Sirius slumped in a chair at the long table in the semi-clean kitchen at 12 Grimmuald Place. By semi-clean, he meant that the surfaces were wiped, but the walls were grimy, and the floor was warped and incrusted with dirt. His lips curled and his nose wrinkled as he looked around. He was never supposed to step foot in this house again, not after he had left at the tender age of 16. However, there was a war going on, again, and he was doing the only thing he could to help.
He had little choice but to hide here, since he was a wanted criminal, who that idiot Minister Fudge used as a scapegoat for everything that went wrong in the Wizarding World.
Some of the things he was accused of doing would have been fun too. He always wanted to stop up the bathrooms in the Ministry. However, he hadn't done anything other than hide since his godson and friend had rescued him just over a year ago. He shuddered as he remembered that he had been minutes away from being Kissed by Dementors. He still had nightmares about that and Azkaban.
When Harry had seen the Dark Lord reborn a few months before, Dumbledore had restarted the group of freedom fighters from the last time that megalomaniac had walked the earth. They were called the Order of the Phoenix, and now they had taken over his house. He had offered it for meetings, but they took that to mean a safe house. The Weasleys and Hermione had moved in once the Fidelius Charm was put in place, for their protection.
According to Dumbledore, they were too close to Harry to be safe elsewhere.
Sirius had no idea how the adult Grangers were taking that. They were probably in just as much danger as their daughter, yet Hermione seemed to be the only one who cared about them. The Order appeared suddenly one day and retrieved her from her home. They left the parents behind, helpless. He didn't think that was right, but since he was being held here, there were only letters to be written, and wrote them he tried. Yet they never left the house. Someone always made sure they were destroyed.
He thought he might get out to the muggle world and try to call them or sneak Hermione to do so. She had to be worried about them too. While he couldn't bring them here, they could flee the country. It was something he was going to have to think about. But right now, he had to worry about these people taking over his house.
Sirius wasn't sure what the Order did, other than make his life miserable. They didn't go out and proactively take down Death Eaters like they had in the past. The only thing he'd seen them do so far was watch Harry and guard the Prophecy Room in the Department of Mysteries. How that was supposed to stop Voldemort, he didn't know. But still, he wasn't doing any of those things either, no; he was sitting around his childhood home—moping.
Harry, thankfully, was supposed to be here in a few weeks. According to Dumbledore, by then he would have spent enough time at Privet Drive to keep the blood wards stable for another year.
Sirius knew his godson hated it at that house. He wanted to write to him and tell him where he was, but Dumbledore, in all his infinite wisdom, said that Harry needed time to process what had happened to him. Alone… without support. Even so, Sirius had tried to write to him multiple times, like he had the Grangers, but all his letters had been confiscated. He was beginning to get annoyed.
This he could handle, sort of. What he couldn't handle was the way that red-haired harpy was taking over his house. He may not have liked the building, but it was still his and Mrs. Weasley had no right taking over the way she was. It was the only thing he owned, dammit.
He hated this stupid, gloomy, dark house, but he hated that he had to put up with her company more. It wasn't that he had people around; it was what they were doing. They took over every aspect of his life, who he talked to, where he went, even what was going to be kept and what was to be thrown away.
In this old house, was a house elf named Kreacher. Sirius and Kreacher detested each other. Sirius hated that house elf almost as much as he hated Snivellus. Kreacher had spent many years here alone, and he had only gone crazier than before.
Sirius had tried to get him to clean, but Molly informed him that she would be taking over that duty, along with her children and Hermione. She told him that he was an unkind man to make that 'poor old elf' do the housework. He hated that condescending voice of hers. He already had a mother he disliked; he didn't need another. She was only a few years older than he was for Merlin's sake.
Sirius, on the other hand, knew that if house-elves weren't given work, their mind would snap completely. That was why this house was such a mess. That blasted portrait of his mother had kept Kreacher from doing his duty. It was shameful, and now he needed to do something to gain back control over his house and house elf.