Chapter 280: Reunion in the Study
Chapter 280: Reunion in the Study
The next day, Sirius Black woke up with a throbbing headache, as if Kreacher had been hammering on his skull all night.
"Although I know it's a consequence of overusing Apparition, I can't help but suspect it has something to do with Kreacher's incessant nagging!"
Sirius made his way to the dilapidated bathroom and washed up in front of a mirror with suspicious dark red marks. He tidied his hair and shaved off the dirty stubble. As he showered, the bathroom mirror remarked, "You look like a walking skeleton."
Angrily, he pulled the curtain closed, and the unpleasant memories of his early years in this house came flooding back.
Half an hour later, he rummaged through the old wardrobe, finding some musty clothes to replace the dirty, tattered rags he had been wearing. He looked more presentable now.
Carefully, he pulled out a crumpled, water-damaged piece of paper from his pocket. It was a moving photograph of the Weasleys winning a prize, with Ron standing on a fat rat.
He stared at the photo expressionlessly for a moment before turning and leaving.
"Kreacher, prepare some breakfast for me", Sirius called out. After a moment's thought, he added, "No spitting, no making it deliberately bad, and no—"
He rattled off a list of conditions.
Kreacher bowed deeply, muttering curses as he left.
Sirius took a quick look outside the door, but saw no suspicious figures, only a Muggle lady buying groceries early in the morning.
"Maybe he's gone", Sirius thought. He closed the door, the silver snake-shaped doorknob clanging against the faded black door. His heart skipped a beat, but nothing happened.
"Something feels off..." he mused.
But he couldn't pinpoint what was wrong. He sniffed the air, which still smelled damp and musty, and the hallway and corridor remained as gloomy as ever. His gaze wandered over the peeling wallpaper, the dusty, threadbare carpet, and the faintly glowing magical chandelier above.
Everything seemed normal.
Even the portraits hanging crookedly on the walls were unusually quiet, unusually quiet...?
Sirius scrutinized the figures in the portraits, who appeared to be sleeping. He moved closer to one, likely a Black Family ancestor with a glorious history, and tapped the frame.
The nobleman with long, flowing hair, reaching down to his waist, was lightly snoring in his chair.
Suddenly, Sirius felt a cold, icy sensation in his stomach, which began to twitch, and his forehead started to ache. He suddenly became restless, taking large strides to a curtain and yanking it open.
Behind the curtain was a massive portrait of an old woman. Her face was gaunt, with high cheekbones, and she bore a resemblance to Sirius, though he didn't want to admit it. This was his mother.
The old woman, who had been lively and argumentative yesterday, was now sleeping soundly, not jumping up to berate him as a "dirty and sinful offspring." Her saliva had soaked half of her dress.
Sirius returned to his room, wand in hand, feeling somewhat calmer. "Maybe I'm just scaring myself", he thought. He began searching each room from the ground floor, calling Kreacher back to prevent any surprises.
"If that man from yesterday appears, don't ask questions; just take me away from here", Sirius warned the House-elf.
Kreacher looked reluctant and muttered, loud enough for Sirius to hear, "After running away for over a decade, the wastrel son is now giving orders to old Kreacher, who heard he even killed someone..."
"Shut up!" Sirius growled.
"Creak—"
Sirius held his wand, its tip glowing faintly, ready to cast a spell. He turned the snake-shaped doorknob, opened the door, and waited for two seconds before cautiously peering inside. The room was empty.
Kreacher hunched over, dragging his feet, and looked around Sirius's legs. "Nothing here, the wastrel son, who was locked up for over a decade, has lost his mind. Oh, poor mistress, if she knew, she would be heartbroken. Poor old Kreacher..."
Sirius Black grumbled, “She’s fine. We had a row yesterday, and she slept like a log last night, drooling all over the place.”
They continued their ascent, the old wooden floorboards creaking under their feet. Years of neglect and termite damage made each step precarious, and Sirius’s heart raced.
“It feels like we’re back in the war,” he muttered, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and unease.
His movements became more deliberate and efficient. Each time he opened a door, he checked the handle for any signs of recent use. After inspecting the dining room, the storeroom, and the second-floor bedrooms, he found nothing amiss, and his tense mood began to ease.
Even when he encountered an old ghoul in the second-floor bathroom, he managed a joke, “Your ugly face isn’t the worst I’ve seen. Azkaban is the real gathering place for monsters, though I suppose I count as one myself…”
At the door of the study on the third floor, Sirius’s actions remained cautious, but his mind was less on high alert. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The study was empty, the light brighter than in the rest of the house. He saw the old, termite-ridden bookshelves against the walls, adorned with silver and green decorations that were now rusted.
Behind the heavy desk stood a high-backed armchair, where he remembered his father used to sit, always scolding him whenever he came near.
“Swoosh!”
“What the—”
The candle holder by the door suddenly came to life, twisting and wrapping itself around Sirius. His wand hand was forced to the side, and despite his struggles, the candle holder, acting like a living thing, pried his fingers apart, causing his wand to fall to the floor, spinning a few times before coming to a stop.
Sirius’s chest heaved as he gasped for breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kreacher also bound and helpless. The sound of pages turning came from behind the high-backed chair.
He growled out a name in sheer fury, “Felix Hep.”
The chair turned, revealing Felix, who held a large, black-leather-bound book. He carefully turned a brittle page, not even looking up as he said, “Hold on—this is the crucial part.”
“Kreacher…” Sirius whispered, almost inaudibly.
Kreacher seemed to realize the situation, his form flickering as he tried to use a teleportation spell, but he was immediately restrained again.
Sirius tried to speak, but the sharp end of the silver candle holder pressed against his mouth, silently threatening him. He could only glare at Felix, as if trying to kill him with his eyes.
The study remained silent for ten minutes, the only sound being Sirius’s heavy breathing. Just as he felt his wrists losing sensation, Felix closed the book, Revealing the Secrets of Advanced Dark Magic. He sighed, “Truly evil… I don’t even feel like having breakfast now.”
Sirius couldn’t resist taunting, “That doesn’t sound like your teacher, Snape was obsessed with this kind of stuff when he was young.”
“Everyone has their vices,” Felix replied, sidestepping the issue.
Sirius fell silent for a moment, then lifted his head to stare at Felix. “How did you get in here?”
Felix smiled, “I had a little help from the Black Family.”
“Impossible!” Sirius countered, “I’m the last of the Black Family, and only I can enter this place.”
Felix glanced at Kreacher.
“He… he’s different…”
“Exactly!” Kreacher said proudly, “Old Kreacher has served the noble and most ancient House of Black for generations, for generations!” He then cast a malicious glance at Sirius, “Not counting the current master, who has nothing but blood, but poor Kreacher has no choice…”
Sirius glared at him, his anger boiling to the point where he wanted to strangle the house-elf.
Felix stood up and examined the wound on Sirius’s forehead. “Potter’s scar is on the right, yours is on the opposite side. Strange, is it just a coincidence?”
“You—”
Sirius’s eyes widened. He was no longer as concerned for his safety; his intuition told him Felix wouldn’t kill him. However, he realized a more insidious trait in Felix—his words were more powerful than Snape’s.
(End of Chapter)
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