Work Text:
Sirius is not acquainted with tenderness.
He has never met it in his home, never trusted it when offered.
He taught himself to be conversant in kindness. He educated himself even in trust. He made himself stand, upright and courageous, beside his friends. He learned to smile in comradery rather than combativeness.
His friends taught him these things, taught him to be strong without being brittle. James with his free smiles and firm confidence, leading the way, always pushing just far enough. Remus with his quiet courage, his gentle wisdom, seeing and not looking away. Peter with his bold laughter, his unfettered daring, never understanding the difficulty of the things he asked, never judging anyway.
But tenderness was something else.
Blacks could not afford to be tender, they could not afford to receive tenderness, and they could not afford to give it.
Sirius holds the newborn Harry in his arms, entrusted with this precious life. Wispy black hair is soft beneath his fingers, the tiny skull impossibly fragile in his hand. Lily smiles up at him, and Sirius smiles back, holding the sleeping baby gently, close.