There's not enough of Sirius in the fandom for me, so I decided to write this. It's set after GoF, when Sirius first moves into Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Enjoy!

Sirius Black was a strange man.

He supposed it wasn’t actually him that was strange in the first place, but how fate had made him. He reminded himself greatly of those old muggle stories James used to tell him. The ones about the creepy man in the old haunted house that never saw the sun. The man, who, if any kid crossed over into his yard, he would capture and eat for dinner. An almost mythical creature…a ghost of sorts.

It was the first time he’d seen a mirror in years. Merlin, he was ugly. All his youthful brawn gone, disappearing with his boyish charm and happiness. All the life sucked from his eyes, his cheeks gaunt and hollow.

He looked old. Tired. Bitter.

For fuck’s sake…he was only thirty-six. Thirty-six and barely able to look at himself.

He groaned at the sight of the cobwebs that lay in the corners, on the ceiling, between the rickety mirror and its frame. This was hell. He could hear Kreacher creaking away downstairs, most likely muttering in pure infatuation to his dear old mistress’s painting.

He tried so hard to figure out why he was here when the mere mention of the place had disgusted him beyond belief. It would make him as depressed – if not more – as he’d been surrounded by dementors. And true to its nature, the entire house made him feel cold, despite the fact that it was rid of nearly all the icy characters that formerly occupied it.

It was repulsive. It made him sick.

Sirius sat down on his creaky old bed. The suggestive pictures of muggle women hung faded on his wall, the Gryffindor banners no longer looked regal and his heart no longer jumped at the sight of such beautiful motorbikes on glossy posters. The room looked like he felt. Remnants of a past, amazingly foreign life all constructed to paint a big picture he didn’t understand.

So Sirius did the only thing he knew what to do in order to comfort himself. He ran himself a bath.

It was odd that he remembered the tiny memory when so many others had been stripped away by time’s cruelty. Yes, it was extremely odd that he remembered this, but had to look at a picture to remember the exact shape of James Potter’s smile.

But he did it anyway.

The steam rose in the bathroom, floating out into his bedroom. He half expected the steam to turn out to be some lethal gas, however, it remained harmless. He supposed Kreacher was too disgusted by the very nature of this room to actually enter.

A few minutes later, Sirius stepped into the bath, trying to ignore his disgustingly thin naked form and the sight of his ribs trying to break free of his yellowish skin. How many years had it been since he’d actually washed himself? He laughed a bitter laugh. Fifteen. Fifteen years of grime, sweat and grease to get rid of in one bath. Immediately he could feel it melting off him. He probably felt just a little bit like Snape.

Sirius had always liked baths. James tormented him constantly. Baths are for girls Sirius. Where’s your manliness? Of course, young Mr. Sirius Black took that lightly, punching his best mate in the shoulder and laughing along with him, but when it came to bath time, he never felt like a girl. He always just felt so comforted by the water’s warmth.

That was until James had bought him a rubber ducky. Then he’d had to share his bloody bath with the stupid squeaky yellow…thing.

He could barely recall these memories. So distant and fuzzy, like an old muggle television set that wasn’t quite tuned properly. He felt as though he was invading someone else’s life, someone else’s thoughts. He couldn’t fathom the feeling of being happy. He’d forgotten.

The warm water soaked through his skin, making him feel warmer than he could ever remember – a sensation a lot like warm butterbeer, he supposed. He couldn’t quite remember the taste though. He would have to ask Harry or Remus to get him a bottle from Hogsmeade.

Another fuzzy set of pictures passed through his head. Images of sweets and explosions and complete and utter carelessness. Pictures of places he’d long forgotten the name of. Pictures of wolves and stags and rats…of a great big giant black lake and the twinkling lights of a warm castle.

His body ached with that old sacred pain of grief. It sliced through to the very core of his heart, making his wasted body shiver. That was the thing about Azkaban. You never really escaped. Not even with the comfort of warm water and the hazy blanket of steam it produced.

The next morning he and Remus both sat at a groaning, dusty kitchen table staring at the most recent copy of the Daily Prophet. Upon it, the massive headline wrote:

“The Blackest Day…You-Know-Who Supporters Believed to be Behind Boy’s Tragic Murder”

And on and on it went about how he, Sirius Black, was responsible for the murder of Cedric Diggory, and would be held accountable when he was found. Remus sat looking rather shocked, while Sirius sat twirling a fork in his hands.

“Oh come on Remus…shouldn’t you be used to all this by now? I’ve been their top story for almost two years.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me to see a headline like this. You murder Cedric Diggory?”

Sirius gave a humourless bark – the only kind he ever gave these days. “Why not? One killing should be easy after the fourteen I managed last time.”

Remus gave him a familiar look of reproachment. “This seriously doesn’t bother you…even in the slightest?”

“Of course it doesn’t. They can talk shit about me all they like. I know who killed Cedric Diggory and I know I had no part in it.”

But there was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind. Not related to his own vanity, but a definite shame. What kind of Godson would cherish a Godfather that was hailed as the runner-up on the world’s list of magical evildoers? Hell, he couldn’t escape it even in the wizarding world…and even though it did not bother him, what of Harry? Would the boy feel ashamed? Disgusted? Would he want to rid himself of all association with his Godfather?

For Merlin’s sake…Sirius didn’t even want to know himself.

This silent, agonising musing of Sirius’ must have shown in his manner because Remus was quick to notice the pain.

“What is it Sirius?”

“Remember when they used to call us extraordinary?”

Remus gave a half smile. “Us? If I recall correctly, it was the three of us calling you extraordinary. I believe your official title – apart from Padfoot, that is – was Sirius the Extraordinare.”

The werewolf was silent for a while before he spoke in a hushed whisper. “In fact, even today, you’re still considered extraordinary.”

“For many different reasons Remus. I’m notorious.”

“Yes. To some people. To others you’re just incredible.”

“Like who?” Surely there could be no-one…Sirius knew Remus was only around because of the people they once were. Perhaps he wished to relive former glory.

Remus laughed. “Have you ever met your godson Sirius?”

“I doubt he’d think anything like that. Harry reads the Prophet. He’s probably distancing himself from the very thought of me. I’m troublesome. Just another thing he has to deal with.”

Remus leaned forward, quite indignant. “Never! Never has he thought such a thing about you since he met you. He thinks the world of you Sirius. Nothing will ever change that. You are assuming the very worst of his character too. All Harry wants is for you to be safe and happy.”

“But when he sees this-“

“He will denounce the headline vehemently and write to you to make sure you’re safe.” Remus paused and then continued in a much softer tone. “Harry thinks you are extraordinary Sirius…for all the right reasons. You are the only family he has left and he loves you.”

“But-”

“Would you distance yourself from him if this headline were about him?”

“That’s completely different Remus, and you know it.”

Remus glared. “Would you?”

Sirius sighed. “No.”

“There you go. Now please accept that argument and don’t try to talk yourself into doubting Harry again.”

“I’ll try not to.” Remus knew Sirius was only humouring him, but he chose to let it drop.

“And Sirius?”

“Yes?”

“For all intents and purposes…you are extraordinary. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise.”

And with that, Remus Lupin picked up his glasses and his newspaper. Sirius was unable to get another word out of him for the rest of the morning.

A review would be fantastic. :)