Who guessed that this chapter would be about Harry's emotional trap with the Dursleys?

If so, well done, I'd love to say that you nailed it!

But nope, you guessed wrong 😏

It's time for Sirius' demons here, twists and turns of being stuck within the walls of his own hell.

Here we go again, to another rollercoaster ride!

Vote and comment, pleaasee :)

*************
Since he still had some time to kill, Sirius convinced himself to leave for the last place he would want to go to.

In no time, Sirius was standing by the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, not sure if he was prepared to voluntarily enter his prison world all alone... but then again, he would never be 100% ready to, so he might as well do it anyway and finally get it over with.

With every step he took into the dim hall, which he had learnt to dread, Sirius attempted to free his mind and soul from the shadows of his dark childhood.

In a slipping lapse of concentration, he knocked over an empty vase that dropped by his side with a banging crash. That, along with him swearing aloud, alerted the breathing portrait of his deranged mother.

"Filth-- Scum!" The portrait nearly shook against the wall from the anger ringing in its voice. "By-products of dirt and vileness!"

"Oh shut up already!" Sirius hurried towards her, yelling at the graying woman with a black hat, whom he had once called mother.

"You--" Walburga hissed with venom in her tone, her eyes darkening at the sight of her disgrace of a son. "My most scandalous dishonor, begone from the house of my fathers!" She roared, the chains around her portrait rattling loudly.

"With pleasure," said Sirius with a challenging twinkle in his eyes, giving her a quick cold smirk.

"You, bloodtraitor! Un-derserving--"

Shhh... Sirius promptly closed the moth-eaten curtain on her, hiding her forever hateful face from view and silencing her enraged voice from echoing.

***
Standing there in tranquility, the Black heir sighed heavily. Before he knew it, he laughed himself silly with a glint of bitterness in his eyes.

Sometimes, Sirius couldn't imagine what his life could have turned out to be, if he hadn't stood up against his mother... if his childish desperation to please her and make her proud of him hadn't run out... if he hadn't fallen out of the instinctual love he once had for her.

Opening the door to his room, Sirius thought back to a time when he craved his mother's acceptance and yearned for her supposedly unconditional maternal love to take a stand against the evident toxicity of her controlling nature and the torture of her undermining attitude.

His mind was on voyage to when he was a little boy in dire need of her understanding, coming back home for his first Christmas holiday.

Young Sirius hadn't heard from his mother, not since he received a howler shrieking at him for being sorted into Gryffindor.

Back then, even though he expected her to still be mad at him, twelve year old Sirius believed his mother would, at the very least, appreciate having him over for Christmas after four months away.

Still, he was almost surprised that there was no one to greet him or pick him up from KingsCross station. If it weren't for his cousin --Andromeda-- who had taken pity on him, Sirius would have been left in platform 9 3/4 all alone, unable to go home.

Through the eerie silence of his home, young Sirius slowly made his way up to his room, his head low. However, his eyes lit up, seeing his mother waiting for him on his bed.

His relief was short-lived... for he had run into her arms, only to be slapped on the cheek. And there, fixed to the ground, Sirius felt an earthly shock overtake his entire being, and his only visible reaction was a soft gasp.

"What have you done?" Walburga asked menacingly, her gray eyes narrowing at him.

"I've done nothing, mother," whispered Sirius frantically, his small hand rubbing his sore cheek.

"You're no son of mine," said Walburga darkly, watching the tears gather up in Sirius' bright eyes.

"Don't say that." He spoke in a trembling voice, pain evident in his expression.

"You disgraced me... you brought dirt to your great ancestors, and I can't forgive you for humiliating and tarnishing the Black family name." Walburga got to her feet, pacing the room in anger.

Sirius crossed his arms around his tight chest protectively, taking a few steps back, in fear of being hit again.

"Gryffindor, really? The house where mudbloods and blood-traitors roam free!" She outcried in blind rage, before catching her breath. "You broke my trust in you, Sirius Orion, I am so disappointed in you."

"No-- please, mother," said Sirius with a heavy heart, his jaw quivering. He felt desperate to the bones, stifling a whimper. "I'll do better."

Walburga looked satisfied by the depth of hurt etched on her son's face and how much regret filled his eyes.

"Fine, yes, I expect nothing less," she said firmly, looking down on him. "You'll do as I say, for I will fix you."

Sirius nodded sadly, uncertain if he was in fact something to be fixed.

Walburga patted his arm once, and for a moment Sirius thought she would lean in to hug him and tell him that she still loved him no matter what or at least grant him a subtle welcome back-- maybe?

Perhaps her motherly instincts would kick-in any moment now, but they never did.

Crushing his hopes, she just stood by the door without turning back, which gave Sirius the vibe that she couldn't even look at him.

The little boy watched his mother walk away from him, and finally, he let his tears fall. All alone now with the safety to be vulnerable, Sirius threw his small form on the bed, burying his face into the feathered pillow.

Sirius heard a sniffling shudder that didn't come from him, and his intuition assured him that someone was indeed watching him now and had surely had heard everything... but whoever was around, didn't dare to reveal himself or make a move to offer any comfort. However, when Sirius looked up, there was no one there.

From then on, with every demeaning circumstance in the years to come, Sirius slowly set his respect for his own mother loose, and their trust in each other broke soon after-- hence, there was nothing left between them or in him to love her for.

No matter how much it hurt him, Sirius had to let her go to grow into the best version he could imagine for himself... or else, the innocent wounded child in him would have surely grown up to loathe even himself beyond salvation.

***
Departing the journey of his memory, Sirius urged himself to get a move on and start packing his belongings, mainly from his room: his clothes, the mirror, old letters here and there, several pictures of him with the marauders and him with Regulus from his old secret hiding spot.

Sirius was about to leave the house for good, when a sniffling whimper echoed from the room beside his, of which the door bared the name of Regulus Arcturus Black.

With all fibres of his being, he hesitated. Even after Sirius came back from Azkaban, he had avoided entering his brother's room at all costs... but in this particular moment, it was either now or never.

As he stood there with a last chance at hand, Sirius drew in a deep breath and unlatched the door, not knowing what to expect or how it could make him feel.

By the far end corner was Kreacher sobbing into his bony hands. "Typical!" Sirius muttered, with a roll of his eyes, no pity found in his voice. "You plot against me, then hide in here for crocodile tears."

"Master Sirius?" Kreacher gasped, looking up in surprise. "Kreacher did not theenk that you, sir, is to return back."

"That I know, because you sold me out, not that it is anything new," said Sirius dangerously, bitterness lacing his tone, to which Kreacher's eyes grew even wider than its original saucers size.

"Kreacher only meant to serve the honorable House of Black--" stuttered the old elf, blowing his nose with the filthy rag he wore. "And Kreacher remembers his mistress cut her blood-traitor son off the family tree."

"Just get out, go sob at her feet!" Sirius snapped at the ugly elf, instead of following his instinct to cause him actual physical harm.

Kreacher did as told, holding onto a golden necklace for dear life -- though if given the chance, he wouldn't have left this room.

With no more grumpiness filling the air, Sirius stood alone in silence with a heavy sequence of breaths. It was his first and probably the last time to be in this room, ever since his brother died.

Though there was no longer any life left in the room, a part of Sirius felt like nothing had changed, as if his late brother's soul still lurked beyond the corners.

He sighed, his eyes wandering around in a nostalgic trance. Sirius froze the second he caught glimpse of a moving picture on the nightstand that made his heart drop to his knees. He rushed to grab the picture-frame that he almost tripped by the edge of the bed.

A picture of them, the Black brothers.

Back in time, the sun had poured light over their bright faces. Hands loosely sliding on each other's shoulders, Sirius and Regulus gave the camera toothy grins, before averting their gazes to each other and smirking in a challenge.

With a sad smile taking over his face, Sirius admired how happy his little brother and his younger self were together, two years before he went off to Hogwarts, before all hell broke loose.

The picture of them had been on his nightstand, for Merlin knows how long, enriching the possibility that Regulus had last left it there. This had to mean that... even if only in his final moments, Regulus did cherish their brotherly bond, despite the distance self-enforced on them.

This only implied that, on some level, Sirius was forgiven for seeing his little brother as a lost cause. Right? Sirius shook his head slowly in doubt, with a sudden high-wave of his heartbeat rhythms.

It was then that a piece of parchment slipped from behind the picture in his hand. He picked it up from the bed and instantly recognized the handwriting of his brother from an unsent letter, going back to the month and year of Regulus' death.

Sirius,
I know you may not want to hear from me again, but I have to, I need to talk to you. It's nothing new that I've always put my faith in Mother and Father, which made you even drive apart from me. But I guess, deep deep down, I always believed that you have put your faith in me, your little Reggie.

Just please, forgive me for letting you down before.

And know that I regret not being close to you from the beginning, brother. Still in spite of everything, I have always looked up to you.

Ps: if you ever confront me with what I just said, I'd probably deny it, but be sure that nothing is more true... I am only writing this, and I don't know how or even if you'll ever read it, to give you my word that --with all details set aside-- I'll make you proud of me.

Here I am, using your own catchphrase: I solemnly swear that I won't fail you, Sirius, not this time. Trust me.

Your probably-dead brother,
Regulus.

Reminiscing the last connection he had from his brother, Sirius read the letter more than once, hoping that it would hurt any less.

He could feel the taste of salt in his eyes to the extent that his sight blurred. Though his hands trembled, Sirius folded the letter close to his chest and allowed the heaviness in his heart to fall.

What he didn't know or wasn't lucky enough to see was another note, small yet significant, at the back of the parchment that read: "if I fail, ask Kreacher for his help. Only Kreacher, Sirius."

All in one flow, Sirius felt happy yet sad, hurt yet glad, confused yet satisfied.

Somehow, more or less on his own-- Regulus had figured it out and chosen the light, letting go of the blackness that he had been forced to indulge. In fact, Sirius had always known that his young brother had it in him to fight for what's right.

Although he didn't fully understand anything yet, Sirius couldn't be prouder of his Regulus.

It was as if Sirius could sense a glimmer of light enter through him, run wild within his soul, to put the broken shreds of his heart together.

***
A sudden shaking jolt from his side-pocket with a quiet call of his name brought him back to reality. Sirius folded the letter to embrace the photograph and slipped them into his pocket, from where he took out the mirror to see his godson.

Sirius wiped the stray tear that had fallen on his cheek and forced a smile at the right person who came at the right time.

"Harry," greeted Sirius, trying to smoothen his scratchy voice.

"You alright?" They both asked in unison.

"Yeah," muttered Harry, averting his gaze away. Sirius nodded slowly-- apprehensive that his godson wouldn't dare be truthful.

"Tell me if anything happened, okay, no matter how small," Sirius urged, waiting for Harry's hesitation to fade away.

"I read your letter," said Harry softly, grinning, holding the parchment close. "Just thank you."

Sirius felt a tearful chuckle rise up against his throat. In such a parallel coincidence, Harry's sentimental words were precisely the heading Sirius wished to say to his Reggie now, if given the chance.

"I am serious in my threat though," smirked Sirius after a silent moment.

As Harry's smiley face soon vanished from view, Sirius was thankful that his godson took the initiative in calling him. The small gesture brought a tad of warmth into him.

Sirius stood by the door and cast one last look behind him, taking in every little detail of his brother's room. He swallowed slowly and could almost hear himself say goodbye.

Back on track, Sirius ran down the stairs, taking everything he wanted with him to drop it off at Remus' cottage.

"Kreacher," he called loudly, a thought striking him, and the elf appeared in front of him out of thin air. "Take care of Buckbeak, make sure he's always in good health, well-fed and watered, until I tell you otherwise. Understood? Oh, and keep the place here in order."

"Yes, sir," said Kreacher, though he wanted to retaliate, lowering his head. "I is doing it all."

Sirius nodded stiffly at the aging elf and walked away without another glance. Upon the thud of closing the door, Sirius breathed a sigh of relief for finally getting out of this hellhole of a house.

Enough for him being associated with the wrong address.

This grim-old-place had never made him feel at home, and finally, he had paid the piper to end his life-sentence once and for all.

Not once did Sirius ever feel emotionally safe within these lucrative walls of his own Hell.

He would never have to come back to where he lost his happiness a long time ago-- except for Order meetings, well at least he'd be just a regular visitor, no longer a full-time prisoner.

Now that he's assured it wasn't written for him to rot under its roof any further, Sirius couldn't believe that it had been only a couple of days since he last closed-off that decaying door.

It seemed like another lifetime had passed through him, since he last left that house with the Order to save Harry. There was indeed a bulk of pure emotions that rose to life within him from all what had happened since then.

It had ranged from worry, fear, panic, loss, numbness, rage, vengeance, heartbreak, grief, relief, joy, pain, nostalgia, acceptance, disappointment to at last hope.

Sirius chuckled to himself, thinking that no person could feel all that, they'd explode.

Sirius just had to find where he best belonged and with whom, and he just knew Harry was his keyword for everything.

********
"PADFOOT?" Remus exclaimed in question, his voice afar from the front-door Sirius had just closed behind him. "Is that you?"

"Nope, not me," Sirius teased at once, a smirk gracing his features.

A low sigh could be heard, and Sirius knew there was an associated roll of eyes saved for him.

"So how did Harry take it?" Remus asked instead, still hidden from view.

"Oh, well, very well," Sirius answered into the air.

Remus appeared from under the counter to see for himself whether Sirius' expression was sincere.

"Anyway, I'll just-- go," muttered Sirius, resting his hands against his back, taking his bag of belongings to the room he had occupied.

Remus, without pressing him further, stood by the doorway and watched as Sirius placed the mirror on the nightstand next to his wand.

"Nothing compared to Grimmauld Place, huh?" Remus asked in interest, provoking Sirius to groan.

"Oh please, not even hell," replied Sirius swiftly... his face was calm, yet his eyes were dark.

"That bad?" Remus pondered, without censoring his words, a frown etched on his face. "You never said how terrible it really was."

Sirius fixed his gaze on the picture, taken out of his pocket, savoring the memory of his little brother.

"It was bearable," lied Sirius slowly, feeling heavy.

Sirius gave Remus his back, so that the torture in his eyes would be effectively hidden.

"I went back every year for him... Regulus, until I've had enough --and thought he was a lost cause." His heart broke with every word, cracking his voice near the end.

Remus moved closer to Sirius, who had slumped himself in a seating position on the bed.

Sirius felt a warm weight on his shoulder and handed Remus the letter. "I found this, I don't know how I feel about it."

Silence loomed over the air, giving Sirius a moment to breathe.

"You should be proud," said Remus in awe, as Sirius' eyes twinkled like he had never been over the moon before.

"And confused," Remus broke in with a frown, turning the parchment around. "I mean, hey, what does Kreacher have to do with this-- whatever it is?"

Sirius' lit smile faded, and he snatched the letter out of Remus' hands to read the words he had apparently missed: if I fail, ask Kreacher for his help. Only Kreacher, Sirius.

"You need to call for Krea--"

Sirius cut him off abruptly, shaking his head. His concern began as a cracked whisper and slowly rose in intensity. "Why did he go to Kreacher for help-- why not me? I would've..."

Sirius felt his jaw tremble as the words died in his throat, and his heart broke in realization.

"Oh no, he did. A month before he-- died, Regulus reached out to me." Sirius was breathless, feeling a lump in his throat.

Sirius hated his memory for shoving the bitter truth to his face. "But I turned him down."

"Padfoot," said Remus in warning, knowing all too well the soul-crushing guilt and the self-directive rage boiling just below that cold exterior.

A soft call of his name ran through his wild mind. Sirius gripped the mirror tightly and walked away, to see Harry appear before his eyes.

"Something happened--" began Harry, ready to recount his exciting incident. Sirius merely stared with a blank expression, unprecedent hurt lingering in his eyes. "Oh, Sirius, are you alright?"

"I will be," replied Sirius truthfully after a long moment of the thick silence piercing the air. Sirius averted his gaze from Remus, who offered him a smile, to Harry, who was about to press him further for answers in concern.

"Harry, I am sorry, if you're safe and this isn't urgent, can we save it for later?" Sirius asked, breathing heavily, his eyes apologetic.

Sirius waited for Harry to nod and forced a smile, muttering a quick "talk to you soon."

For Sirius to turn down Harry like so, Remus mused in pain, he had to feel overly vulnerable... fragile enough to break from the slightest touch.

"Kreacher!" Sirius called out, gritting his teeth, and shook impatiently.

Sirius knew what had to be done: he wasn't ready to listen to the truth, but he couldn't bear to live in the dark anymore.

A pop echoed killing the silence, and Kreacher bowed, against his will, before his master.

"You were summoned here to tell me exactly how Regulus reached his fate." Sirius began in a low voice, void of the emotion battling within to rise above the surface. "You know best than to lie or hide anything."

"Kreacher doesn't know except one day, the dark lord used Kreacher to drink slimy liquid of torture, far in a dark cave in the middle of nowhere." Kreacher spoke in a shaky voice, all the while picking at his fingernails.

Sirius narrowed his eyes but nodded for him to continue.

"My Master Regulus was sad for Kreacher because Kreacher had nearly died, when deserted with the hideous corpses-- inferi, master had told Kreacher. Master saved Kreacher when he called Kreacher to return." The aging elf bawled his eyes out with the rag covering his minature body.

"What did Voldemort want from the cave?" Remus questioned him with a sigh, to which the poor elf flinched violently at the name of the dark lord.

Kreacher hesitated against every fiber of his being. "Master told Kreacher before not to tell, never to spill the secret. Kreacher must follow his master's dying wish."

"I am sure you know, this is not a request. I am ordering you," said Sirius, his eyes flashing. The intensity in his voice was at a maximum, yet the volume was low, which made it much more deadly.

Kreacher bit on his lower lip till it drew blood, forced to swallow his word.

"Even after you refused to help my master a month before death, Master Regulus was distraught but told Kreacher that master Sirius is the only one to know the truth." Kreacher spoke against his better judgement, his eyes triumphant when the Black heir lost his cool into weakness.

Sirius stumbled backwards, gasping in agony, held by the aftermath of an emotional blow straight to the heart.

Remus set a worrisome gaze on his best friend, to whom he didn't want any harm to come. Moony swallowed slowly and spoke in concealed anger for the first time: "get to the point, Kreacher."

"You filthy half-breed!" Kreacher shrieked before he could stop himself.

"KREACHER!" Sirius snapped, the vein on his neck a second away from popping. "Watch your tongue, or I will cut out your heart!" His hissing voice had welcomed goosebumps with open arms.

Kreacher's eyes widened against their sockets, and although he wanted to return fire, he led his head downward to the creaks on the ground.

"What did Voldemort want from the cave?" Remus echoed slowly, giving Sirius a moment to compose himself after he had fiercely defended him.

"The locket, he left a golden necklace," whispered Kreacher in response, his gaze fixed in disgust.

Sirius raised both eyebrows in surprise, and Remus gaped his mouth with a frown set in place.

"Come again?" Sirius asked, dumbfounded.

"The locket, sire, defiled with dark magic," repeated Kreacher incredulously. "Master Regulus made a carbon copy, swapped the fake with the real vile in the cave."

"Go on," urged Sirius gently, taming his heart from blackening.

"Kreacher didn't want Master Regulus to go there, for it is a dangerous world, but Kreacher had to obey." The elf's enormous eyes shone against the light with frozen tears. "Kreacher offered to drink the sour liquid, but Master Regulus insisted Kreacher shoved the poison down master's throat."

Remus placed a comforting hand on Sirius' shoulder, ready to be there for him when he'd finally break this charade of indifference and release his raw emotion free into the open... any moment now.

"Kreacher watched Master Regulus getting weaker and weaker, through his screams for you, sire, to help him-- and forgive him," said Kreacher in an accusing distasteful tone.

Sirius chose not to rise to the bait, for he knew this endless regret was the least he, Sirius, deserved.

"Kreacher left alone, the damned inferi crawled out to shove master into the darkness," recounted the elf, fighting against his nervous tics.

Kreacher rocked his body back and forth, his face buried between his thin knees. The poor elf forced his eyes shut, pushing the painful memory out of sight.

Sirius felt his jaw tremble from the pants of breath taking over his lungs. No tears shone in his eyes, no salt sensation against his throat, but Sirius did feel his soul weep in agony with silent screams granted full control-- while he stood wordless, all emptiness at bay.

"Master Regulus made Kreacher promise to destroy the real locket," said Kreacher, looking up from his blackness, his voice laced in shame. "But no matter how hard Kreacher tried, he could not do it-- no avail, no avail."

"Lay down your burden, Kreacher," said Remus softly, compassion embarking his gaze. "Bring to us this locket, and his death won't be in vain."

Kreacher's eye twitched, looking up at Sirius, who gave him a mere nod, to confirm such order. A pop erupted, and he was gone.

"Sirius, you alright?" Remus inhaled sharply with the words coming out to life.

Sirius merely shook his head, tears frozen in his grey eyes refusing to fall.

Kreacher re-appeared and placed the golden locket into Sirius' outstretched hand.

Kneeling to his level, Sirius sighed with closed eyes, tightening his fist around the locket, almost feeling a buzz of its core erupt from his hand into his veins.

"Master Regulus made Kreacher promise to give you --only you-- a slice of his memory, unfolding some secrets of your ripped relationship." The elf confessed clearly, handing Sirius a lengthy goblet.

"We'll need a share of your memory too, Kreacher, as witness of the event," said Remus, finding his voice of reason again albeit heavily.

Kreacher jerked his head toward Sirius, letting go of the soul-sucking recollection of his one true master's decease.

Sirius pulled his wand's tip away from the elf's temple, extracting a long silver strand into a flask.

Once Kreacher disappeared back to his home, Sirius got to his feet, his knees buckling, on his way to the room behind closed doors.

Once alone, Sirius blinked to grant free passage to the guilt grouped in his eyes.

Sirius sunk low into raw grief, falling deeper with no room for relief, without a recollection of time or place.

*****
Hope you enjoyed the read, lovelies 💛

Does this chapter need a trigger warning for pain?

If so, sorrynotsorry, that's what you signed up for: chapters of grief and suffering.

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Until next time, soon!