There was a loud bang on the door, disrupting Felix from his work, once again. He had a paintbrush in his mouth, a palette balanced precariously in his left hand while he had another paint brush in his right and was busy swiping away at the canvas. The walls were decorated with graffiti- in fact, his entire house was like that on the outside as well. And he liked it that way- he was, after all, an artist. Rolling his eyes, he paced the palette and brush down gently on the small table by the couch, removing the brush from his mouth and letting it drop to the floor.

"I swear to God, if it's you again, Vic, I will cut off your balls and shove them down your throat!" he threatened, sweeping his hair from out of his eyes. He had one of those cropped emo cuts that his sister, Sarah thought looked good on him. Of course, she was not his real sister- they were foster siblings, him being the "uncle" of Sarah's biological daughter Kiera, whose father was probably standing outside his door for the millionth time. The banging continued, relentless. I swear, he'll dent the door if he keeps banging like that, Felix thought as he stomped over to the door, pulling the bolt out of the wall and sliding the door open.

"You fucking bastard, I told y-" he started, then stopped short when he saw the person who knocked was not Sarah's abusive boyfriend Vic, but a wrinkly old man with thin rimmed glasses. He had a long white beard tied at the end with a set of jingling bells, his white hair tied into a loose ponytail. He wore purple robes that swept the floor, lined with gold thread.

"Oh," he said, "you're not that fucking bastard," Felix said, pursing a full set of lips with slight embarrassment- he really had to stop assuming the person at his door was always Vic. The old man shook his head, the bells tinkling a lovely melody, almost like a flute.

"No, I am not him," the old man said, "but I want to tell you, it took forever to realize that you lived here. A very expressive home it is as well, with all the vandalism and paintings." The old man looked past his shoulder at the piece Felix had been working on before being interrupted, "and who is that lovely young lady, may I ask?" Felix glanced over his shoulder at the canvas, which he was putting finishing touches on. Sarah's upper body was painted in grays and blacks and whites, surrounded by yellows and browns, some green and blue hidden in here and there. Felix gulped, a bit nervous.

"My sister, Sarah," he answered, then quickly corrected himself, "well, not really my sister- she was my foster sister." The old man nodded. The boy's voice was somewhat a mix of being low and high pitched, the high being a bit more dominant over the low- not in a bad way though, It suited him well, was Dumbledore's decision when first hearing him yell earlier through the door.

"Did she find a family, for you to say she was, meaning she used to be your foster sister?" the old man asked, glancing at the other pieces of work, and some of the furniture. Overall, the place looked like a dump and smelled strangely of a mix of pungent sweetness and chemicals. He certainly has interesting taste, he thought, locking his gaze on Felix's couch, which was made of chrome and had a white furry cushion set on it, leopard print pillows resting on either side.

"She's…." he trailed off, scratching the back of his neck, then said, "wait- why am I telling all this to a stranger?" He said it more to himself than to the man, somewhat scolding himself for telling things to someone he won't ever see again. Then to the man, he asked, "what exactly do you want? Because I don't have the coke, and all my needles were wasted by Vic The Dick just last week. I'll have to get new ones, but it might be a while before I actually do, since-" The man held up a wrinkled hand, cutting him off.

"To be honest, young man, I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, his shoulders shaking with almost silent laughter. Felix raised an eyebrow, confused- what did he mean? Everyone knew what needles and coke meant these days.

"Okay, then what is it you want? I need to get that painting-" Felix pointed to the painting the man asked about, "- ready for a wake in what-" he checked his watch "- five minutes? Maybe less?" The man reached into his robes, producing an envelope. His leathery hands were shaky as he handed it to him, "Well, this is for you, young man. Good day to you." Felix snatched it from the man, sliding the door shut, essentially trying to slam it as hard as he could, for he was still pissed off at Vic. The paper was crinkly and thin against his skin, feeling almost like wax. There was a large red H sealed in red wax on the back.

"What the….?" Felix asked himself, as the letter seemed to slightly hover in his palm. His eyes widened, shocked- 'What the hell?" The wax seal ripped from the paper, the triangle top of the envelope forming what Felix would only be able to describe as a mouth. What he was only able to describe as lips began to move, the wax dripping from the paper like blood dripping from a pair of fangs. Breathing deeply, he turned, picking up his paint brushes gingerly between his index finger and thumb, sticking one in his mouth. Picking up the palette from the table, he began mixing the paints, which consisted mainly of yellows and whites. The area around her head is almost golden, so I should probably make the tone on the rest of the canvas a lighter yellow…. Gently, he tapped the bristles against the wood, swirling paint on the horsehairs. The paintbrush in his mouth began splintering a little as he bit down on it hard- he heard a small crack, but ignored it. Although it hadn't really sounded like a crack, it was more of a clearing of someone's throat, as if they were impatient or very competitive and shit, like the soccer-mom version of Sarah was. He shuddered just thinking about it. Even if they were all dead and gone, he still couldn't get over the fact that his foster sister had eight other versions of her around the world. He jumped a there was a sudden intake of breath, followed by a knock at his door again. Rolling his eyes, he glanced at the door to his loft, then went back to his work, trying his best to ignore it completely.

"Ahem," came a low growl. Felix shook his head, biting harder on the paintbrush. It couldn't be the letter. First off, Felix, letters don't hover in midair, and they definitely don't clear their throats for they have none, he thought as he slashed deep yellows across the canvas trying to detract himself from what was floating behind him.

"Listen, kid," he heard a voice say, "I can't float here all day, I have my own children to attend to- which reminds me, have you seen them? They all ran off- oh I hope they're okay! Hurry it up with whatever it is you're doing and start packing!" Felix sighed, not realizing he had kept is shoulders slouched until he actually had to push them down, cracking his neck by pressing against it with his slender hands. Placing his supplies on the table, he pulled the paintbrush from his mouth and let it fall to the floor.

"Let's see, what am I packing?" he asked the letter raising an eyebrow.

"Your robes, your quills,- you do have a wand, don't you? Oh! We'll have to get you a pet from the Owlery later…." the envelope began to go through a list of items, none of which had any interest to him, nor did he actually need it. He nodded, as if agreeing, then snapped his fingers.

"I know what I need," he said, a smug grin on his face.

"What is it dear?" the envelope asked almost eagerly. With a flash, Felix snatched the letter from midair and reached into hi pocket, producing a lighter. Flicking off the cap, he let the flame develop, holding it up to the paper. He watched it lick the waxy old paper until there was nothing left but a scrap. Flicking it off his hands, he threw the now burnt letter in the garbage can, picking up the paintbrush off the floor and sticking it back in his mouth. Scooping up his supplies, he continued to paint his sister's memorial portrait. Soon he was lost within the painting, letting the colors take him through the canvas, telling him where to blend, where to scumble, trying to make the piece as much Sarah as it was himself. He was working with a very watery blackish gray when there was a sudden loud banging on the door, making him jump, nearly spilling the paint all over the floor and his new clothes which he and just bought from the new boutique downtown. He began to put everything down but then thought, you know what? Screw it. I'll ignore them and went back to painting the piece. The knocking though was continuous. Felix rolled his eyes as they knocked again, shaking his head.

"Can i never get any peace around here?" he muttered through the brush as the knocking sounded again. With the brush still in his mouth, supplies on hand, he briskly walked to the door and fumbled with the lock until he pulled it out, sliding the door open.

"Oh my god, Vic, will you sto-" he began, then stopped when he saw that it was still not Vic The Dick, but short plump woman with a mane of red hair next to a man who had a mane of the same color. The man gave a small wave and a smile. Felix poised the paintbrush he held in his hand, executing the perfect stereotypical gay man limp wrist.

"Again, you aren't Vic The Dick," Felix said, somewhat bored and mostly annoyed, "so I'll say it again- stop wasting my time!" He went to slam the door, but the man stopped it as he went, pulling it back open.

"I don't know who you're talking about but I'll have you know there are children in the building!" the woman scolded him with a wagging finger. Felix rolled his eyes.

"That's great," he said sarcastically, "please let the door hit you on the way out!" He turned his back to them and walked back into the loft, reaching out to connect paintbrush with canvas once more. As he worked, the woman and man- probably her husband, entered. Felix heard the door slide open and click shut.

"I said get out," he demanded. The woman crossed her arms over a large bosom.

"And what if I don't want to?" she asked defiantly cocking her head like a brave puppy set to destroy a new chew toy.

"If you don't, that's called breaking and entering," Felix said, putting on a sugary voice, "and since you are in my loft disturbing me while I'm trying to work, i can have you arrested for that. Understand?" He gave her a mocking smile as she gazed around the loft, at all the artwork and graffiti, paintings and sketches and sculptures.

"Do you make a living off this stuff?" asked a boy who looked to be about seventeen with a mop of red hair similar to the man and woman's. He was looking at the sculptures Felix had made of Sarah's gravestone. He reached out and ran his fingers gently along her name. Felix shivered, feeling a chill run down his spine. The boy then asked, "Who's Sarah?"

"P-please don't touch anything," Felix said, ushering the boy away from the sculpture and sitting him on his couch.

"Hey, what's this?" a girl asked, a curtain of red hair down her back. She was pointing to a piece of graffiti he had made when he was high. It was a king's crown that was covered with blood and his name tagged at the bottom of it.

"Please- I just did that piece recently, it's still drying," Felix warned, pushing her at her brother. Felix shot a glance at the two adults who he figured were the parents of these children.

"Hey, what's this photo?" asked another red head, about eighteen years old. He was holding a picture of Sarah and Felix playing with Sarah's daughter Kiera. The parents exchanged glances, the woman nervously playing with the sleeve of her dress. Felix snatched the photo from his hands and plonked the frame on the dresser, giving him a stern look.

"Ron, Ginny- go outside with Daddy, okay?" she said, pulling Ginny and Ron off the couch and pushing the at their father.

"Whoa- look it this beauty, George," a boy said to the one who was holding the frame. George joined his brother over at the painting Felix was working on- The memorial portrait of Sarah…..

"Who is it, you think?" George asked his brother, nudging him. His brother laughed.

"Yeah, and why are her eyes crossed out with x's?"

"Dunno, Fred, wanna go ask the artist?" George joked.

"How much is it worth though?" Fred asked, looking at the painting that was unfinished. Felix rubbed his eyes, smudging his eyeliner. The mother had a worried look as she glanced at Felix's reaction.

'Who is that?" he repeated, "what do you mean? And don't touch anything! Who the fuck are you people anyway?!" He lunged at the twins just as Fred went to touch the went paint. He threw them at the couch, making them knock into the dresser in the process, kicking up clouds of dust. The mother waved it away from her nose as she watched her sons collapse on the couch. Fred was looking at the gravestone sculpture Ron was reading earlier.

"Sarah's a pretty name," he commented, "don't you agree, George?"

"Blimey, yes," he said nodding, "and hey- the girl in the photo and the girl in the painting look eerily similar- are they identical? Are they even related?"

"Heck- what if it's one person?" Fred said, then put on a mischievous grin, "is this a shrine for some girl you have a weird obsession for?" They waited eagerly for an answer. Felix's shoulders shook.

"Some girl…" he laughed, shaking his head. These people….. "you have no idea." Falling to his knees, he opened the bottom drawer of the dresser, taking out the bag he and hidden from Vic a week earlier. His lifeline, practically, he had used so much more if it then he used to after Sarah died- officially, that is. She had faked her own death before in order to get out of her relationship with Vic, so she and Felix and Kiera could run away and live together, to start anew. He shoved his hand in the drawer, his fingers waiting to get pricked by the all too familiar feel off the needle- but there was none. Then he remembered.

"Shit!" he shouted as he pounded his fist on the floor. He felt himself already shaking from withdrawal- he needed it and he needed it now. He slammed the drawer shut and shoved his hand in the bag, immersing it in white powder. He didn't care if he did this in front of strangers who might rat on him to the police- they were the ones who broke into his home in the first place. The twins watched him as he licked the stuff off his fingers, relishing the taste. The mother took them by the arm and dragged them off the couch, pushing them out the door.

"Hey, what's he doing?" Fred asked as they were pulled to the door.

"Yeah, can we try some?" George asked, "it's a Muggle thing, right?"

"Just because your father works with Muggle items doesn't mean you can!" the mother snapped, "we've obviously upset the poor boy so let's get out!" She heard him yelling from inside, "Damn right! How dare you break in! I'll call the police, you know!" The red haired woman slammed the door behind her as he ran at them, hands outstretched, tears streaming down his face.

"Well, that was fun," The twins said after a few minutes of silence.

"You twits!" their mother cried, "go think about what you did! You've bought havoc upon him!" The twins rolled their eyes, saying she did the same thing by going in without permission. Her answer was to smack them with her purse and send them to the car, where the others were waiting. After they had gone, the woman hesitantly approached the door again, her palm flat against the metal of the frame. Leaning over, she pressed her ear against the door, trying her best to hear what was going on inside the loft, though it was muffled.

"Sarah…." Felix moaned, followed by a few sniffs- probably that strange white stuff, she thought as she listened to him cry. There was the sound of footsteps as Felix walked towards the door, and it sounded as if he was dragging something with him. She jumped and took a step back as she heard him fiddle with the lock, then slide the door open. His eyes went wide when he saw her standing there. His eyeliner was running in streaks down his face and he had patches of white powder dotting his face. In one hand he carried a hammer, and tucked under his arm was the painting the twins were looking at.

"What?" he asked with a shrug of his shoulders, "you haven't seen an artist get his work defiled by a bunch of kids belonging to a strange couple who randomly barged into his loft after he receives a weird letter from an old man with bells tied to his beard?" The woman undid his fingers from the handle of the hammer and she tossed it t the floor. She went to rub his arm, but he jerked away, stalking past her, painting still tucked under his arm. He snapped his fingers at her without stopping, "Lock the fucking door!" She slid the door shut, leaving the lock alone since sit was on the inside and she wasn't willing to go back in, and ran after him- more like waddled, for she had put on some weight in the past few months.

"I'm sorry about them," she began apologizing as she caught up with him, "really, they're just kids, they don't know any better-" He swiveled on his heels, lean in into her menacingly.

"Really?B-because they looked old enough to know not to touch my supplies! They looked old enough not to touch my personal belongings! And they most definitely looked old enough not to touch the memorial painting I did for my dead sister whose daughter doesn't know because Sarah was never home because she was trying to get out of an abusive relationship!" Felix panted, realizing he and been screaming once he had finished. The woman had a frightened look on her face mixed with what he could only call empathy, or sympathy- one of those things.

"I don't want your pity," he spit, shoving the painting at her, "and you can take my sister with you, wherever you're going. Be careful because it's still wet." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stomped off in the direction of her family's car, throwing a punch to the hood as he passed. She trotted to the car, panting in hand as she watched him angrily go.

"Molly, what was that about?" her husband asked as she climbed in the passenger seat, "and why do you have that boy's artwork with you?"

"This was the work the boys were looking at," she said, "and I am very disappointed in them."

"Well, it was nice of him to give it to you, even if he was a bit rough about it," Arthur said as he went to start the engine.

"Do you want to know what this is, guys?" Molly said, turning around to see their faces.

"Isn't that the painting we were looking at?" George asked.

"Yes, and you want to know what else this is?" Molly asked sternly.

"What?" they waited eagerly for the answer, their faces bright. Fred and George were holding each other's hands in anticipation.

"A memorial," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"A memorial- to whom?" Ron asked. Molly gestured to the woman in the painting, her eyes crossed out with x's. She was smiling as if receiving the best thing in the world, her brown hair looking as if it was blowing in the wind.

"Her?" Ginny answered, jutting her chin at the woman. Molly nodded.

"And do you know who this is?" she asked menacingly. Ron and Ginny shrank bak with fear, the twins exchanging nervous glances before shaking their heads that they did not know who this was. Molly sighed, preparing herself to tell them.

"This is a memorial to his dead sister, Sarah," she explained. Arthur looked out the window, watching Felix as he stomped down the block, his arms hugging himself from the cold.

"Is he not wearing a coat?" Arthur asked, pointing to his moving figure. Molly looked out the window to see he was indeed not wearing a coat.

"No, he's not," she said, pulling her seatbelt across her chest and clicking it. The kids gave each other guilty looks as the engine purred, then roared to life, the wheels screeching on the pavement. Felix turned around to glare at the car, squinting to see it properly.

"Bloody nuts," he muttered to himself, watching as the car began driving in his direction. Felix turned, continued walking, If he ignored them they might go away- since yelling and screaming at them didn't work, and asking them nicely was totally out of the question. He turned his gaze away as the car pulled up next to him, chugging along slowly. The driver's window rolled down and the red head man stuck his head out.

"You cold, son?" he asked. Felix ignored him, hugging himself so tightly, he was nearly squeezing himself. The car continued to trot slowly next to him.

"Come on, looks like you need it- you look extremely pale," the man said. That's from the coke, you idiot, Felix thought as he glared at him and started walking faster. The car followed, "Please? We'd like to apologize." Felix abruptly stopped walking, a cold breeze hitting his back, making him shiver. Another window rolled down and one of the twins stuck his head out saying, "You look pale, come on, kid. And we're sorry about your paintings." Hesitantly, Felix grabbed the handle of the door and perched himself on the edge of the seat, his back ramrod straight. The shirt he was wearing looked like a second skin, the black fabric stretched tightly across his chest, tucked into the narrow waist of his dark maroon colored jeans. Bracelets jangled on his wrist, made of string and beads. His pants were cuffed and tucked into his black combat boots.

"It's not me you should apologize to," Felix said, sweeping his cropped hair out of his face, "it's my sister. I'm doing this for her." Crossing his arms, he stared at the passing scenery as he began to drive. Molly nodded, "Alright then, let's get going and get you warmed up- I'll set up the couch for you, all righty dear?" Felix shrugged and ignored he question.

"Okay then," she said, carefully balancing the painting on her lap, "Arthur, let's go home. We have a guest, you know!"