Chapter Text
Chapter 1 – Sirius Black’s POV
Sitting the interviews for Balliol had seemed – truthfully – hilarious to Sirius. He knew that he could piss himself in that very mahogany-themed room, light a cigarette, proclaim his undying love for anal sex and Satan, and he’d still get into his pick of colleges at Oxford University. It didn’t matter what he said or did. His endless and illustrious heritage had awarded him with an ability to move through the world without ever having to care. He did not need to care about people, or places, or things. Sirius Black did not need to care, but he found that he did. His curse!
He’d moved himself into his dorm. He’d brought his posters, books, four packs of Newports, his entire wardrobe, and a thick red duvet. He’d bought a toothbrush and toothpaste from the local student shop. The one from home had always tasted a little bit like black mold. Or mildew. Regardless, everything that was going to touch his body, besides his clothes, was fresh out of packaging.
Sirius liked it that way. He liked his tattoos, and his piercings, and everything that could possibly separate himself from his skin – moreso, what was underneath it. And even though his dorm smelled like someone else’s feet, old-familiar mildew, and shitty wood varnish, there was something else lingering in the air: the tiniest hint of freedom.
Locking the door behind him, Sirius walked, artfully dodged packing crates and lamps, cardboard boxes lining the hallway. A couple doors down from his own, loud voices spilled out.
“Fuck OFF, Potter! I am not getting shitfaced in a pub. At two pm. On a Wednesday.”
“Peter,” a posh voice whined. “Please, I’ll pay! I don’t want to get sloshed; I just want to explore. And maybe enjoy a pint.”
As Sirius moved past, they paused arguing to wave and share a friendly smile. Delighted, Sirius gave one back.
Sirius kept grinning to himself as he moved along. Seems like all the freshers were on a similar routine. It had been Sirius’s plan to migrate out of the dorm buildings and into the streets of Oxford, meander into a pub and enjoy something to eat. He was beginning to feel that itch, having seen those two boys playfighting, bantering…He needed to meet people.
Leaving through the Porters’ Lodge, he entered the main street. It was quieter than he hoped for. Already, little packs of students were studying. Literally studying. He felt his mood slipping down and hunted for a loose cigarette in his jacket pocket. Though he looked like Education Material, his outfit was undeniably Sirius. Stupidly tight black pants and The Killers shirt, bomber jacket and Lennon-esque sunglasses. Not the kind of look that says: “I can’t wait to study English.” He passed bookstore after bookstore, café after café, and that itch threatened to overtake him. He was bored, and when Sirius Black was bored, he did less than honorable things.
Like a beacon of hope, a sign appeared before him. The Kings Arms. Hurrah for student culture. Tucking his sunnies into his curly black hair, he opened the pub doors. Immediately, the stench of lager hit him with full force. The place was jampacked. It seemed like although some of the kids were out studying, most of the student body was in here.
Going up to the bar, Sirius ordered himself a Pilsner. Sure, a fruity fucking beer, but it was weirdly warm out for October. He looked about for a place to perch, preferably by some interesting sorts with whom he could chat, charm, maybe sleep with. Truly, he was up for anything.
He spotted two familiar faces. It seems “Potter” had won, as him and the other boy were sat in the dingey corner by the window enjoying two dark-tinted pints. The window might as well have been a brick wall; it was coated in grime and beer and was letting in absolutely no light. They must have sensed him watching, as they waved at him. Then they waved again, and Sirius waved back. Then they waved a third time, and Sirius got the hint. Right.
“Hello, lads.” He grinned.
“Hiya! Name’s James.” The stupid rhyme and name seemed to complete the sunny face looking at Sirius. He had bright green eyes, messy black hair, and his face was covered in freckles. Something clicked in Sirius.
“I’m Peter, it’s so nice to meet you!” The blond beside James piped in, blue eyes glittering even in the dark pub. He had the kind of face that made you want to pinch his cheeks, baby fat still clinging on.
“I’m Sirius, mind if I sit with you?”
“Oh, we didn’t think you were joking! Take a seat, mate.” Peter spoke with such sincerity.
“No, my name is Sirius.” James howled from behind his pint.
“Of course it is, and we are Sirius-ly offering you a seat, man.” Despite himself, Sirius started to laugh. It was an old joke, but somehow Peter’s stoicism and James’s drunken delight were getting to him. He sat down, grinning ear to ear.
Almost straight away, the banter began to flow through them all. They were all steadily growing off their face, and Sirius felt the itch disappearing. He had a sneaky feeling it might never come back.
“Oh God, and then – oh, you won’t beliiieve it – the kid wipes his glasses, and more grease gets on them.” James squawked in pure joy.
“Fuckin’, oh god. He’s,” Peter grabbed Sirius by the should and goes so serious again, “called Severus.”
This did it for Sirius. He doubled over, laughing so hard that a bit of beer rolls from his lips and up his nose.
James slammed his pint down. “That is what you get! You don’t not hold the door for beautiful red-headed women! I dub him Snivellus!”
Peter lost it next, his eyes a bright red from the force of his cackles. Another hour passed by, and soon Sirius, James and Peter were tottering back to Balliol.
James stumbled into his barren dorm room; items and clothes, even bedding, still packed. Peter took James’s glasses off his face as he passed out on his bed. Sirius and Peter carefully shut the door, and Peter crept into his room next door.
“Night, Sirius!” His face beamed at Sirius.
“Night, Peter.” Sirius smiled back.
Slipping off his pants, Sirius crawled into his bed. He’d unpack tomorrow. For now, nothing really mattered but sleep. Because he was tired, and because tomorrow he’d see his friends again.