𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍 | 𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘞𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘺

Chapter 51 - A Phantom from the Past

______________________________________________________________________________

Darling, dearest, dead.

______________________________________________________________________________

Life is unpredictable, terribly, wonderfully unforeseeable. In the short time a man walks on Earth, life can give unimaginable blessings, exhilarating delights, as the feeling that Icarus held flying high in the sky, with the wind in his hair and youth on his side. But it can plunge him into the blackest of chasms, into a turmoil of despair, as it happened to Daedalus, who saw his only and beloved son fall into the whirling coils of the stormy sea.

Life can be a loving mother, sweet as honey, smooth as silk. But it can also be a cruel torturer, ready to take away all comfort.

These were the thoughts and the elucubrations that clouded Sirius' mind as he first observed the facade of his childhood dwelling after nineteen years.

Betelgeuse stood motionless beside him, waiting patiently. She saw Kreacher open the wrought-iron gate that delimitated the Black residence and climb the granite steps leading to the dark wooden door.

12 Grimmauld Place was the ancestral home of the Black family, located in the Borough of Islington, London, its location was protected by a Fidelius Charm and several other obscure protective spells her grandfather Orion had cast on the house.

Betelgeuse waited for Sirius to recover from his lucid reverie; his thoughts were so loud that he involuntary projected them from his minds for Betelgeuse to catch. She took the time to observe the house. A worn set of front steps led to a battered front door. On the door was a silver knocker in the shape of a twisted serpent, with no keyholes, handles, or anything else that would indicate it to be a door, as it opened only by magic. However, Betelgeuse remembered wincing a doorbell — a loud, clanging bell that had a tendency to awaken Walburga Black's portrait inside. She dreaded what spiteful nonsense would spew the enchanted painting of her grandmother as soon as Sirius had crossed the threshold.

Betelgeuse turned her attention to the tall man beside her, "Sirius," she called softly, making him recoil. He was once again immersed in his thoughts, surrounded by the ghosts of the past. "Sirius, let us continue," Betelgeuse spoke as if she was trying to soothe a spooked animal. At last, she was met by the lost gaze of her uncle; she took his hand and led him through the front door. Sirius ultimately grasped where he was only when the wooden front door closed with a dull sound.

"Kreacher, take our belongings upstairs, and prepare Sirius' old room, please," Betelgeuse instructed the grumpy house-elf without withdrawing her eyes from the older Black. He looked around at the ancient furniture illuminated by the dim light of the gas lamps. Everything was how he remembered, but not the same.

The grand entryway, complete with ornate portraits on the walls, no longer had the cruel character it had held when his mother was still alive. The shadows projected by the gas candles no longer gave him the feeling of insurmountable oppression that he had always felt as a child and teenager; instead, they gave the corridor a sense of cocooning, arcane mystery. He did not know if this new feeling stemmed from the awareness that those who had tormented him as a child were long dead and no longer able to hurt him or because he sensed that the current inhabitants were decent people.

Betelgeuse stood still, trapped by the painful memories that Sirius' mind was propelling like bullets against the portrait of Walburga, which someone had considerately covered.