All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Second Year : The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars

By the time dinner ended, Sirius was feeling much more like himself. James was telling a story that made Peter laugh so hard that he snorted pumpkin juice out of his nose, which sent all the boys into hysterics. Sirius could almost forget that his little brother was sitting just a few feet away—almost.

So Reg had been sorted into Slytherin—fine. It was over and done, and Sirius told himself firmly that there was no changing it now, so there was really no use in dwelling on it (or trying to unpick the tangled snarl of emotions it had created in his chest). Instead, he decided to do what he did best: find a new distraction. Luckily, he already knew what that would be.

Over the summer, Sirius had had a much easier time reaching Andromeda—she was able to send mail directly to the Potters, instead of using the much slower muggle post. Hoping to take advantage of the situation, Sirius had begged her to send him more muggle music. As his favourite cousin, she had, of course, obliged.

Sirius had no way of knowing, when the flat brown package showed up on the Potters’ doorstep, that his life was about to change. He didn’t realize, as he tore off the paper, that what he held in his hands was not a simple record, but a door to an entirely new world. He didn’t think, as he set the needle on his record player, that the entire course of his future would irrevocably change.

It was unlike anything he had ever heard. The first song took his breath away—the second gave it back. He was transported, body glued to the carpet as his soul dipped up and down with the music. Sirius was sure that there must be some sort of magic imbued into the sound.

David Bowie—that was the name of the artist. He stared at the picture on the album cover. Bowie stood with his leg hitched up and a guitar slung over one shoulder, clothed in an electric blue jumpsuit that was unbuttoned nearly to the waist. He was the coolest person Sirius had ever seen—his heart did a funny little flip, looking at him.

He begged Andromeda to send him any and all things Bowie—she obliged, passing along a poster and some magazines and promising to pick up his other albums when she could. Sirius flipped through the pictures of the rockstar, awestruck. He was unlike anyone, striking and alien and so bloody cool.

James and Peter didn’t get it, of course. Sirius had all but given up on converting them—they clearly lacked all sense of taste when it came to the finer things in life. James only had room for quidditch in his brain, and Peter was entirely focused on James. But Remus—Sirius had been looking forward to the moment when they were both back at Hogwarts and could listen to the album together, knowing that Remus would understand.

But Lupin shook him off after dinner, mumbling something about the hospital wing and hurrying away. Sirius frowned at his retreating form, mentally counting the days—but it wasn’t a full moon that night. Still, he knew better than to question Remus about anything having to do with his mysterious illness, and returned sulkily to the dorm to wait.

As he set up his record player, James shot him a look.

“Not this again,” he moaned, “You’ve already made us listen to that Stardust bloke a billion times this summer.”

“Yeah, but Remus hasn’t heard it,” Sirius shot back, laying out his new albums on the bed. James sat up.

“Where is Remus?”

“Hospital wing.”

“Huh. He’s sick quite a lot, isn’t he…”