It's cold. I haven't stopped shivering since I first arrived here 8--no 9--months ago. It's dark too. I can barely see, even when the sun is up. I guess the dementors are to blame for that, they swarm around the outside of this bloody prison like a storm of black and grey. I watch them through the barred window, hoping for just a glimpse of light, whether that be the sun or stars. Tonight I caught a glimpse of the moon. It's full. That would mean Moony is transforming about now. He must hate me.

The whole world must hate me. I can't blame them really, I am just as detestable as Mother always claimed. 

There was a time when I didn't believe her though, a time all the way back when I was young. When I first started at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Merlin's beard, that feels like centuries ago but that was where it all began.

I was an anxious first year with a bad haircut when I ran through platform 9 and 3/4. I was only late because Mother made me listen to yet another rant about living up to the Black family name. I was so late, that everyone I knew were already in full compartments. 

That was when I met Moony. Remus Lupin was short and pale with a scarred face, but when I found him, he was asleep in an otherwise empty compartment, with his cheek smushed against the glass. 

"Oi, mate, is it ok if I sit here?" I asked very politely. 

He startled awake, nervous eyes fluttering open, but before he could respond the door slid open. 

"Can we sit here?" There were two more first years, Prongs and Wormtail. The one who spoke had messy hair, square glasses, and a mischievous grin. I knew just by the look her was a Potter--a pure blood. Good. Peering from behind him was a round boy with rosy cheeks and a pointed nose, his features almost alone to a rat. I didn't know him. 

"you are all welcome to sit here," the boy who had been asleep said, clutching what looked like a chocolate frog close to his chest.

They both took the seats, but I hesitated. Mother might just curse me if I sat with muggle sympathizers. "I'm Sirius Black."

"I'm Remus," the boy next to me said, offering an apprehensive smile. 

"I'm James Potter," teh boy with square glasses confirmed. "And this is Peter Pettigrew."

"Hi," Peter said shyly in a squeaky voice. Curse his soul, had I only known back then...I'm getting ahead of myself.

all I said back then was, "Are you all purebloods?" I asked. 

"I am," James said, cocking his head. "Why does it matter?"

I honestly couldn't think of a single reason to disagree. "I guess it doesn't," I said, taking the seat next yo Remus. For once Mother wasn't there to correct me, and I found that I liked that.

"Would you like a Bertie Botts every flavored bean? My Mum said it would be smart to bring them but after I had a boogie flavored one I'm none to eager" Peter offered.

We were all quick to take some. "Are you a all first years too?" Remus asked.

"Yeah, hoping for Slytherin," I declared proudly, as I always had heard my family do.

To my surprise, James wrinkled his nose, "Why?"

"it's tradition. My whole family has been Slytherin."

"Blimey," said James, "and I thought you seemed all right!"

"We'll, where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?"

James dramatically lifted an imaginary sword, swinging it at invisable enemies. “'Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!' Like my Da."

We all laughed. I don't even remember laughing before that day. I can't for the life of me tell you what we talked about the rest of the train ride--most likely quidditch and the best flavor of Bertie Botts every flavored bean--but by the end, I was praying that I be the Black to break tradition. Little did I know that I would.

When we got into the great hall and sat at the first year table. It's strange to think how nervous I was, when every single sorting ceremony after, James and I would make bets on which first years would be in which house, but on that day, I was so anxious my foot was bouncing against the carpet like a muggle toy.

My whole life I had heard what it was to be a Black, my parents, with their pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal. The ride in the Hogwarts express had been different. I hadn't been forced to insult anyone or hold my tongue. It was freeing.

When my name was called I practically jumped from my seat. The headmaster placed the sorting hat over my head, and minute after minute went by. Every second felt like an eternity. I feel like it talked to me, but all I remember now is the looks on my new friends' faces. Then the hat yelled, "Gryffindor!" And I released a sigh of relief, though why I was relieved when I knew the wrath that would follow, well it's simple really. It was because I had failed. My parents had such high expectations, and I knew I couldn't possibly meet them, so getting the disappointment over with at the beginning was actually comforting.

I sat at the Gryffindor table, ignoring disgusted glances from my cousins, Narcissa and Bellatrix. Soon later my three new friends joined me. I don't recall sleeping a wink that night. Back in the Gryffindor dormitories, we celebrated and ate ourselves sick. I had always heard that blacks were basically royal, but that was the first time I ever felt like a king.

The next day I received a howler, and I would have to say that three-hour-long howler was the greatest one I've ever received. Mother used some very colorful wording that quite enhanced my vocabulary. I smiled the whole time. I knew what it meant, I knew what a beating I would receive at Christmas--assuming I was allowed to come home for Christmas--but I didn't care. After all, what's life without a little risk.