Quite honestly, Sirius has no idea what in the hell to do with Harry being here.

Which isn't to say he isn't pleased — He is, inordinately. But it's well odd when the last time he'd seen Harry back home, he'd been a baby, and now here he comes popping out the fountain full-grown and looking more like James than ought to be allowed. Sirius feels torn, really, between the innate need to be near his godson, and to just stay well away because obviously Sirius is the cause of all of Harry's troubles and the kid is much better off without him. Between that and Sirius not being as old as Harry remembers, it's been a bit of an awkward go of it since he turned up.

But none of that means Sirius doesn't care, or doesn't spend what is probably entirely too much time lurking nearby trying to get his head around it all while he does the one thing he reckons he might still manage, which is keep Harry alive.

The red salt seems unlikely to kill anybody, but Sirius has experienced its wrath himself, and he jolts for the inn kitchen almost as soon as he enters the room and spies Harry's face, returning a moment later with a cup of milk.

"Ignore the color, it tastes the same," he insists as he thrusts the cup Harry's way, slopping a little of the pale green liquid onto the floor.