The Child of the most Ancient and Noble House of Black

A/N: This is an oddly put together fic. I started it in late July but then got side tracked by my mad load of summer work that I had left (three essays do for English and a six page report on whether the electoral college should be disbanded for Gov./Pol). I sort of left this fic rotting away in one of my computer folders until I stumbled across it after seeing the 4th movie. If you haven't seen it yet DO IT NOW! Finally! A good Harry Potter movie! Anyway I really liked the story so I figured I'd finish it. Here goes: first part is in 3rd person, 'cuz it is. It's easier to introduce characters that way, I like to establish setting in weird prose, and I started it at 2:30 AM and was just to lazy to think like a wizard so...meh. The rest of the story is in first person because William Faulkner rox my proverbial sox. I was reading "As I Lay Dying" (for English, one of those essays I was bitching about was on this kickass book) which is told from a million different perspectives, sometimes the same event is narrated several times by different people, this gives awesome insight into a characters mind and let's you see the world through unique eyes. So I was sitting in my hammock reading Faulkner and I was like, who cares if he's one of the greatest American authors of all time, big deal, I shall...nay I MUST do this for myself! You are reading the result. Aren't you glad I told you that story? ...better not answer that.

A/N: I am opposed to RL/SB slash. Not because I am a homophobe and I am SICK of people saying that. I AM A LESBIAN! I just don't think Sirius and Remus were in love, I think the effect of seeing each other again would have been really different. I have nothing against people who think it's true. I think they're wrong but whatever. I've just been called a homophobe so many times it makes me sick! It's a way to write off those who disagree with you. Just get over the fact that some of us don't think they were ever dating. Jeez. Sorry...personal rant.

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Ms. JK Rowling. I'm only riding the wave.

-Part I-

July 1975

Of Muggles and Motorbikes

July had come to London like a noxious haze. It was expected that the infamous English weather would have dealt with the unbelievable heat wave predicted for the southern half of the country, but the routine rains did little to deter the summer goliath. Grudgingly the residents of England's capital experienced day after day of record breaking temperatures. Years later the heat wave would become the stuff of legend, but at the time it was considered a miracle to get from one destination to the next without having the soles of your shoes weld to the pavement.

Time came to a strange standstill in the opaque summer heat. The birds that hovered overhead never inched closer to their nests nor did they get any further away. Cars slowed in the trafficless streets to a crawl filling the air around them with thick curling clouds of gray smoke. People inched from place to place, their shoes heavy on their feet, clothes glued with sweat to their skin, brains swollen and thick in their heads. Even the sun was overwhelmed by its own heat taking every few moments to pause panting above the resentful city.

It was probably the minds of the city residents that suffered the most. They became sticky, clouded, and dangerously hot. Vision blurred and sounds became fuzzy and far off. Straight lines became an impossible dream. Judgment fell by the wayside and getting in off the street seemed to be the only solution. In this sleepy, stupid, slow heat it was easy to lose your mind.

That is, if you had a mind to lose, and Sirius Black was quite confident that he'd disposed of that useless thing years ago.

Sirius was fourteen years old, fifteen come October, and had just finished his fourth year of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He whistled softly to himself, hands stuffed into the pockets of his blue jeans in a nonchalant, would-be-innocent gesture that would have worked if it hadn't been for the glint in his gray eyes.

Sirius was very tall and had lost almost all of the awkward teenage lank that plagued most boys his age. He had one of those magical skin tones that was pale without being sickly looking, and perfectly countered his jet black hair. His hair hung at his shoulders and was just messy enough to show his indifference.

He had a slightly crooked smile, the kind that made you grin, ask, "what?" and blush. He always had an answer but it differed with the questioner's age. If he chanced a full smile, which was rare, it could make your heart melt and gave new meaning to the term pearly whites.

As aforementioned his eyes were gray but they never tended to stay that way. They were always alive, swimming with thoughts and emotions. When he was happy they would light up his face with mischievous joy, but they could also add years and creases to it, paling him to a vampiric pallor with white hot anger. And they could change that drastically on a dime, as unpredictable as the boy they belonged to. But if you caught him in a good mood everything about Sirius Black was handsome, even perfect.

He was a few blocks away from home with an hour and a half to kill before his mother would realize he wasn't in his room and had slipped down the drain pipe, again. It had been like this every day since he'd come home from school. Around noon he'd disappear to his room without so much as a word, most of the time without even seeming to move. It was as if he'd Apperated silently, moving with predatory grace out of sight. Once there he'd begin to read or mutter to himself while staring into a handheld mirror. Then, once again, he'd vanish leaving no trace that he'd ever been there at all. He'd had a lot of practice fleeing the scene of a crime and was quite good at it by now.

Ever since he was a little boy Sirius had been "a trouble maker," a label which he redefined as he got older. But in his parents' eyes he had crossed that line ages ago. Now after being sorted into Gryffindor, taking Muggle Studies since third year, befriending two half bloods, associating with Muggle borns and Muggles, beating up Slytherins including his brother, and disappearing to explore Muggle London every summer, the eldest child of Cassiopeia and Orion Black was teetering on the edge of being a blood traitor. A title which appealed to Sirius immensely.

Sirius had been allowing his mind to wander, the possibilities were endless. He was a big fan of the saying "Capri Diem" because at number 12 Grimmauld Place it was never promised that he would be able to make it through the day without being disemboweled.

In his boredom he stumbled upon it: 12 New Way and the O'Connor Mechanic Garage. It wasn't anything particularly exciting, in fact he'd probably passed it a thousand times without realizing it. The street around it smelled thickly of motor oil and the air was even hotter surrounding the huge door, so it felt walking into a furnace. The few passers by traveled in a great arc around the garage hands clasped over their mouths and noses avoiding both the bubble of heat and the smell.

But something was pulling Sirius toward it, something that sounded a lot like My Generation by The Who being played on an out of tune radio.

It had been her mother's idea to name their daughter Amethyst, something the 15 year old girl had never forgiven her for. The only consolation was that she wasn't the only one who had to suffer, four brothers followed her and were all named after colors. Her mother was an artist, and if career decided what you were going to name your children Amethyst supposed she was lucky her father (the mechanic) hadn't gotten to name her Spark Plug or Fan Belt.

But despite her name it was her father's footsteps she followed in allowing the second oldest in the family, Azure, to be the artist. She'd much rather be where she was at that very moment: leaning over the greasy blackened engine of a violently violet Volkswagen Minibus listening to the radio, than in a field somewhere pondering the true color of a rose.

The car was an orphan in her eyes; someone, an American in her memory, had left it behind because its transmission was shot and its breaks were about as effective as slamming on the clutch in order to make the vehicle stop. But that was where Amethyst O'Connor came in, if a half drowned kitten with three legs washed up on her doorstep during a hurricane she would make no promises that the animal would stay in her care, but show her a maltreated Bentley and she would be all over it cooing with affection. The minibus became hers three months ago and made its semi permanent residence on the right hand side of the garage to the left of the office door against the cement wall.

She surfaced slightly from the depths of the engine, her element, staring down into the car, her brow furrowed, lost in thought. It reminded her of those kiddy games people gave you when you were bored, mazes and word finds; it looks so hard until you find the first letter or right passageway, then it's only a matter of time. That's what Amethyst saw in the mass of intertwining metal and goo filled compartments: a challenge, but with thought and time...

"Gotcha!" she whispered slipping back down into the car both feet leaving the ground, one leg stretched out as far as it could go so it was grazing the office wall, the other bent at the knee.

"Hey Amethyst," came a voice from behind her. She rolled her eyes as she twisted her wrench over and over her arm shaking slightly with effort.

Azure was 13-years-old and the second oldest O'Connor. He and Amethyst shared both their stereotypically Irish hair and the knowledge that rules were quite possibly the most elastic things in existence, you could easily bend them and they'd always snap back into place, no one the wiser. His was hair was curly and gave him a distinct rag-a-muffin do not trust appearance, but Amethyst's was straight and obedient, which it would have to be after years of being pulled back into a high, tight ponytail.

"What do you want from me?" she asked tossing her wrench over her shoulder, before sliding down onto her Chuck Taylor High Tops to face him. She tried to blow a strand of hair out of her eyes, hands fastened around her waist in an aloof "I'm busy right now" gesture that every older sister knows how to do. Azure looked down at her and snorted at her oil stained frame and sweat streaked face.

By this time in the afternoon Amethyst looked something like a Dalmatian, her fair skin dotted and splotched with grime as well as her usual summer freckles that stood out predominately on her slightly Roman nose.

Sniggering Azure gestured toward the door to the street where a tall boy around her age was leaning against the frame fiddling with the open/closed sign and staring boredly around the cement room as if he was waiting for someone.

"What?" Amethyst asked Azure, brushing the stray hair back smearing her forehead. Azure, who was sniggering in a "first comes love then comes marriage..." kind of way, quieted at one look into his sister's eyes, they matched her name suspiciously well, light purple, almost lilac, with gemlike sparkling streaks of deep violet. They were calm, some what motherly. With that nurturing glint she was also given the incredible power to make you feel bad about yourself. She was rational, down to earth, probably everything you could ever ask for in a big sister.

"Don't you know him?" He asked quietly, "is he your boyfriend?"

"No," she shrugged tossing her ponytail back over her shoulder and turning away from her brother to call out to the boy, "do you need a hand?"

"No," said the boy absentmindedly, he dropped the sign and watched it swing on the door for a few moments following it with his eyes his head cocked to one side.

Azure snorted again, his high shoulders quivering with giggles. Amethyst sighed, "the heat does weird things to people." She muttered to her brother.

"I think the English are just odd on the whole." he whispered back.

It'd been five years since the O'Connor family came to London from Crowley, Ireland. They'd left behind a moderately small city to the enormous snaking streets of London, where it was easy to wind up on the other side of the Thames without remembering ever crossing a bridge.

The move hadn't been easy on the children, especially not for Amethyst who'd always had trouble with things like friends. She still felt like the new kid and spent an almost unhealthy amount of time in the garage her skin now stained a shade or so darker than it had been before they moved and the same was probably true for her lungs.

"Hey!" Amethyst called, "you can't touch that!" The boy looked up at her one black eyebrow arched and his face indifferent silently thanking her for stating the obvious.

His hand was tracing the curve of the silver handlebars of the large black motorcycle that had just been in for a major repair (the owner, who'd spent a good deal of the previous year in the states, hadn't realized that English bikes were by no means "choppers" - an American term for easily customizable and frequently almost entirely remade motorcycles.--- English bikes were easy to break and made for distance rather than speed. Amethyst had to be almost physically restrained to keep from jumping on the embarrassed owner. His abused motorbike made its home here among its injured fellows.)

The boy's eyes were shimmering dangerously, "is this yours?" he asked as Amethyst angrily crossed to him.

"No, it's not, its a customer's. What can I help you with?" she asked brushing the stray hair out of her eyes again. He was now running his hand gently over the frame his face lit with fascinated joy, a playful gaze like a child on Christmas.

"Nothing." He said again pulling his eyes painfully away from the shimmering motorcycle. "I'm Sirius."

"I'm sorry?" Amethyst asked confusedly, "I wasn't questioning that I just want to know why you're here if--"

He sighed, "No, no, I'm Sirius. It's my name, S-I-R-I-U-S."

"Oh," Amethyst furrowed her brow but she thought insulting names really wasn't her business, how many people could say they were a shade of purple? "Okay. I suppose...look, Sirius, you're going to have to leave, I can't have you---DON'T!"

"What?" he asked giving her a faux innocent look that wouldn't have fooled anyone, especially not someone who'd been watching small boys since she learned how to walk.

With an equally practiced but efficient glare she made Sirius withdraw his hand as if by magic. "You're really good at that," He said grinning at her.

"Practice," she said, shooting a dirty look at Azure who was making kissy noises as he raced up the metal staircase that lead to the O'Connor's flat above them.

"I didn't catch your name," Sirius was still studying the row of motorcycles each one shining brightly in the sun like a star.

"I didn't give it," she answered, "I'm really busy's Amethyst," she sighed.

"Amethyst?" He repeated, "it's--"

"--A color I know, my mum has a thing for--"

Sirius interrupted, "I was just going to say it's a beautiful name and matches your eyes spectacularly."

"I'm still going to have to throw you out."

Sirius shrugged.

The radio behind them, resting on an old wooden stool gave an angry sort of buzz as the fuzzy voice of the heat effected DJ faded away and the gentle guitar of yet another The Who song filled the thick air of the garage.

No one knows what it's like

To be the bad man

To be the sad man

Behind Blue eyes

No one knows what it's like

To be hated

To be faded

To telling only lies

But my dreams, they aren't as empty

As my conscience seems to be

I have hours only lonely

My love is vengeance that's never free---

Amethyst watched the radio for a few moments as if expecting it to jump to life. Sirius was watching it too but his interest waned quickly and he asked, "been here long?"

"What...?" asked Amethyst somehow thrown off by the radio. It felt like some great coincidence had happened. Something huge had, that was for sure. She couldn't quite place the feeling in the pit of her stomach, fogging her brain, and seizing her heart. It wasn't a bad feeling, just something that couldn't have made sense even did? Some people, irrational people and dreamers, call it fate. One of the most fantastic and unnerving feelings, the knowledge that this event is meant to happen, may already have happened, and will change your life forever.

"Hello..." Sirius waved his hand in front of her eyes, "talking to me, not them. In England. Have you been in England long?"

"A few years, yeah." She said looking back into his eyes which had become striking midnight blue. ("Behind Blue eyes" said four voices from the old radio behind her.)

"Ah," he said somewhat dejectedly, "I was going to give you a tour, maybe I dunno..." he shrugged, "get something to eat, create an 'Annoying Names Anonymous'? But I suppose..."

"Hang on, we've just met!" she interjected.

"So that's a no?" he asked.

"'re not supposed to be here! I'm working! I don't even know you!"

"I'm Sirius. I told you that, Sirius Black. I live on Grimmauld. I'm 14. 15, on Halloween, there you go."

"Not what I mean---I---" she sighed, "I'm WORKING!" she repeated helplessly. The argument felt less and less valid all the time. Everything, aside from the two teenagers, was sticky and still, the world was stiff with drying sweat and ruby red sunburn.

No one even passed by the enormous metal door let alone walked inside. The parking lot that the house and garage were set in front of was empty but for a group of pigeons that had landed to lazily pick at a piece of white bread that had fallen on the hot asphalt.

He looked around the empty garage, his eyes resting on her rust-red tool box and the propped open hood of the VW. He watched the brittle metal staircase that Azure had run up and watched the door, the knob smeared with oil and grease, the cross fastened to it, and the peep hole, which her mother had painted an eye around. Then he looked back into her eyes.

McGonagall would have been proud, the last time he'd seem a glare like that was when he had transfigured his cousin Bellatrix into a newt. But there was something else. A little twinkle next to the pupil, between the purple stripes. The little glimmer of mischievousness that he was looking for. Sure Amethyst O'Connor would never ever be questioned by her headmaster or any other adult. She was the responsible one, but she'd broken her fair share of rules in her lifetime, just nobody had realized it.

"Just for the afternoon, get to know one another better, we're neighbors after all," he said innocently.

"Working..." she muttered turning back toward the car. She looked up at the door to the house from where loud sniggering emitting, followed by soft, "Shhh! Shhh!" and the mud room behind the door became eerily quiet. Amethyst rolled her eyes. She knew waiting just behind the door were Azure, Flax (third oldest and 11 years old), Titian (nine years old), and Teal (youngest at eight). They thought they were being inconspicuous and Amethyst muttered a prayer to the ceiling. Sirius was watching the door now too, grinning.

"Who're they?" He asked jerking his head to the door.

"My brothers," muttered Amethyst exasperatedly, "talk about a rock and a hard place. You know what...okay, I'm in."

"Really?" Sirius asked looking back at her.

"Yeah just give me a second," she went back to the Volkswagen and lovingly put the hood down patting it gently as if it were a hot purple dog. She closed up her rarely used toolbox and stacked her tools as she usually did, on the office window ledge. She patted the car again before pulling off her smeared high-tops, Amethyst unzipped the turquoise mechanic's coverall to reveal her moderately clean clothes underneath. She wore a plain white t-shirt and jeans that were straight legged and practical, no beads were sewn into the denim, no sequins or decorations of any kind, not even patches to cover up the seven or eight tears. After putting her Chuck Taylors back on she disappeared into the office returning with her face scrubbed basically clean except for a single determined speck on the side of her nose.

"Shall we?" said Sirius offering his hand and she accepted it, rolling her eyes as he brought hers to his lips and kissed it. She snatched her hand back rolling her eyes and the pair set off into the sweating city under the white hot dog day.

A/N: I would be incredibly surprised if there actually was a heat wave in 1975, my room is in the attic, it was 105 degrees today. I'm really hot. It's two AM and I'm overheating thus so are the characters, just be glad you don't live in one of my stories. (A/N written over the summer)

A/N: Muggles outside of school, dummy!

A/N: Behind Blue Eyes, The Who, Who's Next. Most Kickass song ever written and so totally Sirius it almost hurts. If you don't know it go ask your parents/find it on i-Tunes/go find it on Lime-Wire/Go find it on whatever you've got/JUST LISTEN TO IT!

I know the dog days are August but...STFU! XD

A/N: I did loads of research for this! No, I'm lying. I looked 1960's VW's up on Wikipedia and I watched a History Channel documentary on motorcycles on day when I was sick home from school.