Author's Note: So I was watching the HP movies, and obviously obsessing over how amazing Sirius Black is. And I came up with this little oneshot idea. Tell me what 'cha think. By the way, Sirius does not die, and there is a little twist in here.

Never Been Prouder

From the time I first laid eyes on my baby godson to when he rescued me from a fate worse than death, the thought of him was the only thing that kept me sane.

Harry was everything I hoped for. Smart, funny, kind, thoughtful, and especially brave. He was the mix between all three Marauders. Pettigrew didn't count for anything.

During the TriWizard Tournament, I feared for Harry's life. He was fourteen, for Merlin's sake! How could he fight a seventeen-year-old's battles?

When I was fourteen, I was worrying about girls and what to wear to the next Hogsmeade dance. Harry had never given a thought to any of that. He had to focus on defeating Voldemort and keeping his loved ones safe. And I could not even help him.

When Harry returned from the graveyard during the Third Task, clutching a dead body, I didn't care who would be suspicious. I bounded right after him, my Animagus form disguising me. The impostor Moody had taken him from me, but when I learned what he was, I was ready to kill him. What he'd done to my godson… Despicable. Harry was a boy!

During Harry's fifth year, the lurking threat of Voldemort haunted his every action. The Prophet attacked him daily, and yet, once again, I was helpless, trapped in my own house. Couldn't leave, couldn't help, couldn't breathe without worrying over blowing down a house!

And then, that fateful night in the Department of Mysteries. Harry had saved my life once again. He took the Cruciatus Curse for me, not to mention several Cutting Curses on his shoulder and leg.

The next year, Dumbledore died, leaving Harry feeling isolated. He had regressed into a shell of who he was after his death, only opening up to Hermione and Ron, sending others reserved glances.

That summer, when Aurors had investigated Grimmauld Place, Harry had told them of my "location." South America. They thanked him profusely, and while I was in my Animagus form beside him, posing as a friend's pet, I noticed that his emerald eyes travelled to his feet, looking vulnerable and scared. As they shot back up to the Aurors, they were once again guarded and strong. I had gotten a glimpse into his shield.

All this time, I had wanted Harry to let me in. I wanted to care and love him. I wanted to adopt Harry. But he shut me out, like everyone else. I hated it.

That year, he disappeared. Ron, Hermione, and Harry had gone missing. Potterwatch indicated he was on the run, but I could not tell where he could be in times like these.

Only when I saw him in the Room of Requirement in May did he tell me of what he had done all these months. I hated the haunted look he had. It reminded me of the one I'd had for years after Azkaban. There was blood dripping down every spot of visible skin, and scars lined his limbs and face. He was hurt badly, as well as his friends, and while I hugged him and kissed his forehead, and told him that I loved him more than life itself, I could not heal his wounds.

When I saw his lifeless body in Hagrid's arms, it felt like my world had crashed. I felt no reason to continue to breathe, or exist. I was ready to exit this world if Harry wasn't in it. He was my life.

And then the impossible: Harry was alive, and still fighting.

The pride that'd surged through me when Harry defeated Voldemort was the biggest I'd felt. I was so proud of not his killing of the Dark Lord, but of his capability to be as strong and as amazing as Harry was.

I'd watched Harry grow up and mature from the malnourished, shy thirteen-year-old to a courageous, insightful, and strong man, and I'd never been prouder.

-SparkledDreams