Sirius Black and the Map of Mischief

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

            Walburga Black was the sort of woman one avoided simply on principle. If her tight smile and superfluous cane weren't enough to keep you at bay, then her caustic voice and ostentatious hat choices ought to do the trick.

She had a marvelous habit of telling anyone who would listen about how accomplished her younger son, Regulus, was after "a mere two years at school." Her audiences included patrons waiting in line at the theater, victims of her afternoon teas, and the occasional servant when she had one too many glasses of punch at a party. She was convinced Regulus would replace the current potions master, Horace Slughorn, shortly after completion of his studies, and she felt the world deserved to know.

Her elder son, Sirius, on the other hand, was widely acknowledged as the black sheep of the family. Though he had inherited his mother's sharp tongue and his father's stormy eyes, he had retained little of their ideology. He detested his parent's bigotry toward Muggle-borns, and had devastated his mother by being sorted into Gryffindor. His rejection of his family's pure-blood values gave Sirius a decisive air of rebellion, and while it was widely acknowledged that James Potter, with his disheveled hair and Quiditch skill, was the heartbreaker of the rising fourth-year Gryffindor boys, Sirius had marked himself as the sort of boy that many girls felt a compulsive need to fix.

This same rejection of values, many said to be the cause of Sirius' mother's perpetually upturned nose. In fact, it was that exact snarl that Sirius was now avoiding as he stood on Platform 9 ¾ of King's Cross Station, eagerly awaiting his escape from what could only be described as a very long summer.

"Say hello to the Avery's son from us, Regulus," Walburga sniffed. "His mother tells me they made him a prefect last year. She was quite offended when I forgot. Stuffy woman."

Regulus shifted his weight from one foot to the other and offered up a dutiful "Yes, Mother."

"Good. Now, Sirius."

But Sirius had become incredibly interested in the squeaky wheel of a nearby trolley and couldn't be bothered to answer.

Walburga cleared her throat.

Sirius folded his arms across his chest and bent toward the ground. What ungodly amount of rust could cause so much squeaking from such a tiny wheel? As he bent over, his eyes darted to his mother's cane, which was tapping with increasing volume against the platform floor.

"Sirius!"

Sirius straightened, now taller than his mother thanks to a recent growth spurt that left his limbs feeling out of place at his new height of 5'7" (if asked, however, the number cited by the proud boy was 5'8", though finding a tape measure that would confirm such a claim was next to impossible).

As he looked at his mother, Sirius assembled his features into a careful reconstruction of hurt and betrayal. "I'm sorry, Mother. I couldn't hear you over the inane sounds of the trolley. Do you have something important to say?"

Walburga Black's lips were pressed into thin lines that reminded Sirius of his Transfiguration professor – but it was there that the resemblance ended. Mrs. Black's temper was more spiteful and her opinions more proud than McGonagall's would ever be. She had just finished assembling that spite into vicious darts of poison words when a loud whoop broke her attention.

"SIRIUS!" A loud voice filled the train station as James Potter bolted toward his best friend. James, too, had grown several inches over the summer, but had somehow managed to avoid Sirius' gangly appearance.