A/N: Everything you recognise belongs to the Queen of Fiction herself: JK Rowling, unfortunately. I'm just having some fun :)

Got a random inspiration for this whilst reading 'Prisoner of Azkaban', finding myself wondering: 'What did Sirius make of all these events?' This is my idea of what he was up to. If you like this, I'll probably end up writing the entire book from his perspective. I really shouldn't be starting another story, I've got a Merlin one I've been seriously neglecting, but here's hoping 2012 will be a year of regular updates from me! :)

James stood there, not five feet from Sirius, hair as messy as ever, his glasses twinkling in the semi-light. Only it wasn't James. It was Harry. And he wasn't Sirius. He was Padfoot. A shiver ran up his spine to the end of his tail. Harry, James' boy, his godson …

Sirius couldn't believe the boy in front of him was the same one he had last seen laughing at colourful puffs of smoke coming from a wand all those years ago … how many was it, eleven, twelve? - Enough to transform that laughing infant into a teenager, the spitting image of his father.

He fought back the whine that threatened to issue from his throat. How much had changed? How many days was it he had been on the run now? He dreaded to count. The memories of that place tormented him during every waking hour. For too long he had languished in that cell, giving up on hope, and life itself. Only one thought had kept him going: I'm innocent.

A low growl betrayed what would have been grim laughter in his human form. Innocent … what sort of innocence did he have? It was his fault, he had convinced them, he had made the swap … had sent Voldemort right to them.

But guilt had long since left him. That had been replaced long ago by a grim determination, and simmering rage. He had one goal –Peter.

His hackles rose as he pictured that scene once more in his mind. 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you betray them like that? They were your friends!' - Peter had screamed to the street at large, his pathetic sweat drenched face shining with fear. Not fear of Sirius, but of his former allies among the Death Eaters because the coward had been too afraid to do what was right, to give what was owed to his closest friends. Traitor.

The coward had muttered a hurried spell, whipped out a knife from inside his robes. There had been a flash of blood and then he was gone. Before Sirius could so much as raise his wand to finish off the murderous rat he had been bombarded with a brilliant flash of light, and a roar so intense he felt as if his eardrums would explode. He had been thrown off his feet into the hard ground, the air growing heated. He had regained his senses in time to see the utter devastation his former friend had wrought. The street was cracked open to reveal the sewer beneath. Dust and smoke, and the smell of burning flesh met him in equal measure. Screams rang out through the air. Bodies, horribly charred and mangled bodies, Muggles, lay around him in miserable heaps.

Almost immediately he had been surrounded by popping noises, as wizards of all shapes and sizes apparated around him, their wands held out in front of them as they took in this grisly sight. Sirius had paid them no heed. Instead he had stood stock still, his wand still outstretched in preparation to kill the man who had brought his world to an end. He had only had eyes for one spot- a heap of robes in front of him in the centre of the crater, and a single finger lying on top, where Peter had been only an instant before, then a flash of a tail disappearing into the exposed sewer.

He had stared and stared. Peter Pettigrew, that dumpy, talentless little boy had murdered a street full of Muggles, had sworn allegiance to Voldemort, and betrayed his best friends. James and Lily were dead. Harry was an orphan, off to live with his estranged Muggle relations. Remus, his last remaining friend who he'd been avoiding the last few months believing him to be a traitor, where was he? Was he dead too?

The wizards had come in closer, demanding he lower his wand and surrender peacefully. He looked again at the blood-stained robes. Well, he had thought, who would have guessed little Peter had it in him?

And he'd laughed.

Sirius grew cold at the memory. He certainly had been unhinged at the time; it wasn't exactly surprising everyone thought he was mad. But was he, really? They say no one comes out of Azkaban sane, so was he? He didn't know, he didn't care, all he knew was that Harry was in danger, from the same man who had ripped him from his parents all those years ago.

Sirius would never forget the moment he had set eyes on that newspaper. Merely trying to pass the time and break the monotony of misery and boredom that engulfed him every day, he had asked for the newspaper of a visiting Ministry official. Skimming over the inane articles and ridiculous drivel that counted for journalism these days, his eyes had alighted on a single photograph. A family, laughing and waving in front of a pyramid, the first smiling faces he had seen in years. Sirius couldn't help but smile to look at them, a mismatched and rundown family they appeared to be, but happy. He had glanced at the accompanying article. Weasley … he knew the name, if not personally. He'd heard Molly Prewett had married one of them, the sister of two of the bravest men he had known; Fabian and Gideon. He remembered how they had glowed with joy when they'd described their baby sister's wedding. They had been killed not long afterwards. Sirius had never had a chance to meet her.

He looked at her photograph now, a plump cheerful looking woman. Yes, she was their sister all right; it was written clearly over her face, a fierce pride in her family, she would go to the death to protect them.

And what a large family she had. 'Weasleys breed like rabbits, filthy blood traitors, trying to force their ridiculous ideas on the rest of us decent folk. You can never get rid of them; they're a curse on wizardkind!' he seemed to recall his dear old mother saying. And for that he liked them immediately.

He'd looked at each of them in turn. The mother and father with their arms around each other's shoulders, an elder boy with a Head Boy badge on his hat- Sirius had inwardly groaned, here was a stickler for rules and regulation, who wore their badges on holiday?-, twin boys with such a look of mischief and deviousness on their faces Sirius had no doubt these were the Marauders of their day-something painful had clenched within him, had he once been like that? – a young girl holding her mother's hand, and another boy, a teenager with gangly limbs and freckles- he'd be about Harry's age wouldn't he? Then he'd seen it, sitting on the youngest boy's shoulder staring straight out at him as though straight into his soul. It was him.

A cry of fierce rage had ripped from his throat, indistinguishable from the cries of countless others in their lunacy. How dare he? That snivelling coward! He actually had the audacity to-

Sirius had let out another fierce roar and transformed into his dog form, pacing furiously up and down his cell, growling in agitation. Of course, he should have known, the stinking coward wasn't a complete idiot. He'd have been playing the lovable pet all these years, while Sirius rotted away in here, his twitching little ears on the lookout for any news of his old master, perfectly poised to re-join him if it suited him. Sirius shook with rage. This family obviously had no idea of the evil they were harbouring in the form of a rat. He was a pet. How simple, how brilliant!

A toe was missing from his front paw. Ingenious. Letting the entire world think he was dead. Little Peter, who would have thought he'd have the nerve to fake his own death?

Well, Sirius had growled, it wouldn't be so fake for much longer. He'd lain here in this cell for years, powerless, helpless, with only the memories of times gone by to torment him, only the knowledge of the betrayal that had occurred to accompany him, to remind him of what evil still lurked out there while he could do nothing. But no longer. He knew where he was now; he would find that stinking coward and gave him what he deserved. He'd find that family and then he'd-

One single horrific thought had struck him. He'd rapidly transformed back into a human and snatched up the paper so hurriedly he almost tore it. 'The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.' Hogwarts.

Sirius had racked his brains, calculating furiously in his mind, glancing at the date on the front of the newspaper. How old was Harry now? Twelve, thirteen? Old enough to be at Hogwarts. Where Peter would shortly be going. No! His mind had seemed to scream. He couldn't let that traitor anywhere near his godson! He would not let him within twenty miles of the boy he had orphaned.

Sirius had sat back in shock. How long had Peter been with this family? The whole twelve years? - Surely not, wouldn't they have been suspicious at such a long life? Was Peter a recent addition to the Weasley family? Would this be the first time he would have access to Harry?

Sirius had felt the rage course through his veins. How dare he even be in the same building as the boy! Was he planning to finish his master's work?

He'd stood up and started pacing with unprecedented energy, ignoring his weakness and malnourishment. That boy, the Weasley boy, how old was he? He was tall, certainly, but his face was young. He'd tried to work it out in his mind. The eldest boy was obviously a seventh year with a Head Boy badge. The twins looked a couple years younger than that, and the other boy another couple of years. The girl was obviously the youngest, small in stature, with an arm placed protectively around her shoulders by her brother. He had remembered his earlier thought; this boy was probably around the same age and possibly the same year as Harry himself. Hell, he could even be in the same House! The same dormitory! The Weasleys as far as he could remember had always been Gryffindors, as had the Prewetts. James and Lily had been Gryffindors; would Harry and this boy follow in their family's footsteps?

The thought made his heart stop. Peter, sleeping in the same room as Harry …

He had slammed his fist against a wall in anger, relishing the pain that came with it. It was the first concept of feeling he'd had in almost twelve years. He wasn't going to sit here rotting away whilst the last remnant of his oldest friend, of his old life was in danger. He's at Hogwarts. He had to protect Harry, protect him the way he should have done twelve years ago …

Sirius shook away the memories that had engulfed him. He was out of there now; he was finally taking some action, not languishing in that hellhole. Escaping had been far easier than he'd thought. Here he was all ready to head off for Hogwarts, to find and kill that monster.

But he'd had something to do first, something that couldn't wait. The godson he had failed, he had to see him, just to know that he was safe, to see the young man that infant had become.

And there he'd been, wandering around some dreary Muggle suburb, vaguely in the area Lily had mentioned her sister living in when she'd married some awful bore. It'd been hard to imagine any relative of Lily Potter living in such a nondescript place, but then again, Lily had always stressed the enormous gulf that had opened between herself and her sister, often with a glint of sadness and regret in her eyes. Sirius had never met Petunia, but James had, and described her as the most awful woman he had ever known, hateful, spiteful and vindictive. But worst of all, how she hated magic and everything to do with it, including her own sister.

Though that night twelve years ago had passed in a horrid blur when he discovered his best friends were dead, he remembered what Hagrid had said. Harry was being taken to his Muggle relations, why he could not say, only that they were Dumbledore's orders. Why though? Why on earth would Dumbledore send the boy to relations who obviously neither cared for nor wanted the boy? Sirius smiled grimly. But he had no other choice did he? He believed the child's godfather was a Death Eater.

Still, he'd have to have been mad to send Harry here! Petunia hated Lily! She would never have taken the boy in willingly! Sirius had stopped at that point, staring at a hedge in front of him. Was Harry with them? Had she accepted Harry into her family? More importantly, did Petunia still live here? Was Sirius even in the right place to be searching for his godson?

He'd slumped back on his haunches. The whole thing was hopeless. Even if he did find Harry, what exactly was he going to do? Walk out in front of him and say Hey! I'm your godfather! I'm also a convicted criminal! Harry would know what others had told him, that he was a murderer, a traitor.

Still, he'd had to see him, before he went north, if only to reassure himself he was all right. What was he like? How had it been for him growing up in a family full of Muggles who despised magic?

He'd wandered aimlessly through the endless identical streets, ducking into shadows whenever a Muggle car would drive past, not really knowing where to go. He'd almost given up, when he'd heard sounds across the darkened street, someone carrying something heavy. He'd ducked into an alleyway between a fence and a garage to wait until the person had passed. But it seemed whoever it was had collapsed on the wall opposite to regain his breath, which was laboured and frenzied. Curious, Sirius had crept out from the shadows to get a closer look …

He couldn't believe the luck of finding Harry here, amongst all this mundane 'Muggle-ness'. His son's best friend …

If Sirius hadn't have known James was dead, had seen his body for himself, he would have sworn it was Prongs himself sitting there. He looked so like him. But, he'd had Lily's eyes hadn't he? Sirius crept a little closer, but he couldn't get a proper look without startling him. Instead he just watched him, revelling in the pure good fortune he'd had just to be able to see his godson again.

He eyed him closely. He didn't seem to be doing anything, just sitting on the wall breathing heavily, occasionally glancing up and down the street. He looked angry. Sirius frowned, what was wrong? For that matter, why was he alone in the street at night? Sirius then turned his attention to whatever it was he'd been dragging. A great hulking shape sat beside him, and Sirius saw the distinct outline of an owl's cage. Harry then looked down to his hand, and Sirius suddenly noticed a thin strip of wood protruding from his fingers.

Sirius blinked. He had his wand out? In a street full of Muggles? With his school trunk? Sirius took a step backwards. He was running away. Sirius bit back the growl that fought its way to the surface. How naïve had he been to think Petunia would have taken him in willingly! Of course he would have been miserable there! Those people would never have understood him!

Sirius felt a pang of sympathy. He knew all too well what it was to be rejected and hated by your family; if family they could be called. Still, Harry shouldn't be wandering the streets at night. There were still plenty Death Eaters who had eluded Azkaban.

You are such a hypocrite Sirius Black, he told himself, you weren't just content to stay at home with people you detested either were you?

Sirius shook his head. He'd been older than Harry; he'd had somewhere to go. He wasn't a prime target for former Death Eaters seeking revenge …

Harry seemed completely clueless and Sirius began to get restless. He had to help him somehow …

Then suddenly, Harry stood up as though he'd come to a decision, and abruptly turned his back on Sirius and began to search through his trunk for something. Sirius inched closer …

Harry stood up straight, and glanced around him uneasily, as though he'd heard something. Sirius did likewise, was there someone approaching?

Harry seemed to dismiss the idea and bent back over his trunk. Sirius moved closer again; was Harry in danger?

Then, like a shot, Harry spun around and faced Sirius directly with his wand raised. Sirius inwardly cursed himself. Of course, it had been him Harry had heard. He barely had time to admire Harry's instincts before Harry murmured 'Lumos'.

Sirius blinked at the sudden light that had fallen on him. He froze, panic momentarily washing all over him. He'd been discovered. Wait, he told himself, he was a dog for Merlin's sake! Just pretend to be a harmless stray!

But he barely had time before Harry stumbled backwards, evidently startled by the sudden appearance of a giant dog. Sirius had one last look before he fell back entirely, Harry's face now illuminated by the wandlight. It was James' face, entirely James' face, yet not so. Something about the expression betrayed it, subtle differences between Harry and his old friend, that only Sirius would know. And of course those eyes, now wide in shock, they were Lily's, purely Lily's. Sirius felt his breath catch in his throat. The ghosts of his past seemed to be staring out at him from this boy's face. He truly was their son.

Blinding light suddenly filled the street, with a large BANG. Harry had fallen back over his trunk with his wand outstretched, and with a yell barely managed to avoid the purple three-decker bus that had just pulled up in front of him.

Sirius seized his opportunity. He bounded out from the alleyway on silent paws, and with a single leap crossed the street and concealed himself behind a large skip outside No. 3.

He watched as some pimply youth emerged from the bus and began to speak in a loud voice, whilst Harry lay on the ground, a slight look of bewilderment crossing his features. Sirius felt an urge to chuckle. He was as clueless as his father, and apparently attracted as much trouble … almost being run over by the Knight Bus. Memories flooded back, when he and James would play Chicken with the Knight Bus, similar to the Muggle children's game with cars, but much more dangerous and exciting when the bus could just pop up out of nowhere.

How many times had that conductor jinxed them for summoning the bus in order to play that stupid game? He couldn't remember, not that it mattered. The Knight Bus had a new conductor now; everything from Sirius' previous life seemed to have vanished. Except … was that Ernie still driving the bus? Merlin, how old was he now? More importantly, how blind?

The new conductor helped Harry up from the ground, and Harry immediately turned to the alleyway, now flooded with light. Sirius was glad he'd chosen to move, though he highly doubted whether this youth was intelligent enough to know an Animagus from a real dog.

Voices came to him from the night air: ''Choo lookin' at?' the youth had asked rather rudely

'There was a big black thing,' Harry said, pointing. 'Like a dog … but massive …'

Sirius smiled, there was no fooling him. Still, 'big black thing' wasn't entirely complimentary. Listening to Harry speak, it was almost surreal. His voice was nothing like his father's, but still, there was something familiar there. Sirius smiled again; whatever his voice sounded like, his speech was certainly an improvement on 'Dada', the last words he'd heard Harry say all those years ago. He turned his attention abruptly back to the present as the youth spoke again.

'Woss that on your 'head?' he asked.

'Nothing,' Harry said rather quickly, trying (in vain as Sirius remembered from James) to flatten his unruly hair. Sirius frowned, what was he hiding? Then he remembered, seeing Harry after Hagrid had brought him from the burning remains from his home, a giant gash on his forehead, almost in the shape of a lightning bolt. Was that cut still there? Why hadn't it healed by now? Sirius cursed the fact he was so out of touch with what was going on. He only knew of a few things that had happened after his imprisonment, only discovering what he could in snippets from other prisoners, the foremost of which that Voldemort had been apparently defeated, made powerless by an infant boy after casting the Killing Curse at him. Sirius had found it difficult to believe at first, but the prisoners had been sincere, especially the Death Eaters who cursed Harry to high heaven. Sirius couldn't even begin to wonder how Harry had survived, but if made by the Killing Curse, it would make sense the cut would never have healed. Sirius growled inwardly; how much had Harry suffered?

'Woss your name?' the youth asked.

'Neville Longbottom,' Harry said, the expression of someone doing some extremely quick thinking James had often displayed when being caught by McGonagall out of bed after hours passed over his face- all too familiar to Sirius. He almost barked with laughter. Longbottom? Who would ever believe that? The conductor did obviously. Sirius had never met Alice and Frank's son, but he could guess he'd be nothing like Harry. They'd be the same age wouldn't they? Sirius sighed; one thing he had heard in Azkaban was the awful fate that had met his old friends from the Order, inflicted by that maniac of a cousin of his. Both of these boys, Harry and Neville had had their families torn away from them most cruelly. Were they friends? Had they bonded over the same horrors that had inflicted their early years? Surely they must have, if Harry had so freely used his name as a cover.

Then Sirius frowned. Why was Harry pretending to be someone else? Was he that desperate to remain undiscovered? Sirius looked closely at him, he was nervous that much was obvious, trying to distract the conductor from asking any more personal questions. Wait, Harry had used a spell earlier; he'd had his wand firmly clenched in his hand walking through the streets. Sirius grew cold. He hadn't attacked his Muggle relations had he? Worse, had they attacked him? Was his godson now on the run?

No, he couldn't be … but he's definitely used magic! The Ministry was infamously strict on under-age wizardry, even a simple Lumos spell in a Muggle area would earn him a warning at least! Or did he no longer care? Sirius had the mad urge to leap out there and help him, but something held him back. He whined, shifting his weight from paw to paw. He wanted to help, but would Harry accept help from the man he believed to be responsible for his parent's deaths, for the massacre of all those Muggles? Of course not, he'd be terrified. He wouldn't believe him, even if he tried to explain, his appearance alone would be enough to convince him of his 'guilt'.

No, Harry had to fend for himself at the moment. Sirius listened as they made arrangements to go to London … and watched as Harry boarded the bus … and as it shot away into nothingness, all the while holding himself back with difficulty.

Please, let someone find him there, please let someone help him, the Longbottoms, the Weasleys … anyone, just don't let him be alone. Sirius hated himself for letting Harry set off for London, obviously afraid and alone, but he had other important things to do, for Harry's sake. He had to find that traitor, and tear him limb from limb before he could harm another hair on anyone's head, Muggle or magical. He only hoped that in time, Harry would understand.

Sirius turned tail, and set off on the long journey north.

A/N: Please review and let me know what you think! Should I continue?