He hadn't done much while the witch went out to fetch him clothes and a wand. He tried to get her to access his Gringotts account, mentioning how he got Crookshanks to do it once and the goblins did not question it, however she refused, saying he can pay her back when his name would be restored.
"This house used to be magically protected back in the day, in the war, so no one should be knocking or coming… Same with the windows, you can see out but no one can see in. It was easy to get the protections back with Dumbledore's help, so…"
Sirius followed the witch around the house as she hurriedly explained the house's protections, hands behind his back as he nodded absentmindedly. While he passed an open window, however, he couldn't help but notice two voices outside arguing in hushed, hurried tones as they passed by, in a language he didn't understand.
"Where are we?"
"Hm? Oh, we're near London. It's full of foreign wizards, around here, however they do all know about- well, about the Sirius Black." She paused for a moment, before telling him where they were, and closing the window back, before leaving.
He could make the trip to Little Whinging. He could see Harry and come back. Turned in his Animagus form, he could leave and see Harry - by now, he was probably a few hours away from King's Cross. He could almost imagine himself there, greeting him - Harry knew what he looked like as a dog, and he could have followed him.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he went into the kitchen, and rummaged through the pantry for some food. His mind was too clouded by the alcohol, and he bit into an enormous slice of bread, hoping it would soak it up and clear his head.
Bread in hand, he walked back into the living room, idly looking around. His host's library collection was extensive, with tomes spanning several centuries and languages, some in the Latin alphabet, some in Runes, others in odd symbols that he could not decipher the origin of. The books in English covered an assortment of both Muggle and wizarding topics, from biology and geography to entire collections devoted to transfiguration, potions or alchemy.
For hours, he laid slumped on one of the couches in the living room, idly examining the wallpaper. With his eyes half-closed, he could pretend, laying haphazardly across the many cushions, that he had no worry in the world. He was a free man, waiting for his godson to come back from Hogwarts, and congratulate him on a job well done.
"Keep up at Quidditch, you'll be Captain of the team soon…" he murmured to himself, covering his eyes with one arm, and imagining himself at King's Cross, one arm around Harry's shoulders, the other pushing his school trunk.
No, he'd do it. He'll… he'll do it. He'll go. He had to be there. For Harry.
"He can't be there, with them - awful lot of people. The way that son of a bitch spoke to him - did I tell you?"
"Yes, you have." the witch stated. Unfazed, she continued to stir sugar into a teapot.
There were too many witches and wizards for him to come close to Harry. He feared not only his own reaction, but of Harry, Ron or Hermione seeing him, and worrying for him. He decided to simply stay far away, hidden by a pastry shop's sign, as he saw Harry's uncle escorting him to their car. An ugly, foul man, who looked like he wanted nothing more than a healthy punch in the face to realign that rotten attitude. In thirteen years, that man became a caricature of himself. And from what he knew about Petunia, he severely doubted she changed for the better either. He wished he could just go and grab Harry. It was his right. It was what Lily and James wanted. But he knew better than that.
All he had now, was the knowledge Harry was safe, by now likely back at his uncle and aunt's house. And by how impossible he found it to return back to the witch's house, he too would be safe, even if only momentarily. Safe, until he knew what his next move would be.
On the other hand, the witch now was aware of his Animagus form, after finding an enormous black dog waiting in the garden, unable to get back in. That was a conversation he would rather not have had, complete with the resigned look on the witch's face. He couldn't help but chuckle, however, as she mentioned she expected something like this/
"I'm surprised you came back."
He was surprised himself, in fact, by his own return. Dumbledore did offer him a place to stay and protection in the form of the witch, and strongly recommended he take the offer, however that did not necessarily mean he had to stay. And his short trip proved that he could, indeed, leave.
It was turning to dusk again, by the time he returned from King's Cross and until the witch arrived and was able to let him back inside the house. She had already lit a few candles around the house before preparing tea, which allowed him to watch her as she laid out everything he had asked her to buy for him.
"What are you planning then, Sirius Black?" she put a cup of tea in front of him, and sat down on a nearby chaise lounge. "You know where they live, don't you?"
Of course he did.
"Back in the war, we had to have rounds around their house." he explained, sitting down on the couch and taking a sip of the tea. "She is Lily's sister, and Dumbledore thought that no matter how much they don't get along, the Muggles could have been hunted, harmed, or used as hostages by Voldemort. Not that they ever knew. I could go there. In the dead of the night - I've done it before, you know… last year. I could meet Harry."
"Need I remind you, you are wanted by both wizards and Muggles. You are an escaped prisoner. You cannot just-..."
"I know that."
"I'm not going to tell Dumbledore. But I warn you, you could be seen - it's dangerous, it hasn't even been a week since-"
"I know." he growled, and snapped his head to face her. "You think I don't fucking know that?"
He waited for her to return his outburst, only to watch the expression on her face harden, only nodding. He was used to large reactions. He was used to James arguing with him until crack of dawn, and they'd laugh it off at the end. The boisterous reactions from Harry and his friends. However the witch resembled Remus, as she simply nodded her head.
Sirius raised his head, ready to apologize for the outburst, and froze. He suddenly felt cornered in the living room. Above his host, imprinted on the wall, her shadow flickered with each movement of the candles- a shadow that reminded him of his torment. He felt his heart sink, and all the warmth he felt from the tea dissipated.
It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
The shadow couldn't move to him, surely, it was just that. A shadow. Nothing more. But then again, frozen on the couch, neither could he. Not being able to take his eyes off it, the witch disappeared, engulfed in the shadow. It grew and grew in front of his eyes, until he could see nothing but darkness. His hand reached for the newly bought wand he now had, but all he could feel was the table.
He opened his mouth to scream, or maybe cry out a spell - he wasn't too sure what sounds his body could manage in that moment. Yet try as he might, nothing came out. He tried to breathe in and try again, yet no air seemed to want to come in - he could feel his chest move outward, trying to inhale, but his body seemed unable to accept it.
He tried to focus on his happy memories - just as if he were conjuring a Patronus. Harry. How much he looked like James. How it took Remus all but one look to forgive him, to be back on his side. The times he spent with all of them, even with that coward, Peter. If only it weren't for… - Sirius couldn't help but blame himself for the entire existence of Peter Pettigrew.
He couldn't help but notice the acrid taste inside his mouth as it slowly filled with saliva - in vain, he tried moving his eyes until they felt like popping out, yet he could see no light. Nothing.
Moving with James right before his last year of Hogwarts. Fleamont and Euphemia taking him in, giving him room and board, treating him like a second son. All the summer nights spent with James 'accidentally' getting in as much trouble as they possibly could. Lily and Remus, heads in their books for the N.E.W.T.s, exasperated that all he could think about was going to Hogsmeade, instead of revising with them. Lily and James asking him to be their best man, then their godfather. Then their Secret-Keeper. Then-
His muscles tensed, and he jolted up, as if waking up from a dream. He could move, however he couldn't see anything, and his hands tried to feel their way to his wand, or to a candle, or to anything. He was suffocating in himself.
Sirius didn't know for how long he'd been on the floor, or how he got to it. The last time he was aware of his surroundings, he was standing up, and it felt unnatural to have to raise himself up once again.
It was still dark outside, yet he could see the moon outside, and an outline of a bed, a nightstand, and another chest filled with books - it couldn't have been a long time since he was in the living room. Soon enough, he realized he was in the room the witch let him stay in, however he had no memory of going upstairs.
"What the hell happened..."
His stomach churned painfully at the memory, and he tasted bile in his mouth. He threw the doors open loudly, and scampered to the bathroom, throwing up the remnants of food and drink he had hours earlier.
Spitting out the last vile bits in his mouth, Sirius slumped to his knees, and pressed his forehead against the cold ceramic of the bathtub. It felt welcome against his skin. He let out a groan, and raised his head as he heard footsteps approaching.
"Water…" he croaked as the witch knelt next to him, pressing a cold towel against his forehead. It smelt horribly of vinegar, and he made a feeble attempt to remove it, but found himself too weak to push her hand away. Instead, he found a mug pushed against his hand. She was mumbling something, but Sirius was too tired to understand what she was saying. He could feel her push his hair aside, back behind his ears, and slowly, he felt he could breathe freely again, his chest rising and dropping in slow, heavy moves.
He was not in danger. He was not in danger right now. He had that foul-smelling compress on his forehead - that was the worst danger he was facing. And that was bearable, and its iciness was slowly clearing his head. He could hear the rustling of the witch's robes next to him, and he opened his eyes slowly.
He finally managed to push her hand away, but instead he kept the towel on, and pressed it between his head and the side of the bathtub. Touching her hand, he realized just how clammy and rough his skin felt, against how warm her wrist felt.
He remembered the shadow on the wall, growing menacingly. He remembered wanting to scream.
What a shell of a man he was. Broken, from all points of view. Gaunt, and rough-skinned, and weak, tattered inside and out. With no access to his own money, having spent, what, a third of his life or so in the company of creatures that were still tormenting him.
"What happened?" he groaned, his voice still hoarse.
It felt like an eternity until the witch spoke - so much so, that he feared that she had left, until he moved his head and saw the outline of her robes behind him.
"I don't know." a hushed whisper finally made itself heard.
"Me neither." he laughed, gutturally and miserably, and wiped a drop of the vinegary liquid from his cheek. "I'm going mad, it seems."
"It appears so."
"I thought there was a Dementor right here."
"There wasn't anything. It was fast. I didn't know what to…" the witch stammered, sucking in a breath before continuing in a ever-so-slightly trembling voice. "Well, I brought you up here."
He nodded weakly. He wasn't sure what he would have done, if he had managed to get a hold of the wand she had just brought. Hopefully, he would have conjured a Patronus. Or maybe something worse. Sirius knew, deep inside, that the Dementor was not real, he knew that very well. However, to his scarred mind, the shadow brought nothing but memories of Azkaban, of Dementors flickering in the light of the moon, of them moving alongside his cell, with no purpose other than driving prisoners to insanity.
"What time is it?"
"Middle of the night, must be." the witch refilled the water, and placed the mug on the floor, next to him. "Your wand, here." he felt a rush of cold air as the witch moved his robe aside, and placed his wand in a hidden pocket on the inside. "You were looking for it, when… I figured… well, I wasn't sure what you wanted with it."
"Bit of a fuckin embarrassment from my part, innit?" he commented, amused. He could hear the tremble in her voice, and when her hands were on his robes, felt the tremors of her fingers. Bleary-eyed, he patted around for the witch's hand, and put the compress back in her hands. "You can go now. I'll be fine, I'm fine." Slowly, gripping the edge of the bathtub, he raised himself to his feet.
The witch was an amber blue as he passed her, and he could barely make out the outline of his bed as he stumbled towards it. A voice rang in his ears - sounding oddly like Remus, telling him to thank the witch. But he was not Remus. He had nothing to either apologize for or thank anyone for. He was not in a position to be thankful for anything. He hated his voice of reason, and hated that it sounded just like Remus was whispering behind him.
But he had a warm bed, and a chance to put himself together, which is more than he had a mere year ago.
"Thanks." he grumbled, looking up at her. "Thanks, uh… I-" well, might as well admit it. "I forgot your name."
"Magdalena." The witch's silhouette moved towards the door.
"Thanks, Magdalene."
"No- it's.. . Eh, Lena's fine. Easier on the English tongue, innit?" With that, she closed the door, wishing him a good night from behind it.
Sirius chuckled as the sound of footsteps died down the corridor, and he put his wand nearby, laying down in bed. If he took Harry in, if they were somewhere, if night would have fallen as he would have caught up with Harry's life…
What if it had been Harry's shadow that Sirius confused for a Dementor? His host must have been a good enough witch if Dumbledore truly had asked her to join the war years ago. And she was an adult, almost as tall as himself. And no matter how much she was trying to lie about what happened after he blacked out, the shaking of her voice and hands was betraying her. Something happened.
Would he have reacted the same if it was Harry's shadow that was flickering and growing against the wall? Would Harry have known what to do? Shit, he barely knew what to do with himself.
He lost control of his senses. And what if he had woken up instead in the morning, and realized he did in fact take the wand, and maimed the witch? What if he figured he had killed her last night, in a moment of madness? He could already picture it, going down the stairs to the same scene he had seen when he went to Godric's Hollow all those years ago. Magdalena, who now had a name, in her amber robes, face down, her wand somewhere far away - she had not even had time to grab it by the time he lunged for his own and screamed out the curses he had intended to.
What would he have told Dumbledore? What would he have told Harry, when all the dust would settle? How could he possibly face his godson, who refused to let him kill the man who betrayed his parents? Would they want to put him back in Azkaban?
What if the hypothetically maimed and dead Magdalena had been Harry? He wanted to offer his godson a place to live, but was he ready to? Not physically ready but… ready to not put him in even more danger?
Sirius covered his eyes, and shook the image of his dead godson, of his dead host away from his head. He thought back on his journey to King's Cross, and watching Harry, Ron and Hermione with grins on their faces, and what looked like Ron's mom hugging Harry tight. He would be alright for the moment. He'd write to him, and make sure he was safe, and good, and happy. And maybe visit him during the day - always during the day.
Wand in his hand, he moved the curtains away from the window, and let the moonlight inside the room. With another move, the window now opened, and to his surprise, a soft melody from the outside poured in. For a second, it stopped, and a woman whispered something in a deep voice, before a male voice called for them to start again. To the music of the deep-voiced singer and the violinist accompanying her, he fell into a deep sleep