Sirius Knows: A Short Story

Sirius knows.

Of course he knows.

He knows how when he walks into a room everybody automatically looks at him. Like they can’t believe Sirius Black is generous enough to grace their presence.

He knew even when he was a child, attending pureblood parties where the most respected and powerful names - that could, and had, corrupt an entire ministry single handed - attended, but were unable to restrain themselves from watching a seven year old sauntered into the room with a knowing smirk masking his visage, distracting them from their hors d’oeuvre and suggestions of ethnic cleansing barely disguised as politics.

His mother despises him, resents him for it. She once had that power, but now it was lost, lost to a child. Her child. It pains

The power to affect people in different ways, but nevertheless the affect was still always there.

It was how he knew James was the only person worthy to be considered an equal to him. How he knew that James would look at him because he had thought up a new prank or that he had figured out a different way to woo Lily. It’s what drew them together. How James would look, not because he had to like everyone else, but because he wanted to.

How Lily would look every time, but also scowl. Because she knew who he was, and knew that everybody else was mad for thinking Sirius Black was worthy of their undivided attention just for existing. That was what engendered him to encourage James to continue his pursuit. Because he respected her for being different, yet still conforming.

How Snape would look, filled with rage at the boy who had everything he had ever wanted but threw it away as if he was too good for it. It was the reason he provoked the boy, to see how he could destroy someone because he was happy where Snape was not.

But the intent of the look was similar on

So often mixed with lustful looks entertaining the absurd notion that they could be the one, and only one, able to tame Sirius Black.

That was what he saw from Peter. Not the lust of course, even Peter wasn’t thick enough to realise he hadn’t a chance. But the admiration, how he would look at Sirius every time he spoke even if he wasn’t involved in the conversation, and always took a moment before replying, in the rare occasion he was involved, as if he had to contemplate how best to praise Sirius. He would be lying if he said he didn’t like the constant stream of compliments. It was actually why he tolerated the otherwise bland boy.

But one boy, only one, was able to resist the attraction. Not feeling the same pull that everyone else felt. And Sirius is shocked, quite literally gaps, entering the boys first year dormitories having just been sorted, where he again captured everybody's attention, to see this occur for the first time. As Sirius enters, and the boy he remembers as Lupin just keeps unpacking, not staring, not even glancing. Sirius finds that he likes this. In fact he craves to feel it again, and when it does reoccur, it doesn't appease him. He thirsts for more, lapping at the feeling like a dehydrated dog would drink from an opaque