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

The First Spell

AUGUST 6, 1971

"Monsieur Auclair?" Regulus asked, his eyes wide and curious. "What will Hogwarts be like?"

Sirius Black looked up from his book—Infamous Tales of European Wizarding Families—and eyed his tutor, curious as to how he'd choose to respond. Regulus, of course, had asked their parents this question nearly a dozen times before Walburga had hexed his mouth shut. Neither Orion nor Walburga were particular forthcoming with answers to this particular question, other than furious mutterings of "Mudbloods and blood traitors, roaming the halls like they have the right to be there."

Alphonse Auclair, the gruff and most recent tutor for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, let out a grunt. "Haven't the foggiest," he grit out. "Went to Durmstrang, didn't I? That's where all the great pure-blood houses go, I expect."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "You're not from a great house, Auclair. You're one step up from a blood traitor," he said with a sneer. He didn't particularly like to point it out, but it was true. He'd heard his mother say it nearly a hundred times. The Auclairs, though great in numbers now, were scattered all around France and Western Europe. That being said, they were a relatively young line of pure-bloods. Nothing compared to the awe-inspiring lineage of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. "Besides," Sirius said, ignoring Auclair's glower and turning to Regulus, "Durmstrang's full of nothing but dark wizards. Hogwarts is way more fun. 'Dromeda told me so."

"Hogwarts," Auclair said, baring his yellowing teeth, "has had no shortage of their own bits of riffraff over the years."

"Are the ceilings really enchanted to look like the stars?" Regulus asked, ignoring the tension between Sirius and Auclair.

Sirius tried to hide his smile. He'd told Regulus about the ceiling in the dining hall after reading about it in Hogwarts: A History. Regulus always loved the stars.

"'Course not," Auclair said before Sirius could reply. "I expect Hogwarts's ceilings are perfectly normal."

"And you would know this how, exactly?" Sirius shot back. "Seeing as you have no imagination to speak of and went to Durmstrang, how would you know what Hogwarts's ceilings look like?"

"Wonder and awe are mere parlor tricks to make Muggles and Mudbloods remember their place," Auclair growled. "No respectable wizarding institution would waste the time and resources on such audacious and tedious spellwork, when there's practical magical instruction to be done."

Annoyed, Sirius reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a folded bit of parchment. It bore his name and a broken wax seal. "Even so," he said, waiving the letter in Auclair's face, "Mother and Father seem to have decided Hogwarts is best. Got my letter a few days ago."

"Yes, of course you did," Alphonse said, his nose wrinkling at the parchment. "'Suppose a brat like you will be sorted into Hufflepuff. No spine to you whatsoever. No stomach for the, ah... More demanding magic."

Hufflepuff? Sirius nearly cringed at the thought.

"That so?" Sirius replied, instead, throwing a wink at Regulus. Sirius flexed the fingers of his right hand, reaching for the tingle of magic that seemed to dwell just beneath the surface of his skin.

A bolt of red light shot from Sirius's pointer finger and hit Auclair square in the chest. The tutor's long, wiry hair stood straight up, as if he'd been electrocuted, and instantly turned from a stunning white to a bright, flamingo pink.

Regulus rolled off his chair onto the floor, clutching his stomach, as he collapsed in a fit of laughter.

Sirius smirked and snapped his book closed. He wiggled his fingers playfully, the magic still dancing between them. "How's that for audacious and tedious?" he said.