Chapter Text
It began with footsteps. The door of their Slytherin dorm burst open, and the tall figure of an older boy filled it, shoulders squared as though he owned the place. His prefect’s badge glinted like a medal of war.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he drawled, though the word was clearly used in jest. “Inspection night. I trust we’re keeping up standards?”
No one replied. Phin caught the faint twitch in Travers’ jaw, the way Rookwood’s shoulders stiffened beside him. Selwyn, who had been sprawled on his bed moments ago, stood up straight and stared fixedly at the wall. Even Mulciber, who usually had too much to say, kept his head bowed.
They all knew what this was. It wasn’t just an inspection. It was a performance. Their prefect came when he wanted, swaggering in with that badge shining like proof that he was better than them, older and untouchable.
And annoyingly, the older boy looked every inch the model student he was supposed to be: tall, black hair slicked back in that perfect way that probably took ages to get right, robes spotless and shoes polished to a mirror shine. Trust him to turn a dormitory inspection into a grand entrance.
The girls adored him, of course. They giggled in corridors when he passed, whispered about his eyes, his voice, his charm and all the things that made him seem the perfect young heir. Such a gentleman! Phin could gag at the thought.
He wasn’t fooled by that grin or the polished manners. He knew exactly what lay underneath: an overgrown show-off, who thought he was cleverer than everyone else, who liked to snoop, meddle, and lord it over people just because he could. Always poking his nose into things that weren’t his business, always turning up when no one wanted him there. Merlin, was Sirius Black insufferable!
Right now Black took a slow look around the room like a commander surveying a conquered territory. Then, with deliberate precision, he reached the nearest bedside table, flicked a quill to the floor, and upended an inkwell into a wastebin.
“Untidy,” he said coolly. “Slovenly habits lead to weak character. You’d do well to remember that.”
He crossed the room with the lazy grace of someone perfectly sure no one would dare to stop him. A shoe left beneath a bed was sent skidding across the floor with a sharp kick; a stack of folded robes was lifted, inspected, and hurled onto the ground.
“Can’t have the place looking like a stable, can we? You lot are representing Slytherin House or have you all forgotten?”
Black stopped at a bed, flicked open the trunk with his boot, and glanced inside.
“Chaos.”
He kicked the lid shut with a bang that made the candles flicker. At the next bed he found a tie draped over a chair. He lifted it with two fingers as if it were a dead rat.
“You disgrace your House,” he said, letting it fall.
A boy coughed; another shifted his weight. The prefect’s head turned sharply.
“Did I invite commentary?” he asked.
Mulciber, the boy who had coughed, swallowed hard.
“No, sir.”
The prefect took two long strides and stood toe to toe with him. For a heartbeat he said nothing, only studied the other’s face with cool amusement. Then his hand landed across the cheek of Phin’s dormmate.
“Eyes forward,” their prefect said. “You’ll hold yourself properly when I speak to you.”
It took Phin near-supernatural restraint not to speak. Sirius was but three years their senior! Surely there were first-years he could bully instead?
The prefect moved on, straightening a collar here, tugging a cuff there, finding fault wherever it might hide. He came to a stop before Selwyn’s bed and regarded it with evident distaste.
“A gentleman’s bed should be neat,” he said, tearing a sheet loose with one swift motion. “You’ll remake it. Properly. At once.”
The boy scrambled to obey, his fingers fumbling at the sheets. The prefect stood over him until the task was done, then pressed one palm flat against the blanket, testing its smoothness.
“Still uneven,” he said. The slap came quick. “You’ll get it right next time...” A smile ghosted across his lips. “…which is right about now.”
The boy’s hands shook as he tucked the corners again, eyes fixed on the mattress as if willing it to obey him. The prefect folded his arms, watching in silence. When the boy stepped back, pale and breathless, Black ran a finger along the blanket’s edge and gave a soft, disdainful snort.
Phin thought it looked perfectly decent. None of them had to do this sort of thing at home; the house-elves saw to that. And Hogwarts swarmed with the creatures. Making one’s own bed was, by far, the most useless skill Phin had learnt here.
“Pathetic effort,” the prefect insisted.
Phin's dorm mate opened his mouth to protest, but the prefect’s voice snapped across the room before a sound escaped.
“You are a disgrace, Selwyn,” he barked. “Is that the standard your family’s name commands? You shame the crest.”
He seized the blanket, dragged it free in one smooth motion, and hurled the whole lot into the corridor.
“Now try again,” he said.
Selwyn stared at him, stunned.
“What are you waiting for?” the prefect roared. “Get those sheets!”
Phin could feel the words rising in his throat. He knew he ought to keep silent, but something in him snapped.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Sirius-”
Every head snapped towards him at once. The selfsatisfied smile of the prefect was gone. Phin could feel every boy in the room holding his breath, waiting for the storm to break loose.
The slap came fast and vicious, a blur of motion and sound that sent Phin reeling sideways into the wall.
“You do not,” the prefect said, voice rising, “call your prefect by his Christian name. You will remember your place, and you will hold your tongue unless you are spoken to, you presumptuous little runt.”
Phin tried to steady himself, cheek burning and the taste of iron sharp in his mouth. He had accidentally bitten the inside of his cheek when his prefect dealt him the blow.
Around him, the other boys stared at him, faces blank, their fear of being next stronger than their pity. Phin pressed a hand to his cheek, the skin stinging hot beneath his palm. The prefect’s breath came hard through his nose.
“Stand up straight when I’m speaking to you!” he barked. “You’ll address me as sir! Do you understand?”
The older boy didn’t wait when Phin’s answer didn’t come fast enough. His hand shot out to seize the unfortunate boy by the ear. Phin let out a hissed breath as he was yanked upright, pain lancing through the side of his head.
“When I address you,” the prefect barked, “you stand to attention.”
Phin gritted his teeth against the sharp sting. The prefect leaned in closer, his breath hot against his cheek. Phin didn’t answer. The hand at his ear twisted.
“I said, do you understand?”
“Y–yes, sir!” The words burst out, strangled by pain.
The prefect let go, and Phin stumbled back a step, face flushed, ear throbbing.
“Better,” the older boy said icily. “Perhaps there’s a spine in you after all, it just needs straightening.”
He took a step back, adjusting his cuffs as if nothing had happened.
“You’ll report to my dormitory tomorrow after supper," He told Phin. "You can start by cleaning the hearth and polishing the brasswork. When that’s done, you’ll black the boots and fold the laundry properly. I expect it finished before curfew.”
Phin swallowed hard, forcing out a stiff, “Yes, sir.”
Brilliant. Now he was stuck cleaning Sirius' dorm, while he and his lot lounged about, sneering, tossing snide remarks his way, and likely giving him another smack or two for good measure.
“Good,” the prefect said, tone cool again. “Perhaps manual work will remind you that respect is earned, not assumed.”
He turned to the others, sweeping the room with a look that froze any flicker of sympathy. “The rest of you may learn from his example. Family names mean nothing without discipline. You’d all do well to remember that.”
The prefect turned back to Phin. A faint smile curved his mouth, the kind that never meant kindness. Phin loathed that smug little smile. It was the exact same sort his father wore when he thought he’d won.
“Let’s have a look at your things, shall we?” the older boy said lightly, smiling at Phin. “See if you meet your own House’s standards.”
Phin felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. He knew that tone. The older boy stopped before Phin’s trunk and looked down at it.
“Yours, isn’t it?” he said.
As if you wouldn't know! Phin nodded once.
“Yes, sir,” he said, voice tight.
He forced himself upright, spine rigid, meeting the older boy’s glare for half a second before lowering his gaze.
The prefect faced Phin again, hands clasped neatly behind his back.
“Open it.”
Phin hesitated, but only for a second. And it was long enough for the prefect’s smile to sharpen.
“Now,” he said softly.
Phin bent, lifted the lid, and stood aside.
Inside lay his things: neatly folded garments arranged with almost military precision. Crisp white shirts stacked by collar height, pressed waistcoats in deep Slytherin green, rolled pairs of woollen socks tied with matching ribbons, and his spare set of robes folded so flat they might have been ironed by a tailor. A silver-handled hairbrush rested beside a small box of cufflinks and collar studs, each piece aligned carefully. Even Phin's nightshirt had been folded into a perfect rectangle, corners sharp as parchment. He’d taken care with it that morning. He always did. Not out of vanity, but because he knew why it mattered. Because it wouldn’t be the first time Sirius had found an excuse.
A pause, a faint flicker of amusement behind the older boy’s eyes.
“Neat as a governess’s cupboard. You’ve the makings of a proper young gentleman, if you can keep your wits about you.”
It might almost have been praise. Then, as if to put the words to proof, the older boy swept up the neat row of books from Phin’s nightstand and cast them to the floor, their spines cracking sharply against the boards.
“There. Now it looks lived in,” he said. “You’ll thank me later.”
Phin swallowed hard. One of the books had landed face-up among the others on the pile. It was the book he’d been hiding beneath the others. Phin's stomach dropped as the familiar green cover stared back at him: 'The Fallacy of Fear - A Wizard’s Case for Muggle Equality'.
He hadn’t meant for anyone to see it. Certainly not his prefect. Sirius Black had a very ... Slytherin attiude towards Muggle Equality to put it mildly
The older boy had turned as if to leave, then paused. His gaze flicked back, caught by something among the fallen books. A heartbeat’s hesitation and then he stepped closer again.
His expression didn’t change, but the air in the room did. Phin felt it like a pull in his gut. He’s seen it. Of all the people who might have seen it, Sirius was the worst.
He bent, picked up the volume and looked at the cover for a long moment. Silent.
Then, very quietly, he said, “Out.”
No one moved. None of the other boys had caught a glimpse of the book’s cover, and the command had wrong-footed them all. They exchanged reluctant glances, as though seeking confirmation that they had heard right.
“I said, OUT!”
The shout cracked across the dormitory like a curse. Within seconds, shoes thudded against the floor as the boys stumbled for the door. No one dared look at either of them.
Phin moved to follow the others, but a hand pressed hard against his chest, stopping him short.
“Oh no,” the prefect said, low and even. “You stay.”
He released him only to drop the book onto the trunk lid. The sound of it hitting the wood was shockingly loud in the empty room.
“We have something to discuss.”
Phin’s throat tightened. He didn’t look at the book. It felt like he physically couldn’t. The silence between them was thick.
Then the blow came. Then another. Left. Right. Each one snapping Phin’s head to the side, the sound sharp against the stone walls.
“Have you lost your bloody mind, Phineas?!” Sirius roared, the veneer of prefect cool gone entirely.
He struck again, open-handed, fierce, half out of control. Not the measured slaps of a prefect now, but the wild, furious blows of a young man who’d been holding too much in.
Phin staggered back onto his bed, the wooden frame jolting against the wall. His breath came fast.
“Stop it!” he shouted, but the word only seemed to drive Sirius further.
Phin ducked, arms raised to shield his face.
“You don't tell me what to do!” Sirius seized a fistful of his collar and yanked him upright, his face inches away. “I haven’t even started yet, you little bastard.” His voice dropped low, cold, trembling with restrained fury. “You’ll march your arse to my dormitory now, and you’ll fetch the cane you’re about to get your disobedient hide thrashed with.”
Phin’s pulse pounded in his ears. He couldn’t help it.
“Are you being serious?” The words came out incredulous. He knew Sirius hated that phrase. The look that crossed the other boy's face was enough to make the air turn colder.
Sirius leaned so close Phin could see the tiny fleck of colour at the collarbone, the set of his jaw. His voice dropped.
“See it as a favour,” he said. “If I tell the Headmaster, you won’t sit for a month after he’s done with you.”
“You can stop playing the pompous ass now, Sirius,” Phin said hotly. “It’s just you and me here. And the Headmaster happens to be our father.”
Sirius’ smile was scary.
“Quite so,” he said. “Which means that if I tell him, you’ll have the singular privilege of being caned by him as both parent and Headmaster. You don’t imagine he’ll stop before he’s taken the skin off you, do you?”
The words struck home. Phin’s stomach twisted, but he forced his shoulders square. He wanted to say that it was scarcely better being beaten by one’s brother who also happened to be one’s prefect ... but he didn’t. It wasn’t true, and they both knew it. If their father would hear about this, Phin was as good as dead.