InsaneJournal

Sirius had a dream where he heard the baby crying.

He was back at Grimmauld Place, clattering down the stairs towards the entrance hall, and Harry was screaming for him. But his Mother was there, her face flushed and splotchy with colour, her knuckles white where they were clenched around her wand. She was shouting too, no matter how Sirius tried to push her away so he could reach his Godson. Whichever way he turned, she was always there. And then then world went cold and James was staring at him accusingly through empty, dead eyes, and he wasn't in London any more but in a cramped, cold cell...

The young man started awake with a gasp, clutching for his breath and staring up at the celing. There were sheets wrapped around him, a slight body pressed hotly against his own naked skin, and his first instinct as claustrophobia washed over him was to struggle free. But he'd done this too many times before, so instead Sirius closed his eyes, breathed deeply until his heart slowed, and then carefully tried to extract himself from the tangle of limbs in his bed. He needed a cigarette...

A moment later Sirius would be found leaning out of the open sitting room window, dressed only in his boxers and with a cigarette clamped firmly between his lips. His head pounded lightly with the familiar beginnings of a hangover, and the radio was already churning out some overly cheery pop song. Behind him, the kettle bubbled in the kitchen, flicking itself off when it began to steam and levitating across the room to pour scalding water into two chipped mugs.

As the coffee was making itself, Sirius heard noise from behind him, and turned in time to see the figure stepping from the bedroom. The animagus smirked, tapping his cigarette so ash fell out the window and floated away, one arched eyebrow climbing.

"Morning stranger."