confusion; Regulus has grown up without support, shunted away with nothing to sustain him but blind ambition.

Not all voices speak kindly; under the tutelage of Slytherin house and his cousins, Regulus is rising. Bellatrix seems to be especially fond of him, and she takes him everywhere, teaching him spells that leave others frightened of ever crossing their path. Regulus is so hungry to be acknowledged that he can do- and does- anything to be accepted.

Sirius knows that in the short time he has been here, Regulus has made himself a reputation by being cowardly, sneaky and unfair.

Sirius knows that Regulus has made himself a reputation by being the perfect definition of a Black.

*