The Master of Death

Chapter35: Keeping Company

The next afternoon, Harry returned to Grimmauld Place. As soon as he'd arrived, he got a vague sense of Sirius' presence somewhere on a floor above him.
Death writhed slowly on his shoulders and a silent hiss could be heard when the being's tongue flicked against Harry's collar bone.

Nowadays Harry was so used to seeing Death in his human form that he'd almost jumped at the sudden weight appearing on his shoulders.
He had stopped dead in his tracks then - forgetting for a moment that he was on his way to Herbology - which in turn had caused Ron to release a string of curses since he barely avoided knocking into his friend. In the end, they'd managed to make their way to the greenhouses without another incident.

During their walk there, Harry had smiled when he noticed that Death had crept further under his shirt as soon as they'd stepped outside.
The change of seasons couldn't be ignored any longer and the few warm days they'd still been granted at the beginning of the month, had been chased away by the icy wind that swept over the Hogwarts grounds. Snow could be spotted on the mountain tops surrounding the castle, grey clouds hanging over them. The cold autumn air had the younger students researching warming charms and the Quidditch players slowly started to resent their captains for the rigorous training in the chilly weather.

Even inside the walls of Hogwarts, students had started to wear their dragonhide gloves.

Harry doubted that Death was also affected by the change of weather, but even now – hours later – the being was still curled around his shoulders. He wouldn't ask Death to change back if he didn't want to, however, the fact that the being had yet to get bored of it only confirmed Harry's growing suspicion, namely that he enjoyed being carried around that way.

Said being was now slithering down Harry's arm, defying gravity in a way that shouldn't be possible, while the dusty air of Grimmauld place's entrance hall whirled with their arrival.
Harry's gaze wandered over the rows of portraits before his attention shifted. The magic that had once belonged to the invisibility cloak snapped back. Harry could feel it retreating into his core in time with his exhale. Accompanied by the scrutinizing stares of the portraits he made his way upstairs.

He didn't quite know where Sirius was and so he kept his eyes and ears open. But apart from a few spiders and Buckbeak, he didn't pick up on anyone else's aura. The only sound reverberating through the gloomy house came from the hippogriff behind the closed door of Mrs Black's former bedroom.

Eventually, he'd reached the topmost landing, where his godfather's room was located.

Reaching the door with Sirius' nameplate - a relic from the Black's youth - Harry knocked. He could hear some shuffling and then there was silence. Harry frowned as there was no answer and he knocked again. Another minute passed and then Sirius finally opened it.

He looked - for lack of a better word - terrible.

Dark circles underlined his eyes, his face had taken on an even unhealthier pale shade and day-old stubble decorated Sirius' jaw. Carding through his messy hair, he blinked at Harry with a sour look on his face. Though when he saw that it was his godson, his expression softened a little bit.
One peek into the room confirmed Harry's suspicion that not much had changed. He sighed and then pushed past his godfather and the small gap between the door, not bothering to wait for an invitation.

It became apparent that Sirius had most likely been holed up in his room since Harry had left the previous day.

Immediately Harry was overwhelmed by the stuffiness. Velvet curtains blocked the sunlight from entering and the state of the room didn't seem to have changed at all.
Files were still scattered all over the floor, alongside scribbles that hadn't been there yesterday and the bottles next to the bed had gained new company in form of a cheap firewhisky.