have mercy {t.r}

PREFACE

h a v e m e r c y
H A V E M E R C Y

"HARRY," SIRIUS CALLED TO THE BOY. He had been talking with his friends in the dining room as they ate their breakfast, now walking up the stairs back to his bedroom which he shared with his best friend, Ron. Harry looked over to his godfather who was standing in the Forbidden Corridor as Molly had called it, in front of an old door with flaked green paint.

Ron looked at his friend cautiously, curious as to what Sirius had to tell him.

"I'll catch up with you later," Harry said, moving towards his godfather as his friends continued upward.

"Had a good morning, I presume?" Sirius asked with a smile, the smell of their hearty breakfast wafting through the house. He himself had had a dreadful morning, but he dare not mention it. "I want you to meet someone."

Harry blinked. "Who is it?" he asked curiously.

"I think she'd like to tell you herself." Harry stopped for a moment. A she? He hoped it wasn't a female companion of Sirius'. Harry had heard of his playboyish ways from Remus. Yet again, he was the most wanted wizard in all of Europe. Sirius knocked on the door gently, opening it a smidgen and calling out: "Mum? Are you awake?"

Mum? Harry thought. Sirius hated his mother so much, that he'd had Kreacher board up that horridly obnoxious painting of her in the downstairs hallway. He assumed that Walburga Black had died of old age, after all, the painting showed a woman much older than Mrs. Weasley.

"Sirius?" replied a sleepy voice. "What are you doing here so early?" This didn't sound like the disgusted cries of the painting, either. Walburga's voice was deeper, more firm and clear. This one was soft, light even.

"I brought you a visitor."

The woman gasped. "B-but I'm not ready!" she exclaimed.

Sirius turned to Harry, speaking softly. "I won't be a minute. Stay here." He quickly slipped past the door and into the room, leaving Harry alone outside. "What's wrong now?" Sirius whispered loudly from inside.

"Sirius, I'm not ready! I can't ... I can't do it. It's too soon!" she hissed.

"He has a right to know," Sirius reasoned. "If you wait any longer, I'm afraid you'll be dead."

"Why can't you tell him?" There was silence, then a shuffling of feet. "You'll stay?"

"I'll be here with you, yes. But I won't say anything." Harry supposed that the woman had agreed, as Sirius called him into the room and told him to close the door behind him. He was shocked to see an older woman lying in bed, Sirius sitting in a chair beside her. She looked nothing like the painting of Walburga Black whose black and grey hair was tied tightly to the back of her head. This woman's hair was a faded brown, slightly frizzed and sprawled across the pillow she rested her head on. He could've sworn he'd seen a younger image of her somewhere.

"Harry," she said with a kind, yet tired, smile. "Oh, you look so much like James. Doesn't he, Sirius?"

"He does," confirmed the man, leaning back on his chair proudly.