Chapter Text
Itachi, the Heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Black is hiding in the luggage compartment.
No, really, like an imbecile. All the way in the back, up on the shelf, a little to the right. The trunks are stacked magically, but whatever spell—or invisible elf—directs where what goes, they allow Itachi his oasis. Technically his trunk—shrunk and dangling from his arm—would occupy the same space Itachi occupies now, so. It’s fair.
The reasons for his ignoble decision are many and varied. The main reason, naturally, is that in about one hour, he will be attending his first semester at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Well, no. The main reason is that everyone and their grand-niece thinks Itachi—Sirius, but who’s counting—is either crippled by his father or a murderous lunatic in his own right. Well, no. The main reason is that Itachi has spoken to perhaps three children in this life, and would like to continue this trend as long as he is able.
Well, no.
Regulus didn’t want to talk to him. Somehow, Itachi has managed to not repeat a single mistake of his first life, and still end up with more or less the same result.
Regulus didn’t speak to him, other than to rip into him with force and viciousness that would make their fucking mother proud. That honestly made Itachi proud, even if it sent him arse over kunai into a panic attack.
So—he hides. There are children on this train he needs to speak to. Frank fucking Longbottom is one such child. Aunt Dorea’s baby Potter is another. Cousin Narcissa lurks somewhere too, even if she is, according to everything he’d heard, the least interesting Black of the lot.
Failing that, there are two other Ancient and Noble Heirs. Both are less significant than House of Black, but still. House Shafiq sent their Heiress and house Morgan their Heir, both of them in Itachi’s year.
All sorts of politicking needs to happen. Is expected of him, even. It’s more or less why he’s here.
Well. It’s exactly why he’s here, lumped into the Sage-forsaken shelf like a bag of onions. More broadly, it’s why he’s here in Hogwarts Express. Hogwarts. Politicking is why he is the Heir, why he is allowed all the freedoms he’s been given, and why none of those freedoms could have kept him home with his brother.
Politicking, in short, is what Sirius Black was born to do.
Itachi Uchiha, on the other hand, was born to murder the enemies of his family brutally and without pause. Which is not as dissimilar to the first as it might appear, but dissimilar enough to confuse. Itachi wasn’t made to think, to discern, to know strategy.
That, he muses morosely, as he huddles into his cloak, is rather the point. Itachi was taught tactics but not strategy, which fucked everything up gloriously. Sirius was taught strategy but not tactics, which managed to do the same.
Between his two lives, he really should have had the complete set of instructions. Apparently not. Apparently, there is something still missing. A whole lot more, in fact, since where before he had a whole Clan, a village and a dictator to keep happy, now he only had Regulus. Only one person.
And he failed.
The one-track nature of his mind would be amusing if it wasn’t as shameless as it was. Even now, when Regulus should be way back on his list of concerns, he has somehow snagged the first spot. The boy is happy, unharmed, living in the lap of luxury, the beloved son of the wealthiest Family in Britain.
Whereas Itachi is heading into a school led by a notoriously Light, and ruthless Headmaster. The papers have been stringing him up and down for days, and it will only get worse from there. His father tortured him a hairsbreadth from insanity, and healing took so much out of him, that he is forbidden to do any magic for three weeks. He has somehow promised Riddle a party, which he needs to honour without officially siding with him. Considering all that, is Regulus really his first concern? He tugs his cloak closer petulantly.
Yes, yes he is. How could he not be?
Amaterasu above, he’s pathetic.
Alright. Mission plan. Does he have a mission plan?
Does he even have a mission objective?
He sighs.
Alright, short-term goals. That is a thing, he’s sure. He’s read about it. A mental health guide to something. Functionality, possibly. Not murdering your classmates in a fit of pique. The possibilities are endless.
A mission plan for this day. Don’t embarrass yourself. Your Head of House is already afraid of you because you remind him of Riddle of all damn wizards. Try not to add to it.
Itachi is the soul of discretion.
Honestly, it would be easier if he was in any way in sync with the boy he is supposed to be. And up until a little while ago, he was. He lived as Sirius for years. And then Orion fucking Black had to lose every single molecule of sense and the rest—well.
It’s all Orion’s fault honestly. Itachi can’t be Sirius, can’t pretend to be a British wizard-child of eleven. Not when he’s bracing for an imminent fight to the death at all times. Torture and combat only bring out the worst in him, as it happens. And worst, in this case, is Kin-slayer Itachi.
It’s really bad luck, he thinks, that Slughorn keeps seeing him at his worst. Really, Sirius can be a charming little thing, when he wants to be. The Black features are very rewarding towards irreverence, and everyone likes a beautiful child.
Unfortunately, there is very little left in Itachi right now except for a weary determination and washed-out sense of great age and weight. He’s likely killed another father. He is Kin-slayer Itachi in both lives. This one, to be fair, is at least well-deserved.