Sirius Black was a free man, but he certainly didn't feel like it. The letter of pardon from the Ministry lay haphazardly on the table next to a satchel that had contained his wand and several thousand galleons they had sent by way of apology. As if galleons and a piss-poor apology are supposed to give me back the twelve years they stole from me. He thought sourly, scowling at his reflection. They stole those years from Harry too, a smaller voice said. He's suffered thirteen years living with those muggles who don't give a damn whether he lives or dies.
With a pang, he realized how little he had been conversing with his godson. His official pardon by the ministry had been all over the Daily Prophet, so his godson knew he was a free man. It wasn't as though he didn't want to talk with him. He was having a difficult time adjusting to being free. The first day after he was pardoned he had tried to assimilate back into normal wizarding society by going to Diagon Alley. He was met by screams and fainting witches. It was like he hadn't been freed at all. You're feeling sorry for yourself. He set his jaw, pulled out his wand, and went to work.
He shortened his waist length hair to shoulder length, and blasted away the built- up grime on his skin. The last touch was scraping away the stubble that had taken over his face. He looked years younger. He found himself smiling despite his dour mood. Time to go get my godson. Dumbledore had warned Sirius of the repercussions of taking Harry out of the protection of the blood magic that surrounded Privet Drive ever since he had escaped Azkaban and had proved his innocence to the headmaster. Sirius knew that the blood magic protected Harry from things he did not wish to fathom. Unspeakable things. But he was Harry's family, was he not? He would die to protect Harry. Didn't that count for something?