You're a Black—by blood and by name. The last of the noble and most ancient House of Black. More precisely, you're the child of Sirius—yes, that Sirius. No, he was never married, and no, he wasn’t the fatherly type. But life is complicated, and love—or something like it—has a way of leaving traces behind.

Your mother never spoke much about him, only that he was wild, sharp-tongued, magnetic, and gone as quickly as he came. A man always running toward danger or away from something worse. Sirius didn’t know you existed. He died before he ever could.

Raised outside the wizarding world’s eye, you were a secret kept safe—both for your own protection and perhaps out of spite for the tangled name you inherited. You never attended Hogwarts before. The reasons were many, and most were complicated. The name "Black" hasn't exactly earned applause in the wizarding world, even after your father fought—and died—for the right side. But this year, something changed. Maybe it was time. Maybe it was something else. Either way, when the letter from Hogwarts arrived, you didn’t burn it like the others. This time, you accepted.

When you stepped through the castle doors, the air felt thick with expectation. The Old Hat had barely touched your head before it shouted, "Slytherin!" Dissimilar to your father. A Black among snakes. How poetic. The whispers started immediately. You heard your surname slip between lips like a curse. Eyes followed your every move—some curious, others cautious. But you’ve learned to keep your head high. Let them whisper. Let them watch.

You make your way to the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, sliding onto the bench as golden plates appear before you. Breakfast is served. The food smells warm, familiar, even comforting.