The narrow black door opened on his approach. It looked as though the wards had granted him more than simply access; they were inviting him in. Sirius took a deep breath and entered his childhood home.
The smell of dank mould and decay hit his nostrils immediately and he cursed his sensitive Padfoot nose. He wished he had a wand to dispel the stench. He stepped into the small receiving area for tradesmen and the door closed behind him, locking him in; the gaslight flickered on recognising his presence. Sirius ignored the doors to his left which would lead to a potions lab, a cell that he would rather avoid, and a staircase down to a cellar. He headed up the staircase to his right instead and came out in the long narrow kitchen.
The room was filthy with dust and dirt. He grimaced and hoped the rest of the house wasn't in a similar state. He'd been informed of his mother's and grandfather's death by the warden so for the house to be deserted and empty wasn't a surprise. He'd just expected the old house elf, Kreacher, would have kept up maintenance. Maybe the elf had died. Or his mother had killed him. He wouldn't put it past the barmy old bitch.
He opened up the door that led to the reception hall.
"YOU!"
His mother's voice had him snapping around in shock, his heart pounding. A portrait glared back at him in the half-light coming through the window above the front door.
A familiar pop signalled the arrival of the missing elf. The aged being took in Sirius with a glare. "You is not welcome here, Master."
Master.
Sirius smiled at the elf's unwilling confirmation of what Sirius had hoped: that with the passing of his grandfather, it was Sirius who was the recognised heir and Head of House. "My house, Kreacher." He stated firmly. "You can stay and obey me or you can have clothes."
"Kreacher will stay despite the traitor to his mistress who is now his master."
Sirius let one eyebrow creep up in his forehead and the elf shuffled his feet and pulled at his ears, punishing himself automatically for his disparaging remark. "You will refer to me as Lord Black. You will not tell anyone of my location ever. You will obey only me and you will inform no-one of my secrets. You will speak to no-one without my express permission. Is that clear?"
"Kreacher obeys Lord Black."
"He's not Lord yet." His mother sniffed in her portrait. "The rings are in the vaults. I hardly think you, a convicted criminal, will be able to get to them. At least, you redeemed yourself at the end."
Sirius stared at her. "I hate to disappoint you, Mother, but I didn't actually betray the Potters or kill those muggles." He paused. "Actually, that's a lie because I love to disappoint you and would love to continue doing so. Unfortunately, I have recently realised that I have to restore the standing of the Ancient and Noble House of Black so I can take over the wizarding world thus ensuring my guardianship of my godson. So apparently you're going to get some of what you've always wanted."
His mother's portrait stared back at him, speechless.
"Yes," Sirius agreed, understandingly, "I was shocked and horrified myself."
Kreacher's ears perked up and he straightened with a gleam in his oversized eyes. "You intend to restore the standing of the Ancient and Noble House of Black?"
"I do, and as my mother well knows, I can perform the inheritance ritual here." He pointed at the elf. "This place is a mess and not in keeping with either our wealth or reputation. You will immediately begin cleaning and redecorating it starting with the master bedroom and bathroom for my use. Dark artefacts are to be placed in a trunk for my inspection. Neutral colours will be used and you will avoid the depressing gothic horrors of my mother's tastes. I will be in the study."
Kreacher snapped his fingers and popped off before Sirius could say anything more.
Sirius gave a heavy sigh and turned to his right. He avoided the staircase leading up to the bedrooms, catching a glimpse of a wall decorated with the heads of house elves. They hadn't been there when he'd run away; his mother must have gone completely insane in her final years, he mused. The door to his right would lead to the formal dining room, the informal living room and the Summer room overlooking the garden. He barely glanced at the doors to his left – the reception room with its public floo, and the formal parlour – instead, he took the door at the end of the corridor. It opened up into a cosy library. The main library was at the country estate but Sirius couldn't remember its location because of the Death Fidelius. The knowledge would return to him when he had completed his inheritance ritual. He bypassed the shelves of books, noting he'd have to go through them and put the more dangerous away. The door to the study was to the right and he entered the room with trepidation.
For a moment, he stood just inside the doorway. Kreacher must have raced to get to the room because it was devoid of the dust and decay in the rest of the house even though the décor remained tired and familiar, the ornate wallpaper peeling at the edges. There was a roaring fire, casting warmth across the room and the lamps had been lit. There was also a tea-tray loaded with sandwiches and cake that Sirius hoped Kreacher had conjured and not made given the state of the kitchen.
Sirius breathed in the scent of the old leather chairs; the faint lingering scent of the tobacco his father had preferred. He remembered only too well the last time he'd been in the room; it had been the Summer after his fifth year and his father had asked him bluntly what his allegiances were. Sirius had told him that he would never bow down to Voldemort; that he would never take the Dark Mark; that he would stand beside the House of Potter in the war.