Marauders Year 1: Rule the School

Chapter 2: Padfoot, Hogwarts Express

I round the corner, eyes wide as saucers, staring at the enormous train before me. It must be at least a mile long! I think. Hefting my luggage into the racks, I walk through the train, trying to find a free compartment. Students are jostling each other, talking in raised voices about who'll make the Quidditch team this year, placing bets on how much homework Professor Babbling will give her students, etc. I finally find a spare compartment near the back of the train and settle in for the long ride to Scotland. 

I stare out the train window, watching the countryside roll past at a ridiculous speed. I barely register the door of my compartment opening. Only when the opener stumbles, crashes into the frame, and basically creates a disturbing racket, do I shift my attention from the window. 

In the doorway is a boy who looks about my age. He has large hazel eyes and is wearing lush, new Hogwarts robes. Is he  prefect? No, can't be. He doesn't have the badge. And anyways, first years can't be prefects. He has tousled raven black hair that's sticking out in all the possible directions in the universe. Well, he obviously doesn't use Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, I thought. Oh no! If he doesn't use Sleekeazy's to tame his hair, then he must have never heard of it! After all, literally everyone in the Wizarding World knows about Fleamont Potter's ingenious invention. Even I use it to make my hair glossy. This means he can only be a muggleborn. Oh crap. Mother will not want me to be mixing with this sort. He himself looks rather sheepish. 

I must have been looking at him oddly because when he speaks, there's a note of caution in his voice. 

          "Oh....er....I, er, was wondering if I could, er, sit here 'cause, well, all the other compartments are full.... You don't mind, do you?"

          "Uh, yeah, sure."

He lets out a sign of relief and closes the door. After a moment of awkward silence, he tries to start a conversation and I jump at the chance. 

          "I'm James, by the way. James Fleamont Potter."

I internally whoop. Good, okay, so he's pure-blooded. It isn't like I personally care but I know mum would kill me if I made friends with a muggleborn. 

          "I'm Sirius. Sirius Black."

I hope he's not scared by the last name. We Blacks are the most well-known pure-blood house in the Wizarding World, after all. Thankfully, he doesn't seem disgruntled. 

          "Nice to meet you Sirius," he says in a joking voice. "You're serious you're name's Sirius, mate?" 

We grin at each other at the play-on-words. 

          "Yeah, serious," I say.

At that, we crack up. 

_____________________

We're still laughing a little when the compartment door opens again, revealing a mousy brown haired boy clutching a book and looking like he was forced to stop at a particularly good part. He's got a couple of strange scratches on him. Maybe he also gets beaten?

Yes, despite the Black family motto of "Toujours pur," it does not resonate in certain family members. That includes me. Sure, I'm pure-blood, but I don't share all the same beliefs as my family. So, I get beaten. Since I was five, I've been beaten with a flail (a sort of stick to which is attached an iron chain on an intimidating spiky, iron ball), and a couple of other Medieval-looking torture tools. Since last year, though, my parents decided I was old enough for Unforgivable Curses so I've received the Cruciatus Curse quite a few times. 

Looking at the boy before me, I can't help thinking that maybe he was also like me. That depends on his last name. I may also be overthinking a bit because he also looks like he could be a prefect. A really short prefect, at that. And anyway, James and I already have our robes on.