It seemed strange, looking at them now, but before Sirius Black met his godson, he was prepared to hate him.
It made sense to him, at the time, for after all, had Harry not been born to James and Lily, they would still be alive – but once Sirius actually met the boy, to hate him was unthinkable.
In him, Sirius saw everything he had ever hoped for in his own son – kindness, bravery, wisdom and fierce, unwavering loyalty. In his eyes, though – his mother Lily's eyes, copied perfectly into James' face – his exhaustion was evident, the kind of exhaustion that came from a child how had been forced into adulthood too quickly and spent most of their time simply trying to stay afloat.
In the months, years that passed, they were able to snatch precious moments together, reveling in the feeling of having a family, and even looking across the room to see each othersitting there was enough. It was enough.
In the end, though, there came a time of trickery and deceit, and when the time came, it was Sirius that had to save Harry, and it was Harry who screamed, seemingly endlessly, heedless of the destruction around him, because Sirius was gone, and there's no way Harry would be ever okay again.
