The Summer of the Phoenix

Chapter 19

Lupin did not return that night. Nor had he come back or sent word when Sirius woke up on the next morning.

The kitchen was dank, cold, and empty. Sirius had Mrs Weasley's fruit salad for breakfast, glad after all that it was still there, and sat by the kitchen fire for quite a while afterwards, waiting for an owl to swoop down the chimney any minute. But none came. Finally, he got up and looked around for something to keep himself busy with, but all the dishes had been washed and stored away by Kreacher last night as Sirius had instructed him to before he went to bed, and there was nothing left to do.

He left the kitchen and went upstairs, wandering from room to room. The silence in the house was ominous, echoing Sirius's inner agitation. He could hear little creatures rustling and scuttling behind the wall panelling. He didn't want to know what exactly they were.

Sirius's restlessness grew with every hour that passed. He returned to the kitchen at regular intervals to check the fireplace for news, for any word of what was happening, any sign that the world outside No. 12, Grimmauld Place existed at all. Finally, Kreacher's grin, clearly visible in the crack between the cupboard door and the wall, and growing wider every time Sirius returned, drove him from the room. He had the uncomfortable feeling that the house-elf had heard every word of what had been discussed the night before, and knew exactly what was nagging his master. Sirius decided to lock Kreacher up in an upstairs bathroom next time anyone from the Order came visiting. If any of them would ever come visiting again. It didn't look like it at the moment.

It was a little early to despair, though, Sirius told himself. They probably wanted to finish first with whatever Moody wanted them to do.

But whatever it was they were doing, it was taking a very long time.

By Tuesday morning, after a day spent mostly in the study reading more of what some old and probably long dead wizards and witches had to say on theories of Transfiguration, Sirius was still none the wiser. He wasn't only angry about not being kept up to date with the developments at the Ministry, he was also beginning to worry. It wasn't only Lupin who hadn't stirred - none of them was sending word. There was simply no explanation for this complete silence, other than that something had gone terribly wrong. But it couldn't be, he thought. Someone in the Order would know, and if it concerned Lupin, they would tell him straight away. Unless - unless, like they had done with Harry, they had all decided that it was better for him not to know. Maybe they didn't want to burden him with the knowledge that something dreadful had happened. Maybe they thought he was no better than a fourteen year old boy, who needed to know no more than that he'd better stay at home and let the grown-ups sort out the trouble.

Sirius went to feed Buckbeak around lunchtime, and sat in his usual place on the window sill while the Hippogriff eagerly devoured a small heap of fresh dead rats. He didn't feel much like eating himself, and watching Buckbeak's meal certainly didn't increase his appetite.

"It looks like it will be a while yet before we're off to visit Harry, Beaky," he told the Hippogriff. "I knew it, Harry isn't happy where he is, either. I know what that's like, stuck at home day after day, waiting and waiting..."

Saying it aloud only made it worse. At home. This wasn't home. It might be his house, it might be the house he grew up in, but to Sirius it was the last place on earth that would ever feel like home. He looked out of the window. It was a grey day, the sun hidden behind heavy, low hanging clouds. The square was, as usual, deserted. Things are moving, Sirius thought. But moving without me, away from me, out of my reach.

"Do you know what it feels like?" he asked, turning back to the Hippogriff. "To have no clue what's going on outside? Harry doesn't even know his friends are near him. He must think we've all forgotten about him." Like they've forgotten about me, Sirius added in his thoughts. It was too painful to say aloud. But had they forgotten about him - or was it rather that they didn't want him to be part of their adventures, whispering behind his back, talking behind closed doors?

Sirius felt a strong desire to hit something, or someone, or to blast something to a thousand pieces with his wand. He looked around the room, but he'd wisely cleared it of all its furnishings, except for the heap of ragged bedclothes on the floor the Hippogriff slept on, and there was nothing left that Buckbeak hadn't ravaged yet at any rate.

"Oh how I hate all this!" Sirius shouted at the world outside. "I HATE it!"

Buckbeak, alarmed, raised himself on his forelegs and flapped his mighty wings, brushing the walls on either side. The room suddenly looked absurdly small for the large creature.

"Yes, exactly!" Sirius told him angrily. "You know that, too. That's how it feels!"

The Hippogriff gave his human companion a steely look out of his golden eyes, as if to warn him that he didn't like to be shouted at.

"Oh all right, I shouldn't be shouting at you," Sirius said, slightly calmer. "I'm going to find someone who deserves it then."

He got up and left the room. He didn't know where exactly he was going or what exactly he was going to do, but when he passed his own old bedroom, he suddenly remembered. He quickly opened the door and stepped inside. The canvas in the frame on the left hand wall was blank.

"Phineas?" Sirius said into the silence. There was no reply. "Phineas? Phineas!"

"There's no need to shout," said the familiar silky voice from the empty canvas. "If I didn't feel like talking to you, it wouldn't make me." Phineas Nigellus appeared in his frame, looking down at his great-great-grandson with his usual air of condescension.

"Phineas, I want to know what's going on," Sirius said bluntly.

The former Headmaster folded his arms. "And why would you come to me for that?"

"Don't be stupid," Sirius snarled, not in the mood to humour his ancestor. "What else do you sit in Dumbledore's office for all day, if not to hear what's going on? Tell me."

Phineas Nigellus was not impressed. "You should know by now," he said evenly, "that I don't take orders from just anyone, and like it or not, that includes you."

"All right." Sirius sighed, and tried to sound very patient. "I'm not giving you orders. I'm just asking. So what's happening?"

"Then let me ask back. What makes you think the current Headmaster of Hogwarts has given me the authority to inform you of it?"

"Nothing. Look, I just need to know."

"And what if Professor Dumbledore disagrees with that?" Phineas Nigellus was looking very smug now.

Sirius opened his mouth, but didn't speak. Could Nigellus be right? Could it be that Dumbledore was deliberately keeping him in the dark? Sirius felt his hands curl into fists at his sides. "I want to hear that from Dumbledore himself," he said through clenched teeth.

"I regret to inform you," Nigellus replied smoothly, "that the Headmaster is not in his office at the moment. So I'm afraid you'll have to show a little patience, if you know the meaning of that word, until I can bring you his personal confirmation." Phineas Nigellus leant against the side of his frame, watching Sirius closely, clearly enjoying himself.

It wasn't true, Sirius suddenly realised. Nigellus was playing games with him, he just knew it. The former headmaster probably knew no more about the Order's current activities than Sirius did, he was just enjoying feeling superior. The Blacks had always been good at that.

"You're lying," Sirius said flatly.

"I'm warning you, Sirius," said Phineas Nigellus softly, his eyes flashing dangerously behind his self-content smile. "Call me a liar again, and next time I'll think twice before I come and visit this painting."

"Not that I'd care."

"Oh, you would. What would it feel like, your only remaining means of communicating with the outside world gone?"

Sirius reached for his wand, white with anger.

"Now, now," Nigellus said, feigning mild indignation. "Attacking an innocent painting! I notice with regret that you're lately developing an unfortunate habit of picking quarrels with the portraits in this house."

"That's because the portraits in this house have an unfortunate habit of making my life hell!" Sirius snapped back.

"Is that a way to talk about your ancestors?"

"It's better than they deserve."

The two wizards stood glaring at each other for a moment, then Phineas Nigellus rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "Have you finished venting your anger on an innocent bystander now, or is there anything else?" he asked in a very bored voice. "Because it's not my fault your precious friends aren't sharing all their precious little secrets with you, you know." Phineas watched the blow hit home with obvious relish, stroking his pointed black beard.

Sirius's fingers tightened around the handle of his wand inside his robes. "No, I haven't finished," he said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "I still want to know what's going on at the Ministry, and what Alastor Moody and Remus Lupin are up to, and why nobody's sending word."

Phineas Nigellus raised an eyebrow.

"Please," Sirius added with a great effort.

"Ah, that's better." Nigellus continued to stroke his beard. "And that's indeed interesting news. The Ministry, is it? Looks like Mad-Eye and your little werewolf friend are sticking their noses, or what remains of them, into affairs a few sizes to big for them, doesn't it?"

"So you don't know." It was a statement rather than a question. "You don't know anything."

"Well, that would be exaggerating," said Nigellus modestly. "But yes, this is all news to me." His smile was now easily broad enough to rival Kreacher's. "You're right, I have no idea what you're talking about. I just like to hear you plead."

Sirius turned around, tearing the moth-eaten carpet under his heel, and banged the door shut behind him, making the ornate frame rattle on the wall. I was wrong, Sirius thought disgustedly as he stomped down the stairs back to the kitchen. He is much, much worse than the average Slytherin.

Sirius was still so deep in his gloomy thoughts that at first he didn't even notice who was waiting for him on the kitchen table in front of the fireplace, until she hooted softly. It was Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl, with a letter tied to her leg.