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For: Home
Series: Harry Potter
Short.
Hugely based on Book
Five.
With lines taken from
Ramon C. Sunico’s “Death Poem 4”.
Last revised:
2004.09.05.
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Do not rise.
Outside
is the world of blood.
Outside tears fall as often as rain.
* * * * *
The front hall was dark and musty and no less cheerful
than the storm that raged outside.
Harry shivered as he kicked the door shut; he was soaked to the bone,
and his shoes sloshed as he moved.
There was only one candle lit on the wall, and it was dangerously
burning down to its wick. Not far off,
through slightly drawn dusty drapes, the portrait of an old woman screamed and
wailed and cursed loud enough to bring the whole house crashing down on her
head.
And in the midst of all this dusk and misery, Sirius
stood smiling.
“Glad to see you, Harry,” he grinned, playfully mussing
his godson’s wet dark hair, “I suppose you had no trouble on your way up
here? No? Not even—oh, of course, the Bus people didn’t give you an
umbrella when you got off. That should
explain why you turned up here looking like you just got out of the shower.”
“I-I…” Harry tried to speak, but his teeth were
chattering. “I h-have a question.”
“Later. Locomotor
box.” Still looking cheerful, his
godfather had started floating things out of the hall and up the stairway ---
two huge boxes of books, a trunk crammed full with clothes and books, a
ruffled, indignant-looking Hedwig screeching in her cage, the scarf that had
tangled itself around his legs as he was coming up the walk, and lots of other
stuff Harry didn’t know he had been carrying.
“Goodness, did you bring the whole house with you? How could those blasted Muggle relatives of
yours make you take the Bus with all this stuff?”
“I didn’t…I m-mean, they…” Achoo.
“Blech,” Sirius made a face, “that was a bad one. Hurry out of that coat and let’s get you
into something warm.”
“Si…Sirius…”
“I’m pretty sure I have a few of my old coats lying
around here somewhere…”
“Si— Achoo.
Ah, sorry, I—”
“Though I was into leather when I was about your
age. Do you fancy leather?”
“No, I don’t.
Sirius…”
“I’ll just find something fuzzy and hideously green,
then. To match your eyes.” Sirius cackled at his own joke, then raised
his wand. “I said take off that bloody
coat, Harry— Accio towel.”
Just when Harry
thought his teeth had stopped chattering enough for him to speak properly, he
suddenly found his face wrapped in something pink and fluffy and reeking of
mothballs. From behind the towel ---
everything sounded quite muffled --- he heard another string of curses from the portrait, then the manic
rattling of curtains, then an exasperated snap (“Oh do shut up, you old
hag!”). Then came a huge thud. Then all was still.
“That’s that,
then.” Sirius sounded triumphant. He was clapping his hands, probably to free
them from dust. Harry struggled with
the fabric, trying to figure out where the ends were --- were all towels ever
this big?
“All right,
let’s see now…I’ll go make us some tea, then?
Make yourself cozy… If you want
to change, your things are upstairs.
You’ll know where to find them, right?”
“I—wait, ” Harry
panicked, still wrestling with the towel, “where did you say they were?”
“In your room,
silly,” Sirius cut him off, sounding amused.
“Where else could they be?”
“My—? But I—“
When Harry had finally shrugged the towel off him, his godfather had
disappeared. The small candle on the
wall hastily followed suit; flickering a few moments before heaving its last
breath and snuffing itself out, sending faint trails of silver into the air.
“But,” Harry said to no one in
particular, “I don’t know where my room is.”
* * *
Do not dream.
Do not rise.
Outside everything
is as before.
* * *
“You may go, Kreacher,” Sirius coldly said, and rather
unnecessarily, for the old gnarly house elf he addressed had already hobbled
halfway out of the dining hall with the tea tray, busy muttering to himself
about his ‘useless young Master’ and the ‘troublesome half-bloods that track
mud into the noble House of Black’.
Among other things. “And bloody
hell, do stop grumbling about the carpets; I do more work around here
than you do!”
The
house elf turned to bow, more out of mockery than respect, then ambled off,
continuing to mumble insults under his breath.
An uncomfortable silence ensued.
“Er,” Sirius grinned sheepishly, running a hand through
his long dark hair, “as you can see, Kreacher’s still as adorable as ever.”
Harry snorted.
“And we’re still crazy about each other,” Sirius cracked,
relieved by his godson’s reaction. “I’m
so fond of him I’m surprised I haven’t stuffed him into a saucepan and served
him for dinner yet.” Then he leaned
forward, eagerly. “So, did you like the
tea? Is the robe warm?”
“Great, thanks.”
Harry embarrassedly fingered the sleeve of his bathrobe. It was a perfect fit and hideously green,
just like Sirius had said. It also
smelled like it hadn’t been used for centuries.
“Does match your eyes, you know.” There was a note of amusement in his
voice.
“I wish you’d stop saying that.” Harry sighed. “You sound like Mrs. Weasley.”
But his godfather, seemingly unaware of his growing
discomfort, continued to stare at him over the tips of his fingers. “You look just like James,” he softly said,
“but you have Lily’s eyes.”
Harry stared back and found the his own thin,
bespectacled face reflected in Sirius’ dark eyes.
The reflection was his, but it could very easily be his
father’s.
Now he wasn’t sure whom he was seeing.
[ snip ]
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