imagine a horror movie where you’re trapped in your house with a serial killer but all your lights are clappers
so you’re running for your life from this psychopath while both of you are just aggressively clapping the lights on and off
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I can’t wait to fill our home with fairy lights and scented candles and tasty snacks and pets and soft blankets and love.
The dark-haired boy shakes, the light from the bright entrance hall hitting his cheekbones. The steely grey eyes cast over everything, taking in the oaken front doors, the grand staircase, the golden glow cast off the floors from the aforementioned lights. Chandeliers, he thinks. Not unlike the ones at home.
Beside him, the taller boy, the one with the dark, messy hair, the twinkling hazel eyes, and the quick wit, the one he met on the train, knocks his elbow and grins.
But his stomach feels bottomless, and Sirius can’t bring himself to smile back.
The tall, stern lady leading the band of first-years comes to a halt, and a hush falls over the group.
Another boy, with lanky limbs, and eyes that glow golden like the light in the entrance hall, regardless of the dark shadows that mar them, picks at the hems of his sleeves, the robes hanging off his thin figure.
The small, blonde boy beside him, the one with watery blue eyes, gulps.
The woman, with the austere hairstyle and the spectacles, begins to speak.
‘Welcome to Hogwarts,’ she says. ‘The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses.’
The congregation of children shuffle nervously, eager to sit, to eat, to sleep. To be sorted. To belong.
‘The four houses,’ the lady continues, ‘are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.’
On mention of the last house, Sirius takes a breath, his chest rising, and with it, his spine straightening, his head tilting up. This is it, he thinks. His path. His duty.
A voice of doubt lingers in the recesses of his mind, and it grows stronger with the presence of the grinning, messy-haired boy beside him.
It doesn’t have to be.
It will be, he argues - stubborn, as always.
The voice is silent for a moment.
Only if you let it, it says.
The cold gray eyes grow scared. Teeth clench. Jaw grinds. Breathings grows irregular.
But then, James knocks his elbow again, and Sirius gives him a smirk, a warning glare, but this time, the myriad of teasing expressions clears, and he smiles back, the pair grinning in tandem.
Professor McGonagall speaks, one last time.
‘While you are here, your house will be like your family.’
And Sirius looks around, at the tall, sloped ceilings, the steps, worn from the tread of students before them, and the warm, welcoming glow cast by the chandeliers, and he thinks that the light is nothing like that at home, after all.
A family, he thinks. What would it be like to have a family?
He’s always wondered, but never known.
But then, he looks at the boy beside him, the one with the cheeky grin and the messy hair and the hazel eyes, and behind him, at the one with the golden curls and the eyes that shine like the light above, despite the shadows, the darkness, and the little one, with the watery blue eyes and the chubby cheeks, who looks like he’s scared shitless, but catches his eye, and gives him an encouraging smile, anyway.
And he thinks, perhaps, he knows.
Harry: it was Malfoy
Ron and Hermione: The views and opinions expressed above are solely Harry’s and do not speak on behalf of us nor do they reflect in any way the views and opinions of The Golden Trio™ as a whole
it takes first-years far too long to realise that the cat that hangs out in the library is in fact minerva mcgonagall
i strongly identify with the whomping willow. i, too, would beat people up to keep remus lupin safe.
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