A new chapter! Finally! Sorry that it took so long, but... well... I have no excuse, I'm lazy.

Personally, it's not my favorite chapter, and I'm hoping to have another chapter out soon, and if it seems to skip around slightly, I've met for it to do that, it's theoretically from Sirius' perspective and after his best friends death, I feel that his brain would be fairly muddled.

Please Read and Review!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

"Come on Harry," Sirius cooed softly, "open your mouth for Uncle Padfoot, c'mon, you can do it…"

He showed the boy the spoonful of baby food (slosh that Sirius didn't blame Harry for not wanting to eat) as the boy turned his head away in dismay, mouth locked shut.

"C'mon Baby, Hare, C'mon it's good, you like this stuff don't ya'? Lilsie…" He trailed off, the thought vanishing as a lump formed in his throat.

His godson looked at him hopefully. "Ma?"

The lump in his throat seemed to get painfully large as he shook his head, placing the spoon back into the jar. "No Hare," he said, shaking his head, "no Ma."

"Ma," the child demanded, pushing the jar of baby food away from him. It scratched against the tiled kitchen floor where they both currently sat, Sirius not comfortable enough with the thought of Harry on a chair and lacking the child's old high-chair. Harry looked up once again, hopefully, "Da?"

A sob escaped him, "No Da either Hare," he whispered, scooping up the spoonful and offering to the child. After a moments pause he dutifully swallowed the gunk that Sirius had managed to buy.

Harry managed to willingly eat two more spoonfuls before he spedfastly began to ignore the food that his godfather was trying to feed him.

Sirius, realizing that that was all he'd get out of the boy, let the spoon fall to the floor. It fell with a loud clunk, surprising the child in front of him. He scooped the boy up, settling him on his lap as he buried his face in Harry's hair.

Harry tugged on a stray lock of his godfather's hair. "Paf?"

"It'll be alright," the animagus whispered after a moment, repeating himself from mere hours before. "We'll be fine."

He spoke with a strange conviction, a conviction that Sirius wasn't even sure that he felt.

But Harry was alive, Harry was fine–

"You're next…"

–and everything would work out.

"Are you ready for bed Hare?" He asked roughly as the child began to squirm in his hold. The kid paused, looking up at him as if to say 'do you think I am?', but Sirius ignored the squirming child, carrying him to the small bedroom.

It wasn't a bedroom per say, but there was a rather comfortable bed shoved off in the corner, piled high with pillows, a couch was at the other end of the room, with one of those muggle television-thingers in front of it.

The hotel room was small, expensive, but it would last the next two weeks.

Maybe. Hopefully.

He would have to find a new crib within the next week… maybe day… what were those protective spells that Lil– that Lily had drilled into his head? Something about wing– err… no. That's a first year spell…

Sirius set the now silent boy onto the bed, wrestling his hair away from Harry's fingers (how they got there he didn't know…), and reached back to grab a stuffed animal before he paused. That small collection of stuffed animals that Lily had found were left scattered across Harry's room, a couple charred and burned and left out to dry.

And that one black dog that Sirius had bought his godson was locked away in his motorbike's seat. Along with the emergency diaper system that James had given him. And his house keys. And his potions. And virtually everything else that he may need to make it through the day.

"Sleep Baby," he soothed, running a hand through the boy's hair, green eyes watching him through half-lidded eyes.

Sirius climbed up beside the toddler, curling around the toddler, allowing Harry's hair to tickle the underside of his chin.

He wouldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep. He didn't want to sleep.

Smoke was billowing under the door.

Sirius stared blearily at it in a moment of confusion, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Why was smoke coming into his flat again? Did the jukebox in the bar downstairs finally blow?

He allowed himself a moment's reprieve, closing his eyes and pushing his face into his godson's messy mane that they call hair–

… Why was his godson in his flat?

He sat up with a jolt, Harry sleeping quite peacefully in the bed before him, but smoke was billowing into the room, people were screaming, smoke was….

"Damn it." A fire. Just what he needed.

He scrambled up on the bed, grabbing one of the pillows after a thought (a big, fluffy white pillow) and hastily transfigured it into one of those child-holder strap-thing… whatever it was that strapped the child to your chest. He couldn't remember the name of it, but James… James had had one…

His chest tightened, and Harry started bawling his eyes out as Sirius woke him up, putting him in that strap-thing. He shrunk the shopping bag that he'd bought yesterday (shrunk it and all it's luggage that had been thrown in there) and shoved it into his pocket.

Harry's dinner from the night before (a few hours ago? minutes? days?) lay on the floor where he'd left it, the spoon thrown a few feet from the slosh.

He ran past the kitchen, and threw the door open.

Fuck.

If his hair caught fire, he was going to hunt down whichever Death Eater 'son-of-a-bitch' decided to play with this particular muggle hotel.

He swore he had the worst luck. Out of all the hotels….

Fire was creeping along the walls, occupants were screaming, banging on doors, a small old woman raced past him, toward the staircase… whether magical or muggle in it's existence, it didn't nothing to qualm his fears. A sudden sense of unease enveloped him.

He forgot Harry's emergency portkey in the seat of his motorbike.

Sirius spun on his heel, heading the opposite way of the stairs – he needed to head up, to the roof, if there were Death Eaters they'd be down, playing, toying with the muggles trying to escape the fire, escape their immediate death…

He felt sick to his stomach as the crusted brown carpet squealed against his sneakered feet.

The flames licked at the door of room 354, he paused at the screams, a soft unlocking charm sent the door swinging open, the man raced out of the room without a 'hello', the burns on his hand indicating the overly hot metal of the door knob.

Sirius made a mental note not to touch any metal. At all. Ever again.

Turning to continue, he stumbled as the hairs stood up at the back of his head, an eerily familiar green light passing within inches (close, too close) to his face.

He swallowed heavily as a burst of anger and confusion engulfed him as he met his cousins' eyes.