People often remember their childhood homes as places of playfulness; lively places where you neither have nor are expected to have any responsibilities or cares. Sirius’s every breath and movement were meant to fulfil his parents, he suspected his parents would rather a house elf for a child.
From the moment he’d been able understand speech his parents had deemed him old enough for study and, by extension, responsibilities. A stern, inhospitable women had shown up not a month later claiming to be his ‘governess’ and thus his meagre 5 years of proper childhood were over. He spent his days learning all the respectable family crests and mottos, how to correctly address ones betters and torment the inferior and -through unrelenting harsh words and gazes- exactly what was expected of him.
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The front door slammed violently shut, sending tremors and a boom echoing throughout the ancient halls and stairwells of the house. The now sole occupant of the building, a young boy barely out of infancy, perked his small head at the sound and, after a moment of deliberation, went running to his large concave window.
They must have gone out! Thought the boy excitedly, his parents never told him when or for how long they were leaving so he could only guess.
Over-Thinking It 