Sirius was not sure how he was still standing here. The marauders were all dead now, all but him. He stood at the funeral of the last friend from his childhood, a man braver than the rest of them, and wondered if he could have saved him. He had stood beside Remus’ wife, his cousin, Nymphadora, and held her hand, and tried to be strong, but failed.
But he had sworn to Remus, just as he had once to James, that he would take care of his child, no matter what. And though Sirius had failed to do much for Harry other than occasionally offer moral support, it would not be so with this child.
With his cousin’s hand in his, he apparated them into the small house Remus had shared with his wife, and turned to her, with her stomach swollen and her eyes full of tears and gave her the smallest of smiles. “I’ll make tea.”