A/N: This is the second upload today (I know, I'm amazing, please all bow down to me and tell me how much you love me, preferably while voting at the same time :P ) so if you haven't read the previous chapter, I would advise that you do so :P
The Black family tree sprawled across the wall, the tapestry faded and fraying in places, only the golden thread which linked the descendants of ‘The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black’ still shimmering in the dim light of the gas lamps. Sirius stood in front of it, Harry beside him as he contemplated his family history.
“You’re not on here!” exclaimed Harry as Sirius gazed at it. “I used to be there,” he replied, pointing to where his name had been replaced by a small burn. “My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home – Kreacher’s quite fond of muttering the story under his breath.”
“You ran away from home?” Harry asked, his voice sounding slightly incredulous despite all he had suffered at the hands of the Dursleys, and surprising Sirius; it had never occurred to him that anyone could stay in Grimmauld Place and not want to get as far away as possible. “When I was about sixteen. I’d had enough.”
“Where did you go?”
“Your dad’s place,” Sirius answered, telling Harry about how his grandparents had taken him in and why he had left. His explanation of the tapestry was interrupted by Mrs Weasley’s arrival with lunch but Harry stayed beside him. “I haven’t looked at this for years,” Sirius muttered, pointing to various members and telling Harry all about their defining characteristics and the strange things they had tried to do. “Andromeda married a Muggle-born, Ted Tonks, so-” he said, as he described how he and Tonks were related, miming blowing a hole in the tapestry and laughing bitterly.
“You’re related to the Malfoys!”
“The pure blood families are all interrelated,” Sirius replied as Harry stared at another name. As he did so Sirius saw the name of one of his great aunts and frowned. It was astonishing how one name embroidered on an ancient tapestry could instantly change his mood.
Cassiopeia Black, 1915 – 1992. He vaguely remembered seeing her at family gatherings; a tall and forbidding woman with long black hair and the inherent Black beauty, as well as the typical pro-pureblood leanings and a fondness for her other great-nieces and nephews, especially Bellatrix, she was almost the opposite to his Cassiopeia. She had never married, claiming that her siblings’ children were enough for her but Sirius rather thought she had been too intimidating for any man; she was known for being notoriously cold to anyone outside of her family, and even some members of it. He knew, however, that she hadn’t been disowned and so found himself wondering why she was the only Cassiopeia on the Black family tree. ‘She wouldn’t be if it weren’t for me,’ he thought to himself bitterly.
Harry stood beside him still, completely unaware of the direction of Sirius’ thoughts; the thoughts which he suddenly tore Sirius from as he thought out loud. “Lestrange…” he muttered, staring at the names of the married couple beside Narcissa and Lucius.
“They’re in Azkaban,” Sirius replied shortly, a scowl crossing his face as he thought of his cousin and her husband. “Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus came in with Barty Crouch Junior. Rodolphus’ brother Rabastan was with them too,” he continued, remembering the two brothers who were the epitome of Slytherin members. Rodolphus had left the year before Sirius arrived but Rabastan had been in the same year as Bellatrix, both of them seventh years during his first year at Hogwarts and members of the group of Slytherins who delighted in torturing innocent students, bullying them daily merely for not being a pure-blood; it was no surprise that all of them went on to become Death Eaters and Voldemort’s most fanatical supporters, at least in the case of the Lestranges and Bellatrix.
“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…”
Sirius put the bottle back on the dresser and crept towards the curtain, where a tiny chink let the light sneak in. With a quick wave of his wand Sirius wrenched them open, flooding the room with autumn sun and momentarily blinding himself. As he looked out of the window Sirius felt the need to escape overtake him and, without a second thought, he sprinted to the front door, wrenching it open and transforming on the top step, just out of sight of the Muggles.
The crisp autumn air rejuvenated him, filling him with hope and joy as it filtered through his lungs and replaced all the pain and bitterness with excitement. Muggle children laughed as they watched the big black dog frolicking in the park, running round and round with a comical expression of happiness on its face, and he didn’t mind being the source of their entertainment – he was finally free!
As evening drew in the large dog strolled through the streets of London; occasionally people would look at him and wonder where his owner was, but for the most part he was left alone. As darkness fell and Sirius succumbed to hunger and his old trouble-making ways, he chose an abandoned alley and transformed back.
Looking a little dishevelled but passable he strolled into a small café and ordered some food, a greasy sandwich and a cup of something tasteless and grey which was masquerading as a cup of coffee. As he sat in one of the booths, he sensed someone watching him and scrambled for the door; racing through the streets he tried to keep ahead of them as his heart pounded and he relished the adrenaline running through his veins, the risk of getting caught. Sirius could tell that a number of people were following him, perhaps five or more; he weaved between crowds, ducked in and out of shops and strode between cars as he tried to outpace and lose them. Suddenly he heard a shout from somewhere behind him, “Get him! It’s Sirius Black!” and a man a few metres ahead of him turned around.
Sirius instinctively dived into another nearby alley as he hoped the man hadn’t seen him, the noise from the street fading behind him as he ran away, cursing his luck when he saw that it was a dead end. He changed back into a dog as quickly as possible and tried to look innocent.
“It’s a dead end!” swore one of the wizards as they rounded the corner, seeing only a dog and a couple of dustbins. “We’ve lost him now and it’s all your fault!” he hissed at the man who had been in front of Sirius.
“I swore he came down here!” he cried. “Where could he have gone? I saw him come this way with my own eyes!”
“Well you obviously didn’t, did you? There goes the reward!” growled another as they turned around and headed back up the alley, their grumbles carrying back towards Sirius, who let out a quiet bark in laughter before heading back to Grimmauld Place.
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“Constant vigilance!” shouted Moody as he stomped through the house, his magical eye pinning Sirius with a glare, co-operating with his real one for once. “You nearly blew the whole operation! Imagine if you’d been caught Sirius! You would have been sent back to Azkaban or killed and half of our caution would have been for nothing!”
“I wasn’t caught though,” Sirius objected.
“But now the Aurors who are looking for you know that you’re in London; or they did at least. All of Kingsley’s work in leading them astray has been useless,” he growled. “People in the Department are beginning to question his sources and his loyalty. Not to mention that you disobeyed a rule set by Dumbledore himself!”
“I won’t do it again,” Sirius said dully, already cursing Moody for finding out that he’d left the house.
“Damn right you won’t! Some of the best wizards have been caught by Aurors because of a mistake, that’s how we caught half of Voldemort’s Death Eaters.” Moody paused for a moment, obviously aware that nothing he was saying would convince Sirius not stay put. “Remember Cassie Jones,” he said, rewarded with a wide-eyed stare from Sirius, who turned deathly pale, “she was one of the best Aurors in her year Sirius… I liked her,” he mumbled gruffly, “and she died for you! She fought off Voldemort and died refusing to tell him where you were. Now it seems to me that throwing caution to the wind and strolling round London is not an adequate way to repay her!”
A horrible feeling of guilt consumed Sirius as he realised that Moody was right.
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Sirius’ hearty laugh rang throughout the house as Mundungus related what he had heard in the Hog’s Head. Once again it struck Sirius just how similar to James Harry really was, and he was pleased that he was fighting back.
Once Mundungus had left, and Sirius was sure that it was late enough to be safe, he took a pinch of Floo Powder and sprinkled it in the fire, sticking his head in once the flames had turned green. “Gryffindor common room,” he said, watching fireplaces whiz past him as his head whirled through the Floo Network, feeling slightly queasy as he did so. However, after about half a minute he stopped spinning, instead facing the room he knew all too well from his days at school. Barely anything had changed since then and the room still gave off a friendly and welcoming vibe as the lanky redhead in the armchair in front of the fire jerked awake. “Psst!” Sirius hissed at him from the fire.
“Sirius!” he cried, making Harry spin round and smile.
“Hi,” he said with a smile.
“Hi!”
“How’re things?”
“Not that good,” Harry replied, “the Ministry’s forced through another decree which means we’re not allowed to have Quidditch teams-”
“Or secret Defence Against the Dark Arts groups?” Sirius interrupted, stunning the trio into silence.
“How did you know about that?”
“You want to choose your meeting places more carefully,” he said with a smirk. “The Hog’s Head, I ask you!”
“Well it was better than the Three Broomsticks!” Hermione replied heatedly. “That’s always packed with people-”
“Which means you’d have been harder to overhear. You’ve got a lot to learn Hermione,” he teased.
“Who overheard us?”
“Mundungus of course!” he laughed, receiving only blank stares in return. “He was the witch under the veil.”
“That was Mundungus?” Harry asked incredulously. “What was he doing in the Hog’s Head?”
Sirius was sorely tempted to roll his eyes in exasperation. “What do you think he was doing? Keeping an eye on you, of course.”
“I’m still being followed?” Harry exclaimed angrily.
“Yeah, you are and just as well, isn’t it, if the first thing you’re going to do on your weekend off is organise an illegal defence group,” he said, excited by the prospect of Harry making trouble.
“Why was Dung hiding from us? We’d’ve liked to’ve seen him.”
“He was banned from the Hog’s Head twenty years ago and that barman’s got a long memory. We lost Moody’s spare Invisibility Cloak when Sturgis was arrested, so Dung’s been dressing as a witch a lot lately… anyway…” Sirius said, eager to change the subject from Mundungus’ odd habits. “First of all, Ron – I’ve sworn to pass on a message from your mother.”
“Oh yeah?”
“She says on no account whatsoever are you to take part in an illegal secret Defence Against the Dark Arts group. She says you’ll be expelled for sure and your future will be ruined. She says there will be plenty of time to learn how to defend yourself later and that you are too young to be worrying about that right now. She also advises Harry and Hermione not to proceed with the group, though she accepts that she has no authority over either of them and simply begs them to remember that she has their best interests at heart. She would have written this to you, but if the owl had been intercepted you’d all have been in real trouble, and she can’t say it for herself because she’s on duty tonight,” Sirius said, relating the message which had been drummed into him endlessly and wishing Molly was there to hear it.
“On duty doing what?” Ron asked.
“Never you mind, just stuff for the Order,” Sirius replied, hating himself for concealing the truth from them, especially Harry. “So it’s fallen to me to be messenger and make sure you tell her I passed it all on, because I don’t think she trusts me to.”
“So you want me to say I’m not going to take part in the Defence group?”
“Certainly not! I think it’s an excellent idea!” Sirius cried.
“You do?”
“Of course I do! D’you think your father and I would’ve lain down and taken orders from a hag like Umbridge?” He resisted the urge to chuckle as he remembered how they had refused to listen to any of the teachers, not even McGonagall; he could only imagine how much fun they would have had with someone like Umbridge at the school.
As Sirius listened to their plans it became obvious that the biggest problem was finding somewhere for them to practise, especially since none of the places he could think of were suitable. “Well I’ll have a think and get back to-”
Suddenly Sirius heard a noise coming from one end of the Floo Network and as he turned towards it he saw a stubby hand racing towards him. Pulling his head out of the fireplace as quickly as possible the Gryffindor common room vanished before his eyes, being replaced by the fireplace in Grimmauld Place instead.
For a moment Sirius was terrified by how close he had been to being discovered before the feeling was replaced by the old exhilaration he felt whenever he took risks. “Just like the old days,” he murmured to himself as he stood up from the floor.
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Ok just to remind everyone (and so that I don't get done for plagiarism!) if you didn't recognise them the conversations in the first and last scenes belong to J.K. Rowling, the goddess of literature (as do all the characters and the places and plot) but the rest of it's mine.