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Mischief Managed by Keira7794
Chapter 1 : First Year: The Sorting
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 40

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Sirius Black:

The old stool wobbled as I sat down. One wooden leg was shorter than the other two, probably worn down over the hundreds of years of use. I liked that. The idea that for every year since Hogwarts first opened, people just like me have been a part of this decision.

Somewhere amongst those hundreds of thousands of children were the Blacks - and if you were to study them, youíd find most as dark as their name. But if you were to look really hard, beyond the depth of lies and hatred, you may find a few sparks of light that shine out of the darkness.

It was those Blacks that I thought of when the old hat was lowered onto my head. The ones whose names were said in muted whispers, the ones who were burned off the family tree, the ones named simply Ďblood traitorí.

My first thought was that it smelt. Really bad. Like a hundred years worth of must; the kind that one would espect to be the home to a nest of moths. Like it had been left in the pouring rain and dried on the fence of a farm. Like yellowing, crumpled paper pressed against your nose. Gross.

The material scratched against my skin, making me want to itch my head and rip the decaying hat off my head. But I didnít. I stayed still; expressionless. Years of training, of learning how to keep quiet and speak only when spoken to kept me still. Back straight. Chin up. Eyes blank. That was the Black way.

Yet, curiousity seemed to get the better of me as my grey eyes slid to the woman standing rigidly on my left. She held a scroll in her hand with the new First Year names listed in green ink. Her long wand was clutched in her right hand and her gaze occasionally drifted over the Gryffindor table. McGonagall. Teacher of transfiguration and Head of Gryffindor house.

Bellatrix said she was a Muggle-lover. A half-blood who adored her precious house and dismissed all others. She didnít appreciate the purity of our family Ė probably didnít even know who the Blacks were. Narcissa disagreed; saying she was fairer than most of the idiots who taught here; she even showed occasional sparks of intelligence. Nothing special.

She knew who we were though - Narcissa had been quite clear about that. Apparently Bellatrix had been Ďeducatingí a first year on blood purity a couple years ago. McGonagall had walked in and lost it.

Sparks of intelligence, I thought to myself, she sounds pretty intelligent to me. Of course I'd never mentioned that to them. I knew my duty. The Black heir. I was to marry a fellow pure-blood Slytherin and carry on the blood line. Teaching my children the truth about blood superiority. To have a marriage as happy as those before me; the thought made me feel like heavy rocks had been thrown against my stomach.

It was only Andromeda who had stayed silent. Her brows were furrowed into a frown and her dark eyes glared at the dusty rug. Her shoe knocked against the wooden floor. Andy's sisters' paid her no notice. Her more reserved behaviour had given them the impression that she was somewhat simple. An idiot amongst the deranged.

I've never agreed with them though - Andy had always been my favourite cousin. She was old enough to step in when Cissy went too far, or stand up to Bella if she'd lost it again. Sometimes, on the frequent occurrence of being sent to my room without dinner, she'd sneak in when everyone else was asleep and we'd have a midnight picnic. Not with Regulus, though. He always whined too loud and forgot we were supposed to be quiet. Andy was my closest friend as well as my cousin. After she started Hogwarts, she told me about Mudbloods and how different they were to my parents descriptions -she helped me understand that there were other ways to act.

I found Andromeda amongst the crowd of green and silver, her Head Girl badge pinned to her left. Her dark eyes were anxiously glued to the hat on my head. She was worried about me. We both knew that if I was sorted into Hufflepuff, no one would say it was because I was tupid or lacked magical skill. If I was sorted into Ravenclaw, my family would think I was too smart and therefore would be cut off before I could Ďeducateí anyone else. I had to be a Slytherin, it was the Black way.

I discretely shook my head in her direction; a little movement that went unseen by most, but was enough to tell her not to worry.

The small movement caught the attention of the Transfiguration Professor who was still stood by my side. Her calculating eyes flickered in my direction. She had been expecting me to be put in Slytherin immediately. She was wondering if I had the brains to be a Ravenclaw. Her lips were pursed and she had faint lines around her mouth. I wondered when the last time she smiled was - I wondered what I would have to do to make her smile.

The low mutterings in the hall and the odd screech of moving chairs showed the impatience in the room. I slowly began to realise with a panic that I'd been sat on the stool for a while - much longer than Avery before me. Shouldnít something of happened by now? Had I done something wrong? Had I missed something? Is that why the Professors on the top table kept sending me questioning glances?

"No," a deep voice instantly answered, "they are curious as to why I havenít sorted you into Slytherin yet." I had been warned, many times, that the hat would speak - my parents didn't want me to make a fool of the Black name after all. Yet I didn't expect the hat to be this... real. I could almost sense it's amusement as it listened to my inner thoughts. "But you're not a Slytherin. You're loyal Ė a Hufflepuff, perhaps? But no. I expect great things from you, Sirius Black. It will not be your loyalty that will achieve your future. Your intelligence and wit is a strong possibility. You are intelligent; magic seems to come easier to you than most. But no, you wonít reach your potential there either. You are brave, very courageous. Oh yes, indeed. It is clear where you should be, very clear, oh yes. You are a-"


The hat roared its proclamation into an astounded hall. The deep voice echoing against the stone walls. Silence. A couple gasps. The screech of a bench being moved so the occupants could stand and get a better look. A Black? A Gryffindor? Had it ever happened before?

My body sat rigid as if glued to the seat. My eyes were wide and my breath seemed to be lodged within my throat. What? McGonagall had paused in what I expected to be shock, but now stepped closer to me and pulled the hat off my head. Her eyes were bright with surprise.

"Very well, Mr Black." she said shortly. "Go take a seat."

I swallowed loudly and walked towards the Gryffindor table who were beginning to cheer enthusiastically. I passed the boy with the messy raven hair from the train who gave me a thumbs up and a grin. I nodded, a small smile pulling on the edge of my lips. I'd never even considered Gryffindor. I strode towards a group of my childhood friends who were also awaiting their sorting. They were huddled together, separating only when I passed them.

"Blood Traitor!" Travers spat.

My steps faltered and I turned to face the only group of boys I'd been allowed to socialise with throughout my childhood. My mouth hung open but my mind was blank for a retort. What? I felt a hand tug on the back of my robes and I was pulled away. I landed with a heavy thump on the bench of my new house.

The hall quietened down as a girl stepped up to be sorted and I took the opportunity to gawp at the large hall. My gaze landed on Andromeda who was frozen with panic; looking like she couldnít decide whether to be extremely happy, sad or scared. Narcissa sat a couple seats down from Andy, her Fifth Year Prefect badge reflecting the candle light - her icy grey eyes flashed coldly in my direction.

It was her glare that reminded me so much of Bellatrix who'd graduated in June. I didn't doubt that if Bella had been present, thinks would have gone very differently. If she couldn't have cursed me herself, she would have demanded a re-sort. It was with a sinking feeling, mixed with relief, that I watched as Cissy pulled a quill from one of her large pockets and started to scrawl on the edge of a napkin. I didnít doubt that Erubus, her owl, would be flying South as soon as the meal was over.


Remus Lupin:

"Lupin, Remus."

The teacherís voice echoed around the Great Hall. There were no gasps of surprise, or muted whispers about my family. Nor were there boos or hisses or even students stretching to get a look at me. Nothing like the dark-haired boy who went up two students ahead. Thank God.

That didn't matter though; I knew that if this room was aware of the truth about me, then it would all be different.

Perhaps some students would leave the tables immediately to write to their parents. Others would find a camera to take a photo as proof, maybe even shouting remarks to see if they could get a reaction on film. Everyone would crowd round me, yet none would come close. They didnít want to catch Ďití, you see. After my sorting, they wouldnít share the table with me. The other First Years would decline to sit on the stool after me. The professors would refuse to speak to me, and when they had no choice, their eyes would dart to the side Ė looking for an escape from the freak. I took a seat on the wonky stool.

Broken, just like me.

The teacher lowered the faded hat onto my head, as she did so, her eyes locked with mine and she gave me a small nod of acknowledgement - almost as if she knew. But she couldn't have known, because she didnít run away. Yet there was something in her gaze, a look of understanding that I couldn't relate.

"What are you?" croaked a low voice.

"Remus." I muttered anxiously. "Remus Lupin."

"I asked what, not who."

My back tensed and my throat tightened; even the hat knew I didn't belong. I felt it coming before my vision began to fade.

We were walking home after an evening of celebrations. It was Bonfire night and I clutched a brown paper bag in one hand which was overfull of chocolate and toffee, in the other hand was a burnt-out sparkler that I had used as a Ďwandí - much to my fatherís entertainment. Around my gap-toothed smile were the sticky remnants from my third toffee apple.

My eyes still shone with the flames from the bonfire as I watched with delight as Guy fell into the flames. My parents were laughing; my dad had a hand resting on my shoulders and my mum leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. I pulled away - to her amusement - so she ruffled my hair instead as the cold wind blew through our scarves. I was telling my parents everything I'd learnt and proudly recited the poem that Mr. Jacobson had taught me beside the flames.

ĎRemember, Remember,
The fifth of November.
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why Gunpowder treason,
Should ever be forgot!í

Before I could utter the second verse, my dad tapped our back gate with his wand which sprung open upon touch. Mum giggled as she pulled me into the house, loudly whispering that Dad couldn't function without his wand. Dad heard and pulled my chuckling Mum into a close embrace. I laughed along with them and Mum pulled away to unwrap my scarf and take off my coat.

"Mummy," I asked, looking at her innocently, "canít I stay up a little longer?"

"No, Remus. Itís already hours past your bedtime!" Dad scolded gently. "Remember, tonight is a special night Ė so donít push it!"

"Please? Everyone else would be allowed!"

"Oh really?" Mum teased, pulling me into a hug. "Remind me Remus, which other five year olds are allowed to stay up this late?"

I had no response and instead chose to give them both my best puppy-eyes and pleading face. "Please?" I asked in my most innocent, small voice.

They looked at each other, chuckling. Mum fluttered her eyeslashes and Dad rolled his eyes to the ceiling in response. "Ten minutes," he sighed.

"Yey!" I shouted. "Iíll go get Mr Snuffles."

I heard a muffled laugh as my parents embraced once more. I looked around the living room for my familiar bear. "I think I left him in the garden, can I go get him?"

"Be quick, otherwise youíll miss out on my special Hot Chocolate delight!"

I gasped and ran back out the door into the garden. The little garden lights were dotted around the edges, making it easy to see. There was also a full moon in the clear sky which eliminated the garden with a silver glow. I could see Mr Snuffles by the sandbox, beside the spade, and eagerly skipped over to him. Bending down, I heard a growl.

I†stood up slowly, clutching Mr Snuffles to my chest. The garden was empty, and I could see my Dad swirling my Mum round the kitchen to the song on the radio. I giggled and started to skip back across the garden when I heard the growl again; this time much louder and closer.

I paused once more, and turned towards the strange noise. There was a heavy thump as a great, dark beast leaped down from the shadowed trees. Spit hung from his jaw that was surrounded by dark blood. Its eyes were wild and its tongue eagerly licked its lips. I was frozen, my heart beat loudly like a ticking clock. It pounced before I could let out a cry and I instead screamed in agony as I felt its teeth tear through my skin.†

The music behind me stopped. My eyes rolled back into my head; enough for me to briefly see my parents frozen with fear, looking out of the kitchen whilst the beast carried on tearing - unaware of their terror.

"Remus!" My mother screeched, running for the door.

"Charlotte!" My father shouted. "No!" He ran after her and grabbed her arm whilst slamming the door shut with his foot. Before she could pull away, he reached into his pocket and locked the door. Locking them in. And me out.

My father was yelling and my motherís screams joined mine as if she was also being torn apart. Both of them were at the window, glued, watching with horror as their only son was ripped to pieces. My father opened the window in a spark of inspiration and shot a red spell at the heavy beast. It roared in retaliation, but wariness of magic seemed to force it to retreat. I lay a bloody mess beside my sandbox and forgotten teddy bear. I couldnít speak, I couldnít move, all I could feel was the pain and slow burning.

"Charlotte," I heard my dad whisper, his voice thick. "Not yet. Itís a full moon." My mother yelped with more pain and I glanced upwards to see her collapse against my father. The burning in my bones felt like it increased. Hotter. Scalding. More pain. How was this possible? My bones felt to be breaking and stretching. My skin was splitting. Pain. In a sudden wave of indescribable agony, I screamed in unbearable pain and instead a howl filled the air.

I was bigger than before. Wilder. But the pain had left. Left what? What was before? I was nothing. I was wild. I was a creature of the night. I was free. I was hungry .I knew the pain would come back. I knew I would always have to face the pain. I knew everything had changed now. What was I? I knew before the howl left my throat once more.


"I said what are you?" the hat repeated.

I thought to my ongoing transformations. Always facing them, never complaining. I thought of the truth I awakened to every morning. I thought of my future, if I would ever have one. I thought of the many who I'd read had turned bad - but then I thought of my parents, and I knew Iíd try to be different. To matter. I would do whatever I had to. I would be brave.

"A Gryffindor." I whispered to myself.

"And so you are." The hat responded smugly before it's brim ripped opened once more to announce;


Peter Pettigrew:

I was still in shock. I barely heard as the stern Proffessor called out, "Pettigrew, Peter." Was this real?

The gold plates, the floating candles and the shimmering cutlery. The gleaming white tablecloths, the massive oak doors and the never-ending ceiling. Then there were the people. All different, different hair, different skin, different eyes, different clothes. Wealth shone from them all. Some with thick velvet robes, others with Madam Malkinís finest jet-black uniforms.

I self-consciously patted down my greying robes. We'd found them in a small, second-hand shop which had previosuly been worn by someone at least six foot tall. Dad said they'd be good for 'growing roomí, unfortunately this made the chance of me tripping up much higher. Brilliant.

The only positive of such a long hem was that they covered my shoes. My shoes were really my Dadís and they were nice... a long time ago. Now the sole had a habit of flapping open, making a loud clapping noise every time I took a step. Also, they were a couple sizes too big and so the paper I had previously stuffed at the top of the shoe kept slipping out.

Unfortunately, nothing could hide the sound of the slapping shoes against the oak floor; much to the delight of the students whose robes were outlined with green. Smirks were beginning to stretch across their faces. Feeling embarrassed, I hastily sped up my pace, forgetting the too long robes and too large shoes.

With a loud squeak, I felt myself tumbling to the floor. My face burned scarlet as I saw the floor approaching, when suddenly an arm reached out and stopped my flight. I turned; it was the boy behind me with very messy black hair.

"Thanks," I murmured quietly. The boy nodded with a smile on his face and I spun back round to face the front of the Great Hall; very aware that the majority of the students were failing at hiding their grins and sniggers. I was near the front when I passed a white-blonde haired boy, wearing a prefect-badge on his green-trimmed robes; he looked like Christmas had come early as he greedily eyed my clothes.

"Did you see the pig squeal? Iím surprised he could even fit in any robes! Perhaps thatís why those robes are too big?" The Prefect drawled to his neighbour. "Merlin, Hogwarts really has gone to the dogs."

His nearby friends spluttered with laughter and pointed at me, jeering over my flaws. The prefect looked smug which soon turned to disgruntlement as he noticed a girl nearby with similarly light hair wasn't giving him any attention. Instead, she carried on hastily writing on a napkin.

I kept my chin†high as I walked the last few steps and blinked rapidly Ė hoping to reduce the burning in my eyes. I sat down apprehensively on the fragile-looking chair. Please, please donít break. Please, just this once, let things go my way. Donít break. Not now everyone is looking. Please.

I knew I was bigger than most other boys my age but the stool stayed intact as if it had been magically constructed to hold any weight. I looked out at the levitating candles and came to the conclusion that it probably was. I was so focused on the fragile chair that I didnít realise the woman had placed a large hat on my head. It was quite comfy really, didnít itch, and didnít smell too bad either. It reminded me of the clothes I was wearing.

"Peter," a voice echoed inside my head.

No one had mentioned how we got sorted; my Dad forgot to tell me. Just like the rest of the school had.

I yelped and in my shock, became off-balanced and lost my footing. The floor hit my cheek heavily as the stool sprung away from my legs; the Great Hall erupted into laughter and jeers. Some students were pointing, some were snorting, a sparse few attempted to hide their giggles beneath a hand.

The pointed face Prefect chose this moment to get his friends' attention once more. "Did he fall or did the chair break? Merlin I bet the fat piglet has never even done any magic!"

"When I want your opinion, Mr Malfoy, I shall ask for it." Professor McGonagall said sharply over the jeering crowd. She hastily picked up the stool and placed it back on the ground.

"Mr Pettigrew, I would suggest that it would be wise to sit back down now." said the Professor in a much softer voice. I nodded and pulled myself off the ground. Professor McGonagall sighed. "Mr Pettigrew, would you mind fetching the Sorting hat?"

I turned around and saw, with a sinking feeling, that the hat had flown a fair distance and was now on the floor in front of the teacherís table. Red-faced, I quickly padded over and scooped up the hat.

Straightening, I met eyes with an old white-haired wizard with a beard as long as his robes. He had electric blue eyes and a kind smile. "I often have trouble not tripping over it." he whispered, gesturing to his beard. "The trick is to take small, quick steps and not let anyone else guess. That, or cut it I suppose, but I find it such a convenience at times, you see on the occasion where I have lost my way, the end has a tendancy to point me North.í

I didnít know how to respond and simply nodded, feeling the wizard's twinkling eyes follow me back to the old stool. This time I braced myself and attempted to ignore the laughter throughout the hall, the snide remarks and the pitying looks.

"Shall we try that again, boy?" asked the hat's deep voice.

I nodded but stopped immediately as I felt the hat slip forwards. "W-w-what do I do-o?" I asked shakily, not completely sure whether to speak aloud or think in my head and so therefore settled on a low murmur.

"Do?" The hat enquired. "You do nothing. That is my job. You just have to think. I see that you are inquisitive, a skill worthy of a Ravenclaw Ė however I feel you lack the wit and confidence to fit in well." The hat mused. "No, donít be disappointed, yes I can see your thoughts, you never expected to be a Ravenclaw anyway. No youíre not a Hufflepuff either, the house and people would fit you well but sadly you wouldnít fit them at all."

The hat paused and my eyes flickered to the two tables at either side of the hall. "So that leaves Gryffindor and Slytherin. There is a some Gryffindor in you; I can sense your courage and kindness. Oh yes, I sense much courage. You face the bullies with your head held high; you've had a difficult past. You want them to know, to understand - but how far will you go to give them that knowledge? In that sense, you're ambitious and cunning; you hold the ability to be a great Slytherin. Yes, I see it now. A-"

"No!" I interrupted the hatís whispers. "Please, no! Theyíll kill me! I donít look like them! I donít act like them! Please!"

"Boy, they are your struggles to face. These struggles will make you better for it. Slytherin will make you strong instead of a shadowed man. I see this. I see it all."

"Please; I'm brave. I know I am. Please, just let me enjoy Hogwarts. You've seen my mind, you must know about home. Please, just give me a chance." I begged, my eyes becoming glued on the blonde Prefect. "Please?"

The hat remained silent, and my eyes flicked to the Gryffindor table. I was focused on the only other boy whose clothes didnít look brand new and who had a sense of roughness about him. The boy with brown hair and dark bags under his eyes. Lupin, the Professor had said. Next to him sat a boy as unlike him in looks as was the ĎMalfoyí Prefect to me. The boy looked regal and handsome; if he were my friend then perhaps the Prefect would back off for a while. "Please?" I asked desperately; feeling my heart beating rapidly.

The hat was silent; pondering and murmering as it searched my mind. Enough time passed for the Prefect to get restless again. "The hatís probably attempting to see if he has any magic in him at all!" Once again, he recieved sniggers from his Ďfriendsí.

The hat's rim ripped open to loudly declare; "Gryffindor."

James Potter:

I couldnít help it; a groan escaped my lips. I was certain he was a Hufflepuff. Then after he shrugged off my arm when I stopped him falling - I was certain he was a Slytherin. But a Gryffindor? Really? Was my luck really that bad?

I looked behind me at the shortening queue. There were very few boys left in it. So far Gryffindor had the most male First Years Ė three already! And weíd only just reached the Pís! Ravenclaw had two and so did Hufflepuff. Slytherin, however, had only one male so far. Typical. The odds really werenít in my favour.

I know the hat was supposed to sort you by your own qualities and skills etc etc but really? Come on, the houses are nearly equal every year! That canít be a coincidence, can it?†Iím pretty sure the hat just places randomly so that it can make up the numbers. And if Gryffindor was already meeting its quota, would the hat push me into one of the others. God, what if it makes me a Hufflepuff? Iíll never live it down.

I looked up as a girl with dark curls got sorted into Ravenclaw. Itíll be fine. Iíll just make an argument that it canít turn down. Gryffindors are... couragous. I'm brave! Like last year, when the biting mushrooms escaped, and the big green one went straight for little Annie Ė a Muggle child who always had a snotty nose Ė I was the only one who went to save her. Of course, no one else could actually see the mushrooms and I did end up pushing her into the river by mistake... but I still saved her!

Well, until Dad had to intervene when it turned out she couldnít swim and didnít pop back up to the surface. But that wasnít my fault! I understand a three year old wouldn't be the best of swimmers, and she might now be afraid of water, but Dad saved her, that's all that matters, right? Perhaps I wonít tell the hat that specific story.

Cheers fill the hall as Ralph Pirker got sorted into Slytherin. Gryffindors are... daring. Well, you need daring to be good at Quidditch, right? I'm great at Quidditch - like that time I played Quidditch against the Hopper family. It was supposed to be a friendly game between family friends. But Jack had just come back from his Second Year, and he was on the Quidditch team. I just wanted to show him that I was good too.

I didn't mean for him to end up in St Mungo's. Honest. He was meant to dive whilst I dodged! How was I supposed to know that he was now dodging whilst I was now diving? I know he mentioned it a couple times, but it was unlikely to work anyway. Most people call me Ďspiritedí. I don't know where they get that impression from.

"Potter, James."

The Slytherin's chants and jeers fell silent. It was my turn now. Donít panic, James. There must be something. The stool is getting closer... Think!

Iíve got it - Iím smart! In Summer I beat everyone else in Wizardís Chess. I even beat Jack! Of course, I did move the odd piece when my opponent wasnít looking, but only Dad noticed and he played down all of their suspicions. No, not that one either. The hat would probably sort me into Slytherin.

I wouldnít know what or how to tell Dad. Iím a Potter and every Potter is a Gryffindor. I couldnít be the one to break the mould Ė could I? Dad was a Gryffindor, he was top of his class in everything Ė except for Transfiguration, he always struggled with that one. Heís still a bit bitter.

But when he left, he became one of the most respected Aurors in the country. If he hadnít retired when he did, I bet he would have been made Minister for Magic. Yeah, Dadís good like that. They expect me to be the same, they all do. Iím Charlus' son,†Charlus Potterís boy. 'I must be so proud; I must want to be just like him when I grow up. Oh look, thereís Charlus's boy heís doing well in chess isnít he? I bet†Charlus taught him everything he knows!'

Sometimes I just want to snap back that I'd learnt it myself, thank you very much! Not that Dad wouldnít of taught me, but he was always a little busy you see. I do love my Dad, I do. Sometimes I just wish theyíd notice me first.

See, Iíve got to be a Gryffindor. If Iím anything else, then he beats me. Everyone knows Gryffindor is the best house; Iíve got to be the best.
I felt a surge of panic as I reached the rotten stool. Couldn't they buy a new one? The stern Professor looked at me expectantly. Donít panic James! Just be nice and polite, make an argument that you really are a-


What? But Ė I mean- the hat didnít even touch my head did it? I looked up and saw the thin-lipped Professor looking a little startled. The hat seemed to†have only grazed my untameable hair. Well, that was easy wasnít it?

I always knew the hat sorted people into the houses where they belong. Nothing to do with quotas or anything like that, nope just the good olí hat.

With an impish grin, I jumped off the chair and strode to my table. My fellow house mates cheering their newest addition - except one red-haired girl who was slowly clapping but her gaze was stuck onto the greasy-haired boy who was a couple in the queue behind me.

Iím sorry, but thatís a little rude isnít it? I am in her house now, probably the quickest sorting since like, ever. Shouldnít she at least look at me? Or at least a quick smile? Itís just plain rude not to!

Yet her bright green eyes were furrowed, creating small lines against her pale skin, not noticing the glares I was shooting her from my side of the table.

Okay, so perhaps I shouldnít have insulted her spotty friend on the train, but really, who wants to be a Slytherin? Speaking of-

"Alright, mate!" The regal-looking boy with dark hair asked. "James wasnít it? From the train?"

"Yeah, Sirius Black, right? Merlin, a Black whoís not a Slytherin! Never thought Iíd see the day!"

The regal boyís eyes narrowed for a second and he glanced at some girl on another table, before turning back to me and bursting out laughing.

"Yeah, and a Potter whoís a Gryffindor Ė you couldnít have bet on that!í Sirius teased; his eyes alight with mirth.

"I bet the odds were astronomical!" I joked back. "Iím James, James Potter." I announced to the rest of the First Years I was sat with.

"Iím Remus, Remus Lupin." A tall boy said, who looked slightly tense and had dark bags under his eyes.

"And I-Iím Peter Pettigrew," whispered the plump blond boy whose face was still tinged slightly pink.

"Oh yeah, right, youíre the one who fell over. Twice." I noticed, causing Sirius to snort into his Pumpkin juice.

"Yeah." Peter replied quietly, his face already starting to glow red.

"Well I bet most people will forget by morning." I said simply, hoping his colour would go back to normal. I donít want to get in trouble for giving the boy a heart-attack or something. "How about you?í" I asked the girls opposite us.

"Iím Mary, Mary McDonald," replied a small, petite girl with mousy-brown hair and a face of freckles.

"Amelia Bones," announced a blonde-haired girl who had a smile on her face but her eyes were watching us all with a calculating expression.

"Iím Lily Evans," whispered the fire-headed girl reluctantly; who now appeared to be attempting to end the conversation so she could watch her Ďfriendí be sorted, "and weíve met before." She added, noticing Sirius and I sat opposite her.

Eventually the sorting ended, Lilyís friend was sorted into Slytherin - I smirked a little - and food magically appeared on the golden trays in front of us. Peterís mouth gaped open, Lilyís eyes widened, Ameliaís smile seemed to finally reach her eyes, Remus was looking round at the other students to see if we were allowed to eat and Sirius Ė well, Sirius looked bored. There was really no other way to describe it. Catching my eye, he winked and gestured to the food and then to the boy from the train who was enthusiastically talking to the Slytherin Prefect. I nodded, a grin already formed.

We both grabbed a handful of the nearest food as if it has been previously planned and flung our arms forwards. I swapped a satisfied smile with Sirius as we heard the squelch as the gooey food hit its target. The hook-nosed first year, and the pointed-face Prefect looked murderous as they were covered in yellowing potato.

"Mr Black, Mr Potter." The stern-faced Professor seemed to have appeared out of mid-air. "Would you be so kind to see me after the meal?"

"Why Professor, weíve only just met." I replied cheekily; earning us admiring looks from most of the table.

The Professor's eyes flashed coldly. "Out. Now."

I looked around the table as I stood up to recieve my first punishment. I caught Sirius' eye and we shared a mischievous grin. I knew instinctively it wouldnít be my last.

Welcome to Gryffindor, First Years. Itís going to be fun.

Edit (27th May 2012):

Firstly, thank you so much for reading this chapter and I hope you continue to enjoy the rest of the story. My plan is to follow all three boys until their eventual deaths.

I started this story at the end of 2011 and have already learnt so much from your wonderful reviews and helpful tips. So if you notice any errors or have any queries, then please don't hesitate to ask!

If you have a spare second to leave a review, it would mean so much. I hope you enjoy the next chapters and the Marauders instinct for mischief.

Keira :)
P.S. I'm not J.K Rowling - so everything you recognise belongs to her.

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Mischief Managed: First Year: The Sorting


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