Carve Me Open / r.l. + s.b. /

The Sorting

"We put ourselves behind walls.
Close windows.
Lock doors.
And then hate the sun,
for not asking to come in."

-via l.e.bowman.poetry

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The Great Hall, September 1st, 1971

Sirius, suspended in awe-induced silence, shuffled behind the great oaf who'd welcomed them near the platform. For the first time in his wretched life, he'd been speechless. Not a quip or jab flitted between his lips, and those eyes—always at attention and narrowed—beamed. He'd done it; Sirius had finally escaped that stone prison known as Grimmauld Place to Hogwarts. The photographs hadn't done the structure justice, not one bit. It towered over every building Sirius had ever come across, into the clouds and dusting the sky with its torched light.

The grass was wet with summer rain, a sweet mist brushing across his nose. Sirius inhaled deeply, nostrils curling around the scent. There were no flowers or much shrubbery but an expanse of trees that could've gone on for centuries. The glimmer from their lamp light dared only to dip just past the first line of oaks, fading into nothing but dark blue shadows. Even still, Sirius felt a sensation of anticipation as he surveyed the forest. Could he explore it?

A great man—and by great, Sirius meant mammoth—welcomed them as they exited the train, leading them to the shore of what Sirius assumed was the Black Lake. Walburger, his polyp of a mother, had shown her son a few paintings of the waters; they were just as murky and unnerving in person. A wicked smirk stretched across his face as soon as he took notice of the dodgy boats sitting only a few yards away. A plan was unraveling in his mind, and his eyes settled on poor Peter Pettigrew.

Ignoring Hagrid (that was the oaf's name) as he nattered away about the history of the lake, Sirius leaned down to the fat boy's level, "I would be careful if I were you. I heard that the Squid is liable to reach up and snatch anyone who demonstrates any sign of fear as we pass over."

The smaller one paled, fretting with his fingers.

"W-what do you mean, fear? What if I'm afraid," he cried, not caring that Hagrid had already begun leading them down the bank. "Wait! We're going over the lake? I can't swim."

James, who'd been trying his hardest to lose the barbaric boy from the train ride, grinned over his shoulder. A silent agreement had been exchanged between the two—an implicit plan tying together piece by piece.

"Of course, we are," Sirius drawled, hesitant to throw a regal arm over the boy's shoulder lest a bit of dust come onto his robes. "True gentlemen and women such as us like to arrive in style, Phillip."

"My name is Pe—"

"Yes, I know, Percy! Just remember that squirming, nervous secretions, shudders, and clicking of your teeth – they're all just pheromones for, you know, the Squid."

The fat boy covered his face with his chubby, shaking hands and cried, "I don't even know what pheromones are!"

To say that Sirius was surprised would be unconvincing, not to mention a pathetic lie. What's-His-Face was a grade-A simpleton, obviously. Sirius glanced over his shoulder, not missing the pitiful look Lupin was giving the fat boy—Patrick, was it?

"Four ter' a boat," Hagrid called out, voice booming over the hushed chatter.

Sirius noticed himself searching the limited crowd for a familiar, gaunt face and messy tawny hair. It would be stupid for Lupin not to join their boat; sure, things had gotten off to a bumpy start on the train, but there was nothing a little more chit chat couldn't patch up. Besides, judging by the rest of the half-breed idiots around him, Sirius was convinced Lupin was the closest thing to a competent human being they'd get.