Dwelling on Dreams (A Marauders Fan Fic)

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black (Present Part Five)

“You never said she was your-”

“Does it matter if she’s my cousin? As far as I’m concerned they’re not my family. She’s certainly not my family,” he said angrily, remembering her cackles resounding through the night as she watched Cassie crying and screaming in pain. “I haven’t seen her since I was your age, unless you count a glimpse of her coming into Azkaban. D’you think I’m proud of having a relative like her?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean – I was just surprised, that’s all-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sirius said, ashamed at himself for letting his bitterness, anger and hatred for Bellatrix make him snap at Harry. “Don’t apologise,” he continued, turning away from the tapestry, unable to look at it any longer and remembering why he hadn’t studied it in years. It was a mistake to trawl back through his past, a past which he desperately wanted to forget. Between seeing Cassiopeia sitting so carelessly on the tree, oblivious to the pain she caused him, and the memories it brought up about Bellatrix and his time at Azkaban, it had created a fresh burst of grief and rage and Sirius craved its destruction more than he had before. “I don’t like being back here. I never thought I’d be stuck in this house again,” he muttered darkly.

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Sirius was about as happy as someone under the influence of Dementors when the morning of September 1st arrived. Upon his return to Grimmauld Place, alone this time, he promptly drank another bottle of Firewhiskey and passed out on his bed, wretchedly miserable at the thought of the many months of solitude he would have to go through before members of the Order came back. Not even the thought of the meetings, which were few and far between, could console him.

Sirius moped about the house as the days passed, alternating between scowling and shouting at Kreacher, drinking and feeding Buckbeak until one day he discovered another way to pass his time; after a while it became a habit for Sirius to say Harry’s name every time he passed the mirror which he had hung up in the corridor, only sinking deeper into abject misery when it stubbornly remained black.

He longed to be able to leave and the resentment he felt at being trapped in his childhood home grew with each passing day. Every time he passed the front door, with its many locks and bolts, he felt a stab of anger and bitterness which would gradually make way to frustration at knowing how close freedom was. In the first days of his incarceration he would pass the time staring out of the window and imagining leaving the house; he spent hours fantasising about the slam of the door as he stepped out into the brisk air, a slight breeze tugging at his robes. Eventually, however, this drove him mad and from then on he kept the curtains shut, keeping Grimmauld Place in a murky half light where time had no real meaning to him; Sirius would stay up until the early hours of the morning and sleep in until around noon, whereupon he would often begin a new bottle of liquor or finish the one from the day before.

“Look at him… Mistress Black would kick him out, walking around her house and destroying her possessions… Except the blood traitor already did. He ran away from his family… Master Regulus wouldn’t…” Kreacher mumbled as he passed Sirius and saw him drinking yet more Firewhiskey.

“Go away Kreacher!” Sirius replied, aiming a half hearted kick at the elf and nearly overbalancing. “Don’t you have some useless thing of my mother’s to squirrel away?”

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The Firewhiskey seemed to shine in the tumbler, the topaz liquid glinting happily even in the dim light cast throughout the room by the ancient gas lamps. Sirius held it up to his eyes, as if contemplating drinking it, and watched it as it swirled around in his hand before he swallowed the contents in one burning mouthful. The alcohol blazed its way down his throat, replacing the emotions which preyed on him like vultures – pain, grief, anger, boredom, bitterness and resentment to name a few – with a deliciously warm numbness. Sirius was just about to pour himself another glass when he heard Kreacher muttering, “It’s because of that blood traitor with the beard. If he hadn’t made Master Sirius stay in my mistress’ house…”