Chapter 2
He trudged up the stairs of Grimmauld place with Remus trailing behind him, fingers intertwined with his own.
It was strange being back here, everything the same apart from himself. The walls had the same gloomy chokehold on him as always but this time it seems joy can exist in the gaps, now light filtered through the windows. He knew it would be difficult being back here, memories of his childhood swarming around every action and hiding behind every corner. Swelling déjà-vu tripping him up upon daily activities and stopping him in the middle of converted rooms.
What he hadn’t anticipated however, was him. The boy who stared at him whenever he entered the parlour, painting unusually inanimate due to what Sirius could only imagine was shoddy charm work. The boy who could be found in certain books in the library that are clearly more worn than the rest, occasional pages annotated. The boy who haunted the door on the right wing of the third floor. The boy who was dead. The boy whom Sirius did not miss.
His feet faltered as he reached the second floor, eyes landing on the third door down that lay wide open. He felt Remus squeeze his hand and bring his other arm up to support his waist, never nudging him. He silently waited until Sirius pushed himself up the final step and crept down the corridor towards his father’s office.
He stuttered in the doorway, catching sight of it instantly, the old ornate wardrobe. Custom made for Orion Black, by a family friend, carved from black oak and engraved with warding runes Sirius has never understood.
His father’s old desk matched it, unmoved from the centre of the room, and Sirius still felt like it was towering over him, no matter how tall or old he became. It was now covered in plates of sandwiches and all of the children stood around it, taking a break. It was just a table, and Sirius let out a disbelieving huff of laughter as Ron dropped a piece of cheese onto the dusty surface earning a reprimand from Hermione, he faintly heard the two bicker.
“There you are, Sirius I can’t get this old wardrobe open I think it’s charmed?”
“Um..” he started, he suddenly realised he had no idea what to do, of course he never knew how to open the wardrobe. He stood dumbly staring at it, he should know, of course, it was his own house.
“Here Molly I’ll look at it,” with a final squeeze he felt Remus leave his side and brush past him into the room. As relieved as he was, he instinctively took a step into the room to follow Remus. It was just a room and he was right there, but he still took a few more steps, lingering in the middle of the room, he would not face the desk.
Remus took his wand out and started casting a few spells, he’d told Sirius that in the years he was in prison he’d worked as a curse breaker. He said it had worked well in between full moons and that it kept him stable, throwing himself into studying curses to become certified then being able to work freelance.
After a few spells, several glowing coloured strands appeared wrapped around the wardrobe.
“Huh..” Remus said, standing back to get a good look at them.
“What? What is it?”
“There’s a stasis ward,” Remus replied, scratching his chin in a way he’d always done when he found something intriguing, Sirius thought it was adorable. He looked at him now, they locking eyes as Remus worked out what that meant for child Sirius and his face became pale. Sirius blinked, getting rid of any water that may have made his eyes shine and looked away from Remus.
“What does that mean?” Ginny asked, all of the kids watching Remus with interest and Sirius turned his head to face them, thankful for the interruption.
“It means everything inside will stay the same until it’s removed, Gin,” Fred replied- or George, Sirius honestly could never tell them apart, he didn’t know how Remus did it.
“But why would there be a stasis charm?” Arthur asked, turning to Sirius.
And he knew, of course he knew why his father had put a stasis charm on the wardrobe he used to shove them inside when they were bloody and broken. They used to be locked in their rooms without food, that was punishment. They used to be thrown in the wine cellar until it was spotless, that was punishment. They were beaten and cursed and tortured then thrown in that wardrobe, that was petty. That was for when father wanted to get rid of them, he wanted them to lose time, he wanted them to stumble out eventually, disorientated and dazed, and still broken. There was a stasis charm on the wardrobe because even when they’d done their time, his father still wanted them to suffer, still wanted them to hobble about with broken legs and gashes on their calfs.
Remus looked at him again and Sirius knew he knew. He stared into his eyes and found his answer. He looked away and shot a swift glare at Arthur, “that doesn’t matter,” he said matter-of-factly, “I’ll get it off soon enough.”
Arthur looked slightly taken aback at the unusual hostility and shot a bewildered glance at Sirius, who didn’t acknowledge the man. He didn’t dislike Arthur but he had a way of walking around with his head in the clouds and though he wasn’t stupid, could be a bit tactless.
Sirius stared steadfastly at Remus as he started to pick at the darkest thread, unraveling it.
Eventually, the strand broke and it was almost as if the air lifted slightly, the tension the strand must have been emitting, breaking away.
Everyone in the room was watching Remus in awe as he removed all of the magic from the wardrobe, although, hopefully, most for a different reason than he. Remus looked hot. He always looked hot, especially when he was concentrating but this was next level. The years had been kind to Remus in a way they had broken Sirius, Remus now had a few gray hairs, not quite salt and pepper, but getting there. He had a slight amount of beard stubble which he let grow in, adding to his slightly rugged look and if possible, his skin seemed to have deepened in complexion, his older age bringing a positivity delightful olive complexion. He ground his teeth as he worked, a thing Lily always used to try and get him to stop, saying something about enamel that Sirius hadn’t the first clue about, but assumed it was a muggle thing when he heard Hermione repeat the same thing almost sixteen years later; Sirius had no idea what either of them were talking about but usually tried to also remind Remus of the risks when he caught him doing it.
After about ten minutes, Remus had managed to remove all of the strings. He stood back and after a few seconds began to cast a final spell, chanting slowly in Latin. There was soft a thud from inside the cupboard and Remus instantly ushered Molly and Arthur further away. Everyone stood frozen, eyeing the cupboard before there was another soft thud.
“Fuck”
The cupboard door swung open and a boy with jet black curly hair rolled out, coughing and groaning as he tried to pick himself up from the floor.
The person tried a few times and eventually, seemingly painfully, they managed to push up into a sitting position. His head whipped around the room as he took in the crowd of, mostly ginger and mostly children, people staring at him.
Sirius stopped breathing, gray eyes so much like his own looked up and locked with his. A young face sporting several gashes, deep eye bags and a black eye, contorted in fear, “What the Salazar fuck are you doing here?!”
“Reggie,” he breathed out, looking at his brother. His dead, death eater brother.