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Sirius stares up at the narrow windows, the gabled roof, and feels his stomach sink. The house looks the same as it always has. He had almost thought it would be in ruins, even gone—had hoped that they could go back to the cottage and stay there. But the old brownstone stares right back at him, unchanging, unyielding.
“You all right?” Remus asks, coming to stand beside him.
“Yeah,” Sirius says, dragging his gaze to the door. He walks up the steps and sets the suitcase on the stoop to fumble for the key in his pocket. A quick glance over the courtyard—empty, good—and he unlocks the door. It sticks for a moment, then glides inward.
For the first time in eighteen years, Sirius steps inside. His foot falls on a carpet thick with dust.
Remus murmurs something behind him, and the chandelier flares up in a glow of light. The sight it illuminates is more depressing than the darkness: peeling wallpaper, cobwebs on the gas lamps, and a suspicious patch of mold at the base of the stairs.
Sirius’s gaze is drawn to the ratty velvet curtains covering a section of the wall. “That wasn’t here before,” he says, and reaches out to pull them aside.
Both he and Remus jump back several feet at the scream that erupts. “Who intrudes into the house of my fathers?”
It’s shocking enough that Sirius can only gape. Yellowing skin, rolling eyes, every feature twisted with hate, recognizable immediately as—
His mother sees him at once. ”You!” she shrieks, spitting. ”How dare you show your face here? You, scum of the earth, as good as a muggle, trailing filth wherever you go—“
“Help me,” Remus barks.
Sirius blinks and realizes that Remus is tugging on the curtains, but that it isn’t making much of a difference. He darts forward to add his own strength, and at last the screams cease. Sirius sags against the wall and rubs his face with both hands.
“Was that your mother?” Remus asks in a hushed voice.
Sirius nods. Of course Remus never met her, and Sirius had no photographs. “Lovely woman,” he says into his palms, just as quietly. “She didn’t look as bad as all that when I was here. The volume was the same, though.”
“I see.” After a moment, Remus says, “Is this a troll’s leg?”
Sirius lowers his hands to see Remus prodding the umbrella stand. “My grandfather’s,” he says, nodding. “A reminder of his trophy hunting days. Come on.” He leads the way into the dining room.
“This is really helpful, Sirius,” Remus says. He seems to mean it. “Offering the place as headquarters. It’s a lot better than what we had last time.” He swirls one finger through the dust on the table. “I know you still hate it, though.”
“Yeah, I do,” Sirius agrees shortly, “but that can’t be helped. Let’s just keep going.”
They creep back into the hall and up the stairs. The doors are all shut on the first landing. Wary, Sirius nudges one open, but finds only a musty bedroom behind it.
“Guest bedroom?” Remus guesses. They go inside and Remus performs the same lamp-lighting spell as before. “Well, it’s not completely unlivable.”
Sirius snorts, eyeing another mold stain on the wall. “I’d take it over Azkaban, but that’s not saying much.”
Remus says nothing, only waves his wand over the bed to get rid of the rot. Sirius raises his eyebrows, impressed, and Remus smiles. “I did some research yesterday,” he says. “Figured we’d need it.”
The thought of that makes Sirius smile, too—Moony and research. He used to complain that he was the third wheel to the library. “Good thinking,” is all he says. “Know how to get rid of spiders?”
“That depends on how many there are,” Remus says, setting his suitcase on the duvet. “At the moment, I’d rather not find out.”
“We’d better leave the dresser for later, then.”
Remus grins. “At least the bed’s all ready to go.”
Sirius laughs—and stops at the sound of creaking hinges behind him. Turning, he thinks for a moment that the doorway is empty, but then he sees the bulbous nose peeking out. “Oh, hell,” he says, “I was sure you’d bought the farm ages ago.”
“Kreacher is a faithful servant of the house of Black,” comes the croak, and then more quietly, “but he will not serve the dishonorable, the despicable—“
“You’ll serve me if I say you will.” Sirius curls his lip as Kreacher edges into the room. “And I do say so.”
Kreacher blinks balefully up at him. “Yes, Master,” he says, and bows low enough that his nose brushes the carpet.
“And this is Remus. You’re to obey him as well, understood?”
“Sirius,” Remus cuts in, “I don’t—“
“You’ll be glad of it when he starts going through your things,” Sirius assures him. ”Understood, Kreacher?”
The house-elf bows again. “Kreacher must obey,” he mutters, “Kreacher is bound to serve, if Master commands, even half-breed scum—“
“Shut up,” Sirius snarls, and closes the door in Kreacher’s face. He turns back to Remus. “Sorry.”
Remus shrugs. “I hate to say it, but I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t make it all right.”
“Has he been in here all this time?” Remus asks. “Alone?”
“Except for that portrait,” Sirius says, “yeah. And we should take that down as soon as we can, I think. After we figure out how to get the kitchen in working order again.”
“Molly and Arthur and the rest will be here next week,” Remus points out. “They’ll help.”
Sirius nods. He doesn’t know how he’ll make it through the days until they arrive, even with Remus—there’s too much to remember here, things he can’t forget. In the space of nearly twenty years, he still hasn’t entirely shaken the weight on his shoulders, and it’s already come creeping back out of the shadows.
“This must be awful for you,” Remus says, watching him closely. “I can’t imagine.”
“I never thought I’d live here again,” Sirius tells him. “I spent my whole life trying to get away, and now…“
“Now what?”
He sighs. “I feel frozen. Like I never even left.” He sees Remus nodding and shakes his head, trying to explain more precisely. “It’s—before Azkaban, we were at war, and here we are again. And I look around and I see the same things I always have. It’s like nothing’s changed.” He glares at the mold in the corner. “And then I look at you, or I see my reflection, and I realize everything’s changed, and I—“
He stops, his throat tight, and presses one hand to his mouth. Too much.
Remus pulls him into a hug so suddenly that Sirius can only stand there in his arms. He says nothing, only holds him.
“I don’t know what to do,” Sirius mumbles into the space between Remus’s shoulder and neck. “I can’t get the time back.”
“It’s all right,” Remus tells him, a lie, of course, as he rubs Sirius’s back. “Just focus on the future, on the things we’ll do when all of this is over.”
Sirius leans into him, his Moony, the only thing keeping him upright. “I’m stuck in this house again,” he whispers, “and I don’t think I can bear it.”
“I know,” Remus whispers back. He is so warm, so good. “But it won’t last forever.”