InsaneJournal

Sirius hadn't known where he was when he first woke up. It had taken a moment for him to get his bearings, to realise he hadn't just broken into some strange muggle's house and to remember the events of the day before. He vaguely remembered being shown a baby that was Harry but wasn't Harry, and James (James!) showing him into the spare room, but it was all confusing and blurry. He remembered falling asleep in the bed in the spare room, only to wake up as Padfoot, curled on the hard floor. He had some fuzzy recollection waking up at some point in the night screaming, and having to bite down hard on his fist in an effort not to wake the rest of the flat. Then there had been the baby crying at one point, which had sent him back to that night and Harry with the open wound on his forehead...

Sirius transformed back into himself reluctantly. A clock on the bedside table told him he had slept for nearly 21 hours, and it was nearly mid-afternoon. Taking a deep breath, Sirius used the edge of the bed to pull his bony, aching body to his feet and looked down at the way the borrowed clothes hung off his wasted frame. You could see the line of his ribs, the ridge of his collarbone like a piece of metal. His skin wasn't as dirty as it had been, but at least the dirt had covered off the markings <i>they</i> had etched into his skin. There was a number printed in black ink just above his heart. Sirius rubbed at it hopelessly, then took a deep breath and took a few painful, jolting steps to open the bedroom door and peer out into the main room.