Chapter 4: Day 4 - 14:56
Tick… tick… tick…
There was absolutely nothing interesting about the worn old clock ticking away at the far end of the kitchen. Nothing whatsoever.
Tick… tick… tick…
Nothing interesting in the slightest. In fact, Sirius was fairly sure it was broken. Surely time didn't move so slowly as he had observed.
Tick… tick… tick…
He'd been staring at the ruddy clock for over two hours. Since lunchtime, in fact, when he'd chased the twins from the square table in the centre of the kitchen with a complaint that they were being too noisy in their plotting and planning. Something about brewing an incredibly powerful hypnotising potion to incorporate into their newest batch of gummy lollies.
Sirius was fairly sure that their mother would have been spitting chips to have heard mention of their intentions.
Being an adult, he probably should have told her.
He should go and tell her now. He should.
Tick… tick… tick…
Three o'clock. The hollow chime of the pendulum sounded in three long, slow rings. Then it silenced to the sound of the ticking once more.
Tick… tick… tick…
Three-oh…. One.
Tick… tick… tick…
There was probably something Sirius could have been doing. Should have been doing. Something other than dobbing the twins out to Molly. Something other than staring blankly at the kitchen clock and listening to the intermittent grumblings of Kreacher as he drifted through the room every now and again. There was probably some Order business or other he could attend to, he was sure. There was always Order business, even so shortly after Christmas. As there should be, given the circumstances. Dumbledore seemed to have an endless supply of missions, of Death Eaters to scout out, of caches to uncover and gossip to sort through for the grains of truth buried amidst the hearsay.
But instead… tick… tick… tick… Sirius was watching the clock… tick… tick…. tick… and regretting every action that led to Draco Malfoy being the one to rescue him at the Ministry of Magic earlier that year.
Everything would have been better if he hadn't been rescued by the little snot.
Everything would have been fine. He hadn't needed the help.
Sirius could have taken on his cousin Bellatrix without the assistance of a pubescent schoolboy.
Everything would have been better had Draco Malfoy not been there. Sirius was certain of that. Then Harry wouldn't have felt the need to drop his rivalry with the Slytherin boy, wouldn't have discovered that, for some unknown and impossible reason, he sort of, maybe, just a little bit found him tolerable. That he… liked him.
Tick… tick… tick…
Sirius didn't even know why Harry liked him. Was it just that he and Draco were so different? That they, in some twisted way, complimented one another? Was it the forbidden fruit scenario? Sirius had chased after that fruit on more than one occasion in his time; he knew how tempting it was.
Was that it? Or was it something else? Was it…?
Sirius clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, the dank, gloomy kitchen disappearing briefly into blackness.
Tick… tick… tick…
Was it the sex? Was that it? Sirius didn't like to think of his godson sleeping with the Malfoy boy, but he had to be realistic. He'd lost his own virginity at fourteen, and he hadn't even had a steady girlfriend at the time. It had simply happened. He couldn't imagine that, being in a steady and – according to Remus, ridiculous as it was – loving relationship for half a year wouldn't have resulted in some sort of physical intimacy. Harry and Draco were, after all, teenage boys. He shouldn't expect any less, no matter how he might hope for it.
Sirius hoped it wasn't that. He hoped it wasn't just the sex. Even as he hoped almost as strongly that his godson's relationship wasn't actually founded on some deep-seeded connection. It couldn't be, surely, and not only because such a possibility was… was impossible. Sirius hoped more because he knew it would certainly be harder to break if such was true.
But then… Sirius hated even more the idea that Malfoy was simply using Harry for physical release.
Dammit, it was such a difficult situation!
Tick… tick… tick…
Sirius hated that clock. Hated it with a passion after staring at it for two hours and… seven minutes. He hated the hollow strike of the hands, the regular gong of the pendulum. He even hated the polished, carved wood of the structure, antique that it was with sunflower-like pedalling around the brass face. But he hated it even more for what it represented.
Harry had been gone for little more than a day. And Sirius knew, rationally, that it was because he was dwelling upon the time that it seemed to have been so much longer but….
Tick… tick… tick…
Why did time have to move so slowly?