It was too early for anyone to be up already and he would certainly not be the one to be awake at this hour in the morning, although he was – what is to say, actually, that he had not slept at all in the last 24 hours. Sirius Black was frozen for a good two hours sitting on the floor of Grimmauld Place's living room. The place was torn apart. Furniture spread all over, broken glasses on the floor, a few drops of blood here and there. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was in its right place except from Sirius' mother portrait that was hidden over an enormous black tissue that hided everything from her view.
This damned thing, how I hate it, he thought so weak and defeated he couldn't even put the right amount of feeling in the thought. His life and his mind were shattered. His brother, his real brother, the only person Sirius had ever trusted fully in his life, was dead. Dead as hell. James was so fucking dead Sirius was pretty sure he could scent the smell of dead from where he was standing. Of course this was impossible. James and Lily had died in Godric's Hollow and he was in London. He was at this hollowed and sad shit hole he had grown up in.
Why? Well, he did not knew the answer to this. James was dead, Lily was dead and he had to let Dumbledore give little Harry away to Lily's sister. He was absolutely alone and could not think of any other place to hide, break things and feel hate. That house was perfect for it. First of all because it was the place in the world where he most had felt rage and hate his whole life. He hated every inch of it, every door, every wall, every brick of that house he hated. And second because it was actually his now. The house belonged to him as much as his parents and family members had tried to deny him.
He was the last Black alive.
So it was his and he felt like breaking it. He felt like and he did, pushing the pain and the sorrow away and granting himself acess to other feelings. Such as the hate that came right next and made him break a few other things. Then, it came the fear. And in the last, the nostalgia. Sirius was now looking at the mess he did and thinking it seemed to suit him just fine. Loneliness and destruction, this is what I bring to those around me.
After this night, he couldn't think of a person that hasn't be destructed by him. His mother was the first, not that he cared much. After not being the first one to get pregnant in her generation, to have a healthy boy must've been heaven for his parents. They had given the world the Black heir with the black hair and the pale skin just like all his antecessors. After the three girls his uncle had made in the last years, to born a man in the family… He chuckled at the thought of how much disappointed his parents had grown to be trough the years. His chuckle echoed in the room and he realised he must've been looking absolutely mad at that moment.
Well, the Black heir thing did suited him just as well as the Slytherin house – and this was to say that, again, he brought only deception (and a very good amount of Gryffindor's posters) to his family back from his first year in Hogwarts. This, he had to admit, was a funny game. Testing his parents' limits, testing what he could do as the heir he was and what he definetly could not do. He was also well aware that he was used to try and do the later. There he was, guilty of all charges when it came to piss off his family. This was how he first became friends with Remus and James. The first one was a fragile and pale creature with so many scars in his face that Sirius' first thought was he probably was a refugee or something. And the second approached him with that easygoing, sloppy way and the I rule the crew look… James had seemed so much a bad company that Sirius had liked him whitin a second. After all, it happened that Moony was a fucking werewolf and he and James had found a way to became an animagus so the three of them would sneak out and explore the school in their animals forms.
Those kind of actions were, sometimes, what has made his life so difficult here. His family expected something out of him and no one has ever denied this but he, well, he was born different. And he did not wanted to match those expectations, anyway. Sirius was a natural rebel, he knew that, but he was also a natural Gryffindor and, for the sake of Salazar's snake, he would never be ashamed of that. And at that thought, he chuckled again, louder. This house, the Black mansion, Grimmauld Place was entirely his now, the Gryffindor boy.
He had been so fucking tired of all this thing with his family that he didn't even cared when somebody – probably Andromeda – told him his hysterical mom had ripped him out of the family's tree. He actually felt relieve. The freedom that came right after this was the most marvelous thing he had ever experienced. He's had the Potters for tutors, James for brother and he had no longer to fake anything. Nor live up to mad expectations of cold and rage. He started to feel like no Black at all.
And yet, he thought, here I came. Of course he did. That house had been the beggining of his fucked up life, so it had to see the end of it as well. As it had done for his grand-grandparents, his grandparents, his mom and dad and, oh god, even his brother Regalus. Yeah, he's lost this battle as well. Lost it for Bellatrix and her damned tricks to get anybody on her side of the battle. When it came to her... Oh, well, she was the perfect Black.
Bellatrix was his oldest cousin, a few years older then himself. She, if born a boy, would have been the heir of their legacy – which to him was a curse, to her would have been a blessing. She had always used her full name since she was a kid, so proud she was of just being born. Bellatrix Rosier Black, it usually fell from her lips as a pray or an unforgivable curse, he couldn't picture which one. Her features matched his, her dark and long black hair had natural waves and she always let it fall down her back, wild. Her cheekbones was sharp as the winter wind and her mouth was big with perfect white teeth. Sometimes during his adolescence, Sirius has thought she was a messed up veela or anything.
Most of his adulthood, though, he could only think she was the real curse his blood had brought with.
At that moment, he wasn't sure where she was. At that moment, he did not care much, anyway. Although he hoped she had been smart and had taken her stupid husband out of Britain. She was his big secret, his enormous secret and his great temptation but he did not wanted her dead. He had already lost his brother, he could not bear to loose his... cousin.
Please don't be dead, you mad mad woman, please just don't be dead, he kept saying as a prayer.
She really, really had gotten to his mind after all. Sirius still did not understand how did he managed to get this far with her. Of course that it all had come from her, in the first place. She was not a woman for a man to pick. No, she wasn't. Bella is the one who picks, she chooses you and you just don't have the right – or the wish, for what matters – do deny her. And it's not because she was beautiful, oh no, she wasn't. She was wild and fierce and clearly untamed. Bellatrix could never be described as someone just beautiful – she was drop dead gorgeous and she knew that. She knew it and she loved to watch all those man, from the middle-aged gray haired ones to the 15 years old teenagers, gravitating around her. She loved to give away little touches and waves of her head, she loved not to smile but instead just look deeply in those men's eyes and to drain whatever they had kept there. She flooded any room she walked in.
Sirius missed it. He hated himself for it and he would never ever admit such a thing to one of his friends but he missed it. The way she used to ignore him all day while people were around, the way she walked by him with not a word or a smile or even a look, as if he wasn't even there for starters. In his childish mind, he used to think that was a game, that she actually liked him very much because when everybody else was sleeping, Bellatrix would come into his room, wearing a good amount of nothing underneath a black cloak. When no one could hear them, she would look at him and her look oh god, he was never able to resist that look. Then she would just sit on top of him, already very much wet and politely ask him to fuck her to exhaustion.
Sirius grinned at the memory. That mouth of hers, my good Merlin, he thought. She had a mouth full of curses when she had her body full of him. And it always ended up the same way: she would look at the ceiling, still shaking a bit while he was gathering the pieces of his mind (and soul, he thinks now) after so much pleasure, and whisper how can a little boy makes me come this hard? A little boy… Oh Merlin, how fucked up were they, after all?
His eyes wandered trough the room and up the stairs. Sirius thought about going upstairs, look at his room for what he thinks that will be the last time, maybe grab a picture or two to keep his balance trough the rest of the miserable life he will live from now on but he didn't. Everything in that house was infected with memories, bad memories. Even Bellatrix's memories were bad ones. She got married, broke his heart and came back too many times to break his soul as well. As for the others, he wanted them to rot in hell. Nothing in that house mattered anymore, nothing in his fucked up life mattered. Fucking Voldemort was killed along with his best friend, his little brother were dead and his crazy, sadistic and beloved cousin was about to spend the rest of her days in an Azkaban's cell, he assumed.
The whole wide wizard world was celebrating, except from him that was in Grimmauld Place collecting memories, souvenirs from his own existence, to gather strength to do what he had to do right now: find and kill Peter Pettigrew.