Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Hey everyone, I'm so sorry I haven't updated this for a while. Real life has been very strange lately. I feel like I've felt every emotion under the sun over the past few weeks.

But everything has definitely settled down now, and I promise to try to update again more frequently. Phew, I feel like I can finally breathe again!

Anyway, thank you so much for the reviews. I'm so glad you all like Harry and Sirius bonding. This scene was an especially big one to write, and I hope you enjoy it.

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Sirius felt dread coursing through him as he awaited the answer to his question. As much as he didn't really want to know, he knew it was an important topic they needed to discuss. It was obvious that when Harry had first laid eyes on him, he had known who he was and what he had apparently done. The betrayal and fury in the boy's bright green eyes would never leave Sirius; the guilt was all-consuming, because he knew Harry had had every right to feel those emotions. If Sirius had parents like Lily and James, the rage he would feel at their loss would be unmanageable. The radiance, the happiness, the pure joy in their eyes when they held Harry for the first time ... Sirius knew his own parents had never held him with such reverence. It seemed so wrong that his parents had died of natural causes and been such miserable, vicious human beings, while Lily and James had never gotten the chance to raise and nurture Harry and show him all the love they possessed.

From the expression on Harry's face, Sirius knew that Harry was reluctant to tell him of those events. He recognized the guilt on his godson's face, and wondered why. Was he feeling guilty for believing the story of Sirius being the traitor? Why on Earth should he feel bad about that? It was the only information he had at the time - of course he would believe it when he knew nothing different.

"It's okay, Harry," Sirius said softly, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder once again. "I know it must be hard to think about this. Whatever you have to say, kiddo, I promise I won't be upset with you."

Harry relaxed slightly, and nodded. He took a deep breath and answered, "I overheard a conversation in the Three Broomsticks between several teachers, Madam Rosmerta, and the Minister of Magic. I wasn't supposed to be there ... I hadn't had my permission form signed, and ... and because everyone thought you were out to get me, I was told to stay safe at school. But I didn't, and that day, Fred and George weasley gave me the Marauder's Map."

Sirius stopped short at that tidbit of information. "Ron's brothers?" he asked, his face cracking into a smile despite the heavy subject. "How did they get a hold of it?"

"They said they nicked it from Filch's office," said Harry.

Sirius let out a delighted laugh. "They must be good if they managed to learn how to work it," he grinned. "Merlin's beard, we made it tricky to learn its secrets if you picked it up knowing nothing about how it works."

Harry smiled as well; then his face grew somber again, and Sirius's did the same as their minds went back to the previous subject. "Hermione levitated a Christmas tree so that it hid us from view in the pub," he said quietly. "That was when I learned the whole story." He took another deep breath, and looked into Sirius's eyes, the guilt in his face more prominent than ever. "Sirius, I'm so sorry I believed any of it."

"Harry," Sirius said, the rawness of his emotions almost choking him, "why in Merlin's name do you think you owe me an apology? What else were you supposed to think when that was the story you were told?" He put his arms around the boy gently. "Why would you possibly think it wasn't true?"

Harry still looked haunted, and Sirius realized there was more to this than just guilt over believing the false story about him. "What is it, pup?" he whispered to the boy, wanting desperately to know what was wrong. "I can tell there's something that's really bothering you. You know you can tell me."

Harry looked at him, his beautiful eyes shining with sorrow. "I wanted to kill you." His voice was barely audible. "That night ... I hated you so much that I wanted to kill you." He began to tremble in Sirius's embrace. "I never ... I never thought I could hate someone so much. That whole year, I kept seeing your face in all the newspapers, and when I saw you ... I just felt so angry. If there weren't other people in that room, and Crookshanks didn't try to stop me, and if Professor Lupin hadn't walked in at that moment ..."

Sirius's eyes prickled with tears as he saw the heartbreak in the boy's eyes. In all honesty, he hadn't even thought about those moments. Why would he, when he couldn't blame the boy for wanting the person who he thought had sent his parents to their deaths to meet the same fate? After all, hadn't he tried to murder Peter? Yes, he had. And if things had worked out differently, and if Peter hadn't been too quick for him, he would have succeeded. He had grown up with a family mired in hatred, insanity, and darkness, and as much as he liked to think he wasn't like them, he knew that in many ways, he was. He knew what it was to hate, to feel the bloodlust, the thirst for murder run through his veins. There were things he had done during the war which many members of the Order frowned upon, spells he had used against Death Eaters which he wasn't proud of using, but when he had cast them he'd been too blind with rage to think about what he was doing. He'd been warned more than once by Dumbledore about looking into the abyss for too long. "Those who fight monsters must be careful lest they become a monster." How many times had he heard the phrase? And looking at Harry, this guilt-stricken, grief-laden boy in his arms, he knew his godson knew nothing of becoming that which he despised. After Sirius had cast those forbidden curses, he felt no guilt, no remorse. Not being proud of something and feeling guilt for it were two different things, and he was more than certain those Death Eaters had deserved all of it. And if he would have succeeded in killing Peter, he would have felt no remorse for that either, even though they had been brothers in all but blood for ten years. There was nothing like hating someone he once loved.

"Look at me, Harry." The boy in his arms continued to tremble, refusing to make eye contact. "Come on, kiddo," he said in a soothing voice, stroking Harry's soft hair gently. "Please look at me."

Finally, Harry's eyes met Sirius's, and they glistened with tears. "Harry," Sirius whispered. "Harry, pup , how long have you been tormenting yourself with this? Merlin, you thought I killed your parents. Of course you hated me and wanted me to suffer. Anyone in your position would have felt the same way." His gaze held Harry's for a long moment, and then he continued. "But I don't think you would have killed me even if Crookshanks and Remus weren't there. You don't have it in you to kill someone. Harry, I know darkness, and I know anger and hate. You're talking to someone who grew up in a family who basked in those emotions. Much as I loathe it, I understand why the entire wizarding world didn't really think twice about me going to Azkaban without a trial. As much as I try to think of myself as different, I know I'm just as dangerous as the lunatics that raised me. Harry, you don't possess that kind of hatred. Yes, you were furious with me and wanted me to hurt, but what you ended up doing to me felt like so much less than I deserve."

Indeed, Sirius could remember Harry punching him with all his might, but the physical pain he'd experienced had barely even touched him. Most of the time he could only remember little snatches of that night; he'd been out of his mind with rage, the bloodlust for Peter pounding through his veins. He wanted to ask Harry and Remus exactly what had been said and done, because his subconscious seemed to want to block the memories out. Harry's first impression of him must have been awful, and the fact the boy was willing to trust him proved how innocent he still was.

And Sirius hoped it would stay that way. The thought of Harry hardening, of those green eyes growing jaded and bitter just like his own gray ones, made his heart ache. He knew the war would change his godson, and whatever happened, he knew he wouldn't love him any less. But he did not want Harry to experience the darkness that had shaped Sirius's life. The fact that he would have to kill Voldemort one day, or Voldemort would kill him, was unbearable to Sirius. How in Merlin's name would Harry be able to kill a madman, yet stay innocent at the same time? It was impossible; it seemed like an oxymoron. Sirius could only succeed in staying sane if he put this to the back of his mind and focused on the present.

"R-Really?" Harry stammered, his tiny voice breaking Sirius out of his thoughts. "You don't think I would have succeeded?"

"Harry, when it came right down to it, and Peter was standing in front of us and Remus and I were about to kill him, you stopped us," Sirius said gently. That was one of the things he did remember about that night. "You said your father wouldn't want us to become killers, just for Pettigrew. That right there shows me that you wouldn't have been able to kill me."

Harry sighed, his green eyes still shining with unshed tears. "I still feel like I did the right thing by not letting you kill him," he whispered. "But I keep thinking that if you had, Cedric would still be alive and Voldemort wouldn't have returned. But if I had to relive that night with you and Professor Lupin and Pettigrew, I think I'd've done the same thing."

"Never doubt yourself, Harry," Sirius whispered, burying his face in the boy's messy, raven-colored hair. "As you know, Voldemort, unfortunately, has a fair few Death Eaters. If it hadn't been Peter, it would have been someone else who helped him rise to power. Harry, you stopped Remus and I from being monsters that night."

"Sirius, you're not a monster, and I don't think you're like your family," Harry said vehemently, tightening his arms around his godfather. "I understand why you wanted Peter dead. You spent twelve years in Azkaban because of him, and you lost your best friends. You're not a bad person, Sirius. I've never had anyone take care of me like you have."

Sirius's gray eyes filled with unshed tears too as he continued to embrace the boy. "Thank you, Harry," he whispered hoarsely, but he knew that as much as Harry believed this to be true, Sirius knew it wasn't. There was no denying it - under the right circumstances, Sirius became a monster.

But as he basked in the love and innocence radiating off of the child he had been given a second chance with, he vowed to lay that part of him to rest.