As minutes passed, Sirius became lost in his thoughts of how to help Harry heal. He would attempt to make this house more habitable, and try with all his might to squash the bad memories as they came upon him. He thought of his mantra in Azkaban: "I'm innocent, I'm innocent, I'm innocent ..." and knew he would have to create a new one for here. "It's about Harry, not you. It's about Harry, not you ..." He knew he wasn't godfather material, not really. But damn it all, Lily and James trusted him, and he was going to honor their trust rather than wallow in his own melancholia and self-pity. He had also told Harry that it wasn't the house that was the real home, that as long as the boy was around Sirius could heal, too, and he would strive to make that a reality.
It bothered him when he pondered on Harry's reaction to how he had treated Kreacher. Now that the haze of anger and hate had passed, he could see how it had scared Harry. He once again thought of James, and how he had joked that he pitied everyone who ended up on Sirius's bad side, because he sure as hell had a temper. He was always grinning when he said it, but there was something in his best friend's eyes that told Sirius he wasn't entirely joking.
Sirius had done his best to try and escape his name, but the Black temper was legendary, and each member of the family possessed a vicious streak that Sirius didn't want to have, but didn't know how to get rid of. After all, it was those things that Peter had been able to manipulate to his benefit. And if Sirius was now going to redeem himself and give Harry a loving home, he was not going to spend his time taking out his temper on verminous house-elves.
He realized that Kreacher didn't warrant so much time and attention wasted on him. He'd ask the stupid elf for favors when he needed them, but that was it. He knew ignoring Kreacher would be so much harder than he thought, but this was just another thing he had to do to be the man able to take care of a traumatized, exhausted Harry. He and the boy were in it for the long haul, two broken people who had the world going against them, howling for their blood.
And by looking into Harry's vulnerable green eyes, so unsure and wary and confused and tired, he knew Harry needed to cling to him as much as he needed to cling to Harry. They were each other's respite from the storm that was doing its best to submerge them. But there was no way Sirius was going to let them drown.
Once Sirius had finished his tea and rinsed out his mug, he sighed and made his way back upstairs. There was something incredibly uncomfortable about being back in his childhood room; he felt as though he was sixteen again, waiting for his mother to barge in through his door screaming about his blood traitor friends and how dare he keep shaming the family and about how she wished he could be like her sweet little angel Regulus. The instant he thought the name, Sirius pushed it away viciously; he did not want to think about his little brother who he'd been so close to, the one who turned against him and went down an entirely different path only to get cold feet and get himself killed. Serves him right, the coward, Sirius thought with a derisive snort, ignoring the memories of their good times together that kept wanting to float to the surface.
But on the way to his room, Sirius heard a whimpering noise coming from the room where Harry was sleeping. Sirius was instantly on alert; he had been prepared for Harry to have nightmares again. When the two had gone to bed earlier, Sirius had asked Harry if he wanted him to stay in the room with him, even if he turned into a dog. But Harry convinced him he could sleep on his own, insisting that he'd have to do it sooner or later and that he would be fine.
Sirius was loath to agree, but he admired the stubborn streak in his godson. As vulnerable as he still was, a tiny piece of the fight and strength Sirius had seen in him was returning, if only minutely. But Sirius vowed that he would continuously check on Harry throughout the night, and would be readily available if needed. And it looked like he was needed now, he thought as the whimpers continued.
Softly, Sirius opened Harry's door and walked into the room. It was bathed in moonlight; it was truly a beautiful evening, as it had cruelly been the night before, the irony of all ironies when such horrific events had just transpired. Harry was writhing in his bed, tangled within the sheets, moaning, "No, no, no, no. Don't hurt him, please don't hurt him. He didn't do anything."
With a painful pang, Sirius knew Harry was speaking about Cedric. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the boy muttered over and over again, sweat beading on his brow as his facial expression displayed the raw pain and grief of last night. "I'm sorry."
Sirius touched Harry's shoulder with a heavy heart. He knew that even with the talk they had had today about who was at fault for the night's events, and even with the reassurance of the Diggorys, it would take a lot of time for Harry to believe it. After all, there were still plenty of times when he blamed himself for what had happened to James and Lily, even though he'd had the best of intentions. "Harry," he said softly, giving Harry's shoulders a gentle shake. "Come on, kiddo, wake up. It's just an awful dream. Wake up."
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