Barty stays still, silently staring at the cupboard under the stairs, and the golden vent attached to it. He has a familiar sinking feeling building at the bottom of his stomach. His bony hand reaches up slowly, his fingertips trace each metal grate one by one. It’s cold, biting. The matching gold latch slides easily. The noise echoes. Sirius’ gazes flickers over to him but he stares forward.