1 ~ This Beginning is Boring

Some wounds do not bleed; they simply learn to speak in sarcasm.

Sirius’ POV:

     Many insist that stories should begin with a dramatic flourish - like the main character in peril, battling for life and death. This beginning is boring.     Although, perhaps someone would be intrigued by my mother, who would rather have hacked off her hands than escort her failure of a son to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.     The only bright spark was the return to our fourth year at Hogwarts, the chance to spend time with my friends again. The Christmas holidays were over, and it was January 1975. A splendid time to be alive.

Apart from Walburga Black.

     As my trunk slid with a dull thud into the luggage rack, I caught sight from the corner of my eye of my mother bestowing her favourite son Regulus with a mechanical farewell on the platform - no glance or touch in excess, only icy formality.      Neither imposing nor inconspicuous - my mother was the embodiment of mediocrity. A striking, well-proportioned face, high cheekbones, sharply arched brows. Her complexion looked paler still against her dark hair, but I had no reason to admire her ideals of beauty. Nor her artfully pinned hair, hidden beneath a grotesque little hat, perfectly matched with a Victorian gown and its scratchy collar.     Regulus before her wore one of his finest shirts, his hair brushed elegantly to his temples, the perfect son of a pure-blood family. My band shirt, simple jeans and winter jacket had already earned a condemning glare this morning. Luckily, my father had never cared about our departure, leaving only my mother to suffer a heart attack at the sight of my black-polished fingernails.

Beautiful.I lived for such moments.

     Turning my back on mother and brother, I stowed the last trunk in the scarlet engine. The platform was as cold as January promised. Vapour curled from my throat in pale wisps, while nose and cheeks grew numb.     Long I had no chance to watch my own breath, for I was ambushed from behind.          What in Merlin’s name...?     A strong arm suddenly locked around my neck, yanking my head back, my breath trapped in my chest. A choking sound escaped me as my gaze flickered upwards to where frost-clouded air rose from my lips.          Who was reckless enough to greet me this way?     That question barely formed before I spun round and flung off the attacker’s arm.          "You’re an idiot!" I coughed, shoving a chuckling James Potter away from me.     "And you should pay more attention. I called you twice." James smoothed his collar in mock arrogance and flashed me a grin.     A broad grin tugged at my own mouth - relief at seeing “Prongs” again. The nicknames were still fresh, yet I tried to grow accustomed to them, forcing them into thought and tongue.          "I was busy with my luggage," I explained my mental absence.     James’ cheeks were red, and from behind his round spectacles his brown eyes caught mine as he said: "Already done. Just this little case with my uniform left," he raised the brown leather case, "you know, my dad never lingers on the platform. I was about to climb in the back of the train when I spotted you."          "And thought you’d murder me instead?"     "Of course, what kind of friend would I be if I greeted you normally?"          "A decent one?"     A jab at my shoulder was answered with a shove, and soon our exchange dissolved into playful grappling that earned us annoyed stares from witches and wizards nearby the Hogwarts Express.

Yes, none of them has the faintest idea of fun.

     We calmed down quickly enough and forced our way through the chaos of voices and far too many cages of complaining owls, all bound back to Hogwarts, where no tiresome family lingered.     "Our Moony," James began, pushing his hair back from his forehead, "wrote in his last letter that he’d be here early. You know the reason. Likely buried himself in a rear compartment the moment the Express arrived."     I nodded silently, understood, for the next full moon already crept through January’s shadows. Four days, and the moon would rise.          "He’s probably already a walking corpse," I muttered, "temper like a troll."     Remus must already look as though death itself had visited him three times and been disappointed enough to return him each. How could a face appear both lifelessly pale and achingly alive?     Still, anticipation stirred to see our Moony again. Even knowing he would snap at me for some trivial thing.               It mattered little.          "He won’t like missing lessons at the very start of term," I said, my thoughts still on Remus.     Prongs nodded with a tortured grimace. "And us? We’ll be stuck scribbling down every line again. I can already see us mouldering in Binns’ class. That isn’t schooling, that’s necromancy."     A shudder ran through me at the thought. The gooseflesh was not all from the weather. Only my affection for Remus made me willingly inhale the dust of Binns’ classroom, since the ghost never opened a window.     Affection deep enough that I took notes in class for him whenever his condition kept him away. Strictly speaking, James, Peter and I each took notes, handing them all over so he could pick the best of three versions.     That system was the very reason I had taken Arithmancy. I had told Remus I chose it because he had and could help me with the formulas. But the truth was, I took it for him - so he need not fret about his furry problem whenever a class was missed.

I am a good friend, the best in the whole world, so I thought of myself, self-admiring, self-sacrificing.Mathematics I loathed, even cloaked in the guise of Divination, which was all Arithmancy was. Remus, however, had Divination with the four of us, plus Muggle Studies - as a half-blood - where he shared a class with Lily Evans.

     With James at my side we chatted about nothing of importance, saving the real stories of our holidays for the compartment with Remus and Peter. James gave me only the barest account of his trip with his parents, who celebrated New Year in a different place each year, while we boarded the Hogwarts Express.     I liked James’ family well enough, even had the privilege since first year to spend days or weeks of the holidays at the Potters’ estate. This time I had only spent the first five days with them and celebrated Christmas together, until James left with his parents to visit some of their friends. The rest of my holidays had been miserable.     "Ireland is pretty enough, but nothing compares to Scotland’s barren landscape."          "Which you’ll be staring at for hours through the window."     "Looking forward to it, mostly my backside, which always goes numb..." Prongs pulled a face, yet I had to walk ahead of him as we squeezed through the train’s narrow corridor, past compartments already filling up quickly.     My black satchel with the school uniform came round to my front so I wouldn’t batter anyone with it, though one certain person more than deserved a blow.     "Truly, I swear on my honour it happened exactly so, ha!" A voice rang sharp through the passage.     No need to glance up. The hairs at my nape recognised that frequency - that superior, tinkling laugh, slicing like a blade through all other conversations, drowning out every sound.

Elizabeth Lestrange.

     As sister to Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange she was a wretched creature to endure. Her younger brother Rabastan shared a year with my brother, her elder brother had already left Hogwarts. Proof enough that fate despised me was Elizabeth Lestrange in my very own year, though in Slytherin.     A strange being - yes, not human, something else - and companion to Snivellus. In truth, only companion to him, otherwise a loner who had made it her mission to know everything about everyone, thereby gnawing at my patience and scraping every last nerve raw.     My friends liked to claim that I teased as much as she did, but honestly, she deserved it. The perfect Death Eater’s daughter, the perfect pure-blood, who never missed a chance to insult me.     That we Marauders had chosen Snape and her as our prime targets was more than logical.

Entirely logical.

     "We tried together this new spell he’s been working on for months, then-", Lestrange was laughing, speaking to Snivellus in the doorway of a compartment, merrily, until she seemed to sense my presence and all mirth drained from her face.     I could have walked on. Could have been mature, noble, grown. But I was Sirius Black, and she Elizabeth Lestrange. So I said: "Spent the holidays practising, Lestrange? Improved the Unforgivable Curses, have you?"     She turned slowly towards me like a queen. Poison-green eyes pierced like drawn daggers, framed by a porcelain face. A pretty face with full lips, high cheekbones, framed by black curls. Not wild curls, but sleek ones.

That is why I hate her, I thought, because she was socially attractive and very much aware of it. The very sort my parents would adore in a daughter-in-law, or had they ever wanted a daughter themselves.

     True to her name, she wore in leisure either an elegant skirt or trousers and a matching blouse. Her winter cloak followed the latest fashion, and clearly her parents spared no coin.     "Black, hello," Lestrange greeted me with excessive sweetness, which never boded well. Her smile was as false as possible, her chin lifted in self-satisfaction.     I halted before her, unable even to look down on her with disdain, for boys at fourteen, fifteen had not yet completed their growth spurts - except Moony, who never stopped. Still, my eyes met Lestrange’s at only half a hand’s breadth lower than mine.          "Lovely to see you," I played along, "I felt your icy presence the moment I set foot on the train."     James stood beside me, more behind me so as not to block the corridor. He greeted the two snakes with confidence, while Snivellus wrinkled his nose as though smelling something rotten.

Probably himself.

     Lestrange greeted James, then said to me: "I scarcely recognised you, Black. Every holiday you seem to tumble into a different charity bin for the needy."          "How original, a very creative insult."     "Oh, thank you."          "Merely a hint, that was sarcasm."     She clutched her heart. "Truly, oh, how tragic. I thought the banished mongrel was bestowing me with sincere compliments. A pity, you know."          "No, I don’t know."     "You know very little in general, Potter knows little too. That’s why you complement each other so well."          "And you’re so perfect?" James asked coolly.     "Of course I am." The Slytherin’s grin widened. "By the way, what do you think of my new cloak? Tailor-made from Wilkons and Scissors."     I must have wandered into a dreadful book, for Elizabeth Lestrange then turned in a full circle. A slow pirouette in the cramped space, her cloak sweeping like a dark curtain across the floor.     Some vessel in my head burst, she was that unbearable. I loathed the snake, most of all because she never behaved like a typical Slytherin - distant, cold, detached. No, she had to be this way, shifting her emotions every few seconds, like a kaleidoscopic creature shedding its skin at will.

Unpredictable even among the snakes.

     She carried a thousand sharp-edged personalities, layered with endless façades. This sweetened side of her I despised even more than her aggressive one, when she shrieked at me and tried to hex me. Even her foolish pranks in retaliation to ours I preferred over this.     "You’re unbearable!" I hissed through my teeth.          "You spoke to me first."     "Because you looked happy. I wanted to ruin your day."          "Drag me down to your level, so you’re not pitiful alone, Black?"     My eyes rolled skyward because, yes, because I loathed her. One of my most cherished visions was of my fingers closing around her throat. Imagining the slow pressure. Until...

I have crafted a blue-faced Elizabeth Lestrange.

     "If you’ll excuse me, I’ve no more desire to talk with you. I wish you both a pleasant journey." With that she disappeared into the four-seater compartment she shared only with Snape, pulling the curtain shut after closing the door.          "I hate her," I muttered to myself, to James, to the entire world, and carried on down the corridor.     "I know," Prongs replied, "I don’t like her either."          "But you know who I do like?" I asked, halting at a compartment where a single figure was curled against the window in the direction of travel, fast asleep.     James grinned, and together we entered the compartment of our dear Remus Lupin, who unfortunately, for him, was startled awake as I flung myself down beside him on the bench.     Moony jerked upright, inhaled sharply, blinking up at James and me. He dragged a hand across his face, his light-brown hair stuck out in every direction, and beneath his green eyes hung deep shadows.

The curse of the werewolves.

     "Hey..." he greeted us.          James had just stowed his suitcase on the rack above us and said, teasing but not cruel: "Nearly three weeks we don’t see you, and all we get is a simple hey. Shame on you."     Remus rolled his eyes, though he stopped when his head complained, then answered: "My heart rejoices at your sight, dear James. Truly this is the happiest day of my life, for you are here."          "That’s better!" Prongs laughed and spread himself out. His coat came off, leaving a dark red roll-neck jumper and black trousers. His hair was a disaster, worse even than Remus’, who wore one of his beloved knitted pullovers.     "Where’s Peter?" I asked the next moment, noticing that four pieces of luggage were already in the compartment.          "In the loo," Remus explained wearily.     I nodded, but we didn’t have to wait long for our missing friend. Moments later he joined us, welcomed by James and me with far more enthusiasm than poor Moony, even with a hug. Remus didn’t remain sour for the whole ride though, and we managed to coax laughter from him in the end.

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PLEASE READ:

Heyo^^

     I hardly know what to say, or why I’m here, what possessed me to revise the first thirty chapters.But here I am... wuhuuuuu

     Today, for me, it’s the 9th of September 2025 (for you it’s much later, and for the translating RaVen it's the 27th of march 2026), and as Sirius said at the very start, stories don’t need to begin with action. Those who remember the old beginning of this fic know it started straight away with a burst of confusion and chaos.     Don’t worry, things will grow exciting here too. But first I had to mention Elizabeth Lestrange. She’s an OC of this story, and I hope you’ll enjoy her. I think she keeps the fic alive all the way through, helping the reader across the heavier stretches. Because honestly, there’s going to be plenty of drama and adventure ahead. I’d be thrilled if you gave it at least until chapter 20 a chance. After that the story (for me) becomes steadily more perfect, hehe.

     I’ve found Elizabeth has become well liked (by now I’m already writing part two in German), which is why in this revision she plays a central role from the very beginning. Have fun with her, the Marauders, and Lily with her friends.      And who might the second OC be...?

Here are some biscuits for you:

🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

With love,RaVen