For a man who had spent two years as an auror in the first war and the next twelve years going slowly insane in Azkaban Sirius Black had remarkably few physical scars.
Most spells left no scars and the dementors never left a mark upon flesh.
This is not to say that he didn't have scars, one or two from the normal wear and tear of life and one from where his mother had slapped him so hard that he stumbled and caught his head on the corner of his dresser. These were all minor.
The actual scars lay beneath the surface. They caused him more pain than bleeding ever could. The scars had torn into him the night he found out what Peter had done.
That betrayal had ripped into his very soul but even that was minor compared to the pain of his loss.
The knowledge that he would never see James and Lily again had caused him to double over in a pain that was not mental anguish or it wouln't have hurt so much and his breath to come short.
He would never laugh with James again. He would never tease Lily again. He would never be invited around for no particular reason other than his company.
They weren't just friends they were his family. A family that Peter had ripped apart even though it was his family too.
The moment when Sirius had recovered from this terrible news he knew he had a purpose. He would find and kill Peter, just so that Peter knew what he had done and he was quite sure that he was going to enjoy it, he was a Black after all.
Overall, Sirius wasn't sure if these counted as scars; Peter's betrayal and the loss of his true family. After all scars were wounds that had healed and made that person stronger and Sirius knew that his pain would never leave him nor in any way would it make him stronger