Chapter 2: The First Week of School Always Sucks

I startled awake in an entirely too soft bed, the opposite of my own at the orphanage, shooting up, taking deep, gasping breaths that ripped through my lungs. My body instinctively reached fight or flight mode in seconds as my heart raced and adrenaline flushed through my system.

There had been something in my dreams, a memory, a name.

“Peter Pettigrew,” I mumbled, the wizard supposedly murdered by my father, yet the other part of me said that was wrong, there was something else…

It took me a moment to take in the red curtains surrounding me, and I took a deep breath, rolling the still unusual taste of Gryffindor tower over in my mouth. It was a smoky flavor that accented the typical flavor of the magic of Hogwarts, though it wasn’t something that I hated.

I frowned in thought. I had no idea why I had been so unsettled, yet the dream itself had faded for the most part.

Shrugging to myself, I began to get ready for the day, idly scratching my stomach where my shirt had ridden up.

I wasn’t a particularly pleasant person when I had to get up early, yet I was awake now, and I would have to make do, preparing my body for its day, brushing my teeth, and showering sleepily.

I took a glance around the dorm as I exited the bathroom to see that my fellow compatriots in learning had not yet managed to rouse themselves, not a surprise as the boys had been rather rowdy late into the night. Then I shrugged to myself tiredly, though I couldn’t help but focus on Ron Weasley’s curtain, tasting the air in thought.

There was something in my mind about a rat named Scabbers, potentially a man named Peter Pettigrew.

I hadn’t seen if Ron Weasley had a rat yet, though, but I couldn’t help the nerves tumbling in my gut at the thought. Some things were different from my memories, but if Ron Weasley had Scabbers like my strange memories said, wouldn’t that mean that my dad really could be innocent?

Of course, locating the rat was another thing entirely. I hadn’t seen the creature yet.

I shook myself and then made my way down the stairs, shouldering my bag, yawning again to myself, my robes were slightly askew, and while my shirt was buttoned entirely, I had left the gold and red tie loose for the maximum amount of breathing room.

The Gryffindor common room was quiet without a soul in sight as I made my way through, exiting out the portrait of the Fat Lady, humming slightly to myself.

As I walked, I kept my mouth shut, trying to keep out the overwhelming amount of flavors present within the Hogwarts castle walls.

The flavors weren’t necessarily bad; I actually liked most of them, but they mashed together sometimes unpleasantly in an almost overwhelming way.

Down the stone stairs of Hogwarts, I walked, making my way down the staircases until I arrived at the Great Hall, which was fairly empty, lacking the majority of students from last night.

Food hadn’t even appeared at the tables, but honestly, I wasn’t super hungry, so I took the opportunity to settle at the Gryffindor table and take out one of my books.

Spending time studying wasn’t likely ever to be my favorite part of magic, honestly, but it felt necessary given that I was at a literal school for magic.

Still, nothing I read could make me care overly much about the History of Magic, or at least the way Batilda Bagshot wrote it, so that book remained shut for now.

“Who gives the smallest of fucks which goblin rebellion this was?” I muttered to myself as I continued flipping cheerfully through my book of charms.

Charms' magic, in my opinion, was fascinating simply because of how wide a category it encompassed.

Even fire-generating spells like incendio seemed to be under charms, which opened up the obvious question of where transfiguration fit in.

My going theory for that was that transfiguration was the changing and animation of matter itself, while charms were about having an effect on matter and energy projection in general.

In that sense, the Reductor curse very much should qualify as a charm just as Depulso did.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to mix physics with magic in the first place, but it was all I had in the beginning to identify my capabilities with the little of wandless magic I could accomplish.

I flicked my mind to the taste of strawberries, turning the page of my book with a waved finger.

In my head, I could acknowledge how childish it was to use magic to flip the page of a book with magic, but I couldn’t shake the thought of how simply fun it was to use magic itself, even these years later.

And I was finally going to learn to be able to do more of it as well.

I had made some progress in my charms book before the breakfast dishes appeared shimmering into existence.

I looked up from my book to see that other students had slowly filtered into the hall.

Shrugging to myself, I filled my plate with sausages, eggs, potatoes, and grilled tomatoes.

I hesitated before I took my first bite, trying to clear my mouth from the seemingly ever-present flavors in the Great Hall with a swig of orange juice.

I flinched, restraining the urge to spit out the fluid as I gingerly swallowed it.

It was the same issue I had encountered last night, if what I had read once was true, house elves prepared the food, and it was my thought that the food itself was soaked with their magic as well, which unfortunately gave almost everything an almost minty flavor.

It was either that or simply the food being transported to the table itself, soaked it in magic as well.

Either way, I had found eating last night extremely difficult.

Gingerly, I bit into a grilled tomato slice, trying to taste the acidic, slightly sweet juice and flesh accented by its grilled nature, but all I could taste was mint, causing me to nearly gag.

Morosely, I picked through my food, doing my best to ignore the flavor, enough at least to fill my stomach so I’d be able to get through the day.

“Mr. Black,” McGonagall’s voice spoke from behind, and I turned to see the woman dressed in her usual emerald robes offering me a piece of parchment, “Here is your class schedule,” she said, her face just as stern as usual.

“Thank you, Professor,” I took the parchment from her, giving her a half smile that I knew didn’t reach my eyes.

McGonagall's face did not so much as shift even minutely before she turned to walk away, sweeping down the table to the next students.

I fiddled with parchment for a moment before I opened it, looking at the classes arrayed within.

I had the strangest feeling this was going to be a long day.

-

The first person to arrive that I knew was somewhat expectedly Hermione, in a rush of her bookbag and flurry of parchment, landed across from me, as it seemed she had taken it upon herself to attempt to memorize the entire first-year curriculum before classes started.

She seemed very much way too prepared, but I kept such thoughts to myself and, at the same time, ignored some of the looks shot my way by the older students.

Questioning right now, on the verge of comprehension, but not quite yet. My last name was Black, but they likely didn’t think much of it, for now, at least, my parentage wouldn’t be common knowledge yet.

I wondered how long it would be before they figured out who my father was.

The Sorting Hat’s words made me a little nervous, but there wasn’t much I could realistically do.

Though I should probably do something about the fact that Hermione seemed on the verge of giving herself a conniption.

“You should probably eat, Hermione,” I gently prodded the girl, gently.

The girl looked up from one of the textbooks in front of her eyes wide, “But I have to be prepared for-“

“And you will be,” I interrupted her, giving the girl a small smile, “It’s just the first day.”

“But the first day’s the most important for making good impressions on our professors!” Hermione exclaimed, evidently having none of it.

I contemplated the merits of more reassurance and the likelihood of said reassurance having an appreciable effect on the girl before realizing there simply was no point.

Iris Potter entered the hall, immediately noticeable by the decrease in conversation as heads rubbernecked towards her.

The girl almost visibly shrank before the gazes of her peers as her eyes glanced at the Gryffindor table with the air of someone searching for a life preserver having been tossed overboard.

“Iris,” I called, waving my hand slightly, flagging the girl down despite my better judgment of potential consequences for doing so.

Iris’s head turned towards me, and a small smile emerged on her face, far too much warmth for the small action I was taking.

She moved hurriedly towards me, settling on the bench next to me with a small thud, giving me a solemn look, “Ares,” she greeted quietly.

“’Lo Iris, sleep well?” I grinned casually at the girl, hiding my own discomfort as well as I could.

Iris blinked before something approaching a smile flashed across her face, though the motion was awkward and unsure, “The beds here are really soft,” she remarked, and then hesitated a moment before she spoke again, “I almost couldn’t fall asleep.”

Regretting the question as I asked it, but needing to know, I replied offhandedly, “These beds are softer than yours back home, then?”

Likely because I was looking for it, I noticed the smallest of flinches on Iris’s face, “Uh,” she glanced away, “Something like that,” she murmured.

This time, I prevented my magic from rippling out of control, but I couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling in my gut. I couldn’t be sure, but on the other hand, there were those small details that rattled against my own knowledge that concerned me to the extreme.

I noted that she had barely filled her plate and was picking through its contents slowly.

“You okay?” I asked, leaving the comment at that, not wanting to make the girl self-conscious about her eating, but unable to help the small flare of worry in my gut.

“Mm,” Iris hummed, nodding her head slightly, “I’m just really full from last night.”

‘Control,’ I repeated in my head, ‘Control,’ I couldn’t let my magic flare at every little thing.

“Well, eat what you feel like, and then we can all head to class,” I grinned at Iris, letting a natural lopsided smile cross onto my face.

Iris nodded her head, her face unchanging, but she seemed to perk up at my words a bit, her back straightening slightly.

-

Moving in a herd, the Gryffindor first years, joined by the Ravenclaws, navigated the halls to the transfiguration classroom with the aid of a prefect who led us through the halls.

We entered the classroom, and I immediately spotted Professor McGonagall standing at the front sternly with all the solidity of a statue.

I turned, looking for a spot near the back, only to be promptly checked by Hermione, who was eagerly heading towards the front of the classroom.

Iris had remained waffling near the doorway, looking about, seemingly unsure. I sighed and grabbed her hand quickly, not willing to make the same mistake I had made on the train, and pulled her to sit next to Hermione at the front of the class.

Iris didn’t give the slightest bit of resistance, following in my wake like a trailing buoy hooked to a boat before she settled next to me at the table.

I noted that McGonagall’s eyes had locked onto me, and I shifted slightly in my seat, uncomfortable at her gaze.

More students trickled in, and my mind drifted to the Castle Grounds as I thought of another Animagus, if Peter Pettigrew was right now wandering the castle grounds as a rat.

Though that meant I would need to memorize the tastes of many of the magics of my fellow students if I were to make any progress in differentiating Pettigrew’s flavor from others, and that was if I could tell apart a rat from a man in the first place.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair.

The clock ticked past to the start of class and McGonagall began.

“Transfiguration is a delicate subject requiring a strong will and strong magic to influence one’s will upon the world.”

She flicked her wand and the desk in front of her twisted to become a massive hog, causing a startled exclamation and cheer from the class before she reverted the desk back to its original form.

“Today, we will begin by transfiguring matches to needles,” she said primly before gesturing with her wand and causing a storm of wooden matches to fly across the room, arriving in front of each student within seconds, “but first you must understand the equation for doing as such, the intended transformation ‘t’ is directly influenced by body weight ‘a’, viciousness ‘v’, wand power ‘w’, concentration ‘c’ and a fifth unknown variable ‘z’ which for now we will disregard.”

McGonagall gestured at the matchstick in front of her, clearly enunciating the incantation, causing the match to shimmer into the form of a perfect needle.

I caught the faint trace of iron across my tongue but shifted slightly for lack of a better word.

We were then allowed to begin ourselves, and I looked down at the match, frowning to myself.

I focused on the iron flavor and tapped the matchstick with my wand, focused so hard on the flavor that I didn’t even murmur the incantation.

The match shivered, changing to a steely grey color as my magic flexed through my wand, though the match still very much remained in match shape.

I frowned, shaking my head to myself, tapping the match to revert it back to its original form, tasting the soapy, almost clean feeling as the magic left the wood.

I tapped the match again, focused just as before, tapping into the first step of occlumency, and murmured the incantation, and this time I felt the iron feeling in my mouth seemingly shape itself as it was leaving my mouth, and I focused on creating a razor-sharp point with the inflection of my words.

A flicker of magic passed through my arm, and the match flickered and shifted into a perfect silver needle, and I blinked, surprised despite myself.

That was… easy?

Immediately, I frowned, trying to figure out the reason. Was it my mind? Was it my sense of magic?

I frowned and twirled my wand, muttering the reversal spell, tasting the words of the spell as they left my mouth, and the needle was once again a match.

I felt eyes on me and looked up to see Professor McGonagall, who had stopped in front of me. She glanced at my needle, then back at me.

For the briefest of moments, something sparkled in her eyes as she looked at me, though as I looked at her, her eyes didn’t seem to be looking at me, not really.

“Mr. Black, would you mind repeating that spell?” she asked quietly, seemingly avoiding drawing the attention of the class.

I shrugged lazily and flicked my wand, and once again the match was a needle; this time I had imagined intricate grooves down its surface, swirling to its point.

Professor McGonagall looked down at the needle for a long moment before she nodded once at me, “Acceptable, Mr. Black,” she said simply before moving on.

I couldn’t help the small huff of breath that left my mouth as she left, and to prevent any frustration from leaking out of me, I looked down at my desk.

I understood Professor McGonagall had her own issues with me; there was no surprise there. Perhaps it was a bit much to be expecting any deal of warmth, but I couldn’t deny the small pang of hurt that pricked at me.

It was that faint, ever-present loneliness I was getting overly familiar with.

What I had managed was more than acceptable; no one else had gotten even close.

I grabbed my rudimentary Occlumency and flushed the frustration from my mind, then glanced at Iris and Hermione, who were both seemingly in their own worlds as they waved and muttered their incantations above their needles.

The air was thickening with magic, and the taste of iron grew heavier and heavier in the air, though the taster seemed somewhat distorted, imperfect.

I glanced at Hermione, whose face had scrunched to its fullest as she glared at the matchstick in front of her that I noted had become more slivery and maybe a little more pointed.

She seemed to catch my gaze and looked up before her eyes widened as she saw my own matchstick turned needle.

“How’d you do that?” she exclaimed, and I noted her exclamation had drawn the eyes of some other students, including Iris’s attention.

I shrugged, giving her a lopsided smile, “Lucky, I guess,” I said, “Would you like help?”

Hermione glanced at my needle again and then shook her head slowly, her eyes turning away from me a little too quickly, “I’ll manage fine on my own,” she said, and I noted the tones of cool frustration in her voice.

I looked back at my desk, feeling a small pit swirl in my stomach. I didn’t think she’d be upset that easily, but again, I only knew the girl from my past memories, which could be hazy at the best of times.

I glanced at Iris, whose gaze I had also felt even as her eyes flicked away almost instantly back to her match, which showed only a small narrowing of wood.

I opened my mouth, then closed it, unsure if I should say anything.

“Would you like any help, Iris?” I asked quietly, prepared for another rejection, only to be surprised to see her nod, the slightest of motions.

“Please,” she said quietly.

I contained my surprise at the girl to an uncertain twitch of my lips. Iris was more and more not like I had expected.

More and more, I wanted to know what exactly Professor McGonagall had told her.

“Well-“

I began shifting slightly nearer to her and turning myself to see her fully, “Show me what you’re trying now,” I said.

Iris flicked her wand in a perfect motion and muttered the incantation perfectly as well before tapping the matchstick, which shimmered slightly, and I tasted the right iron flavor, yet it lacked, well, strength was the best way to say it.

“Give it a bit more juice,” I encouraged Iris.

She raised an eyebrow at me, seemingly confused at my words, “What?” she said.

“Ya know, magic,” I waved slightly haphazardly through the air, “You’re not giving your wand enough power.”

Iris’s brow furrowed even more, “How do I do that?

That… was a more complicated question.

“What do you feel when you hold your wand?” I asked.

Iris cocked her head to the side, seemingly thinking for a moment before she finally spoke, “Warmth,” she said softly.

“Okay,” I nodded my head, “Focus on the warmth, let it travel up your arm and try and meet it with equal measure from within, then cast.”

Iris focused down at the desk for a long moment and then flicked her wand in the correct motion, and I was almost overwhelmed as her magic blew through the air thicker and more concentrated than any I had tasted so far.

The matchstick turned into a complete needle, completely smooth with a small, narrow, sharp point.

I smacked my mouth a couple of times trying to rid the taste of Iris’s magic from it, but didn’t manage much of anything.

“That was bloody excellent,” I grinned at her, giving her a thumbs-up.

Iris’s cheeks pinked slightly, and she looked away, “It wasn’t much, you helped,” she murmured softly.

I shook my head, “No, you should be proud. That was incredible.”

In more ways than one, just how powerful a witch was Iris Potter?

Iris shrank a bit but then seemed to draw herself up, and she nodded slightly before opening her mouth to say something, then hesitated and closed it, looking away.

“What’s up?” I asked, confused. I had let the previous day’s occurrence go, but I was starting to realize that, at least for now, I needed to prod her slightly so she would actually speak up.

“Can we talk later?” she asked softly, and I noted her eyes had flicked to Professor McGonagall on the far side of the room.

My gut twisted, but I pasted on my usual smile and nodded, “Sure thing,” I replied quietly as Professor McGonagall approached us once again, glancing down at our desks before her eyes landed on Iris’s needle.

Her eyes widened, and the smallest of smiles stretched across her face.

“Excellent transfiguration, Ms. Potter, I see you have your father’s talent, five points to Gryffindor,” she remarked, looking at Iris with a look that was awfully close to pride, before her face again returned to its strict features and she walked away.

Iris’s eyes flicked to my needle, her emerald eyes glancing at my own needle, and then looking up after Professor McGonagall and I noted the faintest of frowns passing over her face, her eyes losing their luster slightly.

Her eyes flicked back to me, and I could see the wheels turning behind them.

The class bell rang out through the classroom, and students began to pack away their things.

Professor McGonagall spoke up loudly, “A page on the elements of transfiguration and their relation to this spell will be due next class, where we will keep working on this transfiguration.”

I made note of the project as I shouldered my bag and made to leave the classroom, only to note that Hermione had already vanished towards the doorway.

I glanced back to see Iris standing up as well, her eyes flickering at me before they looked down, “Herbology next, I think,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” I replied, “Let’s go.”

-

Herbology hadn’t been a subject I was particularly interested in.

Being in Herbology didn’t make me more interested in the slightest.

Iris, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly how to treat the plant in front of us, some kind of tuber that we were removing from a pot.

She managed to unearth ours with delicate movements and managed to report the tuber within seconds, doing better than any Hufflepuffs and only behind Neville Longbottom, who managed the plants with a fascinated gaze.

I meanwhile tried my best to keep the contents of my stomach inside, as the smells of the greenhouse clashed with the tastes that were popping in my mouth.

Such had been occurring since I entered the greenhouse, and at this point, my head was swimming as I leaned against the table, as Iris took the lead in planting the tuber back into the pot.

Iris glanced at me, her gaze cautious, her hand twitching slightly, before she murmured softly, “Ares?” her tone questioning.

“Sorry, Iris,” I mumbled, “The smell is overwhelming me for some reason.” I shrugged my shoulders helplessly.

“It’s okay,” Iris murmured, her hand twitching again, seemingly aborting reaching up for me, before stilling her hand by her side, “Do you need to leave?”

“I’m fine,” I flicked my eyes to Professor Sprout, who was across the greenhouse assisting a pair of Hufflepuffs.

She at least hadn’t given me the same feeling McGonagall had, though, because she was giving the benefit of the doubt, or because she didn’t know yet, was anyone's guess.

-

Charms, on the other hand, were a subject that had definitely intrigued me, even though we began with something as basic as the color-changing charm.

Intrigued me enough to enjoy Professor Flitwick's introduction to the class and the light-hearted way he took himself, even taking some of the attention off Iris after he squeaked when saying her name and fell off his chair to the titters of the class.

The very fact that something like a marshmallow came off him before he fell to the floor made me think the entire thing had been planned.

Hermione had found a seat on the opposite side of the class and was gazing at Professor Flitwick with rapt attention, though that didn’t stop her gaze from flickering towards me every now and then.

I had definitely made a mistake in my handling of her, but all I could do now was try to repair things when I had an opportunity. I had evidently underestimated just how competitive she would be.

We had begun with the color changing charm, though why color changing was considered a charm and thus different than transfiguration, I was unsure, other than potentially the charm was changing light refraction rather than the substance of the object, though that was not something touched on in the textbook.

Still…

I moodily poked at my cushion with my wand, watching the cushion change through every shade of the rainbow.

If I didn’t find something a little more stimulating in these classes, the temptation to start ditching like I had done in my Muggle classes would set in, which would be a whole other problem.

I felt Iris reaching for my shoulder and turned to see her gazing at my cushion with wide eyes before her eyes flickered to her own.

“Could I have a little help?” she murmured, her emerald eyes flickering away from my own, seemingly reluctant to be asking again.

“Sure thing,” I grinned at her, “Can you show me what you’re doing?”

This time, I tried to prepare myself for the overwhelming nature of Iris’s magic and winced as my entire mouth was flooded from the sheer power that flexed through her wand, and I noted the briefest of instances as the cushion flickered a mottled grey before shifting immediately back to red, and I tasted the crack of magic.

“Yeah, you’re using too much power for this spell,” I grinned lightly at Iris, “I think you overcorrected a little too much.”

Though how she was doing so, so quickly was another question entirely, I had spent over a decade getting a feel for my magic, Iris was seemingly a natural.

Iris cocked an eyebrow at me, “You can do that?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “I think so for this charm, it’s kind of delicate.”

Iris furrowed her eyebrows at the pillow and once again completed the motions, feeding far less magic into it.

Far less, though, just meant that the flavor was a little less overpowering. I still could taste the excess of magic flowing off of her, though, like the petrichor in the air from the rain.

The cushion turned a faint, cloudy grey, one that reminded me of my own eyes, and I blinked in surprise.

Flitwick had let us turn the cushions any color, so why…

My eyes flickered to Iris, who was regarding the cushion with a small, relieved smile. She turned to me, “I did it!” she exclaimed, her eyes lit up happily.

I gave her a grin, “Nice, good work.”

Iris’s eyes widened slightly at me before her gaze flicked away back to the cushion, “Uh, it was nothing that I’m sure anyone else couldn’t have done.”

I saw her sag slightly in her chair, her countenance turning withdrawn and moody, and I restrained the frown that wanted to cross onto my face.

It was stuff like this that worried me. What exactly was going on behind her emerald eyes?

-

Charms was our last class before lunch, so we made our way from the classroom down toward the great hall as a huddled group of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws.

My stomach was already grumbling, though likely because I had only managed to stomach a limited breakfast after an even more limited previous day's dinner.

As we went down the final staircase, a hand secured itself to my wrist and gently but insistently tugged me to the side out of the crowd.

I allowed the guidance and stepped out of the crowd, following after Iris, who led me down the hall a ways till we turned a corner and were out of sight of the other students.

Iris paused, seemingly collecting herself as she looked down at her shoes for a minute.

After another minute had passed, I finally gave in and began the conversation, “You needed to talk?” I asked leading

Iris fiddled with the sleeve of her robe and then looked up with her eyes piercing into me, cool and unyielding, “Professor McGonagall told me to be careful around you,” she said simply.

I restrained a flinch from her bluntness; I had expected this conversation, since McGonagall had taken her to the side.

Still needed a little more than that. “What exactly did she say?” I asked quietly.

Iris fiddled with her hands for a moment, but her eyes remained locked on me, “When we were at the platform nine and three-quarters, she said that you were a student to be careful of. That, given our family histories, it was unlikely that things would end well between us.”

“Did she elaborate on that?”

Iris shook her head, and I spotted the sullen look in her eyes, “No, but,” she hesitated, “I thought you might.”

Well, I had expected this, but the truth…

I looked Iris in the eyes, spotting the guarded look hidden in them, eyes that should be carefree, unable to trust completely.

I didn’t want to talk about this, but if anyone deserved the truth, it was Iris.

“It’s because of our dads,” I said, formulating the whole story I had learned from old Daily Prophet articles I had obtained from Flourish and Blotts, “My father’s name is Sirius Black, he was a friend of your fathers-“

“Our fathers were friends!” Iris exclaimed, and her eyes lit up, excitement burning in them.

I raised my hands, gesturing to wait for a moment, “My father was imprisoned in Azkaban, a wizarding prison for our worst criminals, for betraying your parents to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“Your father betrayed my parents to Voldemort?” Iris whispered, her emerald eyes darkened as she looked at me.

I had to tell her the story as the world knew it; my own thoughts were unimportant right now.

Even if what I thought was true, in a very real way, my father was still responsible because it was he who had switched the secret keeper to Peter Pettigrew, the man who did betray Iris’s parents.

“As far as I know,” I said softly, attempting to keep my tone neutral, “I grew up in a Muggle orphanage and only found out that about him when I was introduced to the magical world over the summer.”

We stood there in silence as I waited for Iris’s verdict. I’d have preferred not to have this conversation for a long time, but on the other hand, it was unfair to try to decide that for her.

Iris stood there, her eyes wide as she looked at me, her face expressionless for several long moments before she spun and ran off without a word.

Unconsciously, I raised a hand after her before hesitating and letting it fall back down to my side.

In a way, it’s what I deserved.

-

I hadn’t bothered eating, honestly, I didn’t think I would be able to stomach anything right now with my insides turning and twisting as they were.

The class after lunch was History of Magic with Professor Binns.

I hadn’t even bothered to show up.

Instead, I had climbed the astronomy tower and settled down by myself on top of the railing so that my feet dangled over the edge as I overlooked the grounds.

I was moping, I knew I was moping.

Yet…

“It’s not fair,” I muttered to myself, voicing the words and wondering if by voicing them it would make any difference.

As little as I had gotten to know Iris, the fact of the matter was, I liked her.

She was perhaps a little quiet, but there was something endearing in her eyes when she used magic, like she was truly happy in a way I didn’t know if I could match.

A magic presence made itself known to my tongue, and if that hadn’t alerted me, the voices would have.

“Do you really think we should send an actual toilet seat?”

“It’d be funny, but I don’t know, it’s a little bland, isn’t it?” said the other voice.

“But imagine the look on Mum’s face-“

The conversation stopped as the presence reached the top of the stairs behind me.

“This tower’s occupied,” I said gloomily, “Find another one.”

The presence froze before they began approaching me, “And what’s an ickle firstie like you going to do about it?” one of them said.

“Does the term defenestration mean anything to you?” I asked dryly.

Both voices broke into collective snickers, “Oooh, feisty!” one of them exclaimed.

I twisted around to see two teenage boys with fiery red hair and freckled cheeks.

“Oooh, Fred, is this one the kid we’ve been warned about?” the one on the right said.

“I think so, George,” Fred said, “You can see it in his villainous, loner eyes, the will to become the next dark lord.”

I couldn’t help the snort that blew through my lips, “So that’s what people are saying?” I asked, despite myself, a little curious.

George shrugged, “Something like that, it’s just a couple of rumors now, but you got the Black family name, of course, and there’s that rumor in the Daily Prophet that the heirship of the Black family has been taken up, people are going to talk. The going theory is you’re the son of Sirius Black. It’s the rumors about the Girl-Who-Lived that take up most of the air, but you’re not getting left out, little convict, don’t worry.”

I restrained the growl that wanted to come from my throat, “You think it’s the best idea to make fun of the son of such a notorious dark wizard? Who’s to say I won’t follow in my father’s footsteps?” I said cooly.

“Oh, your exalted dark majesty, we would never make fun of such a precious baby dark wizard,” exclaimed Fred.

“In fact, we would like to swear ourselves into your most dark service,” proclaimed George.

I groaned, massaging my head, “Please go away,” I said quietly.

The twins looked at each other and then grinned broadly and turned back, “Nope!” they crowed.

I sighed, turning back to look at the castle grounds, “Shouldn’t the two of you be, I don’t know, in class?” I remarked.

“We’re skiving,” George said simply, “Shouldn’t you be in class, little dark lord?”

“Literally the only thing that’s going to notice me missing in History of Magic is my chair,” I replied dryly.

“Oh ho, the little firstie knows a thing or two already,” said George, “They grow up so fast.”

I was going to reply, opening my mouth before a distinct flavor filtered through it, completely different from the general magic around the twins.

It was muddled slightly, but one of the flavors tasted distinctly like my own, mixed with another flavor that tasted a little like Iris, and then two other flavors, if I didn’t miss my mark.

Something nagged at the back of my mind, a memory, a thought, something about a map?

“You’re Ron Weasley’s brothers, right?” I asked.

“Yes, your dark majesty, has our little brother done something to offend?” said Fred, looking gravely serious.

“We only ask that he pay with his life,” said George, bowing deeply, his voice entirely serious.

“He has a pet rat, right?” I asked.

“You mean Scabbers?” Fred questioned, “He was our brother Percy’s rat, but Percy gave him to Ron as a gift.”

“Bit spotty of a gift though,” George shrugged, “He’s just a rat.”

I clenched my fist slightly, looking back out to the school grounds. It wasn’t confirmation, but… well, it did line up with my own memories, though how much those memories matched this reality was another question entirely.

How much spotty memories that came and went as they pleased could be trusted in the first place was another thing entirely.

Of course, what to do about it was another question entirely. I hadn’t so much as spotted the rat yet.

Something burned in my mind, a thought; there was something the twins had that could help me.

But what?

“Do you need an unwilling vermin for sacrifice, my lord?” Fred asked mock plaintively, “As humble servants, we would be unable to do other than your commands.”

They were still messing with me, but my mind had lost the thought.

Reincarnation could be pretty worthless.

Occlumency, the thought occurred to me again. Hadn’t there been something about refining memories within that field of magic? At least from what my book had told me.

Though there was the small issue that my book had also told me that developing functional Occlumency could take years.

I sighed, shaking my head, throwing the flurry of thoughts in my head away with the first step of occlumency, flushing my mind of all thoughts.

“Not today, boys,” I chuckled dryly before slipping off the railing to land on the stone with a soft thud.

“Hey, Dark Lord,” George said as I began to walk away, and I turned to observe the boy curiously.

“Don’t let 'em get to you,” George said with a soft but seemingly genuine smile, a far contrast compared to the boy from before.

Fred nodded, “You should see the stuff they say about us,” he remarked with a chuckle.

I laughed dryly, waving a hand at them before turning around, “Who says they're wrong?”

-

Somewhat unwilling, I had submerged myself in the library looking for a singular spell.

The disillusionment charm was supposedly rather complicated, but I figured, as far as long-term projects went, that there were worse ones.

That and I needed a way to escape the gazes shot my way at this point, and as of now, this was my only strategy.

It only took the better part of thirty minutes to locate the charm in a standard book of spells for fifth years.

The spell was meant for students preparing for their OWLs, and therein lay the problem.

I was nowhere near ready for such magic, but I had to do something to avoid the looks of the other students at Hogwarts.

The steps described in the book were not overly complicated, described as imagining oneself as becoming part of one's surroundings.

As I had read, such an idea had occurred to me: what if I blended the taste of the spell with my surroundings, literally taking on the appearance of the background magic.

Such thoughts had led me to an out-of-the-way classroom where I had locked the door and stood in the center of the room, focusing on tasting the air.

I began with my first attempt, twirling my wand about me, letting a stream of magic swirl out through my wand in a stream around me while murmuring the incantation.

I felt the smallest flicker of something cold over my head trailing down over my body, and I saw my limbs visibly flicker as the taste of my magic flickered briefly to match my surroundings before the spell shattered and I was completely visible again.

“Again,” I muttered to myself and swirled my wand.

Minutes ticked by becoming hours, as I continued my single-minded pursuit of the invisibility charm.

It was unlike me to focus on something like this to the exclusion of all others for so long but I felt as if I had no other choice, other than to perfect the spell.

Over and over again, I cast the spell, feeling my magic drain through my limbs, reducing my reserves bit by bit.

When I hit half of my reserves at the little over two-hour mark, I took a deep breath and paused my casting.

I glanced at my limbs to see a faint movement of light as I shifted them, though the movement was now minuscule, and I was almost the exact flavor of my surroundings.

But not quite.

I shifted slightly, letting the magic take over the effort of matching the visual of my surroundings as I walked several steps forward, checking as I walked if I still matched my surroundings even as the magic bubble surrounding me mimicked the texture of the castle.

I sighed, dismissing the spell. It was progress, but it wasn’t quite there yet. A somewhat camouflage, yet I remained more visible than not to my own eyes.

Yet I had probably made more progress than any first year student could really expect.

My stomach growled its displeasure, and I acknowledged that I would have to go to the Great Hall soon, even if that was the last thing I wanted to do.

I left the classroom and walked down the corridor, making my way to the staircases and then further down to the Great Hall, where I could smell the grandeur of the food within.

I stepped into the Great Hall and tasted the air immediately, picking Iris’s flavor out of the muddled magics within. My eyes flicked to the table, and I saw Hermione and Iris positioned a little ways down the table, sitting next to each other as they quietly ate.

I observed them slightly wistfully before I took an empty seat at the end of the table, where I grabbed enough food to tide me over and then got to the unpleasant work of eating the minty food.

I needed to eat, though, so I did so with as much haste and speed as I dared in the hope that the sooner I swallowed the food, the sooner I could be done with this meal.

Unwilling, my eyes flickered down the table to see Iris staring at her own plate, seemingly searching her potatoes for the meaning of life. I saw the faintest traces of red rimmed eyes, making her own emerald eyes look far brighter.

I sighed and looked back at my own plate.

This was fine.

-

I had not truly known solitude the way I did now over the next days.

I walked to classes with the group of first years, but sat apart from them in the back, practicing the spell we were assigned to the satisfaction of the professor and then diving back into either my book on Occlumency or any other book from the library that had caught my fancy.

The only interruption of any interest was a midnight astronomy class where we had begun the first charts we were supposed to do.

As such, I continued through the week to our first potions lesson, which was a double lesson.

I had taken a seat near the back of the classroom, sitting next to Neville Longbottom, who looked rather pale for some reason.

“I’m going to be rubbish at potions too, aren’t I?” he muttered gloomily.

I grimaced at the boy, wondering if there was anything I could say to cheer him up. His week of classes had gone almost the exact opposite of mine from an academic standpoint; he had yet to accomplish a single spell in class, and while he had done well in Herbology, that was the only bright spark he had going for him.

“You shouldn’t start with that attitude,” I grimaced at the boy, patting him awkwardly on the back, “I’ll help you through it.”

I had no idea if my words had helped him because that was when Professor Snape swept into the room.

“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few...”

Professor Snape’s eyes slid to a blonde girl with curls that draped down her back and grey eyes several shades darker than my own.

“Who possess, the predisposition... I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.”

The class was staring at him with rapt attention, not a sound echoing through the dungeon.

“That is if you’re not as much of a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach,” Professor Snape finished shortly, and I noticed his eyes flash over Iris, though I could glean nothing of the thoughts in his mind.

“We begin by brewing a cure for boils potion, the recipe for which you will find on the board, the ingredients for which you will find in the cupboard. You will be partnered with your table mate and have the class period to do so.”

Snape sharply gestured his wand, revealing a list of chalk instructions on the board.

I glanced over the instructions, taking note of the ingredients thoughtfully before I glanced at Neville, “Let me grab the ingredients, Neville,” I said quietly. I moved with the herd of students to the cupboard. I spotted the snake fangs immediately but skipped over the first two fangs as they tasted slightly stale, magic-wise.

Quickly, I picked out the ingredients relying on my sense of taste before walking back to the table where Neville was standing somewhat awkwardly.

Pulling my cauldron out, I ignited the burner as I began to follow the recipe on the board as well as I could.

Though even as I was about to slice into the dried nettles, I hesitated as the first slice didn’t seem to actually draw out the magic I expected. I turned the blade of my knife and began to crush the nettles instead, and was far more satisfied at the taste of magic that emerged then.

I continued following the recipe, directing Neville to prepare other ingredients, though I couldn’t help but change my instructions as the taste changed.

We continued on our preparations, the motion changing and shifting color. I shifted and moved about the potion and even withheld a snake fang as the potion seemed to reach maximum potency without it.

An hour later, Neville and I stood in front of a perfect light blue potion matching the shade exactly that was described in the textbook.

Neville looked simply amazed, glancing at the potion, then me, “You did it, Antares!” he exclaimed.

I gave the boy a small smile, clapping him on the back, “No, we did it, great work, Neville.”

Neville looked flabbergasted, but a small smile had emerged on his face.

I glanced at the rest of the classroom, noting that they all seemed to be still working on their potions to varying degrees of success.

I tensed as I felt Snape coming up from behind us to peer over our shoulders, a long moment of silence passed.

“Mr. Black, Mr. Longbottom,” he drawled, “Are the two of you finished an hour early?”

Oh, right, the instructions that Snape had presented to us took at least an hour longer.

“Yes, sir,” I said quickly, speaking up before Neville could get flustered.

Snape bent down slightly, seemingly to better examine the potion.

“You only put in five snake fangs correct when I explicitly asked for six correct?” Snake asked in a cool voice, yet I noted drawing the attention of some of the other students.

“Yes, sir,” I said simply, meeting the man’s black eyes directly, standing up straight.

“Why?” Snape asked, and for the first time, there almost seemed to be a real note of genuine curiosity in his voice.

“The other five snake fangs we used were very fresh, so a sixth one would have overpowered the potion,” I said quietly.

“And how did you determine this?” Snape asked.

“I just,” I didn’t want to explain my taste to anyone I didn’t trust, and Snape, while not what I had expected so far, was definitely still not on that list, “I could just tell.”

Snape looked at me for the longest moment, something warring within his black eyes. Curiosity? Interest? Loathing?

I couldn’t tell.

“Acceptable work, Mr. Black, five points to Gryffindor, you may bottle your work and go,” he said the words like one would say a curse before he walked off.

I could feel the eyes on me, but I ignored them. I walked to the front of the classroom and grabbed the vials on Professor Snape’s desk and decanted the potion into several of them.

That hadn’t been what I was expecting.

The man obviously disliked me, but I had expected something more visceral. I mean, I had somehow even earned points, which simply didn’t make sense from what I knew and even heard about the man prior.

By all accounts, no one in Gryffindor liked Professor Snape, though now that I thought about it, I also hadn’t heard much to indicate the man was unfair.

I placed the last vial on Snape's desk before I turned and grabbed my bag, followed by Neville, out of the classroom.

-

I heard the whispering at lunch at the Gryffindor table that Professor Snape had given his first points to Gryffindor in recent memory.

Of course, then my name came up, and the murmurs of Black were getting more and more interested.

“Do you think he’s the actual heir of the Black family?”

“Would explain why he’s doin' so well.”

“I heard from my father that the Black family seat on the Wizengamot is active once again; it would make sense.”

“But how has no one heard of him?”

I pointedly ignored the whispers, though a part of me was rather surprised that the news of my heritage hadn’t been spread farther by Iris.

“Antares?” I turned confused and looked to the side to see Neville sitting next to me, his face slightly pale, but he looked firm in his commitment.

“What’s up, Nev?” I asked with a small grin.

Neville quailed slightly before he seemed to firm himself up, “Is it true what people are saying, that you’re the heir of the Black family? That your father’s Sirus Black?” he asked quietly.

I really didn’t want to talk about this.

“Is there a point to this question?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at the boy who immediately flinched backwards.

“I- Well- It’s-“ Neville began fumbling over his words, and I sighed, waving his words away.

“Yes, it’s true,” I said, bluntly, loudly enough so that the people near us could hear, “My Father is Sirius Black. I never knew him; my first memories are of living in an orphanage. You got another question?”

The words were perhaps a little harsh, well, very harsh, but I was already getting tired of how people were acting around me. If someone had a problem with me they could just say it.

Neville literally jerked backwards, his mouth opening like a goldfish. I could already hear the small whispers around me starting to pick up, but the weight in my chest had eased slightly. Now that everybody knew it didn’t matter anymore.

I was about to turn back to my food before unexpectedly Neville replied quietly, “I’m s-sorry,” the boy stuttered a little, his round face shining with perspiration but staring me firmly in the face, “I know a bit of what it’s like to not have parents.” he said softly, before speaking a little bit louder, “I’m not going to press you about it. I just wanted to know so I could help.”

Help?

“Neville,” I murmured quietly, “You don’t even know me.”

“You helped me in potions, didn’t you?” Neville said quietly, “And you didn’t just do it for me, you actually trusted me to help prepare the potion so I would still learn.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I shook my head.

“You did,” Neville stared firmly at me, though he still looked remarkably pale as if it was taking all of his effort to say these words, “I’ve been rubbish all week at everything ‘cept Herbology. You still sat with me at Potions.”

“If you haven’t noticed, pretty much everybody else in Gryffindor is avoiding me,” I drawled with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s not your fault,” Neville frowned at me, “You’re not your dad.”

I raised an eyebrow at the boy, but I didn’t respond for the moment. In many ways, I understood where people were coming from; family seemed to be a big thing in the wizarding world. As far as anyone knew, the Blacks of modern times had been nothing if not supporters of Voldemort. Neville had made a far bigger deal out of my help than I expected, yet a part of me couldn’t help but feel grateful for that.

I looked at the surprisingly stubborn boy for a long moment, though perhaps he wasn’t the one being stubborn.

“Whatever,” I sighed, “Let’s go get some work done, so we have the weekend free, alright?”

Neville looked taken aback for a moment before a small nervous smile made its way onto his face.

I very pointedly did not look further down the table where Iris sat. It hurt, but I couldn’t say I didn’t understand.