Sirius couldn't sleep. He sat listlessly in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, drinking a cup of tea. Not for the first time that evening, he wished he had a bottle of firewhiskey sitting in front of him, but he knew there was a very good reason not to indulge. And, with the kind of mood he was in, he didn't trust himself not to go too far if he started. During the days of the First War when things were particularly bad, drinking replaced the pain of the losses with pure, simple numbness. It was a habit that Remus had not been happy about, and always tried to get him to break.
But if there was any time not to slip back into his old ways, it was now. Resisting the temptation was much easier said than done; he literally had to force himself not to ask Kreacher to fetch him one. It would help to slow his mind, which just would not rest with all the thoughts and fears and worries swirling around.
Everyone who came into contact with Sirius Black knew that "responsible" was not usually a word associated with him. Recklessness was as much a part of his personality as breathing air in and out was to every human being. The instant anyone met Sirius, he was instantly readable. James used to joke that that was why he had never thought about settling down; every time he asked a girl out, it never lasted for long. "Almost every time I see a girl crying from heartbreak, it's over you, mate. What on Merlin's green Earth do you say to them?" he had said, while Remus gave a disapproving frown that said all too plainly that Sirius shouldn't be leading those girls on and then letting them down.
And, in truth, Sirius really hadn't meant to hurt those girls. At the time, it had stroked his ego that so many girls wanted to date him; according to many, he had been the most handsome, charismatic boy in the school. But the real truth of the matter was, he didn't feel like he could be committed to one girl and stay with her for the rest of his life.
When James had found that kind of love with Lily, Sirius couldn't help but be envious. James had a level of commitment in him that he simply didn't possess. He'd find a pretty girl, go out on a few dates, and then get bored with her. He spent years playing the field, and he had to admit that he loved the excitement of meeting someone new, because each girl had a unique personality and he never quite knew what to expect.
He couldn't help the swell of pride that blossomed within him whenever a girl looked at him like he was the best thing Merlin had put on the planet. Conversely, though, when he'd broken his fair share of hearts, he'd been slapped, hexed, called an unfeeling bastard, and been told he would never be spoken to again. His reputation with women was definitely a mixed bag.
But now, those youthful days were over; they had all come crashing down. Twelve years in Azkaban, influenced by the cruel Dementors and his own torturous thoughts and memories, had changed him drastically. Deep down, when James and Lily had made him godfather, he never in a million years thought that the duty of taking care of another living, breathing being would fall directly and solely onto him, no matter how prepared he'd tried to be for such a situation.
Even when the Potters were the main targets of Voldemort and Sirius would spend endless hours worrying about their welfare, a large part of him didn't think they'd actually die, let alone the fact that he would inadvertently cause it to happen.
But now, as he sat in the kitchen, being responsible sat like a heavy weight upon his shoulders, and being back in this house made his thoughts spiral in all directions. He knew the instant he brought Harry here, it would be a struggle to fight back the negative feelings he had towards this place. But this was about Harry, not about him, and he reminded himself that this was once again the safest place for them to be.
He knew that eventually, Harry would want to be in touch with his friends again. But Sirius would stay here with him until that moment arrived. He wouldn't push the boy to do anything too soon; Harry needed a chance to process everything that had happened.
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