Seen and Unforeseen

Seen and Unforeseen

By Christie Shadow

Some undefined date in the middle of May 1995, at Twelve Grimmauld Place

"Alohomora!" Sirius Black stepped into the room, the dusty and deep-seated smell in his nose made him sneeze. He lit the candles, and looked around. The first thing that caught his attention was an artefact that was located in the middle of the room.

The clouded, white crystal sphere glowed in the dim candlelight. It lay there, in its nest of black velvet cloth, on the table of expensive teak tree. Sirius Black loathed it. It had belonged to his mother, and his grandmother before her. Neither possessed the gift of Divination, but it was an heirloom, and therefore worth keeping. Or so they thought.

He'd never looked into it before. Divination wasn't really his cup of tea. He found it stupid. Not true. And yet, yet he'd heard a prophecy that he'd learned was true. He'd been a part of it, in some way. He'd witnessed its consequences. He'd lost because of it.

Sirius stepped in, and moved over to the table. He gazed down on the crystal sphere that lay there, silently. There was an air of foreboding in the room that had once belonged to his "dear" aunt Elladora.

He hated it. He hated everything about this, from the thick, black velvet curtains, the dusty tables and armchairs, the paintings to the chandeliers in silver that hadn't been polished for ages. He hated this sphere that was said to have been the exact sphere in which Voldemorts first rise should have been predicted by no other than Regulus Black.

Regulus, who didn't even posses the gift of Divination! Sirius looked around, taking his eyes off the sphere. The room had been locked, no wonder that Kreacher had not been in this room at all. Nothing in here was missing, as far as Sirius could see, but it had been more than twenty years since he'd last been here, so he couldn't really tell.

It had been so many years since he left this place. But he was back in Twelve Grimmauld Place now. He was back in the home that he'd left in rage, back where he'd sworn never to return.

He was back as a captive. It was unbelievable. After so many years had he seeked asylum in this damn, cursed house. Caught in memories and flashes of a past that he didn't want.

Here.

Alone again.

He lifted the bag he'd brought up here for what he considered garbage, about to throw in some of the things that were in the room. He'd been cleaning the house from the very morning; it was half past eleven at night now. He wanted to go down and go to bed, drift into the endearing arms of sleep and forget that he was here. He wanted to leave this house at this very instant, but life was not to be this way.

He'd promised Dumbledore that he would stay. He'd promised not to put himself into danger, all the while his own godson, who was (in Sirius' opinion) more in danger than he was, was allowed to go.

He remembered the discussion he'd had with Molly when Harry had finally arrived at Twelve Grimmauld Place months ago. She'd stated that he wasn't a good enough godfather - that he treated Harry like he was James. He'd felt hurt, it'd kicked his gut - being unable to reach Harry during all those years had punished him enough.

Damn it all to hell, he thought, and let go of the bag. It was almost filled with garbage: Paintings, inherited chandeliers, and all sorts of Dark Arts effects.

He didn't want to clean the entire house, he wanted to go out, he wanted to Apparate to Hogsmeade and run up to Hogwarts in his canine form and see Harry, he wanted to go to Godric's Hollow and visit James and Lily's grave. He wanted to be free. He wanted James back.

His shoulders sagged, as memories of the past overwhelmed him. He remembered Lily's and James' wedding day, how happily they had smiled that day. He remembered the first time he'd been in their house, where Lily had been teasing him about the fact that he never brought a girlfriend. He remembered the time where he'd been at St. Mungo's with a strained James walking up and down the corridors, while they awaited the healthy scream that announced the birth of his son. He remembered the first time he was handed Harry, remembered the tiny little creature with closed eyes and thin black hair. He remembered Harry, slowly walking towards him with the widest and most wonderful smile Sirius had ever seen.

That had been two days before the boy's parents were killed, two days before he was made an orphan.

Sirius couldn't help the tears from coming. They streamed down his face, leaving his cheeks wet and his eyes bloodshot. He'd betrayed them by trusting Peter. He'd killed them.

He walked over to the window, staring out onto the garden. It was dark and shadowy, and he loathed it. He detested every single tree, ever flower, every grass straw in the once so neat lawn. He hated the magnolia bush that bloomed with the dark, red flowers that were so unnatural. He despised the magical black roses that had been made by his great-great-great uncle Orion Black, roses that had poisoned thorns.

Why did he have to be here again? Why was he punished this way? What did he do to deserve this pain?

He didn't know. He couldn't think of a truly bad thing he'd ever done, except for the prank he'd played on Snivellus so many years ago. And the time where he'd dared Regulus to take a twig from said bush with black roses, and his little brother had been poisoned.

The blood red moon that hovered over the garden was full. He thought of Remus, locked in and tied up down there in the cellar. They hadn't been able to get the potion from Snape, so Sirius had single-handedly tied his only remaining friend up this very morning. Poor Remus, who had been bitten before he turned eleven, who was barely able to remember a time where his parents didn't have to tie up their only son every month in fear of the monster he turned into, Remus, who'd found friends when he'd attended Hogwarts.

Remus who, until two years ago, thought that he'd lost all those friends.

Another shudder ran through Sirius' body, when he heard the howl from below. He thought back on the Hogwarts days, where the full moon didn't mean long days or pain and terror for Remus. His three best friends had transformed into their Animagus forms, James as a deer, Peter as a rat, and Sirius as a dog. They'd made the grounds around Hogwarts their second home. They knew the castle better than anybody else, even Dumbledore. With the Marauders Map, they'd been invincible.

Sirius wanted to go down and sit with his friend, but Remus had asked him not to. Sirius couldn't really figure out why, since he would have chosen his canine form, but Remus had been very clear about that he didn't want anybody near him. It could be because of the incident a month ago. Sirius had let Remus out in the house after his transformation, and they'd fooled around just like in old times. But old Mad-Eye had suddenly entered the house, quite unexpectedly, and Remus immediate respond had been to attack him. Sirius had only just managed to keep him out of the reach of Moody, until he could escape. A reprimand from Dumbledore had arrived only hours later, and the instructions within had - mildly put - set off the already angry Sirius. He wasn't allowed to let out Remus as soon as the transformation had begun. He was under no circumstances allowed to enter the cellar after. The fact that Remus had obeyed Dumbledore's orders didn't really help much on the already tense air between them. Remus had been very angry indeed - much more angry than Sirius had seen him for a long time. And when Sirius had suggested this morning that he stayed in the cellar to keep him company, Remus shouting volume had made him ran of like a beaten dog.

They'd been alone in the house for months, the other members of the Order popped in from time to time, but when neither Dumbledore, McGonagall nor Snape had time to show up, they never stayed long. Sirius missed company on days like these.

He sighed, and turned away from the window. It was unbearable. He was free, and yet not free at all. He'd escaped Azkaban, but was still considered a criminal. A criminal who'd killed twelve Muggles and a wizard, a wizard who happened to be alive still. The hatred towards Peter filled him, and burned through his body yet again. The fact that Dumbledore didn't trust him to have Remus out on the loose only made him angrier.

Staring across the dimly lit room, Sirius noticed that Kreacher was staring at him from the doorway. The house elf's bulging green eyes were filled with utter hatred, but Sirius knew that Kreacher couldn't possible hate him as much as he hated the house elf. Kreacher represented everything that he wanted to forget. He represented everything in his past that he so desperately wanted to get rid of.

"Master has been crying, what a pitiful beast, who disappointed his mother and shamed her forever," the house elf muttered, and entered the room, before Sirius had said anything. It bowed before him by throwing itself at the floor.

"Shut up, bastard," Sirius snapped, "and get the hell out of here. NOW!"

Kreacher got to his feet, and was about to leave the room, when he turned and stared back at his master.

"Kreacher knows why master is sad, " he piped with his harsh voice, "Master misses that black-haired boy with the scar."

Sirius didn't reply.

"Kreacher thinks that the Master loves Harry Potter very much. Master would go through fire to save that silly boy, oh what a shame The Dark Lord didn't kill him when he had the chance..."

"Get the hell out of here, Kreacher!" he yelled, losing his already leaving self-control.

"Master shouldn't be speaking to Kreacher like this, Kreacher is a true and faithful servant, Kreacher serves the ancient house of Black well by serving his Mistress kin..."

Sirius, who'd been about to kick Kreacher out of the room, stopped. Kreacher himself put a hand before his mouth. "Kreacher didn't mean that, Master, Kreacher is a silly creature, Kreacher meant ..."

But Sirius had already grabbed the elf by its ears and heaved it above the ground. "Kin? As far as I know, I'm the only one left in this scandalous family!"

Kreacher giggled, and nodded as well as he could, while hanging two feet above the ground in his ears. His crazy eyes rotated in a way that reminded Sirius of Alastor Moody, and he threw the elf out of the room, slamming the door as he did so.

Little did Sirius know that Kreacher had in fact been giving himself away by this comment. His thoughts was caught up by something else Kreacher had said." Kreacher thinks that the Master loves Harry Potter very much..."

Yes, he did indeed love Harry. He loved Harry more than anything in this world, his godson and his friend was all he had left. He'd said so to Remus during one of their long nights of talking, and Kreacher had surely been lurking around, eavesdropping.

He'd soon see Harry, he thought, and they'd spend the summer here, where they could be together so Harry didn't need to go to the Dursleys. If just Dumbledore could convince the Ministry of his innocence, he would be able to get out of this house. But that wouldn't happen before Peter Pettigrew was captured, and nothing that had happened the past year had given the impression that it'd be soon.

Another sigh left him, as he seated himself in one of the velvet armchairs next to the table. He stared at his hands that were covered with small scars. Scars he'd earned in Azkaban. Long nights of screaming and banging his fists against the walls, nights where he'd been whispering the only thing that the Dementors could not take from him: The fact that he was innocent.

The fact that Harry had been safe all those years was a happy thought, and therefore one of those that disappeared in the utter malice of depression he had in the twelve years he'd spend in the prison.

The attack on Arthur last Christmas had been horrible, but didn't add much to his feelings. The war had never stopped for him.

Sirius didn't see the clouds of twisting white moving inside the sphere.

Suddenly, his hands were enlightened with a glowing, pulsing white light. He looked up. The crystal sphere on the table was shining. He looked suspiciously at it. He had not looked into such a sphere since his Divination exam during his fifth year. But now he did.

He saw shadows, dark shadows, he saw glimpses of light; red light, blue light, green light. He saw a shadow that fell back through an arch curtained with a black cloth. He saw a shadow struggle towards the falling one.

Then he saw a golden light that fell on a face he recognized as his own.

Sirius stared up, and realised that the last part was something he'd seen in the dusty mirror on the wall. The candles that were placed here and there illuminated his face, and he noticed that he was sweating.

The clock down in the hallway struck twelve. Sirius rose, grapping the hated sphere with his hands as he did so. The sphere was heavy in his hands, but he lifted it above his head, and threw it through the room. It collided with the mirror on the wall, which cracked it into a thousand pieces, before it fell directly onto the floor, and shattered. A golden steam rose from the sandy pieces, as he stepped out of the room. He twisted around in the doorway, and out the candles with a flicker of his wand before he went to bed.

The things he'd seen in this orb were out of his mind the instant he fell asleep.