When Mrs. Potter saw Sirius Black with her son for the first time, she was more than a bit scared. For what, she was not sure.
Perhaps it was because he was a Black. Potters knew the Blacks. If one traced enough back to their respective family trees, they were in fact related. But at some point around the muggle's First World War, the Potters had moved on from the crazy worship of blood purity. Yes, they still married purebloods, but it was more out of habit and convenience rather than prejudice. Unfortunately, the Blacks did not let things go quite that easily and it was fair to say that the families did not get along. She also knew how cold the Blacks could be, because a family that lived on irrational pride could not be too loving. So when James showed up with Sirius Black next to him, she was scared, scared that Black had induced some of his family prejudice on James, scared that Black would hurt James in some cold-hearted way. Yet, her son was there after 3 months of education away from home and was smiling that beautiful smile that she missed. She thought, it was probably not that bad.
And then when James finally got the her permission to invite Sirius over during the summer, her fear of the boy because of his family long subdued, she was scared because Sirius was so impossibly perfect. She was always always proud of her son. Who would not? He was a handsome child with a combination of quick wits, raw natural talents and an immensely good heart. He played sports better than anyone else and had top ranks in school. He knew when to be well-mannered and how to charm an important guest when needed. Yes, he was mischievous and at times annoyingly fidgety, but he was barely 12 and Mrs. Potter let it slide. But when Sirius sat next to her son on their ride to the Potter's vacation home, she was appalled by how utterly perfect her son's friend was. He had those striking good-looks that even at an early age could not be ignored. He seemed to think so fast on his feet that even her bright, intelligent son struggled to follow. He was never fidgety. He was well-mannered, of course, and his graceful mannerism contained none of the playful boyishness in James. Sirius had perfected glamour and elegance to an art form. Her usually shinning golden child was alarmingly overshadowed. She was scared for her son. How would it feel to be constantly living under the shadow of Sirius? But her son did not look a least bit worried, so she thought again, it was probably not that bad.
Later on, through out the two week stay of Sirius in the vacation home, when she finally overlooked his perfectness a bit, she was terrified by the recklessness in Sirius- how jokingly he tossed around that fact that he had blatantly lied to his frigid parents to spend his time with the Potters, how much he pride himself over his thoughtless adventures in school, even more so than James, how he constantly seek danger and thrill in the safest place possible… The list was endless and Mrs. Potter was scared for him and her son because something that burnt that fast and loud could not end peacefully and her beautiful, innocent baby might just spiral into deadly hazards with him. She did not have calming thoughts this time because she just knew that it would not end well and all she could do was to pray to any entity that would listen.
Then, one day during the Easter of her son's second year, Sirius was again staying at their place upon a convincing lie to his parents. That afternoon, their family dog, Snuffles had passed away with old age. She was heart-brokened as the dog had been with the family even before James was born. At the same time, she knew her son needed her more than ever and she had to help him face his first encounter with the fragile mortality of all living things. She torn her gazed away from the lifeless body of Snuffles and looked at James, fully expected him to be crying uncontrollably. However, James was just there, solemn-looking and sad but dry-faced and calm. She was shocked how even his breath was as he bent down and kissed Snuffles. There was neither tears nor uncontrollable sorrow, just a heavy feeling around her son. She looked at Sirius, who had developed an unnatural bond with Snuffles. Even he had red eyes.
That evening, Mrs. Potter went up to her son's room to tell him dinner was ready. She carelessly opened his door. Just when she was about to call him, she saw – her son was crying in the shoulder of Sirius. It was nothing loud or messy, a silent sob every few seconds. Sirius put his arms around him, patting soothingly, but did not say anything. And there Mrs. Potter stood, feeling more of an outsider than she ever had in her whole life in front of her own son and his best friend. The peaceful serenity of the whole matter took her breath away.
And suddenly, she understood. It was not Sirius that scared her, but what he signified – her son was growing up. He was growing up to become a person that judged people fairly and independently, not with his mother's words, family names or grudges. He was seeing the world without all these burdens and biases, and discovering the purity of it by himself. He was going to become a person who accepted that he did not have to be the best at everything and would be happy for those who did things better than him. He was growing up to become a person that would one day write his own story. He was testing the water, weighing how far he could go in this wild world without breaking. His methods were at times risky and foolish but he did not need a protective mother fussing over his every move, because some battles he had to fight himself. All he needed was a loyal, faithful companion that would be at his side until the end. They would skin their knees and hearts, and together they would learn to move on. There was nothing her worried mind could do to stop them. He was growing up to become a person that would not easily break down in tears, but behind closed doors, would also know that it was all right to let it go. This James was no longer the four-year-old that wailed shamelessly over a paper cut. This James was no longer the eight-year-old that thought it was weak to cry even if he was truly upset. No, he was not. That James, with all his naivety belonged to her and her alone, but this James with all his blossoming maturity belonged to Sirius.
That was why the idea of Sirius frightened her. She was losing her sweet child to this boy with ridiculously flawless hair and an unreasonable ambition to wreck havoc wherever he went. Yet, she had to accept all that just like all mothers had in the length of human history. She guessed she could deal with it, given time. She sighed, eyes already watering.
When she walked down to the dining hall with no 12-year-old boys behind her, Mr. Potter raised his eyebrows.
"I guess it's only the two of us this time," she smiled exasperatedly at her husband.
"What are they doing?" he asked.
"They are growing up," she breathed, willing her voice not to crack.
"Ah. That's why," he smiled comfortingly at her.
There you go. Something I wrote during my endless failure to try to do some revision. Leave some comments won't hurt...