Christmas was over, and Harry was leaving. Returning to school. Returning to the outside world. Returning to life outside of this mausoleum.
Sirius rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his matted hair. The void that his festive euphoria had temporarily banished was back with a vengeance. It covered his mind in a darkness that crawled along his skin, weighing down his limbs and preventing him from sleeping. It whispered in his ear and told him he was a burden to those around him, a murderer responsible for the death of both of his brothers, a terrible son, a worse godfather, undeserving of love or compassion.
He longed for the temporary oblivion found at the bottom of a fire whisky bottle. But he could not bring himself to drink in front of Harry. It was his duty as Godfather to set a good example. What would James and Lilly say if he acted like a broken drunk in front of their son?
No, he would find another way to handle this. He would smile and pretend to be ok, even with his demons whispering in his ears. Even if the future somehow seemed as bleak as it had during all those years in Azkaban. He would do it for Harry, for the only family he had left.
From his threadbare seat, he threw another dead rat in Buckbeak's direction, and the Hippogriff reared off his mother's bed, catching and swallowing the carcass in one deft motion.
This room had been both Walburga's sanctuary and her pride and joy. Each piece of furniture had been custom made by French artisans and a considerable amount of her dowry spent on the draperies and linens. Even the painting she'd commissioned, as a last act of vengeance against him, still ordered Kreacher to clean and air the room daily. An order that Sirius had taken great satisfaction in rescinding.
How his mother would cringe if she could see her bedroom now. Her fine bed linens greying and moth eaten, the hand-painted wallpaper peeling, rat bones littering the floor, Hippogriff feathers sullying her French damask coverlet and her vanity table covered in dust.
As a child he would often sit in this very seat and watch her at her toilette. He would find himself fascinated by the silver of her brush winking in the candlelight as it moved through her ebony tresses. He would sit in hope that she would ask for his help with a necklace clasp or ask him to fetch her something, and he would always oblige her, hoping for a small morsel of affection in return. Hoping to be treated as her son and not his father's heir.
The void yawned open, as he stood and crossed the room to the vanity, Buckbeak watching him with a gaze as haughty as the room's previous occupant. A gnawing built in his chest as he picked up a small crystal vial from the mahogany table and opened it.
The long lost, yet achingly familiar smell immediately wrapped itself around him, engulfing his entire being and pulling him down into the darkness of the void.
Iris, bergamot, and Jasmine, the three accords of his mother's perfume. The perfume she had worn every day of her life.
She had worn it the day; she tucked him into bed when his fever became so bad that his governess could no longer deal with him. Stroking his hair lovingly as the chills wracked his tiny body. Singing to him in French as she fed him spoonful's of potion.
She had worn it the day she proudly showed him off to her sewing circle. The day he had been her handsome, clever little boy. The day he had still been the golden child of the house of Black. The perfect little heir, who would soon grow out of his naughty streak.
She had worn it the day she first called him her biggest disappointment. Her beautiful face ugly with anger, as she wished he had never been born. As she screamed that he was a worthless blood traitor. The day he had fled to his room, with tears in his eyes and a new feeling of resentment towards his younger brother.
She had worn it the day he finally left. The day that she swore that he truly was no son of hers. That he was a stain on their family tree.
The day he had screamed that he hated her, that he wished she were dead. The last time he had seen his mother alive.