I apologise for the large length of time in which I left this story in suspense. I do not own the world of Harry Potter and unfortunately, never will.
It had been so long since Sirius had breathed in the cold air of the outside world. Azkaban was dark, damp, dreary and utterly spine-chilling. His first step he took from the prison was one of great disbelief. The freshness of the breaths he took caught in his throat and choked him, whilst the unfamiliar light left his eyes bewildered. Sirius knew of only one place he could go; to the house in which he occupied as a small child, before Hogwarts rescued him from such a place.
The Black family, especially those of Grimmauld Place, often showed a great distaste in Sirius' nature. He was not at all evil and so all that he had been taught about Voldemort was dangerous.
The visit from the Minister of Magic took place a few days previous to Sirius's release. He had not divulged the information that he was an animagus, but after 9 years of careful planning, Sirius had escaped. And rightfully so, he was, as he claimed to be, an innocent man.
Grimmauld Place was just as Sirius remembered; cold, dull and a place of pure evil and hatred. The halls were strung with silk wall portraits and the carpet was an uninviting brown. Sirius walked through to the kitchen which had a rather noticeable smell of mould. Nobody had lived here for years. After his dear Brother died, the house was left to Sirius, who had of course not lived there for at least 9 years. The kitchen table had a game of Wizard Chess, still open. James and Sirius had been playing this game before James died…the very day he was killed. Sirius had not the heart to pack it away and so ate around it.
Shortly into the evening, a message was delivered by a portrait connected to Dumbledore's office. The wise little man in the picture caught Sirius's attention before speaking; "Sirius, I have a very important message from Albus Dumbledore. He requested I tell you that he requires yourself at his office tomorrow morning, sharp." Sirius did not know what could possibly be so urgent. He thanked his the man in the portrait and slowly climbed the stairs to the attic. He would sleep here tonight. His room bore too many memories; the walls covered in pictures of James, Remus, and of course, Peter Pettigrew. He fell asleep listening to the drip drip of the water falling through a small hole in the roof, his mind spinning with the thoughts of poor Harry…where was he now?