Upholding a Reputation

Prologue--Beginning of First Year

"Black, Sirius," Professor McGonagall called.

James Potter craned his neck for a better look at one of the wizarding world's most notorious family members, as did many of the wizard-born children around him. Sirius Black was of average height for his age and scrawny, with long, awkward limbs that implied that he'd one day grow into them. For all that, he was graceful as he walked across the floor, though not in the way that the Malfoys were graceful. This was the kind of grace that couldn't be learned. It had to do with the way the longish, thick black hair fell around the boy's face, the way the grey eyes, framed with eyelashes that almost looked long enough to be a girl's, stood out against his darker complexion. It had to do with the air of complete confidence he seemed to wear like a cloak. If James had been a bit more perceptive, he would have decided that Sirius Black was going to break a lot of hearts. As it was, he was more concerned with why the Hat (which was resting on the boy's shoulders) was taking so long. Even a hat should know that all Blacks went to Slytherin. It was a given, like no matter how many bags of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans you ate, you would always wind up with one dung-flavoured one per bag.

Finally, the rip that served as the hat's mouth opened. The Slytherins all raised their hands to clap for their newest member, and the hat yelled...

"GRYFFINDOR!"

James' mouth fell open, as did every other student's in the hall. Well, the muggleborn first years' mouths didn't, but that was to be expected. Even some of teachers looked like they were in shock. But the young Black's cousins at the Slytherin table were the worst off. Nearly all the girls began sobbing, the boys patting their backs mechanically with stony faces as though someone had just died. (One rather pretty one even shrieked and fainted.) Quite obviously, this was completely unexpected...

Other than the soft sobbing, though, there was no sound, until the young Black slipped the Hat off, placed it on the stool, grinned and waved (rather cheekily) at his mourning cousins, and started off towards the Gryffindor table. Only then did a couple of Gryffindors snap out of shock and begin clapping sporadically. The sound broke the spell on everyone else, and the Sorting continued.

* * *

James watched the rest of the sorting with a kind of growing apprehension. Since he could speak, he'd held certain truths to be self-evident. Among these truths were that all dark magic was Evil, all Gryffindors were Noble and Brave, all Potters were in Gryffindor, leading one to the obvious conclusion that all Potters were Noble and Brave, and all Blacks were in Slytherin, the Dark Arts house. But... if a Black could be sorted into Gryffindor... and his mother always said he could be rather malicious when playing pranks...

In the background, James vaguely noticed a redhead get sorted into Gryffindor.

He probably had nothing to worry about, James decided. He'd never done anything malicious on purpose, and he wasn't cunning. He was far too blunt to be, something he'd also heard many times from his mother.

But even so...

James made the conscious decision to quietly panic.

He jumped as the hat yelled "Gryffindor!" effectively pulling him out of his reverie. He watched as a scrawny boy with sandy brown hair made his way to the Gryffindor table, a look of obvious relief on his face. He hadn't caught the name, but judging from the names now being called, it either started with 'L' or 'M.' He went back to his panicking.

Nobody in his family, as far as he could remember, had been anything but a Gryffindor. Well, there'd been that cousin who got into Hufflepuff, but nobody talked about him. Oh no! What if he'd gotten the Hufflepuff blood? He quickly checked himself over for any sign of blatant stupidity. He didn't see anything, but he wasn't sure if blatantly stupid people were smart enough to notice that they were blatantly stupid. Sweet mother of Merlin, he couldn't be a Hufflepuff! He hated the color yellow! Always had, ever since he was a baby! His father said he used to have a yellow blanket that he absolutely refused to sleep with, crying nonstop until someone exchanged it with the blue one.

Wait. He didn't mind blue so much. Did that mean he was a Ravenclaw?

"Pettigrew, Peter," Professor McGonagall called. How did they get to the P's already? James wondered frantically, as the small, plump boy stumbled over to the hat. He wasn't ready! He'd go up there and make an idiot of himself! The hat would sit on his head and start laughing, and then announce to the whole school that he didn't belong in any house, since he was still too immature to sleep without his stuffed Swedish Shortsnout (the fact that this had nothing to do with the situation at all was overlooked in favor of furthering his panic)! Pettigrew, Peter went to Gryffindor.

"Potter, James."

James walked to the stool, hoping his legs didn't give way half way through. He felt extraordinarily like a man about to be executed. This is it, he thought. I'll bollocks something up and be laughed out of school. I won't fit into my house, and Professor Dumbledore will send me home. I'll fail all my classes and be expelled.

His sweaty hands slipped slightly as he scrambled onto the stool with as much grace as he could muster. Well, he thought as the hat slid over his eyes, it was fun while it lasted.

* * *

"Well, well, another Potter. Let's take a look inside your mind, shall we?"

"...you can talk?"

"I thought that was astoundingly obvious after I sang and then proceeded to call out people's houses."

"No, I mean to us. Like, carry on a conversation in our heads, and all..."

"Oh, yes. I can."

"Wicked!"

"Yes, it is, rather... Now. About where to put you. Hmmm... A good mind, but no particular inclination to study. Not much of a Ravenclaw, are you?"

"Don't think so..."

"And too much of a leader to be entirely happy in Hufflepuff. Not that Hufflepuffs cannot be leaders. They just usually choose not to be, and you like to be the center of attention. Right, lad?"

"Er... I guess..."

"Right. Two down, one to go. Hmmmm..."

"What?"

"Well, you would do very well in either Slytherin or Gryffindor, it seems. Not an uncommon occurrence, but one that is difficult to deal with all the same. You certainly have ambition, though not in the usual sense of the word, but you don't have the mind set to fit in well with the crowd in that House. Plus, it seems you've already been poisoned against Slytherin, haven't you, lad?"

"...I've heard that the people there aren't very accepting, if that's what you mean."

"It is, indeed. It's a pity, because the only way to go about correcting prejudices and stereotypes of this type is to expose people on both sides to different points of view. Though, of course, you aren't interested in my preaching, are you? No, you'd much rather be Sorted and join your new Housemates. Very well. You have the capacity to become a very brave-hearted individual, and you are certainly reckless enough to fit in. You'll do well in GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

James slid into the first seat he found, grinning with happiness, the cheers still echoing in his ears. Gryffindor. He'd been sorted into Gryffindor! Now that he'd actually been sorted, his earlier panic seemed ridiculous. Honestly, imagine him in Hufflepuff!

"Congratulations."

James turned to his left. It was the young Black. Somewhere between the hat and the table, he'd decided that the whole Black-in-Gryffindor thing was really rather funny, and reminded himself that where one person was sorted had absolutely no effect on anyone else, except perhaps to give others a vague idea of the person's personality.

"Err...you too," James said hesitantly. Well, he was still a Black, even if he was sorted into Gryffindor. The sorting only gave observers a vague idea of the person's personality, after all.

"Oh, I wouldn't congratulate me yet," said the young Black flippantly, "Wait to see how outraged my parents are. You can do that after I get my Howler."

"You say it like it's a good thing."

"Well, let's just say that it amuses me to annoy my parents. Not like those bloody cousins of mine. Or my brother, for that matter.

"Ooh, look at that! Another addition to the snake pit!" James looked up just in time to see a boy with longish, greasy-looking hair and a beak-like nose stumble his way over to the Slytherin table. The Black boy sneered. "My family should be pleased. There're plenty of first years for them to corrupt this year in my absence. My name's Sirius, by the way," he added off-handedly. "Sirius Black." He held out his hand.

James hesitated. He remembered his father's warning that morning. Stay away from the big Slytherin families, James, his father had ordered. You know the ones I mean. The Blacks and Malfoys and Notts, those people. They're Dark, James, evil. Abusive. I don't want you getting mixed up with people like that. He remembered the warning, and, like all other warnings his parents gave him, completely ignored it. He decided that this Black--Sirius--was different, and he liked him.

"James Potter." He took the hand.

There was a moment of awkward silence, interrupted by Professor Dumbledore quickly welcoming them to Hogwarts, and telling them to dig in. James offered Sirius a bowl. "Meatloaf?" he offered.

Sirius grinned and accepted the bowl. He cut himself a huge slice and put it on his plate, before drowning it in gravy.

James grinned too. He could tell it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.