Sirius Centered Ficlet: The Origin of Obedience
“Mr. Black!” The professor’s annoyingly low pitched voice boomed across the room.
Which one was this? The second— third teacher of the year? What did he say his name was? Sirius couldn’t remember, somewhat because he wasn’t paying attention, but mostly because he didn’t care. Advanced Dark Arts was a joke of a class. His mother had already informed him far beyond this and Bellatrix and Lucius had no qualms about reinforcing those lessons a few days ago over Christmas break. All this to say, peeling his eyes away from the very interesting spot on the wall to acknowledge the professor’s call was low on his list of things he wanted to do.
“Care to demonstrate the lesson to the class? Perhaps you could use a more interactive lesson,” the man smiled menacingly, obviously delighted by the fact there was a student to make an example of, “since it’s apparent textbook lectures bore you.”
It was true, the droning did bore him, but backing down from a challenge? No Black would ever.
James opened his mouth to say something but Sirius payed him no mind, glancing at the textbook open on his friends desk before making his way down the pew. ‘Legilimency and Occlumency’, the header said. This should be rather easy.
Sirius stood in front of the teacher, tie loose, wand behind his ear, and arms crossed over his chest. Sirius was no example to be had, but Mr. Blah Blah Blah wasn’t aware of that— yet.
The professor started, “First,” he turned to the class, revealing the wand in his hand, “I will be demonstrating Legilimency by finding a memory from Mr. Blacks first year here at Hogwarts.”
Sirius fixed the older, taller wizard with a dead gaze and deep sigh as his teacher raised his wand to the middle of his forehead, asking, “Shall we begin?”
James was itching to speak up, to ask what the professor was doing. This lesson didn’t have a student demonstration. Legilimency and occlumency weren’t to be played with. If he wanted an interactive lesson he should have summoned another professor, not a child who he wanted to take the piss out of. Sirius was a twat, but he wasn’t a doormat, and that made this that much more nerve wracking.
He threw him an eyeless smile, chirping, “Have at it.”
The room was silent for a moment, wondering what was happening between the two men, if anything at all, as they stared into each other eyes, unmoving and silent.
“What’s wrong, Professor? I’m waiting. We all are.” Sirius tilted his head in the direction of the students, feigning confusion.
James had heard that tone of voice only once before: the first day back off Christmas break last year, on the train with a thirteen year old Sirius who later confided that his mother had broke his hands then locked him in a closet for three days— no food, no water. If it wasn’t for Regulus sneaking him a dinner roll, he would have died, Sirius had told him that night, stone faced, cold, and manic.
Sirius was fine back in their room, so the sudden change in attitude was beyond him.
“It appears Mr. Black is already well versed in occlumency,” the professor’s voice shook, taking a step back and dropping his arm back to his side. He peered down at Sirius, a mixture of fright and astonishment evident on his face. “Not a single access point…” he mumbled.
“Mmm,” Sirius hummed, shifting his stance and jostling his arms, “thank you. I wonder how you compare.” Sirius locked eyes with the man for a split second, watching as his frame froze and his pupils dilated. With one look alone Sirius was in his head, flipping through memory after memory year after year, not quite sure which one to delve into. That was, until he saw it: a small box located in the back of his consciousness, similar to the multiple Sirius had in his. The professors, however, was all too easy to crack.
“Does the ministry know?” Sirius asked out loud before he projected into his head, “That you used to brew potions for muggle distribution?” Sirius wasn’t as good at the telepathy part, so he said aloud, “That’s risky business, sir.”
The professor flinched, taking multiple steps back from Sirius, raising his wand, “You, you! You know nothing!”
Sirius thought that was funny, because he quite literally knew everything.
“Now, now, don’t be rash. It’s all in your head, remember?” Sirius tapped his temple, grinning wickedly, and huffing a laugh at the grown man pointing his wand at a fourteen year old who had yet to even gesture towards theirs— hell, Sirius had barely even moved a muscle. He looked the man up and down, watching as he shivered where he stood, “Pointing your wand at a student is incredibly unbecoming, Professor.” He giggled this time, coming back to himself enough to look out into the room of students and find his friends face, which he’d assumed would also be scrunched up in a suppressed laugh.
It wasn’t. A few girls had their hands clasped over their mouths but most students faces were tensed, brows knitted in concern and jaws clenched in fear at seeing a little boy using wandless legilimency with the same amount of effort it took to make a feather float— Including James.
All the research Sirius did, all the sleepless nights spent suppressing emotion, all the memories he shoved into boxes, and all the locks he put on those safe’s… It wasn’t a game.
All the time spent begging Regulus to shut down his emotions, “Stop crying. It makes it easy to get in your head,” and all the holiday breaks spent practicing with— on his baby brother… It wasn’t funny.
It was terrifying. He was terrifying.
He couldn’t bare to look at it any longer. He turned back to the professor, and instead of seeing a dickwad put in his place, he saw an eleven year old Sirius cowering at his mothers feet, begging her to forgive the memories plagued with ‘that blood-traitor Potter’.
Suddenly he felt sick. He felt exposed, like he’d let everyone in on some grand secret. He felt embarrassed, because he was the weird one. He was the one that could crack people’s minds open and read their consciouses like picture books. That, if his peers faces were anything to go by, was not normal. He turned and shoved out of the door, walking and walking until he found himself alone, tucked into the marauders closet between robes and wood.
