Arcane 𓃦 [Sirius Black]

Chapter 2 - Twist and Shout

One hand on the banister, Sirius glances quickly toward the parlour door before gesturing for me to follow him up the stairs. I look back briefly, wondering what my parents are up to. The music has died down, but I can still hear the rumbling of voices from within.

I refrain from gasping when I come face-to-face with the effigy of a decapitated house elf. The entire staircase is lined with them, tucked neatly into each nook, and I avert my gaze to the floor as I follow Sirius upward.

When we reach the top, Sirius turns to face me, pulling me up the last step by my wrist. We stand in a hallway of three doors, all closed. Sirius heads toward the one on the left, its placard stating his name. I stand awkwardly, not wanting to intrude. The door to my right holds a placard too, though this one is far longer, reading Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black. I think I see light shining from the gap, but I don't ponder it too long as Sirius then pokes his head out from his room.

"What're you waiting for?" he asks, perplexed, "come on!"

I shuffle my feet, slipping through his door. He shuts it behind me, then walks to his closet, tossing his tie onto his unmade bed. His room is a mess, but he doesn't seem too ashamed. There are clothes strewn across the floor, overflowing from a wooden trunk, as if he never bothered to unpack. I stand oafishly near the door, trailing my gaze across his walls. They are so covered with posters, photos, and magazine clippings I can barely see the intricate wallpaper behind. It is exactly as I would imagine a teenage boy's room, though his carved wooden furniture still indicates his unusual family ties.

I walk to his dresser, listening as he shuffles about, throwing clothes around and muttering to himself.

Stacked neatly atop the dresser's surface, in contrast to the mess of his room, are photographs. Some are framed on display, but my attention is piqued by a pile of polaroids. They are worn and quite clearly loved, with dog-eared corners and yellowed edges. One is stained with the rim of a mug, like someone used it as a coaster. I pick it up, inspecting the contents with a close eye.

Sirius is in it, lounging back on a cushy looking couch. He's sporting what I'm beginning to believe is a signature smirk and has his arms loosely around two boys. The one on the left looks unprepared for the photo, glasses askew and eyes widened in surprise at the flash. The one on the right is smiling, a book thrown lazily in his lap as his long legs rest upon the table. Another sits at the foot of the couch, dark blond hair, crooked grin, and mischievous eyes. They look happy, and even though it's a muggle photograph, I can almost imagine them laughing, pushing each other around as they banter like boys do.

There are many more containing those same boys, some posing, some candid. More characters appear as I flip through. A girl with blazing red hair, laughing as she pushes the bespectacled boy out of frame. A mousy-haired girl posing with a huge, fluffy cat. A dark-haired beauty with her arms around Sirius's shoulders, the two sitting beneath a great, arching tree. I set down the rest of the stack, holding the last photo between my fingers.

I gaze over at the boy to my right, watching as a stack of wool sweaters falls out of his wardrobe and onto his head. I stifle a chuckle, looking back to the picture in my hand. I almost feel envious, wondering what his life must entail, wondering who took these photos and how many priceless memories they hold.

I trail my eyes over the framed photos and up the wall. There are banners hung above the dresser, reds and golds and lions covering almost every inch. I drop my gaze to the piece of furniture, noting a similar red scarf strewn across it. I pick it up in my free hand, feeling the soft fabric against my skin. I have the urge to run it across my face, wrap it around my neck, take in its scent...