Valkyrie Kat

~Severus~

“You two! Enough with the blame and the shame. The Dark Lord could have found ways to attack your precious James and precious Lily no matter what and Dumbledore was really such a jerk. You trust anything he tells you then you're almost as stupid as trusting what the Dark Lord tells you. I can see we three have a past, but can't we leave it behind? Just for now?” Regulus sounds very, very exasperated. I see the sense in what he says.

“What is done is done and there is no point apportioning blame when there is no way to travel back to the past and change it...not even with a time turner.” I let my fingers stray to a deep pocket and hold the round object I have always refused to use since Seventh year. “No setting time back can erase the past.”

“Spoken like a true book,” Regulus snickers. “It's Christmas Eve, time to put things behind us. A toast to the future?”

“Kreacher! Please fetch the vodka and orange juice, the 26 ounce bottle.” Kreacher nods, and I notice he has left Regulus' locket behind on the chair he stood next to. “Shame the under-age brats can't celebrate with the adults.” Sirius' eyes glint with mischief. Kreacher practically sprinted in order to obey quickly.

“You wait! I know this house too you know.” He stops stroking a tan and white greyhound and dashes through the portraits out of the room, leaving Sirius and I stymied. I wonder, “Are there any pictures with alcohol in them?”

“The one of Cygnus and Druella on the grass with a large glass of sherry, on the second floor landing.” Sirius answers at once. “I bet he did go there. If he's going to drink, I certainly will. Why not forget for tonight, Severus? Let that greasy hair down?”

I growl at Sirius, baring my teeth. My canines, even. I feel my hands clench and unclench but I can't seem to control them. “Cease and desist putting me down or I shall have put you down so far you're six feet under.” I'm touchier than usual. I blame the conversation and the nerves I have jangling beneath the control, which I know can break so easily. Wouldn't vodka just make me worse, as it did my father?

“Whoa. Down, boy. You give Padfoot shoddy competition though.” Sirius bares his own teeth in a grin, as Kreacher trots back into the room with a number of glasses, vodka and orange juice. Regulus slinks through three portraits to get back to the hounds. He's not holding a glass of sherry, but rather a gargantuan bottle. I look at Sirius. Sirius looks at me.

“Are you two willing to witness whatever may come of my intoxication?” I ask shortly.

“Sev's getting drunk! Yay! That means I can too!” Regulus grins as he writes, fingering his bottle lovingly.

“And I am not going to put up with you two's nonsense by remaining sober. I'm not afraid of venom.” Sirius picks up the vodka bottle. “Remember how mother would allow you a glass of wine at Christmas dinner and never me? From the time you turned eleven. They didn't trust the lion.” Sirius considers the vodka bottle, raises the orange juice and then chucks the orange juice into the rubbish.

“You can't dislike mother and father that much that you have no positive memories of our home Christmas before you started running off to the Potters.” Regulus opens the sherry bottle.

“Everything old is new again,” I say. “One type of past is bad, one type good. Selectively search for the positive. Classifications of negative and positive emotions. Sounds like nonsense.”

“Right up your street, then,” Regulus laughs as he takes a swig and chokes on the sweetness and alcohol. “Come on, you came here too when you were fourteen. You couldn't go home and didn't want to stay at Hogwarts without Lily. I convinced you.”

“I remember the way those biscuits danced...” I say. Sirius nods. “Mother was always so good at producing marzipan and honey-almond cookies. You did a good job yourself.”

I turn away, flushing. I want to blame the exaggerated cookie scene on the elf.

I watch Sirius pour two ounces each into two small glasses rather like square water glasses. He passes me one and I give it a sniff, thinking of Russian potatoes. It smells like it could degrease engines.

I drink it in one, a hissing noise escaping me after I swallow. “Was that Snake Fluid, Severus?” I notice Regulus has written. I still feel lucid. Not much used to alcohol. A moment later an idea comes to me and I whisper a special version of the Sonorous spell.

“Speak using your tongue. I'm sick to death of reading your writing.” I sneer.

“What?” Regulus scribbles.

“Just try to speak.”

“...out loud. Out loud! I can speak our loud like a regular portrait! I can hear myself. I was so lonely .... thank you Severus!” Regulus looks a little choked but then he is one fifth finished a large bottle of sherry.

“I did it for me as much as you, I hate your handwriting.” I smirk at Reg and enjoy the voice of my boyhood friend.

“There you go, unable to accept that you're really a nice person.” Regulus winks. Sirius laughs, and I snort. Sirius seems touched at hearing Regulus again. Is this alcohol? I take another vodka. We forgot our toast.

“To Sirius, the best friend a man could have.” I raise a glass, looking into Sirius' grey eyes. I know he's thinking of James without Legilimency. I trust the others will make toasts.

“To family, and honour and decency!” Regulus waves his sherry though the air.

“To Regulus and Severus. What I almost missed out on for far too long.” Sirius is sad-looking. He weaves where he sits, on his fourth quick shot of vodka. I see a tear leak down his face.

I look away. “That was an interesting experience being here in my youth, Reg. It was so very much opposite to home. The decorations in silver and green, the carols, the willingness of your parents to let use use magic here, the tapestry's life, the way if I asked a question I got an answer. Chasing Andy and Cissy with handfuls of rodents from the alley, Bellatrix and her mad laugh that was still a laugh to hear back then...”

We all fall silent. “It's time! Listen for the Carillon! It's ringing twelve o'clock! Happy Christmas!” Sirius' tear is forgotten, and he starts to laugh maniacally. Howling, barking mad, I think, smirking.

Dong, dong, dong....the Carillon and the distant Big Ben.

~Sirius~

I turn to open the window and let the Muggle sounds in, bells and squeaky sounds from the neighbours' houses, carols, pop songs and classic music. The songs haven't changed since I was a boy. The rain has stopped and the cold air increases the funny effect of the vodka.

“We've forgotten to draw straws, Sirius.” calls Regulus from the wall. I'm still startled by the fact that the sketch suddenly can speak.

“No need to! There's only one choice.” I light the star on top of the tree. “Regulus, brightest star of the constellation Leo.”

“Can anyone tell me what this is about?” Severus asks exasperatedly.

“Black family tradition. Each year we drew straws to name the star after one of us, Bellatrix, Andromeda, Sirius or me.”

“Everyone else not named after a star excluded. How very nice and typically Black.”

“You have a Roman wall bearing your name the whole year. Very fitting, if you ask me.”

Severus eyes turn to slits. “Oh yes, the boys at primary school were very impressed.”

“You went to a Muggle school? What was it like? I wanted to go so much, but Mother wouldn't allow it.”

“Imagine you are the only wizard, a strange looking oddball and the Muggles were all like you and your friends.”

“Little girls in dressing gowns, cut your hair or wear pigtails? A black eye changed their view on us dramatically. You take those things too personally. You always did. Can you imagine how many stupid jokes I've heard about my name? Even James …”

“Sure, it's all my own fault, isn't it? Taking it too personally. I should have laughed, when you called me Snivellus.”

“Sev, it's Christmas! You can call me siriusly disturbed and I promise not to call you Snivellus ever again. Deal?”

“You are seriously disturbed, Mutt!”

I turn into Padfoot and jump around him, stubbing him with my nose and then I sit down in front of him wagging my tail. Regulus is squealing with glee.

“Sev, I think you've got to take the dog out for a walk.”

Severus sighs, but only in jest. I roll on the floor at his feet. He is not exactly sober anymore, just like me.

“All right, before something indecent happens. Fetch your collar and leash, Padfoot!”

I run into the hall and get both, unpleasant necessity in a Muggle environment.

Severus puts it around my neck, not too tight. He is nice to animals.

“Stop jumping, dog! Where's the muzzle?”

I growl and he laughs.

~Severus~

I put a few fingers under the collar to test laxness, then attach the leash. Regulus whistles, and shouts, “Good luck keeping him away from the midnight bitches!” I look at him quizzically. “It's Christmas Eve. We need not worry about many canine harlots.” I can't contain a sneer but Regulus merely waves and says “Have fun!”

As I leave the room I feel like an idiot. That's Padfoot, that's Sirius, I can never get over how they can be one being in two bodies. He's a dog so I'll be kind. Dogs are loyal to those they like, and to judge by the frantic wagging of the tail and the licking of my hand and his nose halfway up my sleeve, I take it he likes me.

He's pulling on the lead as we exit the front door; he's straining to get out. I can guess why. I keep fumbling with the leash and weave very slightly as we walk to the centre of the square where there is a bit of brown winter grass between the snowy patches, and two trees. As we get nearer he pulls.

“Siri---Padfoot! Behave yourself!” I growl.

More pulling.

“Heel!” I say firmly. He walks docile at my side, never passing my knee. I wish I had more experience of dogs. I think of my cat Alexi and think I'd prefer Padfoot. But then, stopping at one of the trees, he raises his leg and pees on not only the tree but my right leg. He's...never trust a drunken dog!

“Scourgify!” I clean up the mess quickly and Padfoot whines as I swear and snarl at him. I hate making dogs whine. They're so preferable to people.

I have a tube container I was planning to give to Sirius so I may as well do it in style. Give Padfoot something to carry, give him some pride as he trots like a horse.

“Defence course syllabus and calendar and time outline, for you to carry until you become Sirius. Hold on.” I pass the small light brown tube down and he carries it gladly. I walk him through the dimly lit streets, most houses black as the children wait for their stockings. I think about childhood stockings. Ha. I don't notice that we have come to another square, this one more green, and that Padfoot is straining on his leash again. A rat? No, he has to...do his business. I let him off the leash to do it, and he turns three circles and humps over and I look away. I use Evanesco again. Smelly. I'd hate to be a Muggle or surrounded by Muggles and have to scoop manually.

He nuzzles me, panting, carrying his message like a heroic war dog. I stumble a bit. The vodka is still hitting me like a padded boot to the head, and war dog makes me think of Odo the Hero, and his song.

I sing aloud...and Siri---Padfoot, howls along. We sing and howl seven verses until we reach:

“And Odo the hero, they bore him back home

To the place that he'd known as a lad

They laid him to rest with his hat inside out,

And his wand snapped in two which was sad.”

There's a fair amount of slurring in my song and I hear someone yell “Shut up, lugless hound!” from the window of a nearby tenement house. I check and make sure the panting dog hasn't forgotten to pick up his “stick”. Then I vomit everywhere and Padfoot sniffs it. I drag him away from it, using Evanesco once again and follow the path I took, reversing my steps back to Grimmauld Place.

Number Twelve. I hear noise as I open the door. It seems Regulus has taken his huge bottle to Phineas and that a few other portraits are in the same frame, boisterous, drunk. The large picture containing the greyhounds. I remove Padfoot's leash.

I look at Padfoot, surprised by the ruckus. Hogwarts has competition as far as noise goes. He drops the tube and I look and in a second Sirius is shaking his shaggy head at me.

“Well? Wasn't I a good boy?” he asks.

“Pay attention, mutt. Your parcel. Your eyes only. New Defence Against The Dark Arts regime.”

Sirius retrieves the package like a good dog.

“You would find a purpose even in drunken meandering,” he says, grinning. He's still wearing his collar.

~Sirius~

Regulus has invited a few other portraits and they're having a party on the drawing room wall. As we enter a 17^th century witch arrives with a plate of crumpets and her husband has lighted a fire.

Under a tree sits another wizard and plays vivacious tunes on his tin whistle. The old hag from opposite father's study has recovered from Corner's attack and dances with the portrait who gave her refuge. The second greyhound from the family crest has joined in. Other ancestors have brought their own provisions and share them generously. There are too many portraits and paintings in this house.

“Phineas! Is this your idea of looking after your youngest grandson? He will feel crumpled-up to the last thread of his canvas by tomorrow.”

Phineas returns an earthen jug to the Scottish wizard next to him.

“The boy is a Black. He can take a few. Don't be a spoilsport. This is a Slytherin party! Feel honoured to be invited, Gryffindor.”

The witches and wizards gathered around the fire start chanting.

“Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Let's roast Gryffindors!”

They put butter and sugar on top of the crumpets and hover them over the flames..

Severus lounges in his chair and has another vodka. “Good idea. Kreacher, where are your crumpets? Let's roast Gryffindors!”

“Where I come from we called it roasting Slytherins.”

“Of course you did. And you probably imagined that we were brewing disgusting draughts and roasted slugs instead.”

“Well yes, what else? You roast a Gryffindor and I a Slytherin and then we swap. What do you think?”

“Haven't your parents taught you anything? Never take food or drink from a potion master.”

Severus smiles, but as always there's a subtle undertone.

“I think I can take the risk. I've already eaten your biscuits yesterday and survived.”

“Wait until you wake up tomorrow. You may be turned into a bug.”

“Not unless you're George Weasley polyjuiced.”

Severus pretends to shudder. “Not another Weasley, please....!”

Kreacher has brought the earlier dismissed crumpets, butter, sugar, jam,chocolate and black currant syrup. I sit down on the rug by the fire and start preparing the 'Slytherin' for roasting. Severus joins me and prepares his 'Gryffindor'.

In the portraits one wizard has gotten a fiddle, a witch is clapping spoons and the Scottish wizard has found a bag pipe. He's out off practise, that's for sure. A young witch sings an endless lament for her lost lover on 'The Rock of Azkaban' . Then they turn to merrier tunes. Severus and I exchange our crumpets and lick the sticky mess from our fingers. Placing another set over the fire, trying to surpass each other with the weirdest combination of toppings. We can't turn back time, but we can have fun.

“Sirius, you have chocolate on your nose.”

“So what, the black currant syrup is running up your sleeve.”

Our own family band on the wall plays jigs and reels at breathtaking speed. 'Rocky Road to Hogwarts' and then they all join to a mad chorus:

“And whack fol the dah O, dance to your partner
Welt the floor, your trotters shake,
Wasn't it the truth I told ya, lots o' fun at Regulus' wake!”

Regulus sings loudest and only stops to yell at us. “C'mon Sev! Sirius! Sing along!”

Who can refuse a dead boy's bidding? Soon we lie on the floor panting. My painted family still makes a noise to raise the dead. Not the dead perhaps, but...

When I look up I see a shadow moving in the background of the landscape painting. Regulus has seen her, too. He stops singing and cries out: “Mother!”

He wants to run to her, but Phineas holds him back.

“Give her time. She's not ready, yet. You woke her for tonight. She lost her way long before her death. Now she needs to find it again to come home.”

She retreats deeper into the trees.

“Sirius, have you seen her? “ There are tears in his eyes.

“Yes, I've seen her. She has come to you, because she loves you. You're her little king.”

“No! She has come for us, both of us. She loves you as much. Look at her! Listen!”

Listen to what? 'Shame of my flesh'; 'Disgrace to the family'? There's a whisper, the wind moving in the trees, rustling leaves. “My two cunning little snakes...”

I can't stop the tear running down my face. That's what she called us before Hogwarts.

I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Never doubt Slytherin love.”

I don't dare to look at Severus. “Can you teach me Slytherin friendship?” I whisper.

There's a slight increase of pressure, before the hands disappears and the wall of sarcasm is back in place.

“I'm a horrible teacher. Everybody will tell you as much. But maybe I'll try. You seem to have the predisposition.”

“Give it a try, Sev. My brother is not nearly as thick as he pretends to be.”

“Thanks for the compliment, Reggie.”

The interruption seems to have calmed down the portraits. Some are gathering their stuff and make ready to leave for their own frames. A few have just fallen asleep where they sat. The party is over.

Severus has mentally piled up stones to repair the breaches in Severus' Wall and is about to leave for bed. The bells strike 3 o'clock. I pull myself together to close the window.

On the way up the stairs to our rooms I can hear a few portraits humming.

“...lot's of fun at Regulus' wake!”