Tuesday,19 July 1977
12 Grimmauld Place, London
4:15 a.m.
Sirius wakes in the early morning when the sun is still yet to break the horizon. With a groan, he lifts himself to a sitting position from his messy bed, wild black curls falling to his face. He's exhausted. When he turns to the curtain-closed windows he knows that it's still dark outside. Too early to be awake, but too late to go back to sleep. Not like he would be able to, he'd gone to Madam Pomfrey just before the school year ended and all she'd told him was to find ways to “reduce his stress”. Simple and easy and totally unhelpful, so he put in an order of Sleeping Draught to the Black Family Potioneer the moment he set foot inside this gloomy townhome.
He's living alone in the old Black Estate in London where his family used to spend the Holidays when he and Regulus were still children.12th Grimmauld Place was given to him after his parents had asked what he would want as a Coming-of-Age gift eight months ago. Wanting a bit more freedom from his suffocating relatives he'd taken the opportunity to ask for the abandoned building situated in Muggle London. Though he didn't move in until summer's break.
He wanted to bring Kreacher along with him but has since conceded that the old, grumpy elf had more loyalty towards his younger brother and will go with Regulus once he inherits his own Estate. It's fine, he has Cinny. She's a young house elf, still learning but Sirius doesn't mind. He was never one to actually command the House Elves back at the manor. Plus, she has yet to steal and hoard his possessions the way Kreacher would. Though that seemed to be more in character from his brother than the actual elf.
Removing the rest of his maroon plush blanket, Sirius slides his legs off to the side of his bed where he sits for a minute trying to rub out the sleep out his eyes. Keeping his eyes covered with his hands, he takes a big breath through his nose–keeping it in his lungs for a couple of seconds before loudly exhaling–Sirius slaps his hands to his knees, “Right, shower it is then.” he mumbles to the dark as he finally stands on naked feet, shuffling out the room and into the candle-lit hallway. Wizards and their hesitance to use electricity.
Cinny, ever the dutiful elf, hears him trudge and gently ushers him to the warm bath that she conjured with a snap of her fingers and begins preparing his toiletries before sauntering out of the loo and down to the kitchen to start breakfast. Cinny had the right idea. No way is he in a state of mind for a shower. Sirius took off his pyjama bottoms, having slept in nothing else, and lowered himself into the burning waters, hissing only for an instant before relaxing entirely. He's thankful for her, really, because despite not totally being integrated into his family's posh lifestyle, he was somewhat raised by the House Elves. Had Cinny not assisted and brought up his things, he'd still be out in the hallway. Even if he made it on his own, Sirius is sure he would have only washed with cold water and nothing else as he'd done before. I should give her something, he thought as he grabbed the rosemary oil last before gently infusing it on his hair, starting by gently massaging it into his scalp and then running thick fingers between wet curls, untangling them in the process. He leaves it on for no more than ten minutes before cleansing it all out with his shampoo made of stinging nettles. The rough winds of playing quidditch over the years damaged his hair.
Now that he thought about it, didn't Professor Sprout say that clothes could be made out of the nettle plants? Maybe he could give Cinny new pillowcases to wear. He would have to be careful to explain that they were specific for House Elves, otherwise she’ll go mad with grief believing Sirius to be freeing her. An owl will have to be made to his Father requesting the use of the Black Family sigil to be embroidered for her clothes.
Sirius reaches under the water to remove the bath stopper before getting up. Now that he feels a bit more awake, he switches the handle to where the water will come out through the shower head and rinses off his hair to then finish off washing his body. Carefully stepping out of the bathtub, Sirius decides to wear a simple red and grey robe, letting his hair fall behind him, letting it air dry.
The sun is still set when he walks down to the basement where the kitchens are located. There Cinny is plating an exquisite array of oats and fruits. “You're too good to me Cinny.” he thanked her, as he walked further in. If there was one thing Sirius was able to persuade Cinny into dropping was the outlandish full British breakfast he'd first woken up too. Sausage, beans and eggs for breakfast have always been too heavy for him to the point he almost considered going vegetarian for a while, but he won't deny himself a good medium rare steak once in a while.
She places a hot cup of tea in front of him before looking up and speaking to him, "Tis the third morning Master Lord Black wakes before the sun tis weeks. Is Master Lord Black not wells?" Sirius sighs as he sits on his old stool from his childhood he found in storage and scoots in closer to the small table he conjured the very day he moved in, still not used to the emptiness. Preferring to eat in the Kitchens instead of in the Dining Hall where the table is much too large and equally much too long.
He looks down at huge, orange-marbled eyes, framed by barely visible wrinkles and thin eyebrows, "Sirius is fine, Cinny, please. You make it sound as if Father's dead."
Big mistake Sirius Black.
“Cinny would never wish death upon Great Master Lord Black!” the poor house elf began to proclaim as she started to rush through the kitchen. “No! No! Cinny swears! Cinny would prove by cutting off Cinny’s tongue, yes! Yes, Cinny will prove-”
Sirius stood abruptly, chasing after the distressed elf. Merlin, was she fast. Too fast that he had to resort to trickery to get her to slow down. Rounding the table, Sirius kicked the stool he was sitting on, towards Cinny’s path, causing her to try and fall. Quickly, he knelt before her, helping her to her feet. “Calm yourself Cinny,” Sirius takes bony hands to his calloused ones, “there's no need for punishment. It was a joke. Okay? A joke.” He needled his apology, urging her to stop struggling. There were tears in her eyes.
“Cinny must be punished for Cinny’s insolence!”
“Then we’ll do this. You remember my Mother's portrait, right?”
A shaky nod.
“I'm going to try and take it down and you will help me. That will be your punishment.” Sirius looks directly at her eyes, unblinking, waiting… waiting… waiting… Cinny wails and runs to her closet.
With a tired exhale, Sirius stood up and righted his stool, he knew that the mention of his Mother's portrait would upset Cinny. She had been polishing its frame for a while now and had grown fond of the woman in the portrait. Even if said woman had done nothing but insult and demean her every second the polish took. No matter, Sirius wanted it gone because frankly speaking, that woman was not his mother. Far from it, while the portrait spewed nothing but hateful comments about unworthy elves touching her frame, to the blood-traitors that are his friends, and the Muggle filth that surrounded the home, this painting was all but a front. A farce of sorts because his mother is not prejudiced towards the non-magic kind, nor to Half-Bloods or Muggle-Borns for that matter. The only reason she ever pretended to be a Blood-Purist, as they were called, was because that's how she was raised by her parents.
While grandfather Pollux didn't spend most of his attention on his only daughter, grandmother Irma was different. Although coming from the distinguished family Crabbe, her family wasn't part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, so when she married her husband, it seems like it all went to her head. Flaunting the Black wealth in jewellery and fancy robes, dinners followed by outlandish balls, doing her very best to accentuate her position as a Lady of House Black. Irma would make sure Walburga had the best of the best in etiquette and education. Top of the notch in fashion and beauty. When it came time for social gatherings, she would always force Walburga into creating connections with the other ladies her age.
Pure-Blood ladies.
It all seemed too much for Sirius's mother, their narrow minded views on people who were not like them. So, when it was announced by Walburga’s grandfather that she was to marry Orion Black, Heir to House Black, Walburga dropped all pretence and stopped acting. After all, she was to be their new Matriarch, not even her own mother would have a say in her behaviour nor actions. Let alone her life.
He regards his breakfast and takes two bowls of melon and kiwi, the other full with just grapes, deciding to eat them outside. Not forgetting his tea, he charms his cup to float by next to him as he passes by Cinny’s den, off to the right, just before the stairs that lead up to the first floor, he leaves the bowl of grapes, also charming it to float outside her doors, hoping that she wouldn't stay in there for the whole day.
Opening the double doors to the patio outside with a quick wand flick, Sirius steps out to the morning night of July. He has the option of remaining on the deck or taking the old wooden stairs down to the gardens. Despite living in Muggle London, Grimmauld Place is ever magical. With a long and wide patio, complete with benches and floating lights, charmed to change in whatever colour one would want. Sirius remembers flipping through a muggle magazine once and on the last page, there was a group of people sitting around a circular concrete bowl that had fire inside of it. Fire pit, is what the store’s owner said it was called when he’d asked, so when he got back home from grocery shopping, he knew he just had to have at least three of them. Then there was the fancy marble fountain off to the right that is used more as a bird bath than anything, and directly to it left, a small but still spacious gazebo that he shifts into his Animagus form, curling into himself and the multiple pillows and blankets Cinny had gathered there for when he experiences sleepless nights. It's how he spent the first week living alone when his order of Sleepless Draught was being made. It was comforting and familiar though he could have gone without the fleas.
With another tired sigh, he opts both the deck and patio, deciding to sit on the first steps leading down. Setting his fruit bowl beside him, Sirius reheats his lukewarm tea and drinks. Quite recently, migraines in the form of hot pounding pulses have developed. A very annoying feeling as if someone or something is clutching the back of his eyes from within his skull, frustrating Sirius further into chronic insomnia.
He rests his head on the metal railings of the steps, wanting to enjoy the still nightly sky.
Just for a minute, then I'll coax Cinny out from her den and start on Mother’s portrait.
Sirius closed his tired, red-rimmed eyes and fell asleep just as the sun’s disk breached the horizon, all the while a little blackbird began its daily song.