Everywhere she turned, there was dust.

Dust on the chairs. Dust on the staircase. Dust in the bedsheets, the cupboards, the teacups. Dust. Everywhere.

Only a couple of steps down the corridor and her lungs were full of the stuff. She gasped, choked—the grime only drifted deeper. Her body shaking, she collapsed forward at the waist. Strands of copper flew into her mouth as she wheezed and coughed and retched.

Then finally, a pause.

She inhaled deeply through her nose…waited…then sighed with relief. A lift of the arm, and she vigorously rubbed the dampness under her nose with her sleeve, sniffling all the while.

"Bloody fucking hell," she seethed.

And much to her surprise, she heard a reply.

"Disgusting. But then, how can one expect a wretched little blood traitor to behave like a lady?"

Ginny's face twisted into an indignant scowl as she pivoted on her heel and whipped her head about to confront the speaker. When she identified her antagonist, however, her defensive stance relaxed considerably.

She should have known.

The portrait of Walburga Black had never spoken directly to Ginny, but the girl had nevertheless become quite familiar with the painting's scathing arsenal of insults, curses and general expressions of rage. So colorful was Mrs. Black's vocabulary that Ginny couldn't help but question her qualifications as a judge of ladylike behavior. And while Ginny's temper had little tolerance for flesh-and-blood aggressors, there was something irresistibly comical about a self-righteous portrait…technically an inanimate object, after all…confined by the boundaries of its frame…

Ginny felt her lips curl into a mischievous smile. This could be fun.

"Well, that's not very nice," she exclaimed, placing her hands on her hips and feigning an expression of scandalized disapproval. "Really, Mrs. Black, where are your manners?"

Oil-painted grey eyes narrowed contemptuously as Mrs. Black retorted in clipped tones, "Insolent little rube. Impertinent guttersnipe…might as well be a Mudblood…"

"Such language!" Ginny squealed, clapping her hands over her ears and widening her eyes, which couldn't help but twinkle mirthfully. "My ears are burning! And here I thought that true ladies were above such common talk…but then, I suppose you can't help it…if you weren't raised properly, that is...breeding is everything, you know, and if no one ever taught you to speak like a lady…" Here she paused, lips twitching in anticipation. Any second now…

And sure enough, the portrait of Mrs. Black released an incendiary stream of profanities so foul that Ginny clapped her hand over her mouth in genuine astonishment. Trying unsuccessfully to stifle her giggles, the youngest Weasley sauntered over to the painting and began to toy with the tassel of the accompanying curtain. "Now, now, Mrs. Black…if you can't contain yourself, you'll leave me with no choice…" Several tugs on the curtain pull emphasized her point.

The portrait emitted a piercing shriek of fury before continuing her tirade with more venom and volume than ever. Ginny exhaled a sigh of mock bewilderment before lazily plucking at the curtain pull. "All right then…you've brought this upon yourself, you know." She began to cross in front of the painting, tassel still in hand…

"It'll just be worse if you do that."

With a surprised squeal, she released the rope and whirled around to face the entryway of the corridor. A flush of crimson flooded her cheeks and ears, and she lowered her face quickly to conceal the spreading color. "I'm sorry…I was only playing…"

She thought she saw a smile drift across Sirius's lips, but as she refused to train her eyes upon him fully, she couldn't quite be sure.

"It's the only reason I keep that curtain drawn…she hates the dark, you see. It makes her scream even louder." His tone seemed benign enough, and Ginny allowed her posture to loosen somewhat. She forced herself to glance upward, meeting his eyes briefly…

He was looking at her in a way. A way that was different.

And now that she was thinking of it…he often looked at her that way.

What did it mean? She couldn't tell.

But somehow, it made her feel…

Nervous. Excited. Alive.

Interesting.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, and she inwardly winced at the increased breathiness of her voice. She took a step forward…two…three…still he looked at her like that.

She halted. Her gaze drifted upward once more, and she met his eyes again. But this time, she did not look away.

Inhale. Exhale.

Her voice dropped to a lower pitch than usual when she spoke:

"Are you angry?"

He blinked, and she flinched sharply at the momentary absence of his strange grey stare. He shifted his position in the doorframe very slightly, and his eyes contained something almost like mischief as he spoke…practically whispered…

"Furious."

Her skin tingled with a sudden warmth, and she smiled in response. Several moments passed, and neither he nor she made any effort to change the energy passing between them.

Oddly perfect.

But perfection is transient.

She was the first to break the silence.

"I should go find Mum…she probably needs help in the kitchen…" She knew that she was mumbling and hoped ardently that her words had been coherent.

Sirius nodded vaguely, his eyes stranger and more unreadable than ever.

Her brain screamed with confusion and frustration, but she remained outwardly composed. She had to pass him to reach the kitchen.

She took another tiny step. Two more. Three more.

He stood stock still. Waiting. Watching.

She had to know…

She veered slightly to the left. Her shoulder brushed against his arm as she passed through the doorframe. The bare skin of her elbow made contact with the bare skin of his wrist.

He was trembling.