Black [1]

Chapter 52

I jolt awake with a gasp, the memory of what I just saw playing again and again in my head, almost without end. It was soundless, but maybe that's the worst part of it, not being able to hear anything but knowing it's real.

No. That's not the worst part. The worst part is that I've seen it before but chalked it up to a nightmare. But it's not a nightmare. It's a vision, and I wish it wasn't.

A blast of red light light, and then he falls into the Veil.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling my blanket-covered legs up to my chest as I clutch my head, trying to ignore the voices that threaten to drown me. "It's not real," I whisper adamantly to myself, my fingernails digging into my scalp harshly in an attempt to straighten my thoughts out. "It's not real. It's not happened yet. It might be years before it happens. Sirius is safe and alive and..."

But I trail off feebly when music reaches my ears, piquing my interest. My eyes fly open, wondering who could be up at this time of night. Pulling the blanket and standing up, I wrap it around my shoulders and shuffle to the drawing room opposite the room Ginny, Hermione and I are sharing, seeking a distraction.

I find one, seeing the door slightly ajar and peeking my head in. The very person I saw the vision of sits there, fingers gliding over the ivories of the old piano I was sure to clean the moment I arrived at Grimmauld for the first time, and at first I'm surprised. I didn't know Sirius played the piano, not seeing anything about it in his diary. Then again, some of his entries were rather vague.

He seems to realise he's not alone because his fingers slowly stop, his gaze turning to see me at the door. If he's surprised then he doesn't show it, a soft smile gracing his lips. I close my eyes for a moment, forcing the image in my head away. I don't want to see it. "Did I wake you?" he asks softly as I close the door.

"No," I reply quietly, tapping my temple and feigning indifference. "Stupid nightmares. It's a normal thing. I don't tend to get much sleep unless I use sleeping draughts, so sometimes when I need to catch up Remus gives me some. I didn't know you could play the piano."

He looks at me for a moment, then beckons me over. "Come here." I walk over to him slowly, sitting beside him on the stool, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders before pressing a kiss to my forehead. "This isn't fair on you," he murmurs. "You or Harry. Any of you kids." Harry came back from the hearing a few weeks ago, clear of all charges, although he seemed a little confused on why Dumbledore didn't speak to him even once. I can't even begin to explain that one to him.

"Life doesn't play favourites," I remark bitterly. If Life did, then maybe she would've spared a lot of people who didn't deserve to die. Marlene McKinnon. James and Lily Potter. And soon... soon Sirius Black.

He sighs, not saying anything in reply to that, then nods towards the piano. "Your mother taught me. How to play. We didn't have much time after we left school, with the Order meetings and all, but when we made time she taught me. She should've been the one to teach you."

I can almost imagine it in my head. A younger version of myself smashing my tiny hands on the piano keys beside my mother's elegant playing. I can hear her light laugh, see how Sirius would've leant against the stand and watched with the same fond smile I've seen on him so often now.

But that's not reality. The truth of it is, my music teacher taught me how to play the piano during lunchtimes when I was too afraid to go outside and make friends in worry I'd be bullied for my parents, or lack thereof.

His fingers start to move over the keys again, playing Chopin's Nocturne, and after a few moments I join in with him. It feels so strange, playing the piano with my father. I remember sitting in my bed at night when I was younger, staring at the photo of my laughing parents by my bedside and pretending they were with me, stroking my hair and kissing my forehead.