Black is the Colour | Sirius Black

[thirty-seven]

xxxvii

aster

Days pass by like clouds, littering my consciousness as if they were simple thoughts. I stay in bed most of the time. Even going to the bathroom is difficult now and I can't remember the last time I brushed my teeth.

Brushing your teeth should signify the beginning and the end of a day – or after you've just thrown up. But recently I've had a sick and disgusted feeling in my mouth no matter how many times I swirl minty substances back and forth along my tongue, so I guess I've given up since nothing seems to be working.

Mopsey delivers me food three to four times a day and I make sure to eat it all as I know it would upset her otherwise. She's already on edge since she was told what happened in short. She burst into tears when I left the crusts of my toast behind on my breakfast plate the other day. She's quite a sensitive being.

My father on the other hand has never been more reserved and closed off from me, and that is saying something. He's either in his office all day or out at meetings. Mopsey told me that the meetings in his journal have become more and more frequent which worries me.

    I try not to think of my friends all together; studying for exams or throwing food across the table at each other. I even seem to miss the familiarity of James Potter's remarks in Potions, much to my own surprise. They'll graduate from sixth year in a few short days. I wonder nonchalantly if I'll ever set foot in Hogwarts again.

    I hallucinate on the bad days. Images of rough contact and laughing figures contort and I'm never sure if it's reality; a memory that was once forgotten or simply my mind playing tricks. Either way, as my bruises have been fading, the bags under my eyes have gotten a few shades darker. I feel weak most days but it's not like I have a list of activities planned for the day.

    A maroon speckled owl taps on my balcony door and I almost throw something it's way. The animal taps again, the noise grating at my eardrums. Begrudgingly, I get up from my place on the bed and pad over to the door. I shoo the winged creature away after it hisses at me for treats.

I unfold the piece of parchment with a sigh, hoping I don't have to encounter Lily's looped l's or e's.

It reads two words.

Knock knock.

My brows scrunch together in confusion. I hear the door to my bedroom open then, which I find peculiar as it isn't accompanied by the padding of the small footsteps of a house elf, but instead the sound of squeaking polished leather reaches my ears. My breath becomes lost.

    "Mopsey!" I call out, shrill and unlike any noise I've made before. "Dad! Dad!"

    Mulciber takes confident strides forward as I become smaller and smaller, backed into a corner. My feet almost fall from under me as I scramble away. "They've gone out," he tells me calmly. His tone is calculated and oozing with self-pleasure. "Won't be back for a while either. You know how long those meetings of his usually last, yes?"