A/N: I don't own Harry Potter world but these words are mine.

Thanks for your review anglecity, feel like I'm on a real roll now with this fic. Sirius Black is so the most interesting character but I'm think of doing a POV of another. Maybe Remus. Not sure. Whats does everyone think?

It was getting cold. Sometimes he changed to Padfoot just so he'd have a nice thick furry coat. But when he was Padfoot all his emotions were so much more simple. He hated it.

What he thought, what he felt, when he was human, was complicated. And he needed to feel it even though it exhausted him. All the emotions; anger, fear, resentment, regret, hatred, sadness, disgust, pity, hope. All the thoughts: James, Lily, Harry, Remus, Peter, Dumbledore.

But most of all, the memories haunted him; Hogwarts, the grounds, Hagrid (who would probably tear him limb from limb if he found him), the lake, the shrieking shack, the forbidden forest. It all reminded him so much of the marauding years. The fun and laughs, the hits and misses, the secret passages and adventures. The pranks and detentions. Snape. James. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.

If he half closed his eyes he could almost see all four of them; traipsing through the grounds on the way to classes. Sneaking out of the castle in search of mischief. Oblivious to the future. Unaware that in fifteen years, one would be dead, one his murderer, one a fugitive and the other an outcast without his friends.

He wondered if he could, what he would say to his younger self; the young handsome Sirius completely ignorant of his future. His past was so prominent here it was no wonder he felt confused, befuddled and generally over-whelmed.

It was as if he had past the last twelve years in what he had convinced himself was a kind of dream. And had then woken to find his dream was true. He had been unable to face the consequences of his actions and decisions in Azkaban. But here. Here at Hogwarts with Harry so close, a piece of James so near and solid; the reality was all around him.

He often caught a glimpse of Harry. He would recognise him anywhere because at a distance he looked like James. What had alarmed him was the red haired boy who was now Peter's 'owner' was always with him. Just as he had always been with James and they were often accompanied by a girl with big busy hair.

It was the fact that the boy was obviously a friend of Harry's in the same house judging by their matching gold and scarlet scarfs. (Harry was a Griffindor, this made him feel proud and he knew it would have delighted James.) But it was the fact that the two boys would sleeping in the same dormitory, which prompted him to act.

He had to. He kept telling himself. Peter was in the same dormitory as Harry. Peter was sleeping in the same room as James' son. It made his blood boil. His anger soon became his primary emotion. Like a red hot poker in his chest, driving him on. The cave he had made his base was near Hogsmeade. Every night he would sneak in, watching, waiting. A paper he stole told him it was late October.

After a few days a plan began to slowly formulate. Halloween. All the students would be in the Great Hall. The Griffindor wing would be empty. Apart from Peter.

It wasn't hard slipping through the shutters in the shrieking shack. They were meant to keep humans out, not dogs. Especially not a dog that was thinning from eating nothing but what he could scavenge from the local village without drawing attention to himself.

From there it was easy. A quick paw was all it took to immobilise the whomping willow. Up through the grounds he knew like the back of his hand and in the front doors. Using a few of the secret stairways and back corridors he arrived at the seventh floor corridor which had been his home for the happiest days of his life.

Changing form he crept forward. And there she was. Still splendid in her pink silk dress.

She eyed him curiously. "I know you." She said, but she obviously didn't know where from.

"Sure you do." He replied hoarsely. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a conversation with anyone but himself.

"I know you." She repeated; her brow furrowed.

"Well." He tried to sound casual. "Let me in."

"Password?"

"Er…" He hadn't thought of that.

"No password no entry." She eyed him suspiciously. "Who are you? You're not a student or a teacher…"

"Let me in." He said again, more firmly. "I need to get in."

"No password no entry." She repeated.

"I need to get in." He repeated, his temper flaring. Peter was just metres away. He could practically smell him… Smell the fear…

"Look. No password no entry." She repeated. "Oh, I know where from. You used to be a student."

"Yes, so let me in." He growled.

"You used to tag around with that James Potter, the one who was murdered by You know who. His son's in this house you know." Her tone was gossipy but soon she would realise who he was and raise the alarm.

"Let me in." He growled, brandishing his knife. She stared at him.

"You wouldn't."

"You won't let me in?" He asked, stepping closer, holding his blade inches away from her canvas.

"NO." She yelled and he saw a brief flash of pink silk before he completely lost his control over his rage and took all the pain and anger he was feeling on the empty canvas. The painting which stood between him and justice. And revenge.

As he fled he felt the rage bubble down to be replaced with the bitter taste of failure.

Twelve years. In Azkaban.

He'd waited and bided his time. But for what? To blocked by the very defences intended to protect Harry. The same defences which now kept him from James killer.

He would have to think of another way. And that was when he met the bandy legged ginger cat with a squashed face.