3

After a week Sirius, Hermione and Harry had developed a routine. Noticing Hermione hadn't been eating well, Sirius woke up every morning to prepare breakfast for all of them. They ate together, mostly in silence, and then the younger members of the household left for work.

And Sirius went out.

He had tried going to the Diagon Alley, at first. He was a free man now, exonerated, he thought he'd miss the places he visited as a young man. But the people, it seemed, still remembered the times that Sirius Black had been the number one boogeyman, or heard that he had returned from death, and even though they were convinced he had been innocent, they were still afraid of him.

They stared and Sirius hated it.

Only children seemed to be unaware of who he was. Their stares were never different than the way they stared at other strangers and it was oddly comforting. He made faces at them, winking and sticking his tongue out. To that they either frowned like Sirius was the child and they didn't approve of his juvenile behaviour or they giggled at his silliness.

It wasn't the healthiest way to socialise.

Naturally, he stopped going to the Diagon Alley and instead he spent his days in Muggle London. It was crowded, and no one knew anyone. People walked past each other, not looking even when they bumped their shoulders.

Among them, he was just someone else, a stranger. He cherished that title now.

He would hold the door for old ladies as they entered a store and they would smile at him. He had been much more handsome than now, once, but when he made eye contact with women they still looked at him with appreciation. When he went to pubs people talked about the funny Muggle game called football, politics and their daily life. Yes, the whiskey was much duller without the burnt of the firewhiskey, and the service much slower due to lack of magic but he still loved the mundane chatter of these mundane people.

People his age that didn't live through a civil war talked to him about their heartaches, how their favourite team has lost, what were their wives and children doing, how annoying their colleagues were or how pretty the woman sitting at that table.

He would watch the games on the television above the bar, a Muggle invention that excited and annoyed him at the same time. Football, if you asked Sirius, was not nearly as exciting as Quidditch. There was no chance of any athlete to fall from a broom and crack a skull, there were way too many players, way too little number of balls involved, and it seemed every little thing was accepted as foul.

It made no sense.

Still, the excitement of the people in the bar affected him a great deal and he found himself often cheering with them, jumping up when the team he had supported for the day scored, feeling youthful once again.

There were always girls, of course. Women, he often needed to correct in his mind. He had missed the period in his life that he would transition from calling the members of the opposite sex women instead of girls. It wasn't easy, he had noticed, to acquire a more age-appropriate behaviour and vocabulary. Although, he supposed the youth of this era wouldn't think he was talking like a peer, either.

He just didn't fit anymore.

Not with wizards, not with Muggles, not with the young nor the old. It was easier to pick the group you fit the least. At least among these strangers, he accepted himself being the outsider. It was better than being one in your own home.

So he latched on to the temporary relationships with people that never knew who he was.

Back in the pub, "What?" asked the girl that he was talking.

They had just met. She was pretty, wearing a tight little dress and heels. Her body was turned towards him, leaning a little. He smirked at her, this was a game he could play. He'd use the opportunity to get closer to her, to say his name once again, their faces would be close enough to make her think of kissing him.

"It's Sirius," he said. He didn't touch her at all. He leaned back, not wanting to disturb her with his proximity. One step forward, one step back. "Like the star."

"I didn't know there was a star with that name," she said. "Is that your real name?"

He nodded.

"Yep, my one true name."

"I'm pretty sure you're lying," she said laughing.

Sirius laughed too. He didn't understand why it was so hard to accept that this could be his name, but, well… Muggles.

"No, it really is. A stupid tradition, but real still."

He knew how to pretend like he belonged, at least. Saying the right words, acting like their behaviour was normal, acknowledging the weirdness of something quite expected in his world… That's how you did it; you pretended that they were right and people would like you. It was a new skill that Sirius acquired. Maybe it was his method of survival. In the end, he didn't care that he was essentially lying.

After all, whatever happened, this was temporary.

This conversation, this bar, this woman, even he as the person he was today, at this very moment, was temporary. Neither she nor the other people he met at the bar would be fixtures in his life.

"So, what do you do Sirius Black?" she asked, assessing him unapologetically. She still considered his name to be a joke. He didn't take offence in that.

"Do?" he shrugged. "Nothing. I'm currently living in the house my parents unwillingly left me with my Godson and his best friend. I come here to drink, and during the day I usually ride around with my bike."

"You don't work?" she asked, and he knew he had already put himself into her 'probably no' pile. He wouldn't stay there. Sirius knew that there was a difference between 'unemployed' and 'inherited shit loads of money'.

"Nope," he said with another smirk. He swirled the whiskey in his glass. "And I drink too much. A typical low life, if you will."

She looked at him with narrowed eyes and a frown.

"You don't sound like it," she said.

"No?" he asked, raising his eyebrow. "Oh, but I am. I even have tattoos, look."

He waved his fingers at her, showing off the faded ink on his hands. She looked at him all too knowing.

"Does everyone judge you so?"

He stopped and eyed her, realising somehow he brought the topic to an unwanted territory of serious matters.

Sirius matters, James snickered in his mind, and Sirius sent him a mental snort.

"Of course they do," he said to his companion. "Don't they judge you? I thought that was what people do?"

She laughed again. "Oh, I like you."

"Good," Sirius said, sipping his drink. "Good."

There was a heated silence after that, starting from the moment he locked his eyes with hers at the end of his word. She looked back at him with brown eyes that reminded him of something, like a distant memory, creating a desire that he felt like it belonged to an external source. Almost wanting her, wanting her just enough.

It wasn't enough.

It would never be enough.

It came and went again in waves.

Desire was something hard to catch, a fickle thing. Even when he didn't hear the voices he thought of them. He tried to regain his focus, and as much as he tried harder it became.

He forgot her name right at the moment he wanted to say it to her. He felt his excitement die as he was trying to reach deeper inside her. The woman he already didn't know became a complete stranger and guilt filled him.

He placed his hand in between her thighs, and her eyes shut tight. He exhaled a shaky breath, continuing.

What is the point, he asked himself.

She came; eyes closed, legs shaking, body halting.

He wanted to cry, as he felt no joy from hers and slowly slid out of her. He tried not to feel so much, he just couldn't help but think he had been the losing side.

There is nothing to win, a voice said, and it was so faint he couldn't place which ghost it belonged to.

Anger filled him.

Leave me alone, he thought at the voice. Leave me alone, at least now. Leave me the fuck alone.

It was like a prayer in his mind.

"Are you okay?" a voice asked, and Sirius had to think for a while to make sure if it was from his companion or another ghost. He turned to the woman beside him.

"Yeah," he said.

"I thought I lost you there, for a second."

He still didn't recall her name.

It left a bad taste in his mouth, like dead rats. Unfortunately, he knew how they tasted too well for his comfort.

She looked happy, though. Her hair was wet and her face shining with sweat, her eyes full of mirth. She was glowing.

He hated it, seeing her happy when he felt so disgusted with himself when he felt this much shame. Didn't she even realise? He knew that it was not her fault, in the back of his mind. He knew he was being unfair. She was enjoying the moment and her life. It wasn't her fault that Sirius was a failure at this as much as anything else.

Did he start his self-loathing rant again?

Sirius closed his eyes and tried to ignore his brother's voice.

"Just tired I suppose," he mumbled at the woman. She hummed lowly and climbed on top of him. Sirius opened his eyes.

The dim light of the room was hitting behind her, creating a silhouette. He couldn't make out the details of her face, only her curves were visible. He ran his hands on her sides. Her hair was messy and he liked that. He didn't know it was a thing he liked. Or maybe he had forgotten.

"I've never seen tattoos like yours," she said as her palms travelled his chest and her fingers traced his visible bones.

He wished he had put on more fat and muscle before being inspected like that.

"Just symbols," he murmured. He didn't feel like talking. "Runes and such…"

She started to move slowly, touching his shoulders, hips and even legs. He wished he'd feel some sort of excitement as she touched his stomach, as her hands dipped lower trailing towards his cock.

"They are beautiful," she almost purred.

He laughed, and even to his ears it sounded awful. She looked at him, he supposed, although he didn't really see anything but the angle of her head.

"Thank you," Sirius said. "Some of them are prison tattoos."

"You are pulling my leg with that dangerous criminal thing, right?" she asked and moved her hips.

Sirius sighed.

He chose her because she didn't know him yet he hated that she didn't know him. His mind didn't seem to reach a decision. He was dangerous, once, and a criminal. He was neither of those things and both of those things. It was too complicated and telling her would be too much of an effort. How did you say I was wrongly imprisoned for twelve years for the murder of my best friends? How did you explain that you actually were about to commit a murder, rightful or not, but was outwitted by your old friend?

How did you build anything that resembled a relationship from this point on?

Too much effort.

"I need to go," he said and gently tapped her legs to alert her that she needed to get off of him.

"You can stay," she said, but still slid down to her bed. "I won't assume anything by it."

Sirius smiled at her as he got up. He found his trousers on the ground and wore them, checking if his wand was still where he left them.

"I still need to go," he said. "Need to make breakfast tomorrow."

"To your godson?" she asked with mirth and Sirius nodded. "That was real?"

"Yeah, godson and his friend. Hermione won't eat unless I make her eat."

"Hermione… Funny name. Does everyone you know have weird names?" she thought aloud with a giggle. "How old is she?"

Sirius stopped and thought about what year it was. He quickly calculated.

"Twenty-two. No. Three," he said, and leant to give her a peck on the lips.

"Bit old for you to take care of, don't you think?" she laughed.

Sirius stilled, his body hanging in between them and his lips a breath away from hers. He straightened his back.

"There is no age for needing someone to help you," he said coldly.

The girl, the woman, blinked. "I didn't mean anything-"

"It's okay," he cut her off and found his shirt and with a sigh, he continued. "I know. I know, it's… Good to be useful, sometimes. I didn't get to be for a while, I really was in prison, you know." He turned to her, reminding himself she wasn't his enemy, and he didn't need to find something to blame her for to stop himself from feeling guilty. He wore the shirt. "So I make breakfast." He slipped his feet into his shoes. "I live with them because Harry wants me to… And it makes me feel good. So I have to go, not because I'm running from you. But I'm needed there."

She listened to him talking in silence and then suddenly got up as Sirius wore his jacket. She took a piece of paper from a notebook at the side of her bed, and wrote some numbers on it.

"Call me, if you ever need to talk someone."

He looked at the note and slowly took it. His eyes lifted to meet hers.

"I can't- not… I'm not the best man to-"

"Not for that," she said quickly. "I know. I mean, I know that you kind of- that you didn't really enjoy it. The sex." She laughed nervously. "I just think you may need a friend who isn't your godson, or his best friend who is a twenty-three-year-old woman-" Sirius scowled at her, offended. "No, not judging! That's my number, and you can, you know, call me if you like. To talk. Or whatever."

"Or whatever?"

She nodded and shrugged nervously with a laugh.

"Yes, whatever." She took a thin robe from a chair and wore it. "You know where the door is, right?"

Sirius nodded, confused.

She fancies you mate, James said in his head. Sirius frowned at him and at the paper in his hands. He looked at her and she was smiling to him.

"Alright," he said, suddenly feeling lighter.

He knew he wouldn't call her. He didn't even know how to call someone. He knew he wouldn't try to reach out to her. It was still nice, he supposed, to have the option. It was almost like the old days.

As Sirius walked out of the flat he heard her shout:

"My name is Carla!"

He burst out a loud laugh, and as he walked down the street he was still smiling.

As always, million and one thanks to Kreeblim Sabs for alpha-reading this story. She gives me courage!

I thought it was time for a closer look at Sirius' life. Let me know what you think of it!

You can also contact me at tumblr, i am there as synoir as well.

Love,

Synoir