The Last Gryffindor (Sirius Black)

Chapter IX: All Wars Are Civil Wars

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All wars are civil wars, because all men are brothers.

- FRANCOIS FENELON

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Stepping onto the platform, Aeliana felt a hundred eyes suffocating her beneath their starving gazes.

Breathe.

Head up. Face forward.

They followed her every move. Although whispers chased her back as she wound her way through Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, she pretended not to notice. It wasn't like she could confront them all at once, so there was nothing to do but grit her teeth and bare with it.

Part of her wished she chose to maintain an invisibility charm all the way onto the train. She used it as a precaution when moving beyond the gates of her property to Apparate to the station. Sabertooth's mewled and moaned like a beached whale after the Apparation, unfortunately making their invisibility more suspect than helpful.

In her heart, Lia knew she shouldn't have been surprised at the attention she received, but it still weighed heavy on her chest. Whenever a Gryffindor child went to Hogwarts, there had always been some fanfare, just not to this degree. By vanishing from the public eye for months she'd only fanned the flames of curiosity, making the murders more mysterious. After all, how could the strongest family of wizards be annihilated in a single night?

Drowning out the distant mutterings and glares, Lia pressed forward to board the train. With every step she took, the crowd either consciously or subconsciously parted around her, leaving an almost eerie hush. Lia could taste their fear, their uncertainty. A dash of pity.

And, for some, their glee. The fall from the top was long and provided good theatre to the uninvolved.

As she hefted her suitcase out of the trolley to push it onto the train, she felt it lifted easily out of her hands. A spike of irrational annoyance shot through her gut and she deliberately kept her eyes low, because she knew without looking up who would be the perpetrator.

"I can lift it by myself," she muttered, directing her words at a scowling Sabertooth.

"True," Sirius mused, "but why break tradition when I always do it for you."

"I've asked you to stop every year since we were twelve," she deadpanned, attempting to snatch the luggage back. "Traditions are meant to be broken, or else you'd be in Slytherin green like your brother right about now."

Sirius held the suitcase out of her grasp, reminiscent of one child taunting another shorter one by holding a toy suspended above their heads.

She planted her hands on her hips, adopting the best approximation of McGonagall's showstopping glare. "Don't cause a scene unless you'd like to lose one of your appendages. Since I'm feeling generous, I'll allow you to choose which."

He made a show of pretending to only just notice their legion of eavesdroppiers, leaning in close to dramatically stage whisper, "How's Voldemort doing these days? Rumour has it that you're actually quite close. He's acting like a spurned ex the way he's having his friends ministering your every move. Is there something I should know? Should I be expecting a wedding announcement soon? At least he won't have to worry about your family getting between you."