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Sirius knew those walls. He knew the walls of every room, what was on the walls and what was in every single wardrobe, dresser, or even bookcase.
He remembered the shape and size of his bedroom door, and above all, the way he'd decorated the walls, his feeble attempt at rebellion.
He remembered the rules, Kreacher sneaking around, catching him every time he broke the rules, and then his mother's arrival, always on the warpath, always furious that the Black name would be destroyed by Sirius, that rascal!
The whole house was unsettling, the silences becoming a form of obedience, the feeling of constant observation, and the desperate desire to get out.
Sirius sighed, reflecting on how he'd felt when he realized what his parents thought of Voldemort and what they'd wanted for their children.
Not so much joining Voldemort, but certainly not standing in his way politically. Although, Sirius reflected, Sirius's escape was probably what had prompted his parents to drag Regulus into the arms of Death, the Death Eaters, an apt name for something so disgusting.
And Sirius was stuck in his prison again, going from a caged childhood, to Azkaban after the moment of happiness and freedom he'd felt with his friends, even as the war raged around them, only to escape Azkaban after twelve long, interminable years, spend a year free, but worried about the family who had hoped to find, Harry, and then back to his childhood prison all over again, as if he never really escaped it.
Sirius desperately wanted out of that shack. Cleaning it, throwing away his parents' things, wasn't enough. The place was cursed, and if they'd had anywhere else safe enough, Sirius would have suggested using it rather than that filthy house.
But Sirius wasn't the only one who wanted to escape.
The Animagus's gray gaze shifted to the stack of letters he'd received from Harry since the end of the boy's third year. Many of the letters consisted of casual chatter, trying to check on Sirius, then growing concerned when he realized he was risking his life once again. Then, moving on to the answers to the questions, Sirius realized Harry valued his words, took them at face value, and Sirius was terrified, but also happy.
It was Remus who had told him it wasn't normal for a thirteen-year-old to try to run away with an escaped convict, even an innocent one, and leave the only family he had.
Sirius had replied, rather foolishly, that Sirius had done it, only to feel physically sick at the implications that thought held for Sirius.
He'd seen Harry run away from the Dursleys the summer before his third year, and then seen Harry’s happiness at the thought of leaving them forever, yet he hadn't realized that Harry was trapped just as young Sirius had been at his age.
Except that Sirius had always thought he'd go to Hogwarts at eleven, but he couldn't help but wonder if Harry had even received an explanation about magic from the Muggles he lived with, given Petunia's hatred and jealousy for Lily.
Harry had witnessed something horrible, and Sirius couldn't give him even a little freedom because Dumbledore had warned him, and Mrs. Weasley was keeping him under control, arguing that Harry couldn't be put in danger by them, otherwise all the effort to keep him safe would be for nothing.
Sirius wanted to ask her if she'd ever felt her wings clipped, not just clipped, but actually broken.
If she could call that damage protection and keeping someone safe.
How could she say she cared about Harry if she then left him with those monsters?
But Sirius couldn't do anything for Harry.
He was just as trapped as he was.