It was a warm sunny day in London, where everything went a little slower caused by the rare heat. Every person who were able to was drawn to a park, a balcony or a swimming pool, savouring what they got of the British summer.
Of course, not everyone.
Inside the family home of the noble house of black, the summer never reached. It was forever resting with the dark feeling only a cold November night can give you, cold, freaked and weary of the dark creatures lurking in the shadows. The only difference was that in Grimmauld Place 12, the creatures didn't need to hide and the cold was welcomed. A warm cup of chocolate and a burning fire had never been tried to shut the autumn away.
If the other inhabitants of Grimmauld Place had been able to see the house nested between number 11 and number 13, they would have seen a boy, with black hair cut around his ears, fine features that promised to evolve into an unusually handsome man, and skin that seemed to be made of porcelain. He seemed distinctly sad and resigned as he watched the other children on the streets play. Sometimes there would be smaller boy with him, with family traits so alike the he could not be anything other than his brother. He would never look on the street, and if he ever did, it was with a fearful dread upon his face. The little boy would always try to get the older boy's attention, sometimes he succeeded and a small smile would fester in the older boy's face before he was dragged away from the window. Maybe to play a game? Other times the older boy hardly seemed to notice the smaller one, and he would with a hurt look go away.
In a span of ten years it never changed. Each summer a boy would look at the children playing outside, while he stayed hidden and invisible to the world. He grew older and the inhabitants would have been able to see that yes, he had turned into an unusually handsome man.
Then one day, the window was empty, if they could've seen it, a boy was missing. For two summers the little one was sitting in his place, the fearful dread replaced by thoughtfulness.
The window was empty for twenty-five years, the great oak in the middle of the street the only thing that led on that years had passed by. The children still played, the cars still roamed and music was played from open windows.
One summer day, the boy was back. He was not a boy anymore, and that life had not been good for him was visible in every feature of his body. His hair was long and filled with grey stains, his skin seemed to be made of wax, the porcelain long forgotten, furthermore, his body was unhealthy skinny and filled with poorly made tattoos.
It was only a ghost left of the boy who once sat there.
He would watch the street with a sad smile, and watch the children who played with a nostalgia. Maybe he remembered those he used to play with? The smaller boy, who never came back perhaps, or was it someone else he was thinking of?
It was only a year, the only year. He had never sat through the winter before, but this year he did. His face hardening every day, grief taking over his body language. He watched the big oak going through the seasons, for the first time.
However, by the next summer he was gone, and he never saw the seasons again.
The oak in the middle of the street sometimes wondered what happened to the sad boy who never came out to play with the other children. It was sure of that they would have loved to have another playmate.
AN: Hope you enjoyed it! If you think of it, Sirius Black never escaped prison, he just was moved from the "grown up" prison to his own childhood prison. I wanted to write Sirius' loneliness observed from a unknown bystander. He is one of my favourite characters from HP, and he never got the chance he deserved in life. I don't think my heart will ever stop to bleed for him.
Please leave a rewiew if you have som thoughts, I would love to hear them!