'Sirius.'
It was a hissing echo in his ears as he fell backward. The ssss sounds were piercing, drawn out as if the Snake himself were calling to him.
His body was surrounded by intense pressure, causing his breath to be suspended, and his eyes to open wide and bulge in their sockets. It was as if the air around him had suddenly turned to thick, liquefied compression, and he fell backward so slowly.
Everything around him was warped and grey, grainy like an old film. He could faintly see the wispy curtain of the Veil he had just fallen through, fluttering from his graceless descent through them. Light from the other side was fading fast as the two pieces of the curtain came together, torturously slow to meet.
His heart pounded so hard, yet everything was so slow. He knew that the closing of the Veil meant the sealing of his fate; the darkness would envelop him, wrap him in its cold arms, arms so like those of the Death Eaters, eternally circling him.
His mind screamed at him to fight against the pressure. His arms and hands were outstretched toward the Veil, reaching desperately for the closing window of light. His hair was in a slow-motion flight around his face, almost blending with his darkening surroundings. As the moments raced sluggishly by and the light faded, blackness, distorting as ink, flooded his vision.
'No,' he thought desperately. 'No!' This singular word circled in his mind relentlessly as the Veil closed the centimeters it had left. The word got louder and louder, as he felt the sickly cold grasp of darkness taking its hold on him. "No!" He felt the word rip itself from his throat as the Veil sealed itself closed and he fell hopelessly backward...
"No!" Sirius screamed. The blackness surrounded him. "I won't go back!"
He struggled against whatever force it was that had its hold on him until he dazedly discovered the cold that had surrounded him had been replaced by warmth. His eyes snapped open to the pale white of moonlight breaking apart the darkness around him.
His bare chest heaved with his rasping gasps for air and his fists clenched tightly to the sheets that were tangled around him. He could feel his hair in tangles, knotted wildly around his face, and a cold sheen of sweat coated his unclothed upper body, partially due to the fact that every muscle on his body was tensed to fight against the nightmare darkness.
He blinked a few times to clear his eyes of sleep, which threatened to drag him back into his nightmares of the Veil and his entire body vibrated from the intensity of his fear and the vividness of the vision. He was subtly aware that he was currently at his family home, 12 Grimmauld Place, and that by all physical means, he was safe in his bed; however, despite this unarguable safety, his fists clenched tighter into the sheets and another scream ripped its way from his throat. It was an animalistic cry of desperation, raw emotion being torn from the center of his vulnerable soul and vibrating through his being, then through the dwelling.
He took no care of being quiet; he was alone, so utterly encased in solitude that he no longer even cared to stifle his wails. Neighbors were even unaware of him due to the magical wards hiding his location.
He let out another howl. The lonely, grim house screamed back at him. His chest heaved from the effort of his tensed muscles and exhausted lungs.
He would never be safe. Not really. Memories couldn't be run from.
Sirius awoke the next morning with his face squished against a pillow, stomach-down in his black bed. Bright daylight filtered through his window and revealed his messy room. The floor was covered in a hodgepodge of dirty clothes, parchment, food containers, and, among many other miscellaneous items, drained bottles of alcohol.
A fan circled lazily on his ceiling, and upon feeling its small draft, goose bumps adorned Sirius Black's pale flesh. He groaned, willing the fan to stop with his thoughts. The fan rebelliously continued on its trek around its axel, and another groan escaped the man's lips as he forced himself up with his arms. He disentangled himself from his black sheets and swung his legs over to sit on the edge of his bed.
His throat was on fire, ravaged by the screaming from the night before. He put his head in his hands and tried to wipe the memory of his nightmares from his mind; he put the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed furiously, trying to snuff out the residue of the intense darkness that still resided there.
He took a deep breath and scratched the thick stubble along his jaw. 'About time to shave again, I suppose,' he thought blandly. 'How long has it been now? Two, maybe three weeks?' He sighed into his hands.
Standing, he stretched his arms above him, rising to the tips of his toes. His ratty pajama bottoms were slung low on his hips and rolled up about halfway on his calves with his black wand tucked into the waist of them. He always kept his wand on his person. His hair was knotted and grazed his shoulders, and as he ran his fingers through it, he realized it was a few inches longer than he kept it in the past. Before. His mind began to wander, but he shook his head to bring it back in.
At the shake of his head, he felt the sharp twinges of an upcoming headache pierce his skull. 'Hangovers are a bitch, even after all these years,' he thought, gripping the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath.
He coughed at this inhale, finding that the stench of the home still repulsed him. His mother had filled the home with the smoke of Floo fires so often that it now reeked of the smell. Smoky like cigarettes, yet slightly sour like old milk. He wrinkled his nose and made a face as he shoved open his door and headed down the hallway toward the bathroom, which, inconveniently, was all the way on the other side of the wretched place.
He passed many closed doors as he made his way, opening none of them and ignoring the black and white photos that watched him and whispered to each other as he made his way. Some blackened spots were placed randomly along the walls where exceptionally talkative photos had met their untimely end. Sirius found that he had quite the temper when he drank Bulgarian vodka, and did not respond kindly to their rambling on his long, lonely nights of bottomless bottles.
Remembering this as he reached the end of the hall, he smirked and patted the largest burnt spot on the wall where his mother's shrieking image once hung. "Hello, mother," he said sarcastically as he passed, "You are looking lovely as I ever saw you this beautiful morning."
He could almost hear her abhorred sneering at him, and he chuckled darkly. He still could not remember what drunken spell finally obliterated the blasted portrait, but he did remember the first morning he woke to his hangover in blessed silence after the offending thing was removed. He almost smiled at the thought, but another wave of pain spiked through his skull and he groaned instead.
He exited the dining hall, complete with an unused dining table and places set at the table, and entered the kitchen, which was disheveled with dishes and food stacked up on all flat surfaces. It was painted this ugly yellow, and stained with the grey of smoke and dust. Sirius opened the dirty white refrigerator and removed a cold bottle of water, bringing it up to press against his forehead. He sighed as the cold seeped into his head, momentarily warding off the sharp tendrils of pain.
Just as he shut the door to the fridge and headed around a dirty table to the open bathroom door on his right, a popping and whirring could be heard from the door to the left.
"What the bloody..." he muttered, stopping automatically in his steps. It sounded like someone was attempting to Floo into his fireplace.
He pulled the wand from the waistband of his pants with an irritated growl. While he knew that he should be fearful that some unknown, uninvited guest was attempting to enter his living room, he was mostly just annoyed. Remembering how he rigged his fireplace, he smirked wickedly as he crossed the kitchen and entered the living room.
All the curtains in the living room were drawn, the light from the window only faintly glowing against the cracked leather couch facing it. A broken lamp was strewn on the floor at one end, gathering dust. The carpet had been ripped up from the floor at some point, and now scratched and worn wood floors could be seen.
Sirius approached his fireplace slowly. Where there used to be an open and constantly-roaring, cheery fire, he had magicked wooden planks to lock anyone out. Knowing that Floo fire could not burn it, it was evident that whatever undiscovered creature had attempted to enter his home was now trapped in the small fireplace.
Muffled sounds of dissent could be heard from behind the planks, and Sirius pointed his wand toward it.
"Who is it?" he asked sweetly.
"Bloody hell, Sirius, it's me," he heard someone snap. Though it was muffled, he recognized the voice. He huffed a sigh and used his wand to magically remove the planks. Nails flew backward, and Sirius had to dodge to his left to miss them as they stuck themselves into the opposite wall. The planks fell back and a rather ashy Harry Potter came tumbling out of the fireplace.
He was coughing and choking, sitting on his bottom in the middle of the floor, attempting to ruffle the ash out of his hair. 'Serves him right,' Sirius thought darkly to himself.
"What the fuck, Sirius?" Harry sputtered incredulously, pushing himself to his feet and wiping off his clothing. 'Auror black,' Sirius observed.
"Oh, you know, I'm just an old decrepit man, living alone," he said, looking at his wand and pretending to pick specs off of it. "I have to have some way of blocking off those who are unwelcome, or," his eyes flickered up at Harry, then back down, "-uninvited."
Harry's jaw tensed, understanding the older wizard's implication. "Unwelcome and uninvited, you say?" Harry asked quietly as he removed his glasses and focused on cleaning their lenses. "Your best friend's son, your own godson, has no place to visit you now?"
Sirius' jaw tightened at his words. His heart both constricted and melted slightly. He had not seen or heard from anyone for months, and now Harry chooses to visit, without so much as an owl in advance?
"What can I do for you, Harry?" Sirius asked begrudgingly, turning his back on the younger man, stuffing his wand back into his pants, and heading back to the kitchen. His water bottle sat abandoned on the table in his kitchen. He picked it up and took a long sip.
Harry followed him into the kitchen, taking in the untidy conditions indifferently. "How long has it been since you've cleaned around here?" he asked, half joking with a small smile. Sirius grinned and responded, "That would probably be since the last time anyone planned to visit." Harry's smile fell and he looked down at his feet. "Sirius, we would visit more often," he said quietly, trying to avoid the anger of his godfather. "But you know we've all been busy."
Sirius felt a prick at his heart and his lip twitched. He grinned wolfishly and said, "Yes, all those I care for are in high demand these days. Those that aren't already dead, anyway." His mind flashed to Remus Lupin and James Potter, his oldest and dearest friends. He wondered often if he would still be alone if their lives had been extended.
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, it may be time we clean the place up again," he muttered, his eyes darting to the dirty dishes. "Anyway, Sirius, I came here for more than just... chit chat."
Sirius snorted and leaned back against the table. He raised his eyebrows at Harry. "Is there some place we could sit down?" Harry asked, touching his forehead, where his faded scar was. Sirius knew that this was a nervous habit. Sirius walked out of the kitchen and back through the dining hall, and into the hallway. Harry stopped short when he spotted the lack of portrait on the wall and the huge blackened hole that replaced it. "What the bloody hell happened?" he exclaimed. Sirius smirked as he opened a door about midway down the hall from Harry. "A story for another time, I think, son," he called to him.
Harry followed him down the hallway and awkwardly entered the open door into the family room of 12 Grimmauld Place. This was the same room with the family tree painted in it, Sirius's section still burnt off. Sirius followed him inside, leaving the door open. The room was dusty, but remained untouched almost always, so it was free of clutter. There was a fireplace present in here as well; however, it remained unused and the Flooing usually occurred in the living room. A broad window let daylight flood into the lilac-colored space, and Sirius squinted and covered his eyes at the brightness.
"What time is it?" he asked Harry. Looking at his watch, Harry replied, "About a quarter after 2 in the afternoon. Did you just wake up?" Sirius nodded and blinked against the light. Harry rolled his eyes and sat in one of the four chairs that circled a small, circular table in the room. Sirius sat in the chair across from him; conveniently, its back was to the window.
Harry cleared his throat and peered around the room. "Haven't been in here in a long time," he said, finally meeting Sirius' onyx eyes. Sirius simply stared back, his expression blank. Harry cleared his throat and scratched at his scar again.
"There has been an issue occur at the Ministry," Harry began warily. Sirius snorted again, and Harry's eyes flicked up to his eyes quickly. "A very serious issue, which pertains to you. We are confounded by a mystery that none of us really understand." Sirius' face went slack. His curiosity peaked, but a growing suspicion harbored itself in the back of his mind. Harry paused, and continued, "This is an area of magical bounds that we have very little experience in. There is little to no knowledge about the subject at hand. There are very few things in the magical world that the Ministry has not gone to great lengths in order to discover even the most minute details about; it is our job to understand these things in order to protect the magical world. However, there is a place within the Ministry itself which has not been explored. You know this place better than any living being in this realm. Sirius, we need you. We need your help."
Sirius felt a sick cold begin to spread into his stomach. This situation hardly felt real as his heart sank. He could tell what mystery place Harry was referring to. What else could Sirius understand more than the Ministry of Magic? What extensive knowledge did Sirius possess that the Ministry did not?
He began to shake his head slowly, sliding down in his chair, as Harry slid forward, toward him. Harry stretched out his hand to Sirius as if to touch him, but Sirius shrank from his hand. Harry's hand dropped to his lap.
"We need your help, Sirius," he whispered. "Something else was recovered from the Veil."
