All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

First Year : The Hogwarts Express

It didn't last, of course. It never did, with Walpurga. In the years that followed, Sirius sometimes wondered if the good memories had ever really happened, or if they were only ever dreams-fantasies that he convinced himself were real so that he could keep going. Had she really smiled at him, that day? Had she really been proud? In the years to come, the memory would grow dimmer, foggier, until Sirius could never truly be sure that it had happened at all.

On the morning they left for the Hogwarts Express, his mother was decidedly not proud. Sirius had thought he might be able to ride the high of the successful wand-bestowing ceremony, scrape through the last few weeks of summer quietly and be on his way. But this was not to be.

It was just-Reg. Regulus. He had grown more withdrawn the closer it got to September, more distracted. Sirius had been trying not to think too much about it, because anytime he did it felt like a fist was closing over his heart.

They'd always had each other, the Black boys. Each other, and not much else. The problem was that Reg was sweet-always had been, even as a little kid, at that age when kids are supposed to be bratty and drive everyone around them up the wall. There was a softness to him that was too close to weakness. He saved worms from drowning in the gutter. He cried when Walpurga shouted-which only made her shout more. Sirius learned very young, and very quickly, that no one else was going to protect his baby brother. It had to be him, or Reg would have no one at all. And besides, it was one thing to have his mother at his throat, screaming in his ear-Sirius could take it. But if she set in on Reg, and Sirius watched his little brother's lip start to tremble, heard him start taking those quick, funny breaths that meant he was trying not to cry...Sirius couldn't stomach it.

He actually had thrown up, one time. When he was seven, and Reggie had just turned six. Poor Reg had wet the bed-it was an accident, just kid stuff, a nightmare. Even at seven, Sirius was old enough to understand that. He was old enough to understand that a mother shouldn't scream at her child for that, shouldn't dig her nails into his arm and drag him off the bed and pull down his trousers, pointing her wand at his legs like she was going to-

That was when Sirius had vomited. Walpurga had turned to him with hellfire in her eyes, her anger like a blade. Only now, it was pointed at Sirius, and not Reg.

But that was alright. Sirius had got his first scar ages ago. It wasn't anything he couldn't live through. But seeing Regulus's unblemished legs, still chubby with baby fat, smooth and vulnerable-seeing his mother's wand pointed at them-that was what had made Sirius sick.

After that, it was like Sirius had discovered some sort of secret code. When being good didn't work-and it never did, not for long-when one of them made a mistake, he just had to make sure that his was worse. That was all it took, to keep Reggie safe. It was worth it.

So as they left for King's Cross Station, Sirius couldn't shake the guilt that cobwebbed across his heart, clinging to him. It wasn't as if his parents would ever let him stay back, would ever let him wait a year just so that he could go to Hogwarts at the same time as Reg. But maybe a better brother would have tried. Maybe a better brother wouldn't be so excited to leave.

The best Sirius could do was be bad. Once he had secured his wand, he spent the rest of the summer rebelling in every small way he could think of. He tracked mud through the house, he snuck out of his room at night and crept around the library until Kreacher found him, he nicked more muggle magazines. It was a delicate balance, inciting his mother's anger but ensuring that it was focused solely on him. There couldn't be any spill over; he needed to make sure that Reg looked like an angel once he left, and not a punching bag for any pent up frustration with the Black heir. But Sirius thought he had managed alright.