Late summer, 1971.
Eleven-year-old Sirius Black boarded the train to Hogwarts. For him, it was a boarding of freedom and joy; he could finally leave that oppressive, suffocating home behind. On this express train, he would find his dearest friend and meet the love of his life.
That was the first time Sirius saw her. A cheerful smile bloomed across her neat, pale face as she looked at her mother with tender reliance, the white dress she wore drifting softly around her.
A rare cascade of long white hair accented her elegant demeanor.
She looked like a pure white rose in a greenhouse.
Yet, Sirius felt a sudden sense of discord. She did not seem like the obedient girl she pretended to be; those eyes, as deep as the ocean, were not nearly as pristine as the sea.
They were bottomless, devoid of ripples, devoid of emotion.
Her eyes were breathtaking, resembling a meticulously polished blue gemstone.
Deep within Sirius's soul, a clamor erupted in a single instant, telling him:
They shared the same soul, harboring a similar rebellion.
White did not suit her.
Even with her long white hair.
Even without showing a single flaw.
Sirius did not dwell on her for long. Though stunning, in his eyes she was a pure-blood, and the people of pure-blood families were hypocritical, crazed lunatics. She was disguising her true self, masking her own paranoia.
Sirius dismissed the wild hammering in his chest as merely the exhilarating prologue to the freedom he was about to embrace.
James Potter was a fine friend.
Sirius told himself this firmly. He paid no mind to the farce with that greasy Slytherin, though of course, he himself would be a Slytherin—that much was without question.
Sirius's gaze drifted to the green-eyed witch's fiery red hair, lingering for a few seconds.
Red? Perhaps red would suit her.
After Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, ignoring the sea of astonished, dumbfounded, and angry stares—with only James cheering for him, for everyone always had just one reaction to a Black entering Gryffindor: utter disbelief—
Oh, actually, not quite everyone.
He caught sight of a different look. It was her gaze of indifferent detachment toward everything around her. At a Black entering Gryffindor, she did not look surprised; she did not frown. In fact, at the exact moment their eyes collided, Sirius saw congratulations in her eyes.
See? She was not an obedient child after all.
If only...
"Gloria Sisyphus."
"Slytherin!"
What a pity, the red robes he had imagined were nowhere to be found. Instead, she was draped in a shade of green that Sirius loathed.
She was the subject of whispers from the crowd—blessed with peerless beauty, possessing an unusually striking hair color, wearing an expression of unshakeable calm, and wrapped in the ridiculous elegance of a flawless disguise.
"Hey, mate, look at her hair, isn't that bizarre? Have you ever seen white hair before? What is this, some kind of charm?"
James nudged Sirius's shoulder, asking with eager curiosity.
Sirius merely glanced over and withdrew his gaze.
"Who knows, maybe it's some kind of curse. Anyway, isn't she a pure-blood? It's hardly surprising if their family has some dark secrets."
"What? You guys haven't heard of her? I thought news traveled freely among you pure-blood families."
Another boy at the table looked at the two of them and spoke. At the word "curse," Sirius paused.
A curse?
One of the young wizards clearly knew something. Sirius, James, and the others all turned their attention to him.
The young wizard glanced around and lowered his voice.
"I heard from my mum that the only daughter of the current Sisyphus Head of House had a prophecy hanging over her before she was born, calling her an ill omen. But Mr. Sisyphus back then was furious and didn't take it seriously. By the time she was born, that head of white hair shocked the entire family."
"And ever since then, her mother hasn't been in very good health."
"Then... is *that* person cursed too?"
A wizarding-born boy—clearly from a Muggle family—pointed at another boy and asked.
"Oh, of course not. That's one of the ancient pure-blood families, and white-blue hair is just their family trait."
Hearing this, Sirius looked over toward another focal point in the crowd: Tyres Rufus. As for why he was the center of attention, it was naturally due to his signature white-and-blue hair, the distinct mark of his lineage.
Sirius found it absurd. Because a trait was shared by everyone in a family, it was considered a "family trait," yet because an ancestor had no prior precedent and a ridiculous prophecy existed, it was treated as a "curse."
That pack of venomous snakes slithering in the dark corners had just welcomed a rather pretty snake into their midst today.
Sirius thought distantly.
Gloria.
Meaning a song of glory. She was a piece of glory cultivated by a pure-blood family; in truth, she was not special at all.
So, stop looking at her, Sirius Black.
You are headed in opposite directions.
Just like Gryffindor and Slytherin.
In this late summer, the cold maiden was surrounded by applause as she gracefully took her seat, while the defiant boy walked toward the light and warmth amid a sea of incredulous stares.
Some cheered for him, while others glared with fury.
Some clapped for her, yet no one would ever indulge her rebellion.