Summary: Sirius was smitten. Smitten, in a word, means grievously or disastrously stricken or afflicted. The affect the boy afflicted on him was very much disastrously, indeed.
It was forbidden. He knew that. He had known that ever since the child- the child was born. Even then, as he gazed down at the baby's face fifteen years ago, he knew there was something special about him. He knew that one day the baby would be destined for something.
Yet, here was the baby, no longer a baby, but a teenager. Somehow, Sirius could not seem to get that through his head. Harry seemed so much older than his years. So much older. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Harry had had a hard life. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Sirius had also had a hard life.
Sirius was smitten. Smitten, in a word, means grievously or disastrously stricken or afflicted. The affect the boy afflicted on him was very much disastrously, indeed. His pulse would race at the simplest brush of a hand… his breath would catch when the very rare smile bestowed his beautiful face and was directed at him, Sirius… he would relax when Harry wrapped his arms around his neck, seeking comfort from another nightmare, only to tense up in a matter of seconds, for the affect Harry had on him… it was disastrous.
Yes, Sirius was smitten with that precious, oh, so precious boy. What was not to be smitten about? The boy had a horrible, brutal life, yet he was kind, caring, compassionate… but, at the same time, he was the opposite of all those things. He could be cruel, harsh, cold… he could show all those emotions- those actions to Sirius. Harry would not have to worry about being judged. Sirius would not judge him. How could he judge him when he himself was the one who should be judged?
After Harry had a nightmare, or just plain out needed the comfort of someone there beside him, he would creep into Sirius's bedroom in the early hours of the morning, and slip into his bed. Sirius was never asleep during these nightly visits. How could he sleep when the boy he was smitten with lay next to him… inches away…
Sometimes Sirius would reach over… grasp Harry's hand tightly in his, just so he could believe he was actually there with him. The feeling of Harry's finger's around his own reassured him. It gave him a false sense of security that nothing bad could happen as long as Harry was there…
Sometimes Sirius would lay still, not having the guts to reach over five inches and take the adolescent's hand in his. God, it made him feel like a teenager again… But, then again, Harry was a teenager… It was just so hard to remember sometimes.
And, sometimes there were nights like tonight, when Harry would curl up in his arms, sobs wracking his awkward frame. He never saw this Harry any other time of the day. The blanket of darkness around them softened the sharp emotions, making it possible to finally feel…
"Shh… shh…." Sirius wasn't sure if his soothing shushes and nonsensical words did anything to help Harry when he got like this… He thought he partly did it to help himself. He thought he was trying to quiet the voices in his head that told him such disgusting thoughts he should not think about his godson. But when he was so close on nights like this it was incredibly hard to suppress them. He was hyperaware of everything that Harry brushed or rubbed against. Harry's nose was burrowing into Sirius's neck, as if hiding the tears would make the sobs go away… Harry's left arm wrapped around his neck, while the other grasped the front of his shirt in a bunch desperately… his legs got tangled with Sirius's… Sirius hoped Harry would not notice the affect he had on him…
"Help me… Sirius!" Harry would choke out. Sirius's heart would break into pieces when he heard that broken cry. How could he help him when he also needed the help?
Sirius could only rub his back and whisper useless words into his ear. "Harry… it'll be alright… it's okay…" They were empty, hollow words to Sirius's ears, but it seemed to Sirius that they consoled Harry.
"Sirius…" Harry whispered, his voice small and passive. "Sirius…"
"Yes, Harry?" Sirius whispered quietly back, his heart expanding and subtracting at once. The boy was broken.
"Sirius… don't leave me… I need you…"
Sirius squeezed his eyes. I need you, too. "I won't ever leave you."
"I… I love you, Sirius," Harry cried, sobbing into his neck almost silently. Sirius's heart missed a beat. I love you, Sirius.
But Harry did not mean it the way Sirius wished he meant it. To Harry, Sirius was a father figure, a friend… To Sirius, Harry wasn't a son, he was a… Sirius couldn't bear himself to think it.
"Shh… I love you, too," Sirius whispered, hating himself all the more for saying those words. He did love Harry deeply, a little too deeply, but it was the way he loved him… it made him feel sick. Harry was fifteen, and Sirius was thirty-six. It was wrong. Sirius wished it were right…He wished it so much.
But, no matter how much Sirius wished it, it would never be right. So, as Harry lay crying in his arms, he held Harry just a little closer tonight, soothed him just a little more… he did not know when there would be another chance to do so… It was forbidden.
Yeah, I'm not sure where this came from, but about 2 hours ago I had inspiration to make a fiction, any kind of fiction, and I started with a random sentence... this is what I pooped out. Hope you enjoyed it!
Reviews are VERY welcome (I'm a review whore)