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

Lionheart

Dear Andromeda,

How's Ted?

Reg and I got a new tutor, Mrs. Blanche Withers, and she's forcing us to keep up correspondence with our relatives, even though I'm off to Hogwarts (finally!) early next week. And, seeing as you're the only relative I can stand (other than Reg, of course), it's your lucky day. Let me dazzle you with my masterful prose and incendiary wit. (Incendiary—that's the right word, right? I think it is.)

How are Bella and Cissa?

(Ignore that. I don't really care. Mrs. Blanche Withers just made me write it because it's polite or some bullshit like that.)

How's the Ministry, these days? (Please do answer that one. I want to know.) What have they got you doing? Are you still in Public Relations?

Like I said, I'm off to Hogwarts next week. I've got my wand and my books and loads of Slytherin scarves and ties Mother insisted upon buying when were in Diagon Alley. I'm excited, truly, and not just because I'll finally be away from this house for a good portion of the year. Well, who am I kidding? It's mostly that.

I do have a question—(Sorry if the writing gets small or smeared. I'm trying to hide this bit from Mrs. Blanche Withers. She's quite a snoop, that one.)—at Hogwarts... How did you manage it with, well, the Black family brand, and all? One day in Diagon Alley almost did me in, and, if Mother's ramblings about the complete lack of blood purity at Hogwarts, then I imagine it's quite a task navigating the halls. Then, say, hypothetically—very, very hypothetically, mind you—I were to hypothetically befriend someone of a rather less-than-pure lineage—a blood traitor, for instance—how might I hypothetically embark on such a friendship, when I, as I am, can hardly stand to touch said hypothetical friend?

Anyway, I hope you're well and I hope this letter reaches you and doesn't get thrown into the fire. Regulus tried to write Uncle Alphard and ask him how long he thought it would take before the Ministry to arrest Rodolphus Lestrange and throw him in Azkaban for using Dark Magic. Apparently, since Bella's engagement was announced, Alphard's been taking bets. Mrs. Blanche Withers, ever the spoil-sport, tore Reg's letter to shreds and ordered him to go help Kreacher with the dishes. Frightful woman, that Mrs. Blanche Withers, and that's coming from someone raised by Walburga Black.

Love,

Sirius

Dear Sirius,

I'm so glad to hear from you!

In reference to your first question, I must now implore you to speak in a rather coded manner, as my nightmare of a younger sister has taken to reading my letters when I am not present to receive them. Henceforth, the subject of your question shall be referred to only as my new, adorable owl, Feathers. In answer to your question, Feathers is doing perfectly fine. He's enjoying his new employment at an apothecary shop in Hogsmeade—such a smart owl, that Feathers! We are also madly in love and I shall never love another owl as much as Feathers, no matter the arrangements my parents make.

I am doing well. Yes, I'm still in Public Relations, slowly working my way up, though it's a bit tedious. Feathers thinks my talents are being wasted and I should begin Auror training. Imagine that, huh? A Black, as an Auror! Mother and Father would have a fit. Perhaps I'll do it, then, eh?

I'm so sorry to hear of the passing of your old tutor—Auclair, was it? I know you weren't particularly fond of him either, but this Mrs. Blanche Withers sounds like a real nightmare. Poor Reg. He'll have to learn to tolerate her while you're off at Hogwarts. You better write your poor, dear brother often, Sirius Black, or I shall never invite you out for ice-cream with me and Feathers again.