SIX DAYS HAD PASSED SINCE EVERYONE ARRIVE AT THE ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK. The six days everyone had been dreading due to Harry's hearing at the Ministry because of the Dementor incident. It was the panicked pain that hit her chest once she awoke from her slumber was instant.
It felt like a blade was pinpricking its way into her skin. It did not feel nice, it seemed like she was being hit with the Cruciatus Curse repeatedly. And she could feel it, instead of being able to drag it out.
The witch climbed out of the senescent, grinding bed she'd slept in the previous night and trudged down the old steps of the ancestral house, walking past the paintings of her ancestors.
"Morning, Mini Padfoot," James greeted in a tired, stressed voice—Alena was surprised that he wasn't with Harry at his trial.
"How come your not with Harry? He's gone, right?" Alena wondered, spreading butter atop of her toast.
"Yeah, he left a while ago. Only Arthur and your aunt went with him, because of the Ministry's bullshit right now," he grumbled, his rancid language gave Alena a laugh she needed.
"I don't think Uncle Moony would approve of your language, Mr Potter," she teased, smiling softly behind the burnout of her hazel-gray eyes.
"Hmm... probably not," he pretended to think about it before chuckling after the few seconds of silence, which made her genuinely laugh.
It was the godly sound that no one had heard since the death of Cedric Diggory. A tone that Sirius missed. He'd rounded the corner towards the basement kitchen to mast himself breakfast, when he heard his best friend and daughter laughing together.
Sirius Orion Black missed seeing his family happy, as he did with his friends. He never wished, in a million years, that his only daughter would have to endure something kindred to his life. The deaths of Cedric Diggory and Regulus Black: they were two different people in the same corrupt era, just trying to find their halos.
