An Interference of Portraits

The Portraits

It was early June when I slowly climbed the stairs to the top of Grimmauld Place and properly braved the attic rooms for the first time. Amongst the overwhelming piles of crap, I found a collection of portraits, mostly of disowned Blacks. I also found a Boggart and, in what had clearly once been an Owlery, found some of Sirius's old stuff, including a record player and boxes of vinyl. I locked the Boggart in a clearly marked trunk for the time being and focused on Sirius's record collection. I took it all downstairs, cleaned off the shit, and once I worked out how to get it working using magic, I spent hours working through the records, playing them all, filling the house with life and joy. And when I wasn't sorting things out, I danced by myself around the dark, half-empty rooms, typically awkwardly for me, but I didn't care, I liked it, especially when doing silly tasks or cooking for myself. I know I can't dance, but I just didn't care. I suppose it was the freedom and just living in the moment. I decided my home was definitely a space where, as the saying goes, I could dance like nobody's watching. I decided that music was the way forward. I wished, on more than one occasion, that Sirius and Remus were in the house with me. I could imagine Sirius dancing round with me, the two of us being carefree idiots together while Remus leant against the doorframe, watching fondly but pretending to roll his eyes.

I'd come to imagine the two men like that after sifting through some of Sirius's old photograph albums and after I found some letters between them, including some of Remus's letters that he'd received from Sirius. I'd finally realised the exact nature of their relationship before Sirius had been sent to Azkaban because Sirius's letters to Remus were liberatingly graphic when it came to describing what he wanted to do to Remus or wanted Remus to do to him when they next got together. Sometimes it was eyewatering reading, but also pretty bloody compulsive because it was damned hot. It was clear they'd been desperately in love and were very sexually active too.

With hindsight, I knew the clues had been there all along, it was just, well, I'm me; I know I'm a bit oblivious sometimes. But perhaps it was also because I'd only finally come to a clear conclusion about my own sexuality after the war had ended.

Admittedly, I conveniently created a gap in my memory about Remus and Tonks, not because I didn't like Tonks—I loved her dearly and made every effort to visit Dromeda and Teddy frequently since I'd got back—it was just that I wanted Sirius to have that happiness. It saddened me that they'd lost their relationship due to the war and Sirius's wrongful imprisonment. It also saddened me that I hadn't been able to share something of that with them after Sirius's offer of a proper family-life with him had been ripped away from us by Snape and Fudge. And when I found a more recent beautiful photograph of Sirius with arm around Remus's waist and Remus leaning in, looking at Sirius with aching fondness, that was when I decided I needed to get their portrait done. I felt like it was a positive, happy sort of thing to do, even if it couldn't be magical portrait. I found more photographs too that I decided I wanted to add to my collection. This was about making Grimmauld Place my own with my choices of what would be on the walls of my home, namely, my family and friends, though I decided to keep some of the Black family too. I'd kept the old headmaster, Phineas Nigellus Black, because I'd become rather fond of the grumpy old sod, plus he'd helped in the end. And he was a useful link to Minerva. I had taken to calling him Phineas N. because I'd found a portrait of his son, Phineas II, hidden in the attic. It turned out Phineas II was disowned for supporting Muggle Rights; I decided he deserved a spot on one of my walls somewhere, once I was a bit clearer. Of course, the other portrait that remained was Walburga Black's on the first midway landing of the grand u-shaped stairs that ran all the way from the basement up to the attic rooms. She only remained in her indominable central position that overlooked both down onto the entrance hall and dining room and up into the first floor sitting room because I hadn't worked out how to remove her from the wall. For the time being, I tried to forget she was there, which was aided by the fact that she hadn't shouted or screamed once since I'd returned. At the very least, I hoped she might have left for some reason but I couldn't quite pluck up the courage to check behind the curtains that hid her picture.