Grimmauld Place was eerily silent at night.
The air was still and heavy, filled with broken promises and festering anger, making it hard to breathe. Typical of this house, it was very dark, and dusty, and there was only one source of lighting; a gothic lamp in the middle of it casted sinister shadows on the neighbouring walls. Most of the doors looked identical; they were painted a very dark green, and the doorknobs looked disturbingly like serpents, coiled and ready to strike. The darkness was inexorable, and seemed to swallow what pitiful amount of light that seemed to touch it, twisting and distorting the images; for a moment, the snakes seem to writhe, alive, and the faces on the tapestry had oddly bright eyes. Almost as though they could see him.
Almost.
He traced one pale finger down the golden threads, imagining his mother beside him, telling him the stories of his ancestors in her smooth, low voice, painting pictures of glory and fame with each word. He would sit, with eyes wide, in awe of their feat.. Sirius would snort, mumbling things not quite fit for polite company under his breath. Bellatrix would grin, her eyes shining with determination, Andromeda would smile knowingly, and Narcissa would listen in rapt attention, drinking in every word. For those few moments, caught up in those tales, they were finally a proper family, no politics, no fights, just children listening to stories, and relishing in the happy endings.
Except life had no happy endings.
HIs finger continued its journey downwards, first reaching his uncle's name, before going downwards, tracing the thin thread that bound his cousins together. Between Bellatrix's haughty face and Naricssa's, there was a big black mark, ugly as the one on his arm, and he sighed. Was it betrayal? If so, whom betrayed who? Did Andromeda turn her back on her family? Or did Bellatrix and Narcissa turn their backs on their sister?
Did it matter in the end? Was hers the only kind of betrayal?
Moving sideways, his finger finally reached the name he was looking for. There was another gaping hole here, like a wound on the Tree, and with his finger was between the R and I of his brother's name, he wondered if it was worth it, throwing all of this away for freedom.
Throwing them away. All of it.
The house was strangely empty without them; Bellatrix and Sirius off to wage war, Narcissa and Andromeda married, leaving him all alone bear the weight of old memories and stale silence.
Grimmauld Place was eerily silent at night.
(And there was no day in a house without light.)