It was raining
Large droplets of water rolled down the thick window panes, creating strange, watery tracks. Water poured across the streets, drops splashed viciously towards the ground, and large pools of water gathered at the deeper slopes on the road. Cars zoomed by, wind shields squeaking violently, sending water everywhere. People walked quickly on the sidewalks, faces down and umbrellas up. The wind blew furiously, slapping people's hair into their face and pushing debris around. Lightning struck the sky, casting a dim glow against the dark shadows. Thunder clapped ahead, sending a giant boom throughout the night. It was oddly comforting, listening to it. Listening to the heavy and constant, rythmatic thump of each drop of rain, each drop of sin, each tear of God's. Thunder clapped again, releasing a crippled sound. It really didn't sound like crying. It was chaotic.
It was a night no one was meant to be outside. A night seen only on weather reports of severe weather or from the exposition of a creepy horror movie. Darkness settled over everything, shadows crept up along various areas. There was nowhere to hide and yet he knew that this was the perfect weather for it, the perfect time. They were out there. They were waiting. Lurking . . . .
Sirius Black knew this, as did Remus Lupin. They sat at the long, wooden table placed in the kitchen that stretched crisply in front of the fireplace of Number 12 Grimmlaud place, cups in front of them. Sirius sat at the head of the table with Remus to his left. He sat bent over the smooth surface of wood, the long stretch of which rested before him. His hands gripped the paper's sides lightly so as not to wrinkle it. His eyes trailed slowly through the words, glancing ever so slightly at the pictures, processing them, analyzing them. Every once in awhile he would snort and shake his head. They were so many lies, so many secrets. Remus sat with one leg crossed over the other. In one hand he held a slightly thick book; he had almost finished it. In his other hand was a cup of tea. The small white cup had black vines across the bottom that wrapped around the handle; elegantly painted silver roses were scattered among the vines. A single dark green line ran along the cups rim, a shade of black etched lightly over it. Even the cup was tainted, just like all of them. It was have started out a blank state, free of corruption and hate, but over time it made it's path, made decisions, and painted it's face, but no matter how pretty it looked . . . there would always be someone there wanting to break it, to shatter the pieces across the floor. He wanted to crush that particular cup. It was from his mother's tea set.
They sat in a comfortable silence, peace enveloping over them. It was rare moments like these that they cherished most, moments that had no purpose, no reason. Moments that were scarce and quiet. It was these moments, the ones placed carefully between times of chaos, that mattered most. They occurred close to never but in times like these, times of war, times where they dreaded the horrid call of the loss of another, a friend, it mattered, it meant the world. In these moments they were reminded of what they were fighting for, what was worth dying for.
And it made all the difference.
The silence was broken by a light knocking on the front door. Sirius and Remus glanced at each other in confusion. Not many knew of the house's existence and those that did never used the front door for Floo was much more efficient. With a shrug of his shoulders, Sirius stood up and walked over to the front entrance. Pulling open the heavy door, he was surprised to see who was on the other side.
Harry stood there, water dripping off of him, forming a puddle at the fifteen year old's feet. His jet-black hair lay flat, for once, and his bangs clung to his forehead, wet strands falling in his eyes. The famous lightning bolt scar was barely visible and was a flaming red, very similar to the way it was all those years ago on that night. His large, baggy clothes, though still rather baggy and definitely still too large, stuck to his frail body, his ribs could be seen a little through the thin cloth. The boy's lower lip was split and swollen; his right eye was black, his glasses broken and the lens shattered. A thin, long cut ran along his cheek and a few more little ones lingered across his face. His skin was pulled tightly across his face, his cheekbones sticking heavily out in view. Bruises littered his face and neck, the shape of fingers could be visible there. Blood flowed out of his nose, rolling over his face, coming out in almost transparent streams due to the rain. More blood leaked out the side of his mouth and along the side of his face, next to his hairline. His hair was matted with blood as well, though the rain caused some of it to flow out into red-stained drops across his skin, making him look even worse than he already did. He was leaning to his right side, hanging his left leg gingerly above the ground. He held his left wrist to his chest, buried into his wet, soggy shirt. On his shoulder sat a ruffled Hedwig, her white feathers drizzled with water. Her large, amber eyes stared at Harry with worry. On the ground next to his feet was a small duffle bag.
Sirius felt his back straighten and his breath hitched in his throat. Harry stared up at him, his bright emerald green eyes, Lily's eyes, looking up at him. Looking back up at him with James's face. He stayed silent and still, not moving a muscle. The only sound he could hear from the boy was his ragged, labored breaths that came out short and labored. The scene was all too familiar for Sirius.

He stood outside the door of Potter Manor, his school trunk tucked in his pocket. He repeatedly cursed the woman in his head. Bitch. Dark storm clouds loomed above him. Every few minutes his body would shake with the aftereffects of the curse, sending pain coursing through his body.

Fucking. Bitch.

The tall, sixteen year old boy hesitated. What would they say? What was he going to say about the cuts all along his face and arms, about the burns? Would they even ask, even care? Would they push him away, like his parents had?

No, he decided, they weren't like that. The Potter's cared, they would accept him.

He raised a fist and knocked. Seconds later he could hear the sound of feet softly approaching before the door was yanked open to reveal the grinning face of James Potter, his best friend.

"Sirius!" James said, half surprised, half excited. "What are you doing here, mate?"

Sirius didn't reply, he just looked at his friend. James stared at him for a second, then he really looked at him. His eyes scanned over his face, taking it in. "Sirius? Wh-What happened to you?"

Sirius remained silent, watching as realization dawned over James.

"Hang on," his friend whispered before turning around and disappearing into the house. Sirius could still hear him yell for his dad though. Minutes later Charlus Potter appeared, alone.

He stared at Sirius. He looked over him. Studied him.

After a few minutes Mr. Potter spoke, "Got your trunk?"

"Yes sir," he nodded, patting his jacket pocket. The older man nodded, a solemn look on his face.

He pulled the door open wider and smiled sadly at Sirius.

"Welcome home son," the man said before engulfing him into a warm, heart breaking hug.

Sirius smiled as he hugged him back, not allowing the tears to fall. He had cried enough. Here was meant for smiles and laugh. For family.

That memory would always be with him, a scar etched onto his mind. Sirius stared more at Harry. This must be what Charlus had felt like all those years ago. But this was worse, his mind told him, much worse. His mother had never loved him, putting him under the Cruciatus every once in awhile and sending the occasional cutting hex, his father would mainly ignore him, but would sometimes slap him. He had gotten over it quickly, it was never often, very rare actually seeing as how it was mainly verbal abuse which he always retaliated on. But just looking at his godson told him it was worst. Sirius had left home because he wanted to, because his family was crazy and suicidal. Harry had left because he had to, because he would die there if he didn't.
But he would be there for him, just like Charlus had been there for him. Harry needed him, he needed someone that cared, someone that understood. And he, Sirius, would be there for him. He would help him. He would not lose the boy to the madness that was following him, scratching at his face and hiding in his dreams. He wouldn't, couldn't, lose him. Not James's son. Not Harry.
"Come on," he said, stepping to the side and pulling the door back. Harry nodded, his gaze going to his feet, and stepped inside. Sirius closed the door behind the teen and turned around, however something above the neckline of Harry's shirt caught his attention. There was a long, thick mark there that looked like it burned. It would obviously one day scar.
Rope burns, he realized, that's what they were. Yes, he would be there for Harry.

After all, not all scars were bad. Even if we didn't know it yet./span/p

One day,he told himself. One day.