Meet Marcus Washington, AKA Sirius Black

This is Sirius Black, AKA Padfoot.

Sirius was the son of some serious dark and fucked up wizards, connecting with a bunch of other wizard families. When he came to Hogwarts, he was sorted into Gryffindor instead of the expected Slytherin and embraced his own innate rebellion since. He and James Potter became inseparable upon their very first meeting (it was epic) and caused no end of trouble their seven years at school. They also became best, best friends with Remus and Peter, and together they were the Marauders. They researched how to become Animagi in order to help Remus through his transformations (he was a werewolf) and participated in a life-long flame war with Severus Snape.

Sirius was kicked out of home as a teen and moved in with James. Later, after graduating, he and Remus moved in together while James got married and had a baby. They fought in the war against Voldemort. Eventually, Sirius was blamed with the murder of James and Lily and was sentenced to Azkaban prison. He escaped years later and came straight to Harry (and Remus). He eventually died at Bellatrix Lestrange’s hand.

All in all, Sirius was known for being a hot, cool, unpredictable wizard with a wicked sense of humor and a ton of charm. Also, very little self-preservation or common sense.

Now he is Marcus Washington.

Marcus was born in the swamps of Louisiana. His parents were incredibly poor, often living with relatives or squatting in abandoned homes (including, for a few memorable years, a run-down planation). They were good and loving people, however, and they always went out of their way to make sure Marcus got the education he’d need to survive—both from books and from the life experiences of his elders.

His father died of natural causes when he was nine. His mother died years later during Hurricane Katrina. His extended family and family friends couldn’t take him in the wake of such devastation, and Marcus entered the system. He eventually ended up with a family in New York—a terrible, terrible family who were downright abusive to their charges. Marcus did everything he could to shield them from harm, and the moment he turned eighteen and aged out, he set himself up in a shitty Harlem apartment and began blackmailing the foster parents for custody of the kids. Over time, he was able to threaten them, scare them, or blackmail them into giving up full control…and run interference with the law/social services…and runs a pretty tight but loving ship. They’ve since moved into an awesome old firehouse, and everyone who is old enough to work contributes somehow to their survival. Marcus is the unofficial “dad” of the family and Austin (the second oldest) is the “mom”.

Well. Marcus calls him the mom. And tells the kids to “ask Mom” all the time.

Marcus is nearly 26 years old and does odd jobs (including bounce, bartend, and work private security) for money.

Closed

One of Marcus's least favorite jobs was stopping by the old foster house to check in and make sure everything was running how it was supposed to.

Technically, their old foster parents still had custody of the kids. That was the worst part of it all--that his family was something very like a house of cards that could come tumbling down at any moment. It scared the shit out of him when he let it, so usually Marcus forced himself to keep it far from mind until the days he had to loop back to their filthy brownstone to touch base and just...

Just check in. Just be sure.

He was glad he did today when he pushed open the door and heard the sound of a baby crying. It was soft and pitiful, hiccuping roughly as if it had been howling for hours. The kitchen smelled like trash and rancid meat, and the tv was blaring from the other room.

"Motherfucking..." he muttered to himself, crossing the kitchen and storming into the familiar back room. The den was dark, windows covered in cardboard and blankets. The old man was asleep on his recliner, cigarette burning down. The baby was swaddled up in an old sweatshirt and alarmingly red.

Also? Familiar. So familiar that Marcus sucked in a breath, going still as the memories crashed through him. The fire, the sick feeling of loss, the roar of his flying motorcycle and Harry crying, crying, crying.

"Merlin," he breathed, utterly gutted. But then little Harry--himself and yet not--let out another pitiful wail and Marcus...Sirius?...vaulted into action. He swept up the tiny bundle, giving his former foster father a furious glare. The cigarette was dangling on his lower lip, nearly falling. It would serve him right if Marcus just left him behind to burn the whole house down--and hopefully burn himself up with it.

But no. Fuck. No, if he did that, surely the gig would be up. The shitty system they'd found themselves in was able to pretend it didn't notice a lot, but surely it would have to pay attention if the house that supposedly held six underage kids burned to the ground.

"Count yourself lucky, old man," Marcus growled, reaching out to pluck the cigarette away and toss it into the mostly-empty glass of beer. The end sizzled and hissed. In his arms, the baby snuffled pathetically. "Come on, Harry," he added, curling the baby into the curve of his arm. He brushed his knuckles across a softly rounded cheek, wiping away tears. "This time, things are going to turn out okay for you. All right? I promise. This time, I've got you."

(no subject)

Private

This is it. It's finally happened. After all this time of working and fighting and worrying, I am losing my goddamned mind.