A/N This is the start of a series of conversations which took place between Harry and Sirius in Order of the Phoenix. I really feel that their relationship was incredibly interesting, and needs exploring.

Disclaimer: I'm just exploring JK Rowling's work, none of it belongs to me.

The rain was pouring down outside Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Droplets traced their way down the murky windows, failing to wash away the years of grime which had accumulated in the long years of absence. A bespectacled boy, thin, messy haired and pale, sat in the gloomy lamplight of Grimmauld Place's drawing room. A fire blazed in the hearth, but did little to alleviate the gloomy mood which had settled over him. He frowned as he considered a copy of the Daily Prophet. Despite picking it up to distract him from unwelcome dreams, it had done nothing to improve his mood. Having finished reading an article about Malcolm Midge, who claimed to have created a broom which could bore through the earth, his eyes settled upon the closing phrase: 'It is evident to this reporter that this is a tale worthy of Harry Potter. Indeed, St Mungo's must prepare themselves for an increase in deluded attention seekers encouraged by scars newly hewn on their foreheads from ill advised broomstick endeavours.'

Harry threw the paper into the fire in a fit of rage. As he watched the paper curl and crumble into dust and ash, he felt a vindictive sense of pleasure mixed with a growing sense of irritation. However, before his mind could once again rotate the dark thoughts which had been plaguing him since the third task, he heard an amused cough.

He jumped at the noise in the silence that only early morning brought, reaching for his wand. However, at the sight of his godfather he relaxed.

"Oh- 'lo Sirius" said Harry, smiling. He glanced at the fire with a slightly worried expression, the remnants of the Daily Prophet still visible as a moving picture of Fudge danced and burned in the bright flames.

"Hello Harry," replied Sirius, smiling at his godson. He settled himself next to Harry on the sofa. "I see that you've discovered the delights of fire."

Harry smiled embarrassedly. "The Daily Prophet were talking rubbish."

"When don't they?" asked Sirius. Then, he fixed Harry with a concerned gaze. "Just ignore them. They'll know soon enough."

Harry nodded, not feeling particularly reassured, but somehow less alone than he had felt a few moments ago. Sirius would understand how Harry had been feeling. With a rush of guilt, Harry realised that a few barbed comments in the Daily Prophet were nothing compared to the injustices that Sirius had suffered. Still branded a murderer, still forced to stay inside a place he hated to avoid further wrong imprisonment, still coping with the loss of his best friend. Something of this must have shown on his face, as Sirius put a hand on his shoulder.

"Anything the matter?" he asked lightly.

A lump appeared in his throat. He cleared his throat to clear the unwelcome sensation. The feeling of having someone to confide in, the feeling of having a family, even, was so alien to Harry. It was at times like this, when he realised that Sirius cared- really cared- about him, that the sensation hit him.

Sirius was still looking at him. Harry looked away, feeling uncomfortable under such close scrutiny.

"I just feel a bit stupid, getting bothered by a few comments," he said finally. "And I can't do anything about it anyway. It's just-"

He broke off.

"You didn't ask for any of this?" finished Sirius for him. "You don't understand why you're not believed?"

Harry nodded mutely.

"I felt the same- and still do, to some extent. Yet what you need to understand, Harry, is that you hold the truth within yourself. It is just a matter of waiting, and one day both of us will be free from the shackles of lies."

A rush of calm seemed to fill his very bones, like the feel of phoenix tears on a wound. Sirius understood, so much more than anyone else could. Nobody else had lived through the same process of vilification that Harry had been put under. Nobody else had been this close to his parents, except Lupin, perhaps. Nobody else bore the same feelings of guilt which burdened Harry. With this feeling, he felt loosened, somehow. As such, he raised his eyes to Sirius.

"It's just- hard being told that I'm an attention seeking prat when I never wanted to be known at all. I'm famous for something that I can't even remember, and everything that's happened since hasn't been- I dunno- purposeful. Things just happen to me. I'm not Lockhart."

At this, Sirius snorted. "Oh, that idiot. He was in Ravenclaw but didn't have two brain cells to rub together if you ask me. How did you come across him?"

Harry grinned. "DADA Professor in 2nd year."

At Sirius' look of horror, he laughed.

"I know, he was terrible. I had a detention with him once and he made me help him with his fan mail," Harry spat out with a look of disgust.

Sirius gazed at him open mouthed, yet with a slight shadow of pride- whether at Harry's ability to procure a detention, or Harry's ability to withstand it, Harry didn't know.

"He's actually quite famous," added Harry. "He wrote loads of books about his fights with dark creatures. Thing is, he never actually did them himself. He was a bit of an expert at memory charms, so went around taking the credit for everyone else. Apparently his only qualification was being winner of 'Witch Weekly's most Charming Smile Award' five years running. Anyway, he tried to wipe Ron's memory but the spell backfired. I dunno where he is now. Probably in some museum dedicated to himself or something."

Sirius laughed. "Why did the idiot try to wipe Ron's memory?"

Harry grimaced. "It's a long story."