As requested, here is a story on how Sirius felt whilst Hermione was growing up. Some things may be slightly different to how they were in the book, but I hope you like it.
Enjoy!
Azkaban
Sirius Orion Black sat in a dark, damp cell. Dark and damp were complete understatements. It was horrible. The stench gut wrenching. The screams and cries bloodcurdling. The food, when there was any, always mouldy, stale, sour. Dementors glided through the narrow walkways, sucking every last bit of happiness everyone had. But he did not care.
He had seen his deranged cousin enter with her good for nothing husband. She had sneered at him. Taunted. Laughed. But he did not care.
You see, Sirius Orion Black had only one thing to live for. His best friend and wife had been murdered by the darkest wizard there had ever been. His next best friend blamed him for the betrayal- he would rather die than betray Lily and James Potter. His other best friend had betrayed them, killed twelve Muggles and chopped off a finger, framing Sirius, and fled. And Hermione... The one woman he had ever loved, and ever would, had gone. He had received no owl, nothing.
All he had was Harry James Potter, his best friend and wife's only son, his godson. And he couldn't even have him. He must be, what, almost thirteen by now? Probably staying with his aunt and uncle, Lily's selfish sister. They had better be treating his godson right...
Another day passed... Another prisoner brought in... Another given The Kiss. What had he to live for? Family? No chance. Lily and James? No. Peter? As if he would want him. Remus? No. Hermione? No...
Harry.
He knew what he had to do. Well... Padfoot knew what he had to do. Sirius Orion Black was escaping Azkaban, running from a crime he did not commit.