(Present Day - The Shrieking Shack, Hogsmeade)
 

My name is Black. Siruis Black.

I am a wizard, an animagus.

I am an exonerated murderer, a former prisoner of Azkaban.

I have been a son, a friend, a lover, a husband, a father.

I am a servant of the Light, an enemy of the Dark Lord.

I am a fool.

(Present Day - The Shrieking Shack, Hogsmeade - flashback to events of approximately 25 years ago.)
 

I saw him first in the entry hall as I waited with the rest of the first
years outside the doors to the Great Hall, listening to Professor August
Mannheim welcome us to Hogwarts.

We were huddled together, a large group of us, perhaps 70 or 75  altogether,
damp from our trip across the lake, apprehensive and excited, unsure of
the future but desiring it anyway.

I stood next to James, a thin dark-haired boy who wore glasses over
alert blue eyes. Next to James was Lilly, a quiet, slight girl with
auburn hair and green eyes. On my other side was a short and pudgy boy
with brown hair and brown eyes named Peter.

The four of us, strangers until that moment, had shared a compartment on
the Hogwarts Express. By the time we arrived at the Hogsmeade Station we
already knew we would be friends, and we hoped to end up in the same House.

Beyond Peter were two boys we'd run into as we struggled with our
trunks in the corridor of the train. One boy was dark haired with a
stocky build, dark eyes and a sour look; the other was tall and blond
with the look of, well, as much as it pains me to admit it,
aristocracy about him.

One look told me they were no one I wanted to know well, and for
their part, they seemed to look down upon us. I heard one of them refer
to Lilly as a Muggle and, even worse, a Mudblood. Lilly had no idea of
the significance of the terms, but James, Peter and I did. James told
them roughly to "Shut it!" and I stood ready to back him up with my
fists. It proved to be unnecessary, however, as an older red-headed boy
dressed in black robes and wearing a silver badge came along. He helped
us to untangle our trunks and told us to find a compartment. One look
quelled the other two, and we filed into our seats.

I look back and wonder if the same wizard who charmed the Sorting Hat
hadn't charmed the train when it was first built. In the first ten minutes
of getting on the train I met most of the people who would become the closest,
or most important to me, for the remainder of my life. The same thing happened
to Harry years later.

But I saw *him* first in the entryway to the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

(Present Day - The Shrieking Shack, Hogsmeade - flashback to events of approximately 25 years ago.)
 

He stood in the shadows of the stairwell, several feet from Professor
Mannheim; with us, yet separate, as if not quite sure of his place in
this group of strangers.

I remember well what he looked like then; not so very different from the
way he appears now, but also not so worn.

My first impression was of his youth.

He was young; younger than we, that was obvious. His thin face, for all
its fine boned features, still held the softer contours of late
childhood. His hair, now  completely silver, was then a thick
and silky golden blonde. Over our years together at Hogwarts that heavy
mane  would darken to a light brown. As a teacher at Hogwarts, when I would meet him
again after my escape from Azkaban, it would be thoroughly flecked
with grey.

My second impression was of his height.

He was short, not yet having had our pre-teen growth spurt, and slightly
built. Even now Remus cannot, with honesty be called tall, though he is
not short, either. He still possesses a slight frame; indeed, depending
upon his general condition, and the time of the moon, Remus is at times
quite frail. We learned soon enough, however, that though he would never
have our robust health, he was not fragile. Whatever his body might
lack, due to the curse he suffered, his bright spirit was a more than
adequate compensation. He could, and still does, drive his body further
beyond its limits than anyone I have ever known.

My third impression,  the one which should have warned me, was of his eyes.

Remus' eyes, a large and wide golden hazel, are truly the windows to his soul.

Even at his young age he could control his body and his voice, but he had not then learned the
trick of managing his eyes. That night they not only absorbed the light
from the hall sconces, but truly glowed from within with the great
energy of his entire soul. Hope shone from them; hope and delight and
eagerness, and they struck into my heart, all unknown to me, lodging there and taking up
residence for what is now going on 25 years.

Looking back on that night, and my first impression of Remus, I can see
the irony of my first thought - that he was truly a creature of Fey.
Knowing what I know now, of his connection to, and descent from, the
inhabitants of Broceliande, I can only marvel that others did not see it
as well.

I suppose, for those who know or suspect, his curse overshadows all
else. I can, marginally, understand that. Never in recorded history has
there ever been another wizard turned werewolf. As far as anyone knows,
any wizards who have ever turned were from a bite have either died from
the initial attack, been killed, or suicided.

It never occurred to us as students to wonder why Remus was not affected
as the others were, or why he was allowed to live. Make no mistake, in the
wizarding world werewolves are considered to be Dark Creatures,non-humans.

Remus carries his curse with grace and dignity; but those close to him
have never been deluded. The werewolf curse is an agonizing ordeal,
physically and emotionally. It is a testament to Remus' mind, soul and
spirit that he endures the curse, and all it brings with it, without
bitterness. There is no shadow or taint of the Dark about him.

That night, however, I knew nothing of all this; I knew only that
something about this small creature called to me, reached out to me.

I did not know that he had claimed me.

Oh, that I had known.

(Present Day - The Shrieking Shack, Hogsmeade - flashback to events of
approximately 25 years ago.)

At the time it felt as if I had been staring into the boy's eyes for hours, but it could only have been seconds before James nudged my side with his elbow, breaking my gaze and re-orienting my attention on Professor Mannheim.

The professor waved his wand in our direction, murmured "Evaporatus", and steam rose momentarily from our clothes. Immediately we were more comfortable. He instructed us to follow him into the Great Hall where we would be sorted into houses, greeted by the new Headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, and welcomed by a feast.

I followed after Peter, as James and Lilly followed me, and our group filed into the Great Hall to stand in a row in front of the long teachers' table. We faced four great tables full of students, perhaps seven or eight hundred, maybe more.  I doubt there are half that many currently attending the school.

Sadly, the school enrollment has dwindled badly since my time there - so many of those who were killed in the years before Voldemort's power and body were torn from him in Godric's Hollow were, like James and Lilly, young and of childbearing age. Wizards have a long life span, but the reproductive years are short, perhaps nature's way of ensuring we do no overtake the Muggle population.

At any rate,each table was draped in what I supposed to be the colors of their Houses, and each had a banner suspended on the wallbehind them in the same colors. I had no time to check for sure, but I thought there were animals depicted on each.

Professor Mannheim placed a battered old stool in front of us, then set a shabby old wizard's hat on top of the stool. I had heard many frightening  and humiliating stories of how students were sorted into houses from my parents and their friends in the last month or so, as had James and Peter. Lilly, of course, didn't even know about Houses, let alone the method by which we were placed in them. None of the stories we had pooled on the train, though, had mentioned a hat. I could imagine what was coming next.

In the seven years I was at Hogwarts I watched the sorting ceremony six more times. Each time the hat would sing or recite a new introduction - usually quite long. This night he made it short and simple.

I am curious as to just how much of its' enchanter is imbued within that hat, and who it could have been. Not, I think, Gryffandor or Slytherin, and probably not the others, either. Whomever it was knew each of the Hogwarts founders very well, too well, to have been one of them. No one is that dispassionate about themselves. I suppose we will never know.

I also wonder how much of the future that wizard could see.

I, however, could not then, and cannot now, see into the future. I would have failed Divination had I not used the same strategy Harry and Ron would later use. I am, I think, grateful for that inability, although had I the gift it *might* have saved me grief and much heartache.

James and Lilly might now be alive, and Harry would have his parents.Peter would not have turned traitor, and I would not have spent the last twelve years in Azkaban. I would not have doubted Remus, and Remus, my brave and gentle Remus...

I would not have had, so briefly, a wife and child.

But then, many more people might have died, and Voldemort might even now be in power.

Be that as it may, the hat began to speak.

 

"Loyal heart, nimble mind,
Warrior spirit, Soul unkind;

Hopes and dreams,
Lustsand desires;
Your hidden thoughts
do I require.

Sorted this night
by your innermost soul,
Judged ye shall be;
All foreseen, all foretold."

I know now, because Dumbledore has finally convinced me, that the hat sees us, not only as we are, but as we will be. Otherwise the selections could never go as they do. I certainly would not make the choices the hat does, but the hat is never, in the end, wrong.

I hope.

I was one of the first to be sorted, as my last name began with 'B'. I picked up the hat and clapped it on my head, having no idea of how it worked. The few students ahead of me - two Hufflepuffs and a Slytherin - had sat for a few seconds before the hat announced their House. James told me later that only Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew sat longer than me.

The hat had quite a lot to say to me. It mentioned a brilliant mind, a bold, brave attitude, great wizarding talent. It mentioned the ability to love greatly, and a strong sense of loyalty to my friends. It also mentioned pride, a tendency to anger, an unchecked temper, a desire to resort to violence to solve problems, self righteousness, a proclivity to misjudge, and an inability to forgive or admit to fault. I feared, as Harry would when it became his turn to be sorted years later, that I would be put into Slytherin.

I come from a wizarding family. Both of my parents graduated from Hogwarts. My father was Head Boy, my mother a prefect. Though both belonged to Ravenclaw, and would have been very happy to see me there, I had secret hopes of Gryffandor.

My favorite Uncle, my mother's brother, had been in Gryffandor. I admired him greatly. He had style and swagger and was always in the middle of great things. He'd played Quidditch for the House team  while at school, and later on, briefly for England. My parents told me many times, not quite happily, that I was just like him.

To be put in Slytherin - it would break my parents heart.

It was with great relief, and not a little of that pride, That I heard the hat announce "Gryffandor!".

There was loud applause as I walked on shaky legs to the Gryffandor table and seated myself near several empty chairs I hoped would soon be filled with James and Lilly and Peter.

Knowing it would be a while before the others would be sorted, all of their names coming near the end of the alphabet, I spared the time to look about me at the hangings, crests and tables. I had gotten lost in the ceiling's evening sky when my attention was wrenched back to the sorting.

"Gryffandor!"

I had thought he must be a staff child, a son of one of the teachers or servants, though I'd seen no servants around. I was surprised to see he was a student.

He came hesitantly to our table, wearing a shy smile, and looking very young. He has always looked young, in spite of his gray hair, has my Remus, a fact he curses periodically when he wishes to be taken seriously.

Most people never go beyond the surface with him. His looks, his apparent youthfulness, his "illness", his curse.

They miss a lot.

He looked to me  for permission, then sat next to me amidst the applause from our new house for their second new member. I remember I smiled back at him, his eyes lighting up in return. Strange feelings flooded through me; most of them different from those I felt for James and Peter, or even Lilly.

One of those feelings I would now call attraction. It seems odd that I could ever not have known I was attracted to him.

The more fool I.

I was happy he had chosen to sit beside me. I felt protective of him - he was obviously younger than the rest of us, and shy. I was curious about him. Why was he here when he was so young, and why was he here ahead of us, waiting?

I simply wanted to know him.

The sorting went on.

I'd forgotten Lilly's last name was Evans.She'd been sorted into Hufflepuff while I was gawking at the hangings.  I remember my surprise at the time;  she seemed so much like James and I.If Remus, who seemed so shy and in need of protection, had made it into Gryffandor, why hadn't she?

Can you see my pride? As if only the best went to Gryffandor?  The founders were wise, prizing all of us and giving us an environment  in which to nurture our talents, to become our best, to learn needed lessons.

Lilly belonged in Hufflepuff. Hers was not a warrior's nature.

Lilly was steadfast and loyal and self sacrificing. Where she loved or believed strongly, she was capable of great things. For love of Harry, her child, she was willing to leave James, her husband, whom she loved with her entire being,  to die at Voldemort's hands. For Harry, she was willing to die herself.

Hufflepuffs are like that.

Dumbledore and Harry have both told me about Cedric Diggory. He would have been, he *was* a fine young man. His path just happened to cross Voldemort's.

Lilly also crossed Voldemort's path, and she, as Cedric would later, did not take the easy road.

Being Lilly, being Cedric, they took the only road they could.

The right one.

Peter and James were sorted into Gryffandor. James quickly, Peter after long delay.

What does the hat know about Peter that I do not? I still desire his death in payment for his betrayal of James and Lilly. I cannot forgive him my twelve years in Azkaban, years that should have been his., nor can I forgive him the separation from Remus or the loss of my child.

I have, however, grown at least a little wiser. It is possible, as Dumbledore says, that Peter's part is not yet played out. I could wish he were not in debt to Harry for his life - I wish him no connection to my godson at all, but the debt will play out, whether I wish it or not.

The two boys we met on the corridor of the train?

Lucius Malfoy was sorted into Slytherin.

And Snape?

When Arthur Weasley, our prefect, led the Gryffandor first years to Gryffandor tower, Severus Snape was the first to follow him.

Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, James Potter.

Severus Snape.

Gryffandor First Years.

Even now, I can scarcely believe it.