The Marauders - Order of the Phoenix Part Three

CXXII: The Letter

Sirius Black climbed the stairs to the third floor and stood on the landing. He could still hear Kreacher behind him snorting and sobbing outside of Regulus's bedroom, the elf's fists banging on the carpet in angry frustration, unable to do anything or retaliate against his Master Sirius. Fleetingly, Sirius might've felt a twinge of guilt, but it wasn't enough to hang on - especially once he'd reached the top of the steps and came to a stop outside of the door on the next landing. There was too much in the past, too many times that the elf's eyes had glowed through a peek-hole about two feet off the ground on that door. Sirius stared at that peek hole now... and then brought his eyes up to read the notice that had been permanently bonded onto the ornate wood.

KEEP OUT!!! NO PARENTS! NO LITTLE BROTHERS! AND ESPECIALLY NO HOUSE ELVES ALLOWED!!!!!

The letters were in big, powerful block letters, thick and wonderfully rebellious. Despite the fact that Sirius had beautiful scrawling handwriting (perfected by years of endlessly copying letters and words and long texts set before him by his blessed mother), this notice was in his messiest, all capital block letters.

He could still hear his mother's wretched howling shrieks of disapproval, which she'd let loose the day she'd come up the stairs to find the offending notice spelled onto the ruined door.

He pushed his way into the room.

It was an absolute mess. Things were strewn about everywhere, flung down upon the carpet, haphazard stacks on the desk, in the shelves, on the floors... Everything had the look of having been used, put down, and just never returned to again. The walls were covered with photographs of motorbikes and muggle women, torn from magazines and given permanent sticking charms. A few posters of muggle men were layered discreetly in - though less noticeable because they were the men riding the motorbikes or advertising the cigarettes or leather jackets or various other items that Sirius had found exciting back in the days when he was last here at this place. 

Another thing he could hear his Mother shrieking about still.

"If you don't like it, then don't come in!" Sirius recalled shouting at her, "You're already violating privacy and the  posted notice."

Sirius walked in, feeling restless and anxious already, only mere steps into the room, like an animal stepping into a trap, sensing that something was off. He scowled as he moved, eyes taking in the four walls that haunted many of his worst nightmares - the marks on the floor where the electrical current of the cruciatus had struck the floorboards or the broken bits of wood around the window frame where other curses and hexes had struck when his parents spells had missed their mark... him.

He was passing the desk when he glanced down and saw there were old bits of parchment, half written letters...

He felt the breath leave him, then, for he recognized the hand writing of the top one.

Sirius stepped up to the desk, staring down his nose at the parchment laying on top of the others on the desk, a quill set beside it.

28 March, 1979

Sirius's shaking hand gripped the back of the desk chair, which was neatly pushed in. He reached down and wish a brushing motion, pushed the quill off the page, revealing the letter beneath. His eyes swept over the length of it without reading, just taking in the imperfect cursive scrawl, and, with a twist of his stomach, the initials at the end of it.

R.A.B.

Sirius felt a lump in his throat. 

"You ickle sodcake," he whispered darkly, "Always got to be so bleeding dramatic."

He drew a deep breath, then his eyes roved back to the top of the letter.

28 March, 1979

Although I doubt you will ever return here to see this, Sirius, I want you to know that I am sorry for the things that I have done in my life, but most especially for the things that I have done to you and the things that I did not ever do for you.