I do not own anything related to Harry Potter.

Out of habit, Sirius found himself one day walking up the stairs to the Ministry of Magic, as if to visit Remus. He was awoken from his habitual trance when he ran sharply into Lucius Malfoy, who was exiting for lunch. The two regarded each other with disgusted glances and Sirius waited for him to descend. Then he too left. He had no reason to be at the Ministry building anymore, since Remus had left- and what was he doing looking for Remus, anyway?

He got back on his motorbike and took off in no direction in particular. That was how it always was now. He couldn't go visiting James and Lily just any old time he liked, and he really had no desire to see Remus anymore. So, to keep from wandering uselessly ALL the time, he took to checking up on Peter, who seemed irked at his visits. Sirius couldn't see why he was so annoyed; usually Peter was desperate for his friends' attentions. Yet now he seemed as if he much preferred solitude- or someone else's company. The thought made Sirius laugh; Peter was a hapless socialite. Perhaps, Sirius considered, he'd finally found some nice, not-to-picky Hufflepuff girl- or a female sewer rat.

Out of respect for Peter's possible amours, Sirius kept his visits down to once a week. That left him six days in which to do nothing but wander, occasionally buying food, clothes, or gas for his motorbike when he needed it. At least the bi-weekly Order of the Phoenix meetings were exciting- but Moody was still so suspicious of him that he hadn't been assigned one single task. It was terribly insulting, especially since Remus had been put on a special committee to investigate possible Ministry subversion. James and Lily were no longer required to show up. Peter worked on his committees, since he had been at it longer. Usually Sirius just ended up snacking on the punch and cookies Dorcas Meadowes brought along, chatting with Alice Longbottom about how baby Neville was carrying on and trying to imagine his godson doing the same things.

"It seems ages since I've gotten a good rest; Neville cries all night," Alice remarked. "At least he's somewhat consistent- from one to about four is his usual waking . . . " Sirius nodded and looked longingly into the crowds of the others, busy at their work.

Moody approached Sirius from behind and spoke, taking him off guard. "Have either of you seen McKinnon? I think she didn't bother to show!" He noted that Sirius jumped at his voice and grinned, "Keep your guard up, Black! Constance vigilance! You'll never make it in the Order if you may more attention to your cookies than what's behind you!"

"I'll Floo Marlene," offered Caradoc Dearborn, stepping over to the fireplace. Everyone gathered around as Caradoc tossed a handful of the powder in. He kneeled on the floor and stuck his head in, ready to contact Marlene.

He was silent for a long time and then pulled himself back out of the fire. He paused, then spoke, his voice shaky. "There's something very wrong there. Very, very wrong. I . . . I'm going to ask some of you to back me up, just in case."

Sirius felt Moody jog him forward. "Your big chance, Black. You strike me as more the action type than the meticulous committee type. Wands out. Go on."

Filled with a mingled sense of dread and adrenaline, Sirius pulled out his wand and stepped along with Frank Longbottom, Alastor Moody, and Caradoc Dearborn towards the fireplace. One at a time but at a brisk pace, the four of them Flooed completely to the McKinnon's house.

Caradoc had been right; something did feel very wrong. The house was dead silent, filled with darkness and a sort of familiarity Sirius associated with something very long ago that he had tried to forget. The air smelled pungently sweet. Wands at the ready, the little brigade stepped into the house and began to seek out the McKinnons- or whatever else might be lingering. Caradoc led, but the two Aurors flanked him closely at his sides.

"Remember," Moody whispered, "We've got orders from Crouch to kill. Don't be afraid to use them."

The squadron turned into a hallway and Sirius's stomach lurched. Two children lay sprawled on the floor, their arms outstretched towards an open bedroom door as if they had been running desperately towards it, as if trying to escape a pursuer- who had obviously won. One was a boy, probably only a year short of Hogwarts- he did not hold a wand; he had been killed unarmed- and the other, laid to rest nearly a yard behind him, was a tiny little girl, probably too small to even be able to run properly from what frighted her.

"They got her kids," whispered Frank, "the monsters . . ."

Moody pressed forward into the bedroom. "That's not all they got," he said grimly.

Sirius and the others stepped in. Mr. McKinnon, Marlene's husband, who was known for his neutral and pacifistic take on the situation, lay dead, face up on the floor. Marlene herself was crumpled against the bed, her husband at her feet, her body covered in hexed welts and boils that suggested that her death had not been as easy as her family's.

"She died an Order member's death," said Caradoc wisely. "I think that's how we'd all like to go."

'With your spouse and kids?" Frank furrowed his eyebrows. "Caradoc, don't you remember her telling us she wanted to ensure her family's safety when she joined up? She wanted to be a hero, but not at the risk of her family!"

"Who cannot say this doesn't inspire, horrible as it is? The children, gone, too . . . When this gets out . . . " Caradoc was near tears. He was obviously hoping to find some good in their deaths.

"Shut up about emotional inspiration and just say it straight out, Dearborn. We're going to get revenge for this." Moody's tone was sharp.

Frank fumbled with the bedsheet and Sirius helped him lift it and lay it over the bodies of the McKinnons. Caradoc absent-mindedly wiped his eyes and moved towards the wardrobe. He stepped on something, which snapped under his foot. After setting down the sheet, Sirius watched as he stooped to pick it up. It was a wand, now in two pieces with the dragon heartstring poking out. Sirius assumed it was one of the fallen victims', but then there came a sudden thump against the wardrobe. It wasn't a boggart.

Moody's wand flipped to the ready. "Open it, Dearborn."

He did. A dark-haired man, obviously weakened, leaning against the wardrobe door, fell forward, eyes wide. Sirius recognized him as a much shakier version of a Slytherin he had gone to Hogwarts with.

"Wilkes!" Moody cried.

Wilkes knew what was coming and flung up his hands. "I'm unarm-"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Mouth still open, eyes still wide, Wilkes fell face-first to the ground, bouncing back slightly against the soft carpet.

"At least Marlene was quick enough to catch one of them off their guard," said Moody casually, not even looking down at the recently-departed Wilkes.

Caradoc was stunned. "Why, Alastor? He was unarmed. His wand was broken, for Merlin's sake. We could have just taken him in."

"You can't trust them," spat Moody. "You saw what that Rosier tried to pull. Or perhaps you didn't. Frank and I were there. You can't trust a Death Eater, Caradoc. They don't play nice."

"What would he have done?" retorted Caradoc.

"Stolen your own wand, taken Marlene's off her dead body, summoned the Dark Lord by who knows what," Sirius burst out.

He hadn't mean to upset Caradoc, but he had- though it was probably the truth. "This useless killing!" he cried. "The McKinnons despised it! Couldn't we have spared him on their behalf?"

"If they'd have known what that scum was going to do to them, I'm sure they would have been whistling a different tune!" Moody growled. "WHY are you defending that dirtbag?"

"Let's go," Frank suddenly said. While Sirius had been watching Wilke's death, he had brought in the McKinnon children and laid them beside their mother under the sheet. He looked tenderly down at them for a moment and then spoke sharply again. "I already Flooed St. Mungo's; they'll have the mortuary department come down and take care of it." His voice softened, "There's no need to guard here anymore. There's nothing left for the Death Eaters to do, and I'm sure they suspect we'll show up here. We might as well all go on home. I want . . . I want to see Neville."

Sirius patted Frank's shoulder. This was certainly a wake-up call. Sirius was very glad he knew Harry was in safe hands.

Sirius did not stay to listen to Moody explain his calm take on the situation. Driving home on his motorbike through the night air, he wasn't thinking again and found himself somewhere he had gone for ages out of habit- but hadn't meant to go to at all.

As he whizzed by it, it popped out of nowhere, simply because Sirius, out of habit, thought in his mind, "I live at 12 Grimmauld Place." It came out of his subconscious, ingrained as a sort of Pavlovian response from years of coming home to it.

Tonight, Sirius slammed on his brakes and stopped in front of the massive house that had just materialized in front of him. He didn't want to be sitting out in front of it in the night air, yet here he was. There was the same door, the same knocker, the same walkway and gate. It was horribly strikingly reminiscent of the night he had run away from home; he had turned back in the night for one last glimpse of the door to the terrible house, knowing that inside his parents would wake up soon but not soon enough to catch him. That hours later they would disown him as he had already disowned them, blasting his name symbolically from the family tree. He wouldn't find out until school began that fall, when Regulus told him in gory detail. Sirius had laughed in his face and told him he'd had a grand summer, the best of his life, and he was sure Regulus would make a better heir than him anyhow. That was the last time he had really spoken to Regulus until a few weeks before he had found out he had died.

Coming upon his old house so soon after the McKinnons' murder forced him to recognize what he had felt so familiar in the presence of the Death Eaters. It was the trace of a spell- traces of dark spells, the lingering aura of destruction and hate. The aura of Unforgivable Curses, or even decent spells used in the wrong way. Of Stinging Hexes turned into childhood disciplinary measures, the threat of noxious potions in the case of disobedience, the constant inculcation of pureblood superiority. The elitist mind set, the Dark Arts tradition, the idea that evil was a part of not only culture but society itself. That family face was more important than family love.

The stench went away, drained from his memory as he left for Hogwarts. In Gryffindor, there had been no dank dungeons or remnants of the old families. He had escaped it, and it faded from him. He was no longer dark. His home wasn't home anymore. His parents forced the darkness back on him, but he had seen the light and couldn't go back. The stench of old spells and old ways was that of decay and rot, of old unhealthy blood. He was clean from it. It had never faded from those of his family who had remained in Slytherin. The dank dungeons sunk the rot in deeper. Sirius saw it with painful consciousness as Narcissa, younger than he at Sorting and once forgiving of his Gryffindor membership, grew to hate him for it. As Bellatrix fell from beauty to the hollow sharpness of fanaticism. As Regulus stopped defending him and grew to encourage his parents' wrath as he was proclaimed the ideal son. As Sirius faded slowly from the Black family, dragging the Ravenclaws Alphard and Andromeda out of the dank soon after- for only they, in their non-Slytherin house, had escaped the all-consuming power with him. The others hadn't been able to escape, and Sirius almost pitied them. Wilkes, Rosier, Malfoy- even his own brother- they simply hadn't been able to escape what surrounded them. They couldn't clean it away as they remained wallowing in it. Their only fault was that they had never bothered to realize that they were basking in the filth that would someday kill them.

The house was empty. Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa were all married and long gone, two to dark manors in the same likeness, one to pure light as Sirius had. Now even Regulus was gone. There was no young generation of Blacks, merely an old couple, decaying, waiting to rot away like the rest of the house. There was no future, only decomposing past.

And there stood Sirius, with no future as far as he could tell. It was a tragic puzzle, how well he fit. Yet, as uncertain as his future was, he knew one thing only: He was not meant to return to that house. It would rot away, even if he had to rot himself far from it, before he was forced to face what the darkness inside had wanted him to become. His parents had had a future for him, an arranged marriage, a fortune, a mind set, a name. He couldn't take any without taking all, and he wanted none of it besides.

With a sigh, Sirius revved his motorbike up again. He rose into the air, the chilly September night wind blowing his hair harshly from his face, and the house slipped back between the homogenous apartments of the streets as he soared away.

Thanks to all that reviewed! (And how's that for feeling a bit sorrier for Regulus? Lol . . . )

TBC . . .