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ONE BIG HOUSE
12 Grimmauld Place was never empty, but somehow it was still lonely. Sirius Black roamed the halls when the members of the Order weren't present, every so often he could be heard cursing at Kreacher, but that was the loudest it ever got when it was just the two of them. Dumbledore would stop by, updating them on news in the wizarding world, Molly Weasley was a frequent visitor as she brought them homemade meals since Sirius was never much of a cook and Calliope never had much opportunity to learn. Kreacher often grumbled at her as she walked through the old house, mumbling something about half-breeds and blood traitors but she didn't mind as much. If Walburga Black's memory was soiled by Sirius accidentally taking in the little orphan girl then so be it.
It had only been two weeks that she had been here. Sirius had called this the place for people who had nowhere else to go. She didn't realize how correct he had been until she saw how Sirius would flinch if her foot came down too heavy, as if he was scared he was going to be caught and yanked back to Azkaban. She still flinched when the doors shut too harshly — every loud noise still reminded her of that night.
"Ain't they have a daughter?" the voice was still clear as day in her head. Her hand had clutched over her mouth as she hid under her bed, not daring to breathe. She wishes she could have used magic, but an instantaneous howler from the Ministry could have been the end of her life. Ridiculous when she thought about it. Really, she hadn't even known where here wand was. Strange how you don't think about where you leave it until you need it most.
"If they do, she's not here," the other had grunted, the voices unfamiliar. She didn't need to know who they were to know what they served and stood for.
Calliope Barlowe woke with a start on the morning of August fourth, shooting up in the bed that had once belonged to a young Sirius, cold sweat running down her back and soaking her skin with a dull chill. Her breathing was heavy and it seemed the root of the goosebumps rising on her skin was the window that had somehow been opened — a night too cold for August. She shivered, her feet pressing against the hardwood floor quietly as she tipped over to the window, shutting it as quietly as she could. Pulling the curtains closed tightly she relished in the sudden warmth, running a hand through her hair as she leaned against the wall for a moment. Sliding to the floor, she tried to forget about what had been replaying in her mind every night since it happened. Pressing a gentle hand to her chest, she felt her heartbeat. She was alive, she survived. She survived, but she was paying for it.
Not feeling like going back to sleep, she opened her door quietly in case the man of the house was asleep. The clock on the wall told her it was nearing four in the morning, but she knew she might as well start her day now. Her knotted hair tumbled down her shoulders; it had gotten so long over the summer. She supposed she was going to have to learn how to braid it herself now that she didn't have her mother to do it for her.
