The first time Sirius Black looks at Harry Potter he's the happiest he's ever been.
The second time, he's at the worst he's ever been. Giving his bike to Hagrid, he slumps in the ruins of Lily and James' house.
The third time, he can hardly believe his eyes.
The fourth he's burning in the fire, it barely hurts him, but all he feels is worry. It clouds his thoughts, and freezes his nerves. He's worried for Harry.
The fifth time, he watches out of dog eyes, as Harry lopes up the winding Hogsmeade road. He reflects as how tall Harry's grown, and you can see how much he looks like James.
The sixth time, he's conflicted, and desperate – to keep him comforted, to keep him safe.
The seventh time, it's the proudest he's ever been. To be fighting along his godson for the last time- although he doesn't know it.
The eighth time he sees Harry, it's like a fading memory, something he has to grab onto with both hands, but it keeps slipping away like moonlit water. Harry's grown, and looks older, his eyes tired behind the familiar dilapidated glasses. And now he's scared for Harry – terrified actually for him, and it's all he can do to keep from crying out and warning Harry of the inevitable.
And as Harry vanishes from his view the last time, stepping out to face Voldermort, with his shoulders set, Sirius feels… something undefinable. It's a warm feeling that's in the pit of his stomach, and it's something he's never felt before, but he's not scared anymore.
And he knows Harry will be fine.