Chapter Text
"I want to move out." Ginny's voice was gentle but firm.
"What?! Why?" Harry turned from the ancient kitchen counter where he was pouring himself a cup of tea.
"He's not getting any better with us here, and well... I just don't feel comfortable with the idea of bringing our child home to... this." She waved her hands around vaguely.
"What do you mean, to 'this'?" His voice held a note of defensiveness.
She sighed. "Look around us, Harry – even without the mood swings and drinking habits of your godfather, Grimmauld Place is not where I want to raise our child."
Harry's jaw clenched briefly, but when he saw the pleading look on his pregnant wife's face, he knew this wasn't just another argument about Sirius's behaviour. Ginny was right. He was going to be a father soon, and much as he hated having to make a choice, his new family had to come first.
He sunk into the chair next to his wife and sighed. "Who's going to take care of him, though? He's going to be here all alone again."
"Harry, Sirius is a grown man, and - "
"She's right, Harry." Sirius's tone was bitter and resigned as he entered the kitchen. "I am a grown man and I can take care of myself."
He gave a thin smile, his eyes flicking to Ginny's swollen belly. He nodded, adding softly, "And Grimmauld is no place for a child to grow up. I should know."
"But, Sirius - " Harry tried to interject, but he was stopped.
"Harry, if I have to, I will throw you out. You need to focus on your family – your family now. I'll be fine."
Harry stared at his godfather for a long moment, frowning. What a load of shite, he thought angrily. Sirius had been back for three months, and he'd barely left the house for anything more than restocking his liquor cabinet. Harry knew he could never fully understand what his godfather had been through, but Sirius didn't seem interested in even trying to - well, to live. He vacillated between sullen brooding and drunken rages, both usually within the confines of his bedroom, but the latter Harry and Ginny frequently heard from all the way down on the first floor.
Still, Harry had stayed, hoping against hope that Sirius would snap out of it, would want to actually participate in life. But even his motorcycle - Harry's welcome-back gift to Sirius, sat untouched in the back alley. Once they left Grimmauld Place, there would be no one else to try and help Sirius.
And now, he was essentially being kicked out with a last subtle "fuck you." Deep down he knew that, while in theory the reasons they should leave were valid, this was more about Sirius' bizarre desire to stay shut away from everyone.
Combined with an underlying dislike that had formed between his godfather and his wife.
Harry just shook his head and muttered, "Well, nice to see you two finally agree on something."
He stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Ginny and Sirius in a tense silence. They didn't like each other - they both knew it, but they at least tried to keep things civil, for the sake of peace, and for Harry's happiness.
In a last-ditch attempt to show some normal kind of emotion, Sirius smiled sadly at his godson's wife. "I'd like to help, if I mqy. I know Harry has plenty of money, but it would please me to have some things for the baby sent to your new home."
Ginny looked down at her hands on the table. "That would be nice. I'm not sure how Harry would feel about it right now, but I'm sure he'd appreciate the gesture at some point."
Sirius chuckled under his breath and shook his head to himself. Despite her blandly gracious words, he knew full well what Ginny Potter thought of him. He'd heard her, heard them, every time, no matter how softly they whispered. He could hear every muted argument between her and Harry and every not-so-muted rant session Ginny had with her mother, on the rare occasion the Weasley matriarch came to Grimmauld. She was becoming more and more like Molly every day; Sirius only hoped it was just pregnancy hormones, for his godson's sake.
Most of the time, he couldn't bring himself to feel hurt by it. Usually he was too busy trying to drown them out, drown everything out. Still, while he couldn't give a rat's arse what the two Weasley witches thought of him, it pained him to hear Harry come to his defence every time, excusing his irrational behaviour and reclusive tendencies. Harry understood nothing, just like everyone else, yet he still hung around, waiting fruitlessly. Sirius couldn't stand it.
Sometimes he hated them all, hated everything. He hated being able to hear their whispers three floors up, he loathed the piercing laughter and occasional raised voices, and most of all the godforsaken wireless that was always tuned to some grating nonsense whenever the redhead was in the house. The food they made tasted like salt and sand - Sirius wondered if it was him, or if Ginny really had failed to pick up her mother's finest skill. But Harry seemed to stomach the stuff well enough, silverware screeching across dishes, lips smacking noisily until Sirius wanted to retch. And he loathed how they insisted on having the curtains pulled in the parlour, although thankfully most of the house was designed to be dimly lit and shadowy.
Most of all, though, he hated the smell.
For the most part it was just the girl. Something about the flowery-fruity perfume she wore, or perhaps it was just her shampoo, combined with her natural chemistry, setting his teeth on edge. In all fairness, he wasn't crazy about the smell coming off his godson either, but in Sirius's nastier moods he attributed that to the lingering scent of Ginny that clung to him.
No, Harry could never understand. Better just to let him believe his godfather had returned from the "dead" as a sociopath and an alcoholic, rather than try to explain. Sirius cringed at the thought of the pity and obligation that would result if Harry knew.
As he headed back up to the fourth floor, Sirius could hear Harry slamming things around in the room he shared with his wife. He paused, struggling briefly with the impulse to try and make things right. Sighing resolutely, he continued to the dark confines of his bedroom and private study.