The smooth cold glass touched my cracked lips. Slowly I tipped my head backwards feeling the smooth liquid slide down throat easily. I drained the whole glass in a rapid succession of desperate gulps. The amber nectar burned down my parched throat, its strong, acrid taste lingering unpleasantly on my tongue.
I slammed the now empty glass hard down on the wooden table top with a mixture of disgust and distaste.
Drinking. My best friend and his family were in hiding and I was busy writing myself off. Nice.
It had only been a few days since Lily, James and Harry had gone underground but already I was feeling the emptiness of their parting.
We had been a team, James and I, collectively fighting against Voldemort as one. For the better part of two decades he had had my back and I had had his. Together we'd achieved more than a few small victories against the Death Eaters.
But now he was gone; out of contact, out of touch, out of view. And I was feeling more than a little bitter.
I knew it was necessary. Voldemort had marked them for death. Hell, it had even been my idea that they go into hiding. But no rational sentiments would be able to satiate the feelings of loss and abandonment that haunted me now.
I lifted the cool, smooth glass to my lips again and downed yet another one of my mother's favourite brew.
Bleugh! It was just as disagreeable as she had been.
Fortunately I no longer had to endure her snide remarks about what a complete waste of space I was as a son. That is assuming, of course, that the horrid portrait of her in the hallway doesn't decide to unveil itself again.
My mother and I had never seen eye to eye. They say there's always a black sheep in the family. Well I guess in the Black family, that rotten egg was me.
To my dear, sweet mother I was a complete and utter disappointment because I had wholly refused to accept her bigoted and shallow ideals. My idiot parents and their pure-blood mania. It was absurd to think we were better than others just because we had all-wizard lineage. In fact I knew more than a few muggle-borns who were smarter, stronger and just generally better people than my mother could have ever striven to be.
In reality, my life had only begun at sixteen, when I finally broke away from her malice.
So naturally when I'd moved back here, to the house I'd grown up in, I'd given it my best effort to pry her hideous memory out. But even now, everywhere I looked I seemed to light upon some small remnant of her malignant nature. From the tapestry of our family tree upstairs to the thick cobwebs that decorated every nook and cranny of this hellhole, I was reminded of what a nightmare my childhood had been.
"Ungrateful brat, drinking Mistress' mead. Sitting there, watching Kreacher with that sneer, like he's worth the time of day. He reeks of mudblood. Kreacher feels infected by it."
And then there was my mother's charming house-elf. The filthy beast had been damaged by decades of enduring that wench's prejudiced ramblings. Somewhere along the line he'd lost his marbles, driven to insanity by the wicked witch and her shallowness.
Now he was a constant thorn in my side.
I glared at the slave as he crept along the kitchen floor, uttering an unrelenting stream of insults directed at me.
"Get out," I growled softly.
Kreacher's mutilated face turned towards me and he stared defiantly back over his long hooknose.
"Nasty wretch thinks he can order Kreacher about – "
"GET OUT!" I bellowed, rising from my seat. Unfazed Kreacher slowly made his way out of the room, still muttering obscenities to himself.
Anger boiled through me and before I could register I'd picked up the glass and hurled it at the nearest wall. It shattered loudly, falling to the floor in a tinkering of tiny shards. If only it were that easy to rid myself of all other remnants of the malicious Black family.
"Try not to destroy the entire house," a bored voice drawled from down the corridor. Still incensed, I stomped down to the source.
"What do you want?" I snapped as I stood now facing the portrait of my grandfather.
Phineas looked my dishevelled appearance up and down with narrowed eyes, a sneer upon his haughty face.
"Are you drunk?" he questioned with the distinct air of disproval.
I rolled my eyes and ran a hand through my untidy hair.
"Something I can help you with?" I answered sarcastically.
In front of me the animated rendition screwed up his face again before replying nastily, "You'd better clean yourself up. Dumbledore has sent you some guests. They should be arriving soon and I'll have no relative of mine greeting people in the noble house of Black looking like they just crawled out of a gutter."
My rage seethed inside me again. He was just as bad as my mother. I'd sorely love to burn his painting down and dance on the ashes. But unfortunately I needed him; he was a convenient way to contact Dumbledore.
Biting my tongue and flicking him one last glare through narrowed eyes, I turned away and headed up the stairs to the nearest bathroom. Guests were the last thing I wanted but unfortunately he was right, just the same; I should at least look presentable.
I stared into the small mirror, realising with some annoyance that Phineas had been accurate in his description. I really did look a wreck.
My long dark hair, which hadn't been washed in months, was matted in several places. Deep rivulets of red scored my bloodshot eyes. I hadn't shaved in a while either and a thick down of hair decorated my chin and jaw. Just to complete the picture I even smelled like a brewery.
With a sigh I began the task of cleaning myself up.
-------------------------------------
I had just finished dressing in some clean clothes when I heard the front door crash open. Grinning to myself I started down the stairs. There was only one wizard who could make a noise like that.
"Hagrid," I called as the entrance hall came in to view.
Hagrid stood before me beside the front door with a distinct look of embarrassment on his large face.
"Sorry, Sirius. Jus' don' know me own strength sometimes."
I waved his apology off with a wicked grin as I descended the final barrier between us.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Hagrid shifted slightly, looking even more uncomfortable. I always found it curious that a creature of such substantial presence could be so reserved on occasion.
"Well, I, erm . . . Dumbledore sent me, erm . . . and, erm." Cutting himself off, Hagrid stepped aside without another word to reveal the a young girl.
My jaw dropped as I took in the appearance of the small child. She stared back at me carefully, appraisingly with dark blue eyes from behind the safety of Hagrid's tree-trunk of a leg. Dark brown locks framed her rounded, innocent face, her soft pink lips parted slightly as she gazed at me from under her long lashes. There was something very captivating, almost entrancing about this child.
Finding his confidence now, Hagrid reached behind him carefully to place a hand on the girl's head. His fingers stroked through the soft brown tresses affectionately as he spoke.
"We found 'er in the Forbidden Forest. Poor 'lil lamb was all alone."
I continued to stare numbly as Hagrid continued.
"Dumbledore thought tha' you should be the one to look afta' 'er. Until we can find 'er parents tha' is."
That broke the spell.
"What?!" I choked out.
Hagrid's frown looked slightly affronted as he replied.
"Dumbledore said tha' you should take 'er."
I balked. What was that old man playing at?
"I'm hardly parenting material," I said dryly, thinking back to my disarrayed appearance less than an hour ago. "I can barely look after myself, let alone another person, and a child at that."
Hagrid's frown deepened. He couldn't deny the truth of that statement. He knew from personal experience how poorly I lived.
"Yea' but Dumbledore said so," He reasoned slowly, creasing his brow further.
I scowled, realising that there was no trumping that logic. Dumbledore had better have a pretty decent excuse for this. There were plenty of other witches and wizards far more suitable for this task than me. And they hadn't just crawled their way out of the bottom of a bottle.
"Fine," I said in a tone a littler harsher than I'd intended. Still sheltered behind Hagrid the child balked slightly at my hard expression. Instantly I regretted it.
"What's her name?" I continued softer, moderating my mannerisms.
"I dunno," Hagrid said, looking down at the girl with a bewildered expression. "She hasn' said a word yet."
They continued to stare wordlessly at one another for a moment. Then Hagrid turned quickly back to me.
"Well, must be off," he said, taking a step backwards. "Gotta get back to the castle."
And with that he turned and departed, leaving me alone with the strange child.
The awkwardness of the situation hung thickly in the air. Neither of us knew what to do. I continued to stare at her and she stared unwaveringly back at me.
After a moment I rubbed a tense hand through my now clean hair and let out a soft sigh of frustration.
Merlin, I wasn't good at this sort of thing. This was better suited to James and Lily, or perhaps even Remus; people who knew what they were doing where little people were concerned.
That's right, I reminded myself. This is just a smaller version of you.
Carefully I took a few tentative steps towards the young girl. She didn't move or even appear frightened.
That's a start, I thought.
The floorboards creaked beneath me as I continued my slow and steady path towards her. Carefully I knelt down, coming almost to eye level with the small girl.
"I'm Sirius," I began kindly. And then I choked. All the words that passed through my head from here on out seemed inconsequential and foolish. Why was there no book around on 'how to relate to children' when you needed it?
"You must be hungry," I finished lamely. It was the only thing I could think of to say that didn't sound completely idiotic, even to me.
Apparently it must have been the right thing to say as a small smile now played on the girl's lips.
"Oh, your social skills are truly astounding," Phineas drawled sarcastically from his portrait beside me.
Ignoring him, I rose from my crouch. Taking the child's hand in my own and began to lead her in the direction of the kitchen. But I turned back sharply when my tug met resistance.
The child was staring up at my grandfather's portrait with a slight frown on her young features. Then her expression changed sharply and I watched, surprised, as she stuck her small, pink tongue out at him.
The shock on Phineas' conceited face was priceless and I could help but let out an amused chuckle as I pulled the child away.