The Boy Who Killed God {Sirius Black | Marauders Era Fanfiction}

Ye Who Enter

DECEMBER 18, 1971

Sirius didn't stay in the compartment at the end of the train with James and Peter for very long. Not even long enough to stash his bag, really, but he couldn't stand it. James made three separate, aborted attempts at conversation and Peter just kept looking at him, like maybe it was the last time he'd see Sirius alive.

Wasn't that a comforting thought.

Sirius mumbled an excuse—he wasn't even sure what, really—and stood. James stood with him and pulled Sirius into a bone-crushing hug.

"You'll be fine, Black," James said into Sirius's hair, but it was forced and hurt that much more. "Just... be brave, okay?"

Sirius wasn't brave.

He was stupid and reckless and he'd somehow conned his way into Gryffindor, just like McGonagall thought. Just like James had thought, those first few days. Nothing about Sirius Black was real, not the power of his name, nor his friends, nor anything that happened the past few months.

He was an empty shell, standing on the cusp of hellfire, ready to be forged into whatever his mother wanted.

Peter patted his arm and muttered something, but Sirius didn't quite catch it. He unlatched the compartment door and made his way through the corridor.

He felt the nothing-pain of Peter's hand long after the echoes of James's hug faded away.

Nothing always felt worse.

It reminded him of who he was—what he was—and that horrible, damning tattoo on his chest that made sure he could never escape the course mapped out for him.

That was real.

Fuck.

Narcissa made a disgruntled huff when Sirius slipped into their compartment. She crossed her arms, moved to the seat next to Lucius Malfoy. Sirius slipped into Narcissa's vacant seat and threw his bag down next to him, hopefully to dissuade any other Slytherins from thinking they're welcome to sit next to him.

"I'm missing Slughorn's Christmas party because of you," Narcissa spat at him. "Mother wouldn't have had to push Andromeda's engagement if she hadn't tried to help you run away."

Something dark and cannibalistic settled in the pit of Sirius's stomach.

Andromeda's eminent engagement to Julius Fawley was his fault.

No one escaped the Warden's punishment.

Lucius Malfoy traced the line of the pale, pink scar on his left cheek.

"You're fucked, Black," Malfoy sneered. "What do you think your mother will have to say about your little half-breed boyfriend?"

Remus.

No.

Something wild and vicious flared to life in Sirius's veins, something that felt eerily similar to the insanity of a man who was already damned. Magic danced between Sirius's fingertips, sparking and crackling to the surface, ready to be released. His right hand itched to draw his wand—not so much for practical use in a potential duel, but for the sheer intent and intimidation factor of facing one's enemies with a wand drawn—but the wand was packed away in his trunk, and Sirius was well aware that both Malfoy and Narcissa knew he didn't need a wand to be a major contender in a duel.

"You don't touch him," Sirius hissed, baring his teeth. "You don't fucking look at him. You don't say his name."

"He's one, pathetic little half-breed. I will speak to him and treat him as he deserves. You can't make me do anything, Black."