A/N: This chapter is very, very short, but it serves as a pilot of sorts. Please enjoy!
Despite the comfort of his newfound freedom, he did not sleep. Sirius Black sat up in his bed in 12 Grimmauld Place. Thirteen years of sleeping on the cold floor of his cell in Azkaban left his body in a seemingly permanent discomfort and his mind in a state even worse.
He released a heaving sigh, propping himself up against his pillows. The sight of Peter being dragged away, kicking and screaming as he fought desperately to evade his fate, still lingered in the shallows of his mind. The Marauders were now down to two. No... They were down to two a long time ago – when James had died and Peter was revealed as the traitor.
Sirius's face flashed anger; anger he had been harbouring for most of his life; fuelled by the various atrocities he had been exposed to over the course of his 34 years. It was an anger, though, that the Dementors of Azkaban had turned into cold misery and despair.
Another sigh escaped his lungs. Forming a sort of exasperated half-smile, he slid his legs off his bed and slowly got up in silence. Slipping on his night robe, he considered his room. Various posters and banners sporting golden lions, motor cycles, and ladies clad in mere strips of cloth adorned the walls in their decrepit state. Dust covered every surface, and the curtains had become meals for the resident moths. Evidently, and not surprisingly at all, Kreacher had neglected the house in Sirius's absence.
'This damn old place needs a cleaning up.' He sighed to himself.
Sirius often wondered why any member of the ancient and most noble House of Black would want to take residence in a place like 12 Grimmauld place. It was, utterly and truly, grim. Sirius was sure, though, that if any, that was the most likelt of any reason.
After helping himself to a simple glass of water, he spent a long while simply ambling through the dark planked corridors, stopping finally at a door on the second floor. He turned the knob and pushed the door open with a gentle touch. He gazed with mixed emotions at the slight figure that lay resting in the large bed that seemed to dwarf it's occupant even more. Sirius did not dare enter the room, lest he wake the boy. Not knowing his sleeping patterns, or anything really, he would best be cautious.
He sighed again, closing the door with a small click.
No, this was certainly no place to care for his dear James's son.
Elsewhere another being had trouble sleeping. Instead of the calming effect it had on most, the gentle sound of the lake water lapping against the windows of the Slytherin dorm only served to assist in depriving Jonathan Smith of sleep. He sat there, head on one hand, wand in the other, regarding the otherwise empty room with a cold blue gaze.
The summer holidays had finally come and left Jonathan stranded at Hogwarts once more. He knew, of course, that another student had often stayed at school during holidays, Harry Potter, but with recent events, this was no longer the case. He did not complain, though. The solitude was comforting for a while. The only other residents were the groundskeeper, house elves, the occasional professor, and, as always, the castle ghosts. These were all easily ignored, and as long as he didn't cause any trouble or venture off the grounds, he was mostly free to do as he pleased. And despite various possible sources of entertainment, the library for example, being locked up, he was free to do magic – unlike almost all other students located elsewhere.
For these various reasons, Jonathan Smith would claim that he was content.