Isn't it amazing what some deities do to get a laugh out of your life? I mean, here I am, standing next to a wizened old man, who is peering charmingly at someone who looks like he could be Angel's twin. He even has the whole broody look. I even concentrate strongly to suss out if he's a vamp. When no tingly feeling arises (I think I've already adjusted to the wiggy vibes from this house), I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Those stubborn Powers-That-Be would send me to someone who looks like my former lover.
I must be staring, because no one utters a word. The silence suddenly sinks in but I can't take my eyes off him. Like L.A.'s cursed vampire, this guy seems to have waves of suffering rolling off him, and in those similar chocolate eyes, I can see immense pain; this guy has seen as much as I have.
"Miss Summers, this is Remus Lupin, who I believe you have already met," Dumbledore says, inclining his head slightly towards the werewolf, "and this is Sirius Black."
A year of being Sunnydale High's student counsellor has actually left me with some skills, despite what the Scoobies thought. I must be tilting my head back slightly, as I do when I concentrate my gaze on someone (Dawnie calls it intimidation), because Sirius seems to shift slightly.
He, obviously, is much taller than I am, and has a ruffled head of mid-length black hair. His face is shadowed, which is an immediate telltale sign that his life ain't sunshine-and-roses. His shoulders are slightly hunched, and he wears clothes fitting to his name: black shirt, pants and shoes. Sirius reminds me so much of Angel when he first met me in that alleyway.
Who are you?
Let's just say...I'm a friend.
Yeah, well, maybe I don't want a friend.
I didn't say I was yours.
I blink when I see Sirius' hand extended out in front of me. His face starts to take on a slightly hurt look when I glance confusingly up at him. Realising that spacing out tends to distort time a bit, I hastily grab his hand, and catch a glimmer of the shocked look that flits across his shadowed face when I squeeze his hand rather tightly without thinking.
"Sirius, if you would escort Miss Summers to her room," Dumbledore suggests before turning to me. Sirius nods, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him furtively massage his hand.
The old wizard says, "Miss Summers, make yourself comfortable. I need not warn you about wandering too far around the Black residence, especially when you are on unfamiliar territory. But if Sirius wouldn't mind giving you a tour, I'm sure that you will find something to pass the time."
Sirius nods. I can feel the wave of tiredness that I've been resisting start to ebb at the edge of my mind and I sigh. This attracts the attention of all three men, and I give a weary grin. Dumbledore chuckles quietly before he and Remus turn to speak with other wizards crowded near a fireplace.
When I turn back around, I notice that Sirius has already left and is walking towards the trailing staircase that I saw when I first came in. I'm assuming that his coldness is a result of nerves, so I follow behind at a slower pace, taking in the surroundings that I failed to at the start.
To put it mildly, the house is dark. It looks dark, it feels dark, and it even smells dark. Shady drapes cover the walls, and gruesome pictures, statues and portraits hang along the corridors. Despite the quiet murmurs that fill the house, my footsteps still echo loudly from the tapping of my boots against tile. I can feel my Slayer sense tingle, and know that this house has some bad mojo in it.
To my shock, and some horror, the portraits move. I crash to a halt when I notice one of the pompous but gloomy looking ladies in a painting pace around her frame.
"Uh...Sirius?" I call softly. I see him pause in his strides and turn around at my voice.
"Is it...normal for the paintings to move?"
Suddenly he's right next to me, and I mentally bash myself for not noticing how stealthily he moves. God, he's even more like Angel than I thought. This is further confirmed when I hear the velvety tone of his voice.
"Yes, the portraits are done with wizarding paint, which enchants them to move and speak," he explains in an undertone, "they're almost replicas of the real people, but they can never replace their subject's emotions."
I nod, and notice the lady in the portrait eyeing us rather evilly. Turning away, this time, Sirius slows down and walks unhurriedly with me up the staircase. I trail my hands along the marble banister, and try in vain to hide a small grimace.
Ever since mum died, I became quite the cleanliness freak. Willow told me, in one of our deep-and-meaningfuls after we destroyed the First, that she used to wonder how I could manage dealing with Dawn, mum's death, Glory, my job, the house and the plans for the funeral without breaking down.
Technically, I did. Break down, that is. To the point where death seemed the greatest option. Everyone expects a mental breakdown to be horribly public, with loud bawling and thrashing about while the medics rush in and drive off to an asylum. Mine was like that. Except inside. And until now, there's a gruesome sort of pride inside me that revels at the fact that I could keep something so emotionally wrecking from so many people.
Sirius must have caught my frown, because his voice turns slightly bitter when he says, "It's been a while since I've cleaned anything. The house is so big, and there've been...issues lately."
I want to say that I'm not criticizing anything, when a small detail catches my mind, "Is this your house?"
The connection hadn't clicked until now. Sirius Black. Black residence.
He replies yes, a slightly resentful smile twisting his mouth, marring his face. The urge to walk over and smooth the sour lines away (as I often did to Angel and Xander) rises forcefully through me, but I quell the impulse.
Sirius doesn't expand any further, but continues up the staircase. I draw my dusty hand away from the banister, dusting it on my pants as I continue up.
There's something behind this shadowy man. His demeanor intrigues me, though he has so many similarities to Angel, I wonder why there's still a part of my mind that is suspicious. Maybe it's the house that's having such a depressing effect on him, he looks like he hasn't seen sunshine in years. That's probably why he reminds me so much of Angel. Angel can't see the sunlight. Ever.
Sirius pauses shortly and twists his head around to check on me. I catch the deep pools of brown that are his eyes, filled with a torment that I've grown so accustomed to from living on the Hellmouth. I would never wish any human the punishment of living in demon-Sunnydale. The staircase continues to wind higher, and an overwhelming sense of pity fills me. When he turns back around, I make a decision to find out exactly what haunts Sirius Black.
I smile deviously. He'll be my little pet project.