Ivy hadn't spoken to her sister in nearly two years. Addictions and pride tore apart the very fabric of a shattered family, pulled its stitching to illuminate a messy group of broken people. There was no fixing it and when Lily Evans died, there was...
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SIRIUS BLACK AWOKE IN an unfamiliar place. He glanced around, almost expecting dementors to be lurking in the corners of the room. He felt this way up until the haze of the last 12 hours returned and Sirius was aghast with how his head panged against his skull. Looking down, he nearly kicked the pot of murky water that had been next to his feet. His hands immediately searched his pockets, instinctually now looking for the wand, but he wasn't surprised that Ivy had taken it.
The thought of the red-head sent his mind spinning as he clumsily got to his feet, his beard scraggly and tangled, but he was clean even if he felt like there was no washing away the dementor's touch. He scanned his surroundings, his heart thundering as he stood, his knees nearly buckling from underneath him. He spotted the library, about fifteen shelves coating the walls, the simple furniture, the open balcony windows paired with a lit fireplace, enchanted to keep the wood-burning. He saw the soup, simmering in the kitchen. He walked towards it, using furniture and the walls to hold him up as he stared at the low heat of the pot. Next to it was a bowl and a spoon, nothing else. The moment he got close, the pot opened up, and they began to magically serve him.
It had been so long since he'd seen magic up close, and he watched with amazement as if he were a muggle. The bowl began to drift towards him, but moved past and landed on the counter where the high barstools rested. Sirius took a deep breath, forcing himself to follow it. All the while, his eyes scanned every last drop of his surroundings, panic, and anxiety filtering into him with every passing second.
As he sat down, a lucky thing as he was moments from collapse, he laid his head against the counter next to his soup. The cool marble transferred to his burning skin as he brought his hand up to inspect his once splinched wound. It was nowhere to be seen. Sirius felt his throat close, burning with the old panic and terrible memories. As a reminder to eat, the spoon tapped against his bowl, almost as impatient as the witch who enchanted it.
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