Love did not live in the Black house. Within those cold, dark walls was a tradition of propriety, of duty. Most important was that the family name was worn like the badge of honor it was meant to be and that sacrifices were made to uphold the values the Black family held dear. Nowhere among the rigid superiority was there room for such frivolous things as affection. Walburga and Orion Black did not show affection, not to one another, and certainly not to their sons. Parenting was an indirect matter handled primarily by the house elves. Siriusās childhood was cold and distant, rife with punishment and attempts to shape him into some semblance of a respectable pureblood heir. Once he entered school, however, his instant friendship with James Potter and subsequent sorting into Gryffindor systematically shattered any progress his parents may have made.
James was unsettling, mystifying, and captivating all at once. His upbringing had been vastly different from Siriusās, and it showed in all that he did. While Sirius ached for a mother who would smooth back his hair and fuss over him, James possessed such an excess of this that he wriggled away from kind old Mrs. Potter half of the time. James received at least one owl per week from home, and like clockwork his mum sent home made sweets and cakes each Friday. At any given time Jamesās trunk was as well stocked as any London bakery. Of course, James shared these freely, but that did not stop the tinge of jealousy Sirius felt.
As much as Sirius was envious of the care James received, he marveled at how it spilled forth from his friend. James was all easy smiles and pats on the back, an arm slung over his shoulders in the hallway, offering his mates the last slice of cake. Surrounded by warmth and kindness heād never known, Sirius found the closeness heād ached for in James.
Reciprocating the friendship and affection did not come easily. His attempts were too deliberate, too planned, and much of the time he would revert to his stiff-backed upbringing at the slightest provocation. He tried, though, and though he didnāt think James was privy to this particular internal struggle, he was patient and adept at recognizing when Sirius needed his space. After an unsettling encounter with Snape earlier that afternoon, he did very much need space. He spent the rest of the afternoon and the entirety of the evening in a sulk, speaking few words and liable to snap if pressed. Peter never had been good at judging these things, and he was unfortunately the focus of much of Siriusās bad mood. By the time dinner was over and the boys returned to the tower they had quite aptly chosen to let him dispel the dark cloud over his head on his own.
Normally they would have simply gone to bed, but a few of the sixth years were throwing a small party--it was someoneās birthday, but Sirius couldnāt be arsed to remember who. Instead of resigning himself to a night of silent stewing, he nabbed a butterbeer from a cauldron charmed to stay cold and lodged himself firmly in a solitary armchair a distance from the festivities. It was almost a given that the marauders would be at any sort of social function where there would be food, drinks, and people, and although Siriusās inclination to avoid participation was noticed, it was not pressed. This was not the first time that he had fallen into a mood, after all, and it would certainly not be the last.
