Disclaimer: Harry Potter still isn't mine, darn it!
Question to ponder (and answer appreciated if you have one). Why, oh why doesn't italics show up?
Nicky: I absolutely agree.
Lady of Arundel, Sparks, and Aly Teima: I very much enjoy your stories, so please know how greatly I appreciate the imput!
Venus4280, Nell, vmr, Phoenix, I'll be gred today, Michelle, Kat, Lynx, velondra, Kay, evilgirlcarley2002, and Belle: Thank you all so much for reviewing. I appreciate all the kind words.
Author's Note: I'm glad you liked the little twist I threw in there. Believe it or not, I do have a plot somewhere, it's just going to take a while to get to it. In the meantime, I appreciate all the kind reviews, as this is my first fanfiction ever. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 5
Revenge is an art form, just as pranks can be. The key to revenge is to make the cost of an action so high that no one is willing to risk receiving it again. The second trick, equally important, is to make the possibility of retribution ever present. If the intended recipient knows that while on holiday, they can commit the action without revenge, they will do so.
Escalation is an important factor in revenge. If the lesson isn't learned the first time, make it more painful the second. One might argue that this is more like discipline than revenge. Not so. Discipline entails that no satisfaction be gained at the expense of the lesson. Sirius smiled toothily. He would enjoy this greatly, and not just tonight…
Sirius had learned a hard truth about himself in Azkaban. He had a dark side. It was this side of him that made people believe in the possibility of Pettigrew's lie, even the people who knew and loved Sirius. He hadn't resented it. Actually, quite the opposite. He found it hard to believe himself capable of anything good. Even Remus hadn't understood that there would never be a temptation great enough for him to ever consider putting those he loved in harm's way. Ever. But harm someone dear to Sirius, and nothing would save them.
It was what made him Voldemort's eternal enemy. Sirius had understood Voldemort's evil as an Aurorer, but to experience it firsthand… People had been terrified of Sirius that fateful Halloween, and they had every right to be. It was the night he lost too many friends, saw too much tragedy. It was the night he found James and Lily's bodies, and heard Harry's cries. It was the night a man he considered one of his dearest friends betrayed them all. And it was the night he realized how wrong he'd been to doubt Remus. Why had he done it? Sirius still wondered. What had been Wormtail's price?
"The Dursley's," he whispered fiercely as he threw the floo powder into the fireplace, and stepped through, leaving the slumbering Weasley home behind. His eyes glittered dangerously in the firelight as he surveyed the pristine living room, and he knew his mouth was contorted into a snarl. The home looked so innocent, so… normal. All Sirius could hear was the soft ticking of a grandfather clock, likely in the den, and the faint bellows of Vernon Dursley's snores. Sirius didn't miss the irony of how completely abnormal the Dursley's own behavior was in regards to Harry. They were so fixated; they had no idea how far off their own rockers they were. Sirius wrapped Harry's cloak around himself and crept up the stairs to the bedrooms, adeptly avoiding the creaking boards with skills earned from years of practice.
His godson had lost everything that fateful Halloween. And Sirius understood the ramifications of Harry's injuries. They did not indicate a bad summer, despite what Harry said. They spoke of years of abuse. Sirius had spent a great deal of time replaying conversations with his godson as Harry had been fitfully sleeping on the Weasley's couch. There had been so many clues. Sirius was shocked no one had seen it before. Ron had spoken candidly with Sirius about some of the few things Harry ever spoke about. Ron and Hermione both had known that correspondence with Harry was sometimes impossible over the summer, and that even doing required homework was difficult. Each year Harry arrived from holiday pale and sickly. They both noted Harry's ravenous appetite after the Sorting Ceremony, and how little he actually ate before becoming full. Sirius had to suppress what he knew would come out as a growl in the back of his throat. His darker tendencies would get a chance to play tonight…
*************************
Vernon Dursley had been dreaming of lawn mowers. Giant lawn mowers had grown teeth and were trying to eat his slippers. He'd run inside his home to hide only to find Edgar, his pompous boss, snogging Petunia. Breathless, they both leaped apart and fidgeted in embarrassment, trying to straighten their clothes.
"How could you, Pet?!" he'd wailed in dismay, using the nickname he normally reserved for more 'intimate' moments. Not that they happened often anymore anyway.
"Don't be foolish, Vernon. Harry's gone off to jump into milkshakes, and Dudley's shooting a commercial for Puppy Chow. I was bored!" she replied snappishly.
Vernon had rushed Edgar, planning on landing a meaty punch on the man's jaw, when he lost his footing and fell. Looking down, Vernon thought he would land on a glass table that wasn't *really* in the house. He closed his eyes as he knew the sizeable collision of his body and the table would hurt, but he didn't feel himself impact the glass. Instead, he felt his back jerk and realized he had just awoken from a dream. He was lying on his stomach, his face buried in his pillow. In fact, it had almost seemed as if he'd landed onto the bed from the dream, for Vernon could have sworn he bounced as he woke up.
Vernon paused, considering how odd falling dreams were, when he realized how silent the house was. Why had he woken up? There was something missing… What was it? Vernon flipped over onto his back, staring at the ceiling in the darkened bedroom. Petunia's grandfather clock had stopped ticking. Vernon felt relief wash through him.
He hadn't realized it, but his heart had started to pound. 'That was it!' he thought with relief. 'She's forgotten to wind the clock!' Sighing, Vernon closed his eyes. The house was so much more peaceful now that *he* was gone. Vernon had been furious at the time, and even a little terrified that *someone* would find out what he'd done… what they'd all done. But no one came. No one ever did.
For all that the boy seemed to love *that* world, they certainly paid him no heed. Vernon smiled at the thought. After all, they sent him back each summer… because no one wanted him. For four years now, Vernon had prayed for the boy to never come back. Once he'd gotten over the initial shock and rage that *they* had forced themselves into his life, his family's life, and insisted that the boy leave for school, Vernon had come to a realization.
The boy might never come back. Vernon had no idea where he went, and he certainly never cared. As long as no police arrived at their door, it was much better for the boy to vanish without a trace than to be hidden away in a cupboard. In a cupboard, a neighbor or business client might hear the boy, or see him. But to vanish… there were a lot of possibilities in that.
Vernon had wished desperately for years now for the boy to leave for school in September and just not show up again. They'd show up at the station to pick him up, fulfilling that peculiar obligation Petunia felt towards her parents to house their grandson, and find no one there. They'd wait for an hour or so before shrugging and leaving. Vernon imagined himself putting an arm around his son's shoulders and offering to take them all to ice cream. It was a beautiful dream.
Personally, Vernon wished nothing but misery on the boy who'd wrecked his happy home. It seemed his wish had been granted this year. When they'd gone to pick him up at the train station, Vernon had seen something different in him then… A sadness, a loss. He knew that something awful had happened. Something had hurt the boy, and *those people* were still sending the boy home with him. He smiled cruelly at the thought. He could do whatever he wanted. Where was the boy's precious godfather now?
Listening to the eerie silence left by the still clock, Vernon knew what he did was wrong. He knew it with every fiber of his being. And he knew, just as equally, that he could never admit it, never acknowledge it, and *never* stop doing it. He hated that boy so badly. He felt his lips curl into a sneer at just the thought of that freak. His hand itched to hit him. If the boy hadn't disappeared, Vernon probably would have gotten up at that very moment, stormed into the room, and found a way to punish him. He hated him and what he'd done to Vernon's perfect family. For what he'd done to Petunia. She'd been so happy when he'd married her. After Dudley was born, she'd positively glowed. But the spark had gone out on that fateful morning when she'd found *him* on the doorstep. She'd known then, as had Vernon, that their cozy life had ended…
Abruptly, Vernon felt an immense pressure against his mouth. His eyes had adjusted to the night, and it was evident there was nothing in front of him. Trying to breathe, Vernon began to kick in bed frantically, desperate to wake up Petunia. He thought he might be having a heart attack because he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, as if he were pinned. His chest didn't hurt though. A sharp prick against his neck stilled Vernon in an instant. He could feel a trickle of blood slide down his neck, and warm breathe against his cheek. It felt like the blade of a knife. But no one was there!
"Vernon Dursley, did you not believe I existed?" a voice hissed in Vernon's ear. Nearly squealing in panic, Vernon tried to heave himself up. *He* was there, the godfather! It had to be! But Vernon couldn't *see* anyone. It was as if a ghost were attacking him. He didn't even know what to reach for. All he could see in the faint street lit glow of the bedroom was his ceiling, the mirror closet across the bed, and the image of he and his wife upon it. His eyes were wide and terrified; Petunia's face was buried underneath her blanket. He was struggled against nothing, and yet his screams were clearly muffled, and Vernon realized he could see faintly the blade of a knife floating at his neck. The knife began to press deeper and Vernon stilled for fear of pushing the edge too deep. He ceased his screams. It was amazing what Petunia could sleep through.
"I've killed, you know. Did you not believe my godson's threats?" the voice asked. It had a deep sound, gravelly… dangerous. Vernon, eyes huge, shook his head. He hadn't. He watched himself shake his head 'no' in the closet mirror. The knife shifted at his throat, as if the holder was adjusting to get a better grip.
Petunia began to snore a little, adding to the unreality as Vernon stared at his own terrified reflection. There was no one else there. Petunia shifted a little, snorting briefly before falling back into her familiar breathing pattern. She might end up snoring away next to a corpse. Or perhaps she would be next to him, eyes unseeing, side by side… Was the boy's godfather a ghost? *He* had never mentioned that. But Vernon had never heard of ghosts doing *this*.
"I've seen what you've done. You all did things, didn't you?" the voice demanded, and Vernon knew it was useless to lie. The truth was already known. He nodded slowly. The voice snarled next to Vernon's ear.
"He's a child. Defenseless. An innocent who has lost everything. And despite it all, despite *you*, he's kind and loving and strong. And you, Vernon Dursley, so innocent in sleep. So unprotected. You can't hide. There is no place on this earth you can hide. And if Harry dies… I promise you, all of you will be begging for his forgiveness before the end," the voice said, then abruptly the pressure was released from his mouth, and the knife against his neck removed.
Vernon leaped out of bed in an instant, turning on the bedroom light and looking around the room. Nothing. There was no one there besides his still oblivious wife. Desperately, he raced out the bedroom door and into Dudley's room. Dudley was sound asleep, sprawled over top of part of his teddy bear, sheets tangled around him, pillow flung off the bed. He snored too, though not as loudly as Petunia. He was fine. Vernon quickly left Dudley's bedroom and began to systematically check each room, one at a time, until he felt safer. He'd never seen his attacker, yet there was no question the boy's godfather had been there. Vernon's neck still stung at the nick.
Finally, Vernon felt reasonably sure nothing else was going to happen, at least that night, and returned to his bedroom. He shut the door behind him and after a few moments of debate finally gave in to the urge to check in the closet and under the bed, maneuvering awkwardly as his large frame couldn't bend too far forward. Seeing nothing, he returned to his side of the bed. Maybe it had all been a dream? No, the pain in his neck told him it was not. Pulling back the sheets to slide back into bed, Vernon froze as he stared at the knife that had been set on his pillow. He picked it up frantically and held it in front of him, turning around desperately as he began to sob, waving it and blindly slashing at the air in front of him. A bright spot of blood, his blood, marred his white pillow case. There was no where to hide…
**********************************
Sirius stood at the Dursley's fireplace, listening to Vernon's sobs, Harry's invisibility cloak draped over his arm. Loop holes. Sirius had realized a way to perform unusual magic in the Dursley home without setting off any wards. Objects that were innately magical, such as wizarding photos, the sneakoscope, and Harry's invisibility cloak still worked fine within the confines of 4 Privet Drive. Because these objects were always magical, and always active, they could be used indiscriminately. The wards adjusted to their presence.
Sirius knew how terrified Harry had been at the thought of being caught using any magic while with the Dursleys. There were few things more horrifying at the time than the idea of being expelled from Hogwarts, the only place Harry had ever been accepted. No one had ever told Harry he could have used the cloak at any time… And now, being expelled from Hogwarts was the least of his worries. Sirius felt the tears well up and shook his head in frustration. He felt queasy standing in *their* living room. They disgusted him.
He'd expected to feel so much better, but he hadn't. All he could think of was how he should really be with Harry. Harry needed him, and here Sirius was, leaving him alone yet again. He might have another nightmare, and Sirius certainly didn't want him to wake up alone. Those nightmares…
Sirius knew the look in Harry's eyes, even as he'd tried to smile and reassure his godfather. Sirius knew what it meant. He'd seen it many times, though never in anyone as young as Harry. Sirius knew he had that look. He convulsively shuddered as he remembered where he had seen even worse; the final stage… in the unseeing eyes of the dead as they'd been dragged through the halls of Azkaban, their mouths still open in now thankfully silent screams. Eyes that had seen too much loss, pain and suffering.
He thought of how badly hurt and skinny Harry was, and muttered the words to ignite the fire. He gathered the floo powder in his hand. Revenge was never as sweet as it should be, and he was spending precious time away from his beloved godson. It was time to go home to Harry.
Question to ponder (and answer appreciated if you have one). Why, oh why doesn't italics show up?
Nicky: I absolutely agree.
Lady of Arundel, Sparks, and Aly Teima: I very much enjoy your stories, so please know how greatly I appreciate the imput!
Venus4280, Nell, vmr, Phoenix, I'll be gred today, Michelle, Kat, Lynx, velondra, Kay, evilgirlcarley2002, and Belle: Thank you all so much for reviewing. I appreciate all the kind words.
Author's Note: I'm glad you liked the little twist I threw in there. Believe it or not, I do have a plot somewhere, it's just going to take a while to get to it. In the meantime, I appreciate all the kind reviews, as this is my first fanfiction ever. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 5
Revenge is an art form, just as pranks can be. The key to revenge is to make the cost of an action so high that no one is willing to risk receiving it again. The second trick, equally important, is to make the possibility of retribution ever present. If the intended recipient knows that while on holiday, they can commit the action without revenge, they will do so.
Escalation is an important factor in revenge. If the lesson isn't learned the first time, make it more painful the second. One might argue that this is more like discipline than revenge. Not so. Discipline entails that no satisfaction be gained at the expense of the lesson. Sirius smiled toothily. He would enjoy this greatly, and not just tonight…
Sirius had learned a hard truth about himself in Azkaban. He had a dark side. It was this side of him that made people believe in the possibility of Pettigrew's lie, even the people who knew and loved Sirius. He hadn't resented it. Actually, quite the opposite. He found it hard to believe himself capable of anything good. Even Remus hadn't understood that there would never be a temptation great enough for him to ever consider putting those he loved in harm's way. Ever. But harm someone dear to Sirius, and nothing would save them.
It was what made him Voldemort's eternal enemy. Sirius had understood Voldemort's evil as an Aurorer, but to experience it firsthand… People had been terrified of Sirius that fateful Halloween, and they had every right to be. It was the night he lost too many friends, saw too much tragedy. It was the night he found James and Lily's bodies, and heard Harry's cries. It was the night a man he considered one of his dearest friends betrayed them all. And it was the night he realized how wrong he'd been to doubt Remus. Why had he done it? Sirius still wondered. What had been Wormtail's price?
"The Dursley's," he whispered fiercely as he threw the floo powder into the fireplace, and stepped through, leaving the slumbering Weasley home behind. His eyes glittered dangerously in the firelight as he surveyed the pristine living room, and he knew his mouth was contorted into a snarl. The home looked so innocent, so… normal. All Sirius could hear was the soft ticking of a grandfather clock, likely in the den, and the faint bellows of Vernon Dursley's snores. Sirius didn't miss the irony of how completely abnormal the Dursley's own behavior was in regards to Harry. They were so fixated; they had no idea how far off their own rockers they were. Sirius wrapped Harry's cloak around himself and crept up the stairs to the bedrooms, adeptly avoiding the creaking boards with skills earned from years of practice.
His godson had lost everything that fateful Halloween. And Sirius understood the ramifications of Harry's injuries. They did not indicate a bad summer, despite what Harry said. They spoke of years of abuse. Sirius had spent a great deal of time replaying conversations with his godson as Harry had been fitfully sleeping on the Weasley's couch. There had been so many clues. Sirius was shocked no one had seen it before. Ron had spoken candidly with Sirius about some of the few things Harry ever spoke about. Ron and Hermione both had known that correspondence with Harry was sometimes impossible over the summer, and that even doing required homework was difficult. Each year Harry arrived from holiday pale and sickly. They both noted Harry's ravenous appetite after the Sorting Ceremony, and how little he actually ate before becoming full. Sirius had to suppress what he knew would come out as a growl in the back of his throat. His darker tendencies would get a chance to play tonight…
*************************
Vernon Dursley had been dreaming of lawn mowers. Giant lawn mowers had grown teeth and were trying to eat his slippers. He'd run inside his home to hide only to find Edgar, his pompous boss, snogging Petunia. Breathless, they both leaped apart and fidgeted in embarrassment, trying to straighten their clothes.
"How could you, Pet?!" he'd wailed in dismay, using the nickname he normally reserved for more 'intimate' moments. Not that they happened often anymore anyway.
"Don't be foolish, Vernon. Harry's gone off to jump into milkshakes, and Dudley's shooting a commercial for Puppy Chow. I was bored!" she replied snappishly.
Vernon had rushed Edgar, planning on landing a meaty punch on the man's jaw, when he lost his footing and fell. Looking down, Vernon thought he would land on a glass table that wasn't *really* in the house. He closed his eyes as he knew the sizeable collision of his body and the table would hurt, but he didn't feel himself impact the glass. Instead, he felt his back jerk and realized he had just awoken from a dream. He was lying on his stomach, his face buried in his pillow. In fact, it had almost seemed as if he'd landed onto the bed from the dream, for Vernon could have sworn he bounced as he woke up.
Vernon paused, considering how odd falling dreams were, when he realized how silent the house was. Why had he woken up? There was something missing… What was it? Vernon flipped over onto his back, staring at the ceiling in the darkened bedroom. Petunia's grandfather clock had stopped ticking. Vernon felt relief wash through him.
He hadn't realized it, but his heart had started to pound. 'That was it!' he thought with relief. 'She's forgotten to wind the clock!' Sighing, Vernon closed his eyes. The house was so much more peaceful now that *he* was gone. Vernon had been furious at the time, and even a little terrified that *someone* would find out what he'd done… what they'd all done. But no one came. No one ever did.
For all that the boy seemed to love *that* world, they certainly paid him no heed. Vernon smiled at the thought. After all, they sent him back each summer… because no one wanted him. For four years now, Vernon had prayed for the boy to never come back. Once he'd gotten over the initial shock and rage that *they* had forced themselves into his life, his family's life, and insisted that the boy leave for school, Vernon had come to a realization.
The boy might never come back. Vernon had no idea where he went, and he certainly never cared. As long as no police arrived at their door, it was much better for the boy to vanish without a trace than to be hidden away in a cupboard. In a cupboard, a neighbor or business client might hear the boy, or see him. But to vanish… there were a lot of possibilities in that.
Vernon had wished desperately for years now for the boy to leave for school in September and just not show up again. They'd show up at the station to pick him up, fulfilling that peculiar obligation Petunia felt towards her parents to house their grandson, and find no one there. They'd wait for an hour or so before shrugging and leaving. Vernon imagined himself putting an arm around his son's shoulders and offering to take them all to ice cream. It was a beautiful dream.
Personally, Vernon wished nothing but misery on the boy who'd wrecked his happy home. It seemed his wish had been granted this year. When they'd gone to pick him up at the train station, Vernon had seen something different in him then… A sadness, a loss. He knew that something awful had happened. Something had hurt the boy, and *those people* were still sending the boy home with him. He smiled cruelly at the thought. He could do whatever he wanted. Where was the boy's precious godfather now?
Listening to the eerie silence left by the still clock, Vernon knew what he did was wrong. He knew it with every fiber of his being. And he knew, just as equally, that he could never admit it, never acknowledge it, and *never* stop doing it. He hated that boy so badly. He felt his lips curl into a sneer at just the thought of that freak. His hand itched to hit him. If the boy hadn't disappeared, Vernon probably would have gotten up at that very moment, stormed into the room, and found a way to punish him. He hated him and what he'd done to Vernon's perfect family. For what he'd done to Petunia. She'd been so happy when he'd married her. After Dudley was born, she'd positively glowed. But the spark had gone out on that fateful morning when she'd found *him* on the doorstep. She'd known then, as had Vernon, that their cozy life had ended…
Abruptly, Vernon felt an immense pressure against his mouth. His eyes had adjusted to the night, and it was evident there was nothing in front of him. Trying to breathe, Vernon began to kick in bed frantically, desperate to wake up Petunia. He thought he might be having a heart attack because he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, as if he were pinned. His chest didn't hurt though. A sharp prick against his neck stilled Vernon in an instant. He could feel a trickle of blood slide down his neck, and warm breathe against his cheek. It felt like the blade of a knife. But no one was there!
"Vernon Dursley, did you not believe I existed?" a voice hissed in Vernon's ear. Nearly squealing in panic, Vernon tried to heave himself up. *He* was there, the godfather! It had to be! But Vernon couldn't *see* anyone. It was as if a ghost were attacking him. He didn't even know what to reach for. All he could see in the faint street lit glow of the bedroom was his ceiling, the mirror closet across the bed, and the image of he and his wife upon it. His eyes were wide and terrified; Petunia's face was buried underneath her blanket. He was struggled against nothing, and yet his screams were clearly muffled, and Vernon realized he could see faintly the blade of a knife floating at his neck. The knife began to press deeper and Vernon stilled for fear of pushing the edge too deep. He ceased his screams. It was amazing what Petunia could sleep through.
"I've killed, you know. Did you not believe my godson's threats?" the voice asked. It had a deep sound, gravelly… dangerous. Vernon, eyes huge, shook his head. He hadn't. He watched himself shake his head 'no' in the closet mirror. The knife shifted at his throat, as if the holder was adjusting to get a better grip.
Petunia began to snore a little, adding to the unreality as Vernon stared at his own terrified reflection. There was no one else there. Petunia shifted a little, snorting briefly before falling back into her familiar breathing pattern. She might end up snoring away next to a corpse. Or perhaps she would be next to him, eyes unseeing, side by side… Was the boy's godfather a ghost? *He* had never mentioned that. But Vernon had never heard of ghosts doing *this*.
"I've seen what you've done. You all did things, didn't you?" the voice demanded, and Vernon knew it was useless to lie. The truth was already known. He nodded slowly. The voice snarled next to Vernon's ear.
"He's a child. Defenseless. An innocent who has lost everything. And despite it all, despite *you*, he's kind and loving and strong. And you, Vernon Dursley, so innocent in sleep. So unprotected. You can't hide. There is no place on this earth you can hide. And if Harry dies… I promise you, all of you will be begging for his forgiveness before the end," the voice said, then abruptly the pressure was released from his mouth, and the knife against his neck removed.
Vernon leaped out of bed in an instant, turning on the bedroom light and looking around the room. Nothing. There was no one there besides his still oblivious wife. Desperately, he raced out the bedroom door and into Dudley's room. Dudley was sound asleep, sprawled over top of part of his teddy bear, sheets tangled around him, pillow flung off the bed. He snored too, though not as loudly as Petunia. He was fine. Vernon quickly left Dudley's bedroom and began to systematically check each room, one at a time, until he felt safer. He'd never seen his attacker, yet there was no question the boy's godfather had been there. Vernon's neck still stung at the nick.
Finally, Vernon felt reasonably sure nothing else was going to happen, at least that night, and returned to his bedroom. He shut the door behind him and after a few moments of debate finally gave in to the urge to check in the closet and under the bed, maneuvering awkwardly as his large frame couldn't bend too far forward. Seeing nothing, he returned to his side of the bed. Maybe it had all been a dream? No, the pain in his neck told him it was not. Pulling back the sheets to slide back into bed, Vernon froze as he stared at the knife that had been set on his pillow. He picked it up frantically and held it in front of him, turning around desperately as he began to sob, waving it and blindly slashing at the air in front of him. A bright spot of blood, his blood, marred his white pillow case. There was no where to hide…
**********************************
Sirius stood at the Dursley's fireplace, listening to Vernon's sobs, Harry's invisibility cloak draped over his arm. Loop holes. Sirius had realized a way to perform unusual magic in the Dursley home without setting off any wards. Objects that were innately magical, such as wizarding photos, the sneakoscope, and Harry's invisibility cloak still worked fine within the confines of 4 Privet Drive. Because these objects were always magical, and always active, they could be used indiscriminately. The wards adjusted to their presence.
Sirius knew how terrified Harry had been at the thought of being caught using any magic while with the Dursleys. There were few things more horrifying at the time than the idea of being expelled from Hogwarts, the only place Harry had ever been accepted. No one had ever told Harry he could have used the cloak at any time… And now, being expelled from Hogwarts was the least of his worries. Sirius felt the tears well up and shook his head in frustration. He felt queasy standing in *their* living room. They disgusted him.
He'd expected to feel so much better, but he hadn't. All he could think of was how he should really be with Harry. Harry needed him, and here Sirius was, leaving him alone yet again. He might have another nightmare, and Sirius certainly didn't want him to wake up alone. Those nightmares…
Sirius knew the look in Harry's eyes, even as he'd tried to smile and reassure his godfather. Sirius knew what it meant. He'd seen it many times, though never in anyone as young as Harry. Sirius knew he had that look. He convulsively shuddered as he remembered where he had seen even worse; the final stage… in the unseeing eyes of the dead as they'd been dragged through the halls of Azkaban, their mouths still open in now thankfully silent screams. Eyes that had seen too much loss, pain and suffering.
He thought of how badly hurt and skinny Harry was, and muttered the words to ignite the fire. He gathered the floo powder in his hand. Revenge was never as sweet as it should be, and he was spending precious time away from his beloved godson. It was time to go home to Harry.