Phineas Nigellus existed now only as a painting. He backed out of the one in Dumbledore's office. He ran into the Space Between Paintings forcing himself to move faster, his painted organs sliding into each other. He made it to Grimmauld Place in a blurred smudge, waited for the remainder of him to gather itself which only took fractions of a second.
"Sirius!", he called. "Sirius?"
He looked out through his painting, peering as far as he could with the frame blocking his view.
"Sirius, I demand you come to my painting at once! Sirius Black!"
The other paintings stirred, irritated. Phineas balled up his fists, furious now and having not been answered. He marched through the other paintings, pushing his own relatives out of the way, climbing over desks determinedly, if not entirely elegantly, waking everyone up in the process. He made it across the length of the wall, calling Sirius' name feeling weaker with every instance. His voice betrayed none of what he felt. His voice became more resolute even as he knew. He called Sirius' name to make sure his ink and medium lungs still worked.
