A/N: Everything you recognise belongs to J.K Rowling.
Sirius stopped behind a large bin panting heavily and flopped to the ground. So much for his plan to go north, one week already gone and he'd barely even made it to London without collapsing. This was going to be murder.
He glanced up and down the darkened street. Where was he? Everything seemed to have changed in twelve years, damn Muggles. Unlike the wizarding world they seemed to constantly change everything all the time; Sirius was hopelessly lost. Even Muggles themselves looked different. Wizarding fashion hadn't changed in centuries. Muggles seemed to delight in covering themselves in ridiculous rags with silly logos which change every other year.
After regaining his breath he stood up on his hind paws, batting the lid off the bin as he did so and began raking through for something to eat. If only James could see me now, he thought bitterly. Hell if his mother knew the heir to the 'Most Ancient and Noble House of Black' was bin-raking for food … he almost laughed.
Eventually he stumbled upon a half-eaten meal of fish and chips in one of those 'plastik' containers. He settled down and dived right in, his stomach growling, throwing back the meal as quickly as he could. It wasn't half bad, even if it was cold and slightly soggy, Muggles weren't all hopeless. He remembered wistfully back to the last time he'd eaten one of these meals, hot and crispy, with his best friend by his side, after an evening of gallivanting on his modified Muggle motorbike. 'Muggling' he and James had called it, an evening purely of fun and mischief in the Muggle world every month or so, a chance to get away from the horrors and deaths occurring in the magical world.
What had he been reduced to now? A mangy dog scrambling for scraps in bins whilst on the run from the Ministry for the murder of his closest friends.
He finished the pitiful meal and poked his nose back hopefully in the bin in search of anything else, but pickings were slim. A newspaper caught his eye and he jerked it out by the teeth and laid it out flat on the pavement in front of him. A passing Muggle stopped in surprise at a dog reading a newspaper and Sirius hurriedly began to turn around in a circle and curled up on the newspaper, as though going to sleep, and waited for the Muggle to continue on, which she eventually did, shaking her head. Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't be too careful; the Ministry would no doubt be on the lookout for any suspicious activity. Whilst Muggles may find a dog reading a newspaper mildly amusing and 'cute', the Ministry knew better. Many unregistered Animagi had given themselves away by behaving too human like. It had never used to bother him; he was reckless by nature after all, the whole thrill was in not getting caught. But too much was at stake here. He had to be careful, for Harry's sake.
Once the Muggle had passed out of sight, Sirius struggled to his feet, battling the weakness hunger had left in his body, seized the newspaper by the teeth and raced off down the street and ducked into an obscure alleyway.
He once again laid out the paper and scanned the front page. It was a Muggle newspaper, and little of it made any sense to him- the death of some 'footballer', some music group called 'Take That', something about some bloke in the 'Ministry of Defence' … useless.
He tried to turn the page with his nose quite unsuccessfully, sighed, and transformed back into a human-who was going to see him here anyway - and lifted up the newspaper, soggy with his own drool. He flicked disinterestedly through the paper, before catching sight of a photograph of a gaunt man surrounded by a mane of matted hair, with horrid staring eyes. It took him a few moments to recognise himself.
His first emotion was shock. He, Sirius, in a Muggle newspaper? The picture wasn't moving, but it was definitely him. He glanced at the caption: 'Escaped convict Sirius Black continues to elude capture by leading authorities. Any sighting of Black should be reported immediately by calling the special hotline at the foot of this article. The public are warned not to approach Black as he is armed and extremely dangerous.'
Sirius threw his head back and laughed, startling a slinking alley cat as he did so. 'Armed and extremely dangerous?' Well, it depends on which way you look at it. He reached into the pocket of his shabby robes and withdrew the knife he kept there next to the Prophet clipping, having lifted it from a butchers shop a few days previously whilst looking for some food to filch. A knife was hardly dangerous to the members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but to a cowering little rat …
Sirius didn't want to use the Killing Curse, not the same thing that had torn away his best friends from him. No, he wanted to see the coward's blood himself, to make him suffer as he had for twelve years while little Peter grew even fatter on cheese and the adoring love of an oblivious family
The knife glinted in the light, casting a reflection on Sirius' face, and he found himself laughing again. He stopped abruptly. What the hell was wrong with him? Had Azkaban really unhinged him so much as to turn him into a maniac with a knife?
No, Peter had done that. And Peter would be the one to pay.
He was relatively surprised to find the Minister for Magic- whoever that was these days- had informed the Muggle Prime Minister- whoever that was these days- about him. They must really be afraid of him. His throat clenched, no one had ever thought him dangerous before. A prankster and trouble-maker, yes, but never a murderer. They all must think that of him, Harry, Remus, his cousin Andromeda, Dumbledore, old McGonagall who he'd even made to laugh a few times with his silly pranks … they all thought him cruel and heartless. Maybe he was.
It made his blood boil. He could handle what others thought of him, hell, he'd put up with people who hated him for coming from a family of Slytherin purists, and those who hated him for being a blood traitor, with his own family disowning him, and his adopted family being ripped from him. But what really mattered was that Peter was still out there; he was the dangerous one. And no one even knew.
Sirius threw the paper from him in disgust. What a farce.
The wind picked up at that moment, sending white flashes of scrap paper and other rubbish flying through the air, landing on the ground near him. One of the pieces of paper caught his eye.
He reached out and picked up a small rectangular piece of card. A train ticket. From King's Cross station.
An idea lit in his head. King's Cross. He wouldn't have to travel north himself. He could take the train! Was the station anywhere close by?
Almost immediately he cursed himself for being stupid. There was no way in hell he'd be able to sneak on to the Hogwarts Express without anyone seeing. Plus, there might even be extra security on the train; Aurors, or worse, Dementors.
Sirius shuddered. He had no intention of going anywhere near them again for a long time. Hearing Hagrid's words again … 'I'm sorry Sirius. Lily 'n James. They're gone. There's nothin' yeh can do.'
Sirius closed his eyes and waited while the pain of that memory subsided. He had to focus. He couldn't do anything about James and Lily now. What he could do was protect their son.
Sirius paced. Could he manage to get onto the train, sneak into one of the back compartments? Would anyone notice a giant dog? What was he thinking, of course they would! He wasn't like Peter; his Animagus form couldn't blend in as well on a train full of students headed towards a school where dogs were not permitted as pets. Still, he smiled fondly to himself, at least I'm not as conspicuous as Prongs would be.
After a few moments more of pacing in the dim alley, he had made up his mind. He had to at least try. Merlin knows how long it would take on foot, if he could at least get part of the way …
Sirius transformed back and padded off down the alley, filled with increased vigour. If he failed in boarding the train, then at least he could see Harry again. What had happened to him? He needed to know before he left.
Another week later and Sirius finally found himself in front of King's Cross station. London was big, much bigger than he remembered, or maybe that was just because he was much smaller now. He'd only been able to travel at night, travelling through busy pedestrian areas during the day was not a good idea. Someone had assumed he was a stray and set the RPSCA … no, the PSRCA … the RPC … something on him, which apparently included trying to shove him into the back of a van with a bunch of other mangy animals. What a shock they'd had when he'd jumped forward and stole the keys to the van from the man's belt before running off with them.
Sirius looked up at the façade above him, and let the memories come flooding back. How he'd loved this place; the portal to his world at Hogwarts, away from the dreariness of his childhood 'home'.
But he was too early, according to a discarded newspaper on a bench outside the station. The train wouldn't leave for another week. He couldn't very well hang around here; someone would notice and set some of those blokes with blue overalls after him again. For a moment he was stumped.
He had nowhere to go, no one to take him in.
An idea hit him then, a ridiculous notion that repulsed him. Grimmauld Place would be empty.
The idea of returning there was repellent, but it would be practical at least, well within walking distance of King's Cross. Both his parents were dead now, he'd heard. There'd be nobody except old Kreacher.
He turned tail and dragged his paws along as he set off on the all-too familiar route to the old house, debating the pros and cons of the situation. The house would still belong to him wouldn't it? And Kreacher would have to obey him, wouldn't he? Sirius was the last Black heir- it wouldn't have passed to anyone else, would it? Prisoners in Azkaban are stripped of all possessions upon entering, but his mother had died after his imprisonment. Since Regulus was dead, was he now the owner even if he'd been disinherited? It was worth finding out. Merlin forbid the place had gone to the Malfoys.
The sky began to grow lighter and Sirius increased his speed, picking his way through the familiar streets. Little had changed here. It was still the same old dump it had always been. It'd often amazed Sirius that his parents, so hateful of anything of the Muggle would consent to live right amongst them.
The houses he was passing grew ever more familiar, terraced buildings growing up higher and higher, as dull and depressing as ever. Windows so streaked with dirt it was a wonder anyone could see out of them; rusty old bikes dumped in the front gardens, rubbish bins lying on their sides in the gutters …yes, as charming as ever.
He turned the corner and found himself in Grimmauld Place itself. The place reeked of his childhood, all the horrid memories …
He padded down the pavement and stopped himself in front of number 12, faintly surprised at seeing it so dilapidated. It was obvious no one lived here now. It seemed the years since his mother's death had not been kind. Kreacher must be dead, there was no way he'd have let the house fall into ruin like this. That thought cheered him slightly.
He ran up the front steps, pausing before the door. He never thought he'd leave Azkaban, only to come here again. From one prison, to another.
He reached up with his front paws, and with some difficulty turned the handle, trusting the old magic of the house would still let blood descendants enter, even if they were in dog form.
The door swung open, and he fell forward onto his two front paws into the dull and now dusty hallway, illuminated only by the light that came from behind him. It was darker, mustier, and even more grim than he remembered. Still, it was a roof over his head.
He stepped a few more feet into the house, reached out with his back leg and slammed the door shut behind him.
All at once, a great awful noise erupted, a dreadful screeching sound that reverberated through his skull so that he placed both his paws over his ears.
He looked to where the sound was coming from, and saw across from him, the old portrait of his mother, dear old mumsie, screaming the place down. Old hag, can't she even leave me in peace in death?
'Villains! Traitors! Blood of my blood a common criminal! Get out! Get out! All of you!'
Sirius removed his paws from his ears. All of you?
He heard thundering footsteps coming from the basement kitchen, and his heart leapt to his throat. You idiot! You unthinking, reckless, idiot! Of course they'd guess you'd come back here!
Without time to turn around and try manoeuvring the locking mechanism on the door with his paws, he leapt into the shadows behind an old chest of drawers in the hallway, praying to go unnoticed.
He heard two steps of footsteps emerge in the hallway, pause and look around, muttering to each other, inaudible over his mother's screams. Then:
'Shut up!' one of them screamed, and a large BANG told Sirius he'd sent some sort of a spell at the portrait. If his heart hadn't been thumping in fear he'd have been quite happy at that.
His mother fell silent, breathing in deeply, moaning slightly with her breaths, but ceased her screaming.
'Merlin, what a relief,' the other one said. 'Don't think I can take much more of this Dave. She's a raving lunatic.'
'They all are Roger. All the old pure-blooded families are the same. So inbred they've something missing upstairs.'
Sirius ignored this jibe; after all, it wasn't exactly untrue.
Dave continued: 'What set her off though?'
Sirius crept further into the shadows, staying as silent as possible.
'What set her off? The bloody air set her off! She doesn't need a reason! She's barking I tell you!'
'I heard the door slam.'
'Probably that creepy elf.'
Sirius sighed. So Kreacher wasn't dead then.
'Roger, how do you ever expect to complete your Auror training if you dismiss everything? One tiny little detail could be the difference between life and death!'
'All right, all right Dave, keep your hair on! Homenum revelio.'
Sirius froze.
Nothing happened. He breathed a sigh of relief. He'd heard that charm did not work on unregistered Animagi, but he'd never cared to test it.
'See Dave, nothing there!'
'There might have been Roger; you should always check! I was apprenticed to Mad-Eye Moody when I was your age, and he always used to say 'Constant Vigilance'. He would never have made a silly mistake like that!'
'Yeah, and look at him now, completely barking. Sees enemies in his chamber pot … '
'He's still the best Auror there ever was.'
A surge of emotion surged through Sirius at this. Old Mad-Eye from the Order was still kicking about then? And by the sounds of it hadn't changed a bit. Sirius wanted to laugh. Of course, Mad-Eye wouldn't be so glad to see him now. It hurt Sirius more than he would have guessed to think Mad-Eye would hate him and think him a murderer. No, he'd find no refuge with his old friend now; he was the enemy. And being Mad-Eye's enemy was no laughing matter.
'Yeah yeah, I know how you hero worship the old git.' There was a short silence. 'This place gives me the creeps Dave. How long do you reckon we have to stay here for?'
'Until Black is caught I reckon.'
'He won't be caught by the likes of us. It'll be the Dementors that'll get him.'
Sirius shuddered.
'Most likely. I don't even see the reason for staying here. If Black is sane enough to escape from Azkaban he isn't stupid enough to return here.'
Sirius almost snorted. Evidently he was.
'Why'd he want to come back here though? This place is a complete dump. It's no wonder he turned out the way he did, growing up in a place like this, with a mother like that. I mean look at the place! Serpents in every part of the décor, elf heads stuck on the wall and- is that a troll's leg umbrella stand?'
'I don't even want to know.'
Sirius nodded in the shadows. That was his mother; warped and twisted.
Roger sighed. 'I heard he was alright at school though. A Gryffindor wasn't he?'
'Doesn't make a man good.'
'I suppose. The brother was a Slytherin though. You know he was a Death Eater?'
'Yes Roger. I did read the briefing notes.' Dave said exasperatedly.
'No need to be sarky! You know what I reckon? I think Sirius was so unhinged by his brother's death- I mean, no one knows exactly how he died- that he joined You-Know-Who for revenge. The family madness must have caught up with him in the end.'
'Your perceptions of human psychology astound me Roger. What did I ever do to piss Scrimgeour off so much I got landed with you, the most annoying intern in the Auror department?'
'Oh, flattering. But seriously, listen to my theory-'
The voices began to fade as the two Aurors moved towards the kitchen.
Sirius stayed silent and without moving a muscle until he distinctly heard the sound of the kitchen door slam shut. Now he was stuck. He knew he should leave, but if he tried playing around with the complicated locking mechanism he'd risk alerting the Aurors. And besides, he was beyond tired, if he left again he'd probably collapse before he'd gone half a mile. It couldn't hurt to stay here for the rest of the day would it? They'd have no reason to go into the upper rooms would they?
The tiniest of growls emerged from his throat when he thought of the two Aurors. Hearing himself talked about like that by strangers, so cold and heartless. They had no reason to doubt his guilt; they believed he was a criminal, that he was mad.
Was he mad? He wasn't sure anymore.
Here he was, on the run, plotting murder, doubting his sanity … a chip off the old block indeed.
Sirius shook with anger; he'd gone to all that trouble to distance himself from his family and here was he was, just like them. It was his friends that had made him different, given him hope and laughter, now he had none of that. That had been what separated him from his family; the fact that he had friends he would die for, who would die for him, pure-blood and Muggle-born alike. He had love, and friendship, and happiness, he wasn't like them. He was a Gryffindor.
Now that was gone. His best friends were gone from him. He was no different from them now.
He crept along the dusty corridor, wary not to awaken his mother's portrait, until he reached the staircase. He bounded up it on silent paws passing the grotesque shapes of the elf's heads until he reached the first floor landing. He moved along the corridor and dived into the drawing room.
He paused and looked around him, taking in the neglected room that had always been his mother's favourite. It was covered in a blanket of dust; evidently the Aurors did not come up here. Limp curtains in the dirt-streaked windows twitched, the glass fronts of the display cabinets on the other wall glinted dully revealing the distasteful treasures within and the desk in the corner rattled ominously. Sirius didn't even want to know what was in there.
He padded across the floor towards the cupboard at the other end of the room which Sirius remembered being rather large; he'd sleep in here, if the Aurors came snooping he didn't want to make it even easier to find him.
He avoided the tapestry on the wall; he didn't want to see evidence of his 'noble heritage', the centuries of betrayal, murder, inbreeding and disinheritance, he didn't want to see the inevitable burn mark his mother would have made of his own name.
He reached the cupboard, and nosed it open, resisting the urge to cough at the dusty air. It had been a cupboard for curtains and spare cushions, and Sirius slipped inside, and made himself as comfortable as he could on an old moth-eaten cushion with what unpleasantly looked like the Slytherin crest embroidered on it.
Sirius lay there in the semi-darkness, listening to the distant voices of the Aurors in the kitchen. He knew he was too close to danger, but what else could he do? He should wait until it grew dark again and then try and make his way out whilst the Aurors slept. It was all he could do.
He curled up even tighter, uncomfortable in the cramped cupboard. This place had always seemed much bigger when he was a child and would come hide in here to escape his mother and her pure-blood supremacy speeches.
He was back in this house, the house of misery, where he'd so often tried to escape from.
Who'd have thought he'd come to this house for refuge?
How had it come to this?
Sirius stopped behind a large bin panting heavily and flopped to the ground. So much for his plan to go north, one week already gone and he'd barely even made it to London without collapsing. This was going to be murder.
He glanced up and down the darkened street. Where was he? Everything seemed to have changed in twelve years, damn Muggles. Unlike the wizarding world they seemed to constantly change everything all the time; Sirius was hopelessly lost. Even Muggles themselves looked different. Wizarding fashion hadn't changed in centuries. Muggles seemed to delight in covering themselves in ridiculous rags with silly logos which change every other year.
After regaining his breath he stood up on his hind paws, batting the lid off the bin as he did so and began raking through for something to eat. If only James could see me now, he thought bitterly. Hell if his mother knew the heir to the 'Most Ancient and Noble House of Black' was bin-raking for food … he almost laughed.
Eventually he stumbled upon a half-eaten meal of fish and chips in one of those 'plastik' containers. He settled down and dived right in, his stomach growling, throwing back the meal as quickly as he could. It wasn't half bad, even if it was cold and slightly soggy, Muggles weren't all hopeless. He remembered wistfully back to the last time he'd eaten one of these meals, hot and crispy, with his best friend by his side, after an evening of gallivanting on his modified Muggle motorbike. 'Muggling' he and James had called it, an evening purely of fun and mischief in the Muggle world every month or so, a chance to get away from the horrors and deaths occurring in the magical world.
What had he been reduced to now? A mangy dog scrambling for scraps in bins whilst on the run from the Ministry for the murder of his closest friends.
He finished the pitiful meal and poked his nose back hopefully in the bin in search of anything else, but pickings were slim. A newspaper caught his eye and he jerked it out by the teeth and laid it out flat on the pavement in front of him. A passing Muggle stopped in surprise at a dog reading a newspaper and Sirius hurriedly began to turn around in a circle and curled up on the newspaper, as though going to sleep, and waited for the Muggle to continue on, which she eventually did, shaking her head. Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't be too careful; the Ministry would no doubt be on the lookout for any suspicious activity. Whilst Muggles may find a dog reading a newspaper mildly amusing and 'cute', the Ministry knew better. Many unregistered Animagi had given themselves away by behaving too human like. It had never used to bother him; he was reckless by nature after all, the whole thrill was in not getting caught. But too much was at stake here. He had to be careful, for Harry's sake.
Once the Muggle had passed out of sight, Sirius struggled to his feet, battling the weakness hunger had left in his body, seized the newspaper by the teeth and raced off down the street and ducked into an obscure alleyway.
He once again laid out the paper and scanned the front page. It was a Muggle newspaper, and little of it made any sense to him- the death of some 'footballer', some music group called 'Take That', something about some bloke in the 'Ministry of Defence' … useless.
He tried to turn the page with his nose quite unsuccessfully, sighed, and transformed back into a human-who was going to see him here anyway - and lifted up the newspaper, soggy with his own drool. He flicked disinterestedly through the paper, before catching sight of a photograph of a gaunt man surrounded by a mane of matted hair, with horrid staring eyes. It took him a few moments to recognise himself.
His first emotion was shock. He, Sirius, in a Muggle newspaper? The picture wasn't moving, but it was definitely him. He glanced at the caption: 'Escaped convict Sirius Black continues to elude capture by leading authorities. Any sighting of Black should be reported immediately by calling the special hotline at the foot of this article. The public are warned not to approach Black as he is armed and extremely dangerous.'
Sirius threw his head back and laughed, startling a slinking alley cat as he did so. 'Armed and extremely dangerous?' Well, it depends on which way you look at it. He reached into the pocket of his shabby robes and withdrew the knife he kept there next to the Prophet clipping, having lifted it from a butchers shop a few days previously whilst looking for some food to filch. A knife was hardly dangerous to the members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but to a cowering little rat …
Sirius didn't want to use the Killing Curse, not the same thing that had torn away his best friends from him. No, he wanted to see the coward's blood himself, to make him suffer as he had for twelve years while little Peter grew even fatter on cheese and the adoring love of an oblivious family
The knife glinted in the light, casting a reflection on Sirius' face, and he found himself laughing again. He stopped abruptly. What the hell was wrong with him? Had Azkaban really unhinged him so much as to turn him into a maniac with a knife?
No, Peter had done that. And Peter would be the one to pay.
He was relatively surprised to find the Minister for Magic- whoever that was these days- had informed the Muggle Prime Minister- whoever that was these days- about him. They must really be afraid of him. His throat clenched, no one had ever thought him dangerous before. A prankster and trouble-maker, yes, but never a murderer. They all must think that of him, Harry, Remus, his cousin Andromeda, Dumbledore, old McGonagall who he'd even made to laugh a few times with his silly pranks … they all thought him cruel and heartless. Maybe he was.
It made his blood boil. He could handle what others thought of him, hell, he'd put up with people who hated him for coming from a family of Slytherin purists, and those who hated him for being a blood traitor, with his own family disowning him, and his adopted family being ripped from him. But what really mattered was that Peter was still out there; he was the dangerous one. And no one even knew.
Sirius threw the paper from him in disgust. What a farce.
The wind picked up at that moment, sending white flashes of scrap paper and other rubbish flying through the air, landing on the ground near him. One of the pieces of paper caught his eye.
He reached out and picked up a small rectangular piece of card. A train ticket. From King's Cross station.
An idea lit in his head. King's Cross. He wouldn't have to travel north himself. He could take the train! Was the station anywhere close by?
Almost immediately he cursed himself for being stupid. There was no way in hell he'd be able to sneak on to the Hogwarts Express without anyone seeing. Plus, there might even be extra security on the train; Aurors, or worse, Dementors.
Sirius shuddered. He had no intention of going anywhere near them again for a long time. Hearing Hagrid's words again … 'I'm sorry Sirius. Lily 'n James. They're gone. There's nothin' yeh can do.'
Sirius closed his eyes and waited while the pain of that memory subsided. He had to focus. He couldn't do anything about James and Lily now. What he could do was protect their son.
Sirius paced. Could he manage to get onto the train, sneak into one of the back compartments? Would anyone notice a giant dog? What was he thinking, of course they would! He wasn't like Peter; his Animagus form couldn't blend in as well on a train full of students headed towards a school where dogs were not permitted as pets. Still, he smiled fondly to himself, at least I'm not as conspicuous as Prongs would be.
After a few moments more of pacing in the dim alley, he had made up his mind. He had to at least try. Merlin knows how long it would take on foot, if he could at least get part of the way …
Sirius transformed back and padded off down the alley, filled with increased vigour. If he failed in boarding the train, then at least he could see Harry again. What had happened to him? He needed to know before he left.
Another week later and Sirius finally found himself in front of King's Cross station. London was big, much bigger than he remembered, or maybe that was just because he was much smaller now. He'd only been able to travel at night, travelling through busy pedestrian areas during the day was not a good idea. Someone had assumed he was a stray and set the RPSCA … no, the PSRCA … the RPC … something on him, which apparently included trying to shove him into the back of a van with a bunch of other mangy animals. What a shock they'd had when he'd jumped forward and stole the keys to the van from the man's belt before running off with them.
Sirius looked up at the façade above him, and let the memories come flooding back. How he'd loved this place; the portal to his world at Hogwarts, away from the dreariness of his childhood 'home'.
But he was too early, according to a discarded newspaper on a bench outside the station. The train wouldn't leave for another week. He couldn't very well hang around here; someone would notice and set some of those blokes with blue overalls after him again. For a moment he was stumped.
He had nowhere to go, no one to take him in.
An idea hit him then, a ridiculous notion that repulsed him. Grimmauld Place would be empty.
The idea of returning there was repellent, but it would be practical at least, well within walking distance of King's Cross. Both his parents were dead now, he'd heard. There'd be nobody except old Kreacher.
He turned tail and dragged his paws along as he set off on the all-too familiar route to the old house, debating the pros and cons of the situation. The house would still belong to him wouldn't it? And Kreacher would have to obey him, wouldn't he? Sirius was the last Black heir- it wouldn't have passed to anyone else, would it? Prisoners in Azkaban are stripped of all possessions upon entering, but his mother had died after his imprisonment. Since Regulus was dead, was he now the owner even if he'd been disinherited? It was worth finding out. Merlin forbid the place had gone to the Malfoys.
The sky began to grow lighter and Sirius increased his speed, picking his way through the familiar streets. Little had changed here. It was still the same old dump it had always been. It'd often amazed Sirius that his parents, so hateful of anything of the Muggle would consent to live right amongst them.
The houses he was passing grew ever more familiar, terraced buildings growing up higher and higher, as dull and depressing as ever. Windows so streaked with dirt it was a wonder anyone could see out of them; rusty old bikes dumped in the front gardens, rubbish bins lying on their sides in the gutters …yes, as charming as ever.
He turned the corner and found himself in Grimmauld Place itself. The place reeked of his childhood, all the horrid memories …
He padded down the pavement and stopped himself in front of number 12, faintly surprised at seeing it so dilapidated. It was obvious no one lived here now. It seemed the years since his mother's death had not been kind. Kreacher must be dead, there was no way he'd have let the house fall into ruin like this. That thought cheered him slightly.
He ran up the front steps, pausing before the door. He never thought he'd leave Azkaban, only to come here again. From one prison, to another.
He reached up with his front paws, and with some difficulty turned the handle, trusting the old magic of the house would still let blood descendants enter, even if they were in dog form.
The door swung open, and he fell forward onto his two front paws into the dull and now dusty hallway, illuminated only by the light that came from behind him. It was darker, mustier, and even more grim than he remembered. Still, it was a roof over his head.
He stepped a few more feet into the house, reached out with his back leg and slammed the door shut behind him.
All at once, a great awful noise erupted, a dreadful screeching sound that reverberated through his skull so that he placed both his paws over his ears.
He looked to where the sound was coming from, and saw across from him, the old portrait of his mother, dear old mumsie, screaming the place down. Old hag, can't she even leave me in peace in death?
'Villains! Traitors! Blood of my blood a common criminal! Get out! Get out! All of you!'
Sirius removed his paws from his ears. All of you?
He heard thundering footsteps coming from the basement kitchen, and his heart leapt to his throat. You idiot! You unthinking, reckless, idiot! Of course they'd guess you'd come back here!
Without time to turn around and try manoeuvring the locking mechanism on the door with his paws, he leapt into the shadows behind an old chest of drawers in the hallway, praying to go unnoticed.
He heard two steps of footsteps emerge in the hallway, pause and look around, muttering to each other, inaudible over his mother's screams. Then:
'Shut up!' one of them screamed, and a large BANG told Sirius he'd sent some sort of a spell at the portrait. If his heart hadn't been thumping in fear he'd have been quite happy at that.
His mother fell silent, breathing in deeply, moaning slightly with her breaths, but ceased her screaming.
'Merlin, what a relief,' the other one said. 'Don't think I can take much more of this Dave. She's a raving lunatic.'
'They all are Roger. All the old pure-blooded families are the same. So inbred they've something missing upstairs.'
Sirius ignored this jibe; after all, it wasn't exactly untrue.
Dave continued: 'What set her off though?'
Sirius crept further into the shadows, staying as silent as possible.
'What set her off? The bloody air set her off! She doesn't need a reason! She's barking I tell you!'
'I heard the door slam.'
'Probably that creepy elf.'
Sirius sighed. So Kreacher wasn't dead then.
'Roger, how do you ever expect to complete your Auror training if you dismiss everything? One tiny little detail could be the difference between life and death!'
'All right, all right Dave, keep your hair on! Homenum revelio.'
Sirius froze.
Nothing happened. He breathed a sigh of relief. He'd heard that charm did not work on unregistered Animagi, but he'd never cared to test it.
'See Dave, nothing there!'
'There might have been Roger; you should always check! I was apprenticed to Mad-Eye Moody when I was your age, and he always used to say 'Constant Vigilance'. He would never have made a silly mistake like that!'
'Yeah, and look at him now, completely barking. Sees enemies in his chamber pot … '
'He's still the best Auror there ever was.'
A surge of emotion surged through Sirius at this. Old Mad-Eye from the Order was still kicking about then? And by the sounds of it hadn't changed a bit. Sirius wanted to laugh. Of course, Mad-Eye wouldn't be so glad to see him now. It hurt Sirius more than he would have guessed to think Mad-Eye would hate him and think him a murderer. No, he'd find no refuge with his old friend now; he was the enemy. And being Mad-Eye's enemy was no laughing matter.
'Yeah yeah, I know how you hero worship the old git.' There was a short silence. 'This place gives me the creeps Dave. How long do you reckon we have to stay here for?'
'Until Black is caught I reckon.'
'He won't be caught by the likes of us. It'll be the Dementors that'll get him.'
Sirius shuddered.
'Most likely. I don't even see the reason for staying here. If Black is sane enough to escape from Azkaban he isn't stupid enough to return here.'
Sirius almost snorted. Evidently he was.
'Why'd he want to come back here though? This place is a complete dump. It's no wonder he turned out the way he did, growing up in a place like this, with a mother like that. I mean look at the place! Serpents in every part of the décor, elf heads stuck on the wall and- is that a troll's leg umbrella stand?'
'I don't even want to know.'
Sirius nodded in the shadows. That was his mother; warped and twisted.
Roger sighed. 'I heard he was alright at school though. A Gryffindor wasn't he?'
'Doesn't make a man good.'
'I suppose. The brother was a Slytherin though. You know he was a Death Eater?'
'Yes Roger. I did read the briefing notes.' Dave said exasperatedly.
'No need to be sarky! You know what I reckon? I think Sirius was so unhinged by his brother's death- I mean, no one knows exactly how he died- that he joined You-Know-Who for revenge. The family madness must have caught up with him in the end.'
'Your perceptions of human psychology astound me Roger. What did I ever do to piss Scrimgeour off so much I got landed with you, the most annoying intern in the Auror department?'
'Oh, flattering. But seriously, listen to my theory-'
The voices began to fade as the two Aurors moved towards the kitchen.
Sirius stayed silent and without moving a muscle until he distinctly heard the sound of the kitchen door slam shut. Now he was stuck. He knew he should leave, but if he tried playing around with the complicated locking mechanism he'd risk alerting the Aurors. And besides, he was beyond tired, if he left again he'd probably collapse before he'd gone half a mile. It couldn't hurt to stay here for the rest of the day would it? They'd have no reason to go into the upper rooms would they?
The tiniest of growls emerged from his throat when he thought of the two Aurors. Hearing himself talked about like that by strangers, so cold and heartless. They had no reason to doubt his guilt; they believed he was a criminal, that he was mad.
Was he mad? He wasn't sure anymore.
Here he was, on the run, plotting murder, doubting his sanity … a chip off the old block indeed.
Sirius shook with anger; he'd gone to all that trouble to distance himself from his family and here was he was, just like them. It was his friends that had made him different, given him hope and laughter, now he had none of that. That had been what separated him from his family; the fact that he had friends he would die for, who would die for him, pure-blood and Muggle-born alike. He had love, and friendship, and happiness, he wasn't like them. He was a Gryffindor.
Now that was gone. His best friends were gone from him. He was no different from them now.
He crept along the dusty corridor, wary not to awaken his mother's portrait, until he reached the staircase. He bounded up it on silent paws passing the grotesque shapes of the elf's heads until he reached the first floor landing. He moved along the corridor and dived into the drawing room.
He paused and looked around him, taking in the neglected room that had always been his mother's favourite. It was covered in a blanket of dust; evidently the Aurors did not come up here. Limp curtains in the dirt-streaked windows twitched, the glass fronts of the display cabinets on the other wall glinted dully revealing the distasteful treasures within and the desk in the corner rattled ominously. Sirius didn't even want to know what was in there.
He padded across the floor towards the cupboard at the other end of the room which Sirius remembered being rather large; he'd sleep in here, if the Aurors came snooping he didn't want to make it even easier to find him.
He avoided the tapestry on the wall; he didn't want to see evidence of his 'noble heritage', the centuries of betrayal, murder, inbreeding and disinheritance, he didn't want to see the inevitable burn mark his mother would have made of his own name.
He reached the cupboard, and nosed it open, resisting the urge to cough at the dusty air. It had been a cupboard for curtains and spare cushions, and Sirius slipped inside, and made himself as comfortable as he could on an old moth-eaten cushion with what unpleasantly looked like the Slytherin crest embroidered on it.
Sirius lay there in the semi-darkness, listening to the distant voices of the Aurors in the kitchen. He knew he was too close to danger, but what else could he do? He should wait until it grew dark again and then try and make his way out whilst the Aurors slept. It was all he could do.
He curled up even tighter, uncomfortable in the cramped cupboard. This place had always seemed much bigger when he was a child and would come hide in here to escape his mother and her pure-blood supremacy speeches.
He was back in this house, the house of misery, where he'd so often tried to escape from.
Who'd have thought he'd come to this house for refuge?
How had it come to this?
A/N: Please review folks! Am I getting Sirius' character right or not? :)
