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The abandoned church echoes with a howl of the storm. It creeps in through cracks and open windows, whistling hauntingly worse than any of the possible ghosts inhabiting the corridors. Rain has even started to flood some of them, blown in by the gusts of wind as it continues to batter the glass and the walls relentlessly. It's been going on for two days without pause.
It's odd. James has never been afraid of storms. He likes them; the sound that heavy rain makes when it hits the ground, the little ripples it makes when it floods, even the deafening cracks of thunder that tear the sky open in shades of blue and purple. It's thrilling. His dad hates how he hangs out of his bedroom window whenever there's a heavy storm so that he can really feel and hear it. His mum's usually right there beside him, laughing as she dangles half of her body out into the rain.
But as his shoes splash gently with every step he takes along the corridor, echoing against the almost otherwise quiet of the stone walls, a shiver of fear pricks at the back of his neck. Something about this particular storm doesn't feel right. Something has been lingering in the air for the last two days, dragged in with the darkening clouds. Maybe it's just him.
His reason for being here instead of comfortable in his bed back home says otherwise.
Another gust of wind blasts through from the open bell tower as he makes his way up the stairs. The cold nips at his skin even beneath the coat and the invisibility cloak. To be sitting up here willingly at three in the morning would be the sign that something's amiss.
James reaches the top, finally emerging into the tower. He doesn't take the cloak off right away, even though he knows his footsteps are bound to have already given him away. He just needs to be sure there's no one else here because he still can't fathom why Peter is, by himself, so he just wants to be sure he hasn't misread something.
But it's just the two of them. James, standing by the top of the stairs, hidden beneath the cloak, and Peter, sitting on the edge of the tower, both legs up on the stone with his back against the wall. For someone with a fear of heights, it's strange and uncharacteristic.
James finally slips out from beneath the cloak. The movement catches Peter's attention, and his head turns quickly, his eyes widening.
"Really didn't know I was here?" James asks, chuckling quietly in disbelief.
Peter closes his mouth and shakes his head. "No. I thought I was alone."
"Ah, well," James walks closer, balling the cloak up in his hands and cracking a grin, "never really alone in this town, are you? Ghosts and all that. Poltergeists." He fakes a shudder, and Peter smiles halfheartedly. "Almost makes me miss Peeves. Never a moment's peace with that bloody bastard around."
Peter doesn't reply. It's not typically something he would reply to, but James usually gets some kind of reaction from him. Instead, his smile fades off as quickly as it came. He turns his head to stare back out at the street — well, what can be seen of them through the storm. Even from where he's standing, James can feel the rain hitting him. Peter's hair is damp, and the rest of him probably is, too. James has no idea how long he's been up here.
The thought has him stepping closer, his voice softening with concern as he says, "Should come back to the flat, eh? It's bloody freezing up here. Gonna lose your bollocks in another five minutes."
"Go ahead," Peter says quietly, making no effort to move. "G'night."
James frowns. "I'm not just gonna leave you up here, Pete. Kinda the whole point of me tracking you down with a locator spell and hauling myself up all these stairs? I know I'm fit and all but even I'm a bit knackered now." He sinks onto the empty space at Peter's feet. "Gonna need a five-minute rest anyway, so I'll just wait until you're ready to go, and we can head back together. Yeah?"
Peter sighs. He isn't looking at him. Not even just not looking at him, he is intently focused on the storm for nothing other than to not be focused on James. That doesn't usually point to everything being fine and dandy.
"All right, Wormtail, I'm gonna need you to give me something to work with here," James says. "Because it's three in the morning, and you're not in our flat, but sitting at the top of a church tower in the middle of a thunderstorm looking like you're contemplating throwing yourself off of it, which, you've gotta understand is a bit concerning, mate. So, just... give me something, okay? Talk to me."
"I'm not." Peter glances at him, and clarifies, "Going to throw myself off."
"Then why are you up here?" James asks seriously, because honestly, his heart was getting heavier with dread at what he'd find with every step he took to get here. "Why are you not back at the flat?"
Peter shrugs and looks away again. "I'm not tired. Wanted a walk."
There are circles under his eyes. Dark ones. James' frown deepens. How had he noticed that at any point throughout the day? At breakfast, or at dinner, or even last week? Peter looks like he's been running on three hours of sleep for two weeks. Merlin, maybe he has. At this point, James can't actually be certain that he's been sleeping at all the last few nights. It's not as easy as when they shared a dorm; they don't even sleep in the same building anymore.
"Could've gone to the Leaky Cauldron for something to eat?" James suggests.
"Wasn't hungry."
"Now I know something's wrong."
Peter tries to react, for him. He can see it, the twitch in his mouth, then the resignation that clouds his eyes as it slips away again. James doesn't know what's going on. He's never seen him like this. In twenty-one years of knowing him, he's seen him upset, seen him hurt, and just about every other emotion humans are capable of expressing. Never this. The closest he can think of is when he used to get really scared, he'd just shut down, go...
Almost completely silent.
James tries to go through every possible option for what could be playing on his mind this badly. Not the storm, that's for sure; he wouldn't have chosen here if that was the problem. Could be the impending war. It is a fairly stressful situation for them all.
He watches Peter shiver against the rain hitting them. It's obvious he's trying to hide it, his jaw tightening. His hands are hidden in the sleeves of his pyjama top, his arms wrapped around himself. He's bound to be chilled to the bone by now—James is already bordering on it and he's only been here all of two minutes.
Taking his wand out of his coat, James motions it and first mutters a spell that has a warm breeze blowing across the both of them, absorbing the moisture from their clothes and Peter's hair. Then he says, "Impervius" and the rain stops hitting his skin completely. Peter somehow still looks freezing.
He sniffles, further proving James' point as his hands climb even deeper into his sleeves, and he mumbles, "Thanks."
James just looks at him. He doesn't know what else to do. Comforting his friends has always come naturally to him, instilled in him from his mum comforting him all the time. So, he should know how to fix whatever this is, yet he's sitting here, drawing a blank.
"Wormtail—" James starts, then stops when Peter visibly tenses. He tries again, but different, "...Pete."
It doesn't have the same effect on him. Has he been doing that this entire time? Has James really been so wrapped up in himself that he failed to notice one of his best mates practically flinching away from his nickname? One that they use for him all of the time, giving him plenty opportunity to have seen something, even with them not seeing each other as much lately.
How did it get this bad? His heart sinks, and there's a lump in his throat. How did he not notice?
"Please talk to me." James shifts closer, Peter's legs still keeping a pretty solid barrier between them. Probably as intended, he's realizing, because he really has been avoiding him. "It's me, Pete. You know you can tell me anything, we're best mates."
"Except we're not," Peter snaps, "are we?"
James blinks. Even with Peter still refusing to look at him, he can see how he's clearly biting at the inside of his cheek. How his eyes are shining, trying to match up with the anger in his voice. But all it comes out as is fear. He's trying so hard to be cold and... cruel, for some reason that James can't work out, but it's all just powered by fear.
That's why James doesn't react in the way he so clearly hopes he's going to. Not how he would if it was anyone else talking to him like this.
"What does that mean?" he calmly asks, waiting for the explanation that might be the crucial piece of this puzzle.
"We're not best mates anymore," Peter rushes out, his expression giving away that he's saying the first thing he can think of now that James isn't playing along with the script. "We haven't been since we got to Hogwarts, and you know that. Let's be honest, we barely were back then either—Marlene was your best mate, and then when we started school, Sirius took that place. I was always just the substitute. Still am, right?"
There's a bitterness in his voice that doesn't belong there. And it's not real, either. James can hear the forced nature of it, knows that none of this is real. Peter doesn't think these things, he never would because James would never let him.
"What are you on about?" he asks. He can't even begin to comprehend it. "Of course you're not a—a substitute? Where is this coming from? Because you know that all of that is a load of bollocks—we are best mates. You and me, and Sirius and Remus. After everything us lot have been through together, you really think we're just having you on? That we're not really mates? You really think that about me?"
Peter doesn't confirm or deny. He doesn't say anything at all. It hits James why—he wasn't sniffling from the cold, but because he's crying. Without the rain blowing in now, it's easier not to mistake the tears.
"Pete," he says urgently, moving even closer, hand on Peter's knee in a desperate attempt to comfort him.
"Why can't you just leave me alone?!" Peter bursts out, so abruptly that James startles. But he doesn't pull away. Peter lets his head thump against the wall as he shakes it back and forth, a sob shaking his body. "How hard is it for you to just go away? You're not supposed to still be here! You're not supposed to care about me! Why couldn't you have just left me alone?!"
He's ignoring James the entire time trying to get him to calm down. It's like he doesn't want to hear him.
"I'm never leaving," James says firmly when there's a pause in Peter's incoherency.
He reaches for Peter's hand, and for a second he pulls it back like he's flinching away from him. Then he lets James take it, surprisingly. A good sign, he's hoping.
"Do you hear me? I am never leaving you, and I am never going to stop caring about you. Why do you want me to?"
Peter shakes his head again. He closes his eyes, as if it'll be easier to block him out that way.
But James is unmoving. "Pete, what's going on? You've got to give me something here. Talk to me, please—"
"I can't!" Peter is begging him to stop pushing. "I can't—I can't tell you—I can't do it! I don't want to do it anymore, but I can't—I can't do anything! That's the problem, there's nothing I can do, and I can't do it anymore, James, I can't—"
"It's okay! Hey, it's okay. Listen to me."
He doesn't. Not fully, at least. He continues his chant of "I can't" while James tries to soothe him. His own heartbeat is all he can hear. He's never seen Peter in this state before. Sometimes Sirius will have panic attacks that go along these same lines, and even Remus has them as well before or after a full moon. But this is different. It's genuinely terrifying.
Peter's trying to squirm away from his comfort now, hands moving between them like a shield. James immediately stops. With him right on the edge like this, he's not taking the risk of one wrong move. He holds his own hands up to show him he's stopped.
"It's okay," he repeats, keeping the note of panic out of his voice. His mum never sounded scared when she was comforting him. That's probably why it worked so well. He just needs to stay calm, and Peter will follow. "Just... slow down, yeah? You said you can't tell me what's wrong? Why? Why can't you tell me?"
The question doesn't really sink in. James waits. Peter just continues shaking his head. He drops it back to hit the wall again, his face tilted to the roof. A shaky breath passes his parted lips and his shoulders sink.
"I can help," James insists.
He keeps his eyes trained on Peter, but they're darting to the edge of the tower. As much as Peter's saying it wasn't his intention...
"Please, just... just talk to me. You know me, Pete, you can trust me with anything, and I will do everything I can to help you."
Peter screams. An actual scream that tears at his throat and winds James, knocking his heart out of his chest like it's a bludger. "Stop! Just stop being so—stop trying to help me! Stop caring about me, just stop!"
He immediately starts to sob the second he stops talking. He curls in on himself, his forehead against his knees, arms wrapping tightly around them. James doesn't want to move. He's forgotten how. But only momentarily, as he gathers himself up. Pulls his heartback back in, forces his lungs to go back to work, blinks away the stinging in the backs of his eyes. He kneels down beside the ledge Peter's on.
His hand curls around Peter's hand again. Swallowing, he takes a deep breath and another second's pause.
"You need to tell me what's going on, Peter."
Taking another gasping breath, Peter barely shakes his head against his knees. "I can't," he chokes out through his teeth. Then quietly, as if he thinks that a whisper doesn't count, "If I do—If I do, I'm dead. They'll kill me, and I—Merlin, I'm a coward, James, I don't want to die, but I can't—I don't want to do it anymore."
"Do what?" James asks gently, but his stomach swoops at his words. "Is someone threatening you?"
He asks because it seems—safe? It's a safe question compared to the ones running through his mind. Those ones don't make any sense. It has to be someone they're used to dealing with—maybe Snape's come back to torment them even now that they're out of school, he and his friends got to him and are threatening him to do something. It has to be something as simple as that, something that they can fix as the Marauders. Like they always do.
Peter tries for some composure this time around, but the inhale only lets another sob out. He breaks down more than he already was.
"Who is it?" James asks. Hexes are already compiling themselves into a neat little pile in his mind, ranging from most humiliating to most damaging. Depending on what exactly they're using Peter for. "You can tell me, Pete. They're not going to do anything to you."
"You don't understand," Peter mumbles. James can't see his face but he looks exhausted. Sounds it. And again, the question that comes back to him is how did he not notice this until now?
"Then help me." James grips his hand tighter, shifting a bit closer to rest his other hand on his arm. "Explain it to me. Make me understand."
"You'll hate me. All of you. I just... he promised it would be okay. He told me it wouldn't go this far."
James feels like he's playing chess with McGonagall all over again; trying to decode some puzzle before time runs out and he's lost the game. But this isn't a game. Peter is terrified.
"I won't hate you, none of us will," James tells him. He's certain he can make that promise. "Who told you all of that?"
It takes Peter a moment to get the name out, and when he does, James is almost positive that he couldn't have heard him right.
"Dumbledore?" James repeats, to be absolutely sure. But Peter nods.
The idea that Dumbledore would ask anything of Peter that he didn't think he could tell the rest of them is already bewildering enough. But for it to be something that's gotten him in this much of a state? All possibilities that he was preparing for now seem completely off. He wonders if he misread the situation.
"What did he ask you to do?"
Peter's fingers twitch against James's like he's trying to pull away.
"He thought I would be best for it, that... that I wouldn't be as suspicious," Peter confesses quietly. "They wouldn't question me because I'm a Pureblood, but I'm not like you or Sirius. I'm more of an outsider. No one really knows where I stand on anything. No one really knows me well enough."
James isn't sure if he's holding his breath or not. Either way, his chest is tight against each one he tries to take.
"For what?" A shiver starts at the base of his spine and neck. He's not sure he's going to like the answer. "What are you on about, Peter? What was Professor Dumbledore's idea?"
"It was so stupid," Peter sobs, pressing his face further into his knees. His hand curls away from James completely. "I shouldn't have said yes, but—but Mum thought it was an honour and she thought it would be safe because it was Dumbledore asking, and he promised it would be, but—"
He cries out another scream, muffled this time by his knees. James bites down hard on the inside of his cheek against the stinging in his eyes once again. He sounds like he's in agony. If he couldn't see him, he'd expect the noise to be coming from someone under the cruciatus curse.
James is crying despite his attempts. He's never felt so helpless to do anything but just watch. He hates it.
"I don't want to do it anymore," Peter chokes out. Finally, he turns his head still against his knees but looking at James, wide eyes full of tears and desperation for him to understand. "Dumbledore said I wouldn't have to actually join them or do anything other than spy for him, but then he—he told me just to keep playing along and I—I don't think he's going to help me get back out now."
It's not as bad as it sounds. It can't be. Dumbledore is behind this, so it can't be as terrible as it sounds.
James asks through a faltering voice, "Get out of what? What did he want you to do?"
Join them. Spy for him. Keep playing along.
Peter just cries harder. Looking at him through tears and guilt. The shiver brushes along James' spine with skeletal fingertips, and his heart freezes along with the rest of his body.
He already knows. But it doesn't make any sense. This is Dumbledore they're talking about, for the love of Merlin! Why would he ask Peter to do something like that? Why would he let it go this far? Why wouldn't he tell the rest of them? Why would he—
Peter looks like he's going to scream again. Instead, he whimpers, biting down on his bottom lip so hard James expects it to start bleeding. That's somehow worse to watch.
"It hurts," Peter mutters like it's an awful secret. His eyes drift down.
James follows against every instinct in his body telling him not to. He hesitates. He slowly shifts his hand up to carefully take the edge of Peter's sleeve. With every sliver of skin he reveals, he thinks, let me be wrong. He has to be. There's no way. Then his sleeve is up to his elbow.
Those skeletal fingers may as well have ripped his spine right out. And his heart, for good measure.
It's there. A dark, inky blotch on his pale forearm. A black skull with a snake slithering out of its mouth. It's writhing against Peter's skin like it wants to escape as badly as he does.
James' ability to breathe returns to him in a suffocating rush of air, so much so that he quietly gasps. He stops for a moment, just staring because (he can't—it doesn't make sense—it's not right and—) it just looks so wrong that it can't be real. It must be some twisted prank that Peter is pulling on him as revenge for something; Sirius and Remus are probably right around a corner waiting to jump out at him.
He looks up at Peter. He's hoping to find that grin, dissolving into laughter of disbelief because he can't believe he actually tricked him. He finds Peter staring at the mark as if he's thinking the same thing. It hits him like a stupefy to the chest. This isn't some nightmare or a terrible prank. It's real.
His thumb smooths along the edge of the mark. Peter winces and hisses quietly, trying to hold it back, and James quickly looks back up at him. He's looking away again. James realizes it's probably because he doesn't think he deserves to be looking directly at him like this. Doesn't even deserve to express the agony that even the gentlest touch to the mark is causing him.
The screaming. The reason he looked like he was under a torture curse. He practically is, at every second of the day.
"I don't... I don't understand," James says quietly. He keeps his fingers away from the mark but keeps hold of the other side of his arm.
Taking another deep breath to steady himself from the pain, Peter keeps his face tilted away from James as he says, "Dumbledore promised he'd get me out before it got this far. He wanted... He wanted me to pretend I was one of them... a death eater. They wouldn't suspect me, because no one knew me well enough to dispute whose side I was on... my family aren't well-known purebloods... and he thought I'd be able to get information from them to help the Order. Spy on them.
"But they did get suspicious," Peter continues, his voice cracking, "and I told Dumbledore that. I told him they were starting to question me, and he just—he just told me to keep playing along. So I did, but then... then they wanted..."
His eyes dart briefly to his arm, but his face contorts in shame and disgust and he quickly looks away again.
"And I told him, I told him it was going too far, but he said I had to play the part—do whatever they wanted, because they didn't have the information they needed yet, so it's fine, it's—it's all for the greater good. So they—they did that—and now he won't help me. My mum doesn't know it's gone too far yet, I can't—I can't tell her, but Dumbledore promised—I can't get out, they'll kill me now, and he—he's not helping me anymore! He won't tell me why, but he's just left me there, and I don't—I don't know how I'm supposed to get out of this! Am I supposed to know?!"
He's barely coherent through the sobbing and the shaking. James stares at him, horrified. He can barely think at all. Nothing about what he just said makes sense. Dumbledore... he wouldn't...
"They're going to kill me," Peter whispers with a sudden, dawning realization. Wide-eyed, he breathes out a humourless laugh. "Oh, they're actually going to kill me. I—I'm just going to be another casualty of the war, that's how it's going to look. A death eater turned traitor, that's why they killed me. My mum—my mum will be shunned, and hunte-ted...no, they'll kill her."
He turns quickly to look at James, breathing harshly as he shakes his head wildly.
"They can't kill her, I can't—your parents, som-someone, anyone, please. Please, James, you have to make sure they don't kill her. She shouldn't be a part of this, she shouldn't—she shouldn't die for this, she can't—"
"They won't!" James hurries to say. He takes Peter's hand properly again, pushing himself up to be on his level and place his other hand on the side of his neck, making him stay looking at him. "They won't, okay? Your mum—your mum will be okay. And so will you."
Peter shakes his head, his lips pressing together tightly. "No. They were probably planning on killing me all along. They were just keeping me around in case I was useful—in case I'd switch to their side. They probably even knew Dumbledore sent me and were waiting for me to turn on him because they knew he'd do this. I wish I had known."
James still can't wrap his head around the thought of Dumbledore putting Peter into the middle of all of this, never mind leaving him to deal with it on his own. He's always protected them. Hasn't he? It's his job, and he cares about them... doesn't he?
Peter sighs, no longer able to actually sob. His whole body is practically deflating from how little energy he has left in him.
"Yeah, me too..." James mutters.
"I'm sorry," Peter says. "He said I couldn't tell anyone. It would... compromise it or something. And I... I didn't want to put any of you in danger."
It's like he's the one under the cruciatus curse now. Peter was thinking of their safety throughout this. It makes perfect sense now; the avoiding them, trying to be more distant, and telling James he wasn't supposed to care about him, that he was supposed to leave. Because it would've made sure they were safe from harm and made it easier to follow the plan.
"It's okay," James tells him, but Peter just looks down, not believing him.
"It's not. None of it's okay. James, I'm one of them now." Peter lifts his eyes back to him expectantly. For some reaction, the realization to finally sink in and for James to pull away from him, showing his true disgust. "I've—I've seen them hurt people. They've made... I've hurt people."
"That doesn't make you one of them." James refuses to look away. "You were forced into this. You were doing what you had to do."
"To save myself," Peter says bitterly. "Because I'm a coward. You, Sirius, and Remus—you always knew it. I was always the weak link, the one who'd break easily, that's why Dumbledore chose me because he knew the death eaters would believe that I had betrayed my friends. I practically did by agreeing to all of this—I should've died rather than get this mark."
"Hey. No." James holds him tighter, his heart pounding in his throat. "No, do not think that. I'd rather you here alive with that mark than—than gone. All right? You are not a coward for surviving. A coward would probably be dead by now. You're still here."
Peter's expression gives away how he feels about that. James can't help but be too aware of how close to the edge of the tower they still are right now. He forces himself to stay focused on Peter.
"I'm glad you're still here," he insists. "And that you told me."
"I wouldn't have if you hadn't followed me," Peter tells him truthfully.
James knows that. "But I did. And you did tell me. That's what matters. Because now... now we can figure out what to do."
Peter stares at him. "Did you not... are you listening to me? There is nothing I can do. They're going to kill me, they'll know I'm a spy because I won't have any information to give them anymore! And—why don't you hate me?!"
"Because this isn't you!" James says. "None of this is! It's what you're being made to do, under the promise that it would help our side win the war! I would've done the same thing. And when I came to you, and Sirius, and Remus for help, I would know that I could trust all of you. That we would figure it out together."
"This isn't the same as our pranks," Peter argues, like he doesn't already know that. "This isn't—it isn't—"
"It isn't the same as how we all stuck by Remus when he told us he was a werewolf?" James raises his eyebrows as Peter falters. "Isn't the same as us working for months—years—to become Animagi just to help him once a month? It isn't the same as us trying to talk all of our parents into letting Sirius stay with us because we were worried about him?"
"None of you hurt people," Peter tries again, his voice a harsh whisper.
The silence that stretches over them says otherwise. They're both aware that that's not true, that each of them has hurt people. Remus would argue he more than any of them, and Sirius still hasn't forgiven himself for what nearly happened to Snape last year, and James knows he isn't innocent of going too far in petty duels where he's come out victorious and his opponent is lying in the hospital wing.
Peter's just grasping at anything he can in a last attempt to push James away.
"Come back to the flat with me," James says softly. His thumb smooths along his jaw and Peter closes his eyes at the contact. "Please. We can tell Moony and Padfoot together. They'll understand, just like I do. But you need to let us help you, Wormtail."
He can see the fight leave him. Peter's tired. If he wasn't at his breaking point, he wouldn't have fessed up. That's what worries James so much; he wants to believe that it's still an easy fix, but the reality of it's starting to settle in.
Nodding reluctantly, Peter finally caves. Even so, the words that leave his mouth are, "I don't deserve any of you."
"That's a load of crap, and you and I both know it," James argues firmly. He's not having any of it. As much as he wishes they could've sorted this out sooner, before it got this bad, he understands. He doesn't think he was lying when he said he would've done the same thing if Dumbledore had come to him.
Peter doesn't try and protest when James finally manages to get him to stand up. James makes sure to pull Peter's sleeve back down before they leave. He keeps hold of his hand -- it's easier to Apparate that way. When Peter squeezes his hand tightly right before they go, James can tell he thinks this is some sort of goodbye. That this is the last time he'll be this close to him again.
That's not happening. Not if James can help it.
They appear right in the doorway of Sirius' flat. It's where he's been staying since they graduated. His mum and dad were more than happy for him to keep living with them until he got his own place, but he prefers this. The plan was for it to be temporary until they got somewhere bigger that allowed Remus and Peter (and hopefully Lily and the newborn baby) to move in as well, but it's been a bit of a struggle with everything going on.
James opens the door and they go in. Locks and protection spells click behind them.
"Prongs?" Sirius calls out right away, a tense note to his voice.
James' heart drops. He goes straight into the living room. His eyes flit over every corner, just in case. But there are no masked figures or wands pulled. Sirius is standing by the fireplace, looking just how he did when James had left the flat, but more awake. Remus is sitting on the sofa.
"Oh," relief washes away some of the edges in Sirius' expression when he sees him and Peter, "thank merlin."
He takes a few quick strides and pulls James into a suffocating hug before he can react.
"You're okay," Sirius mutters into his shoulder. "Good. That's good."
James hugs him back on instinct, but he looks at Remus in alarm.
"You should... you should sit down." There are dark circles under Remus' eyes. His scars seem to stand out more than usual against his alarming paleness. When he sees James' and Peter's confusion, he wearily says, "There was an attack."
"What?" Peter whispers.
James notes his alarm and how lost he looks. He doesn't know anything.
"Who?" James asks, his heart pounding in his ears. "When did it happen?"
Sirius finally pulls himself off of him. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. He can't have been asleep for long after James left.
"Er... about an hour ago," Remus answers.
"It was Marlene," Sirius says. His voice croaks, and James' heart drops right out of him. Sirius quickly shakes his head. "She's fine. She's alive. More than can be said for her family."
James closes his eyes, trying to take it all in. His head hurts. He's not sure if he's allowed to be relieved that Marlene made it out when the grief of her family not being so lucky threatens to crush him. Her family. Her parents treated him like he was their family. They practically were, he's known them since he was born.
He takes a step back and turns away. He feels sick. He might actually throw up. This is too much.
"How..." he starts to ask but has to stop as he nearly chokes on his own question. He forces himself to swallow down the lump in his throat as tears sting against his eyes. "Where is she?"
"With the Order," Remus says. "She wasn't home when the death eaters came for her. So..."
So they killed them instead. James already knows how Marlene will be reacting. She'll be angry. Screaming and fighting anyone who tries to stop her from going after the ones who did it. And she'll be blaming herself for not being there to protect them.
His eyes open, and he really doesn't mean to, but he can't stop himself from looking at Peter. Silently begging him.
Peter's face already answers for him. He's pale and horror-stricken, tearing up all over again.
"I was meant to be there..." he says quietly. His eyes are wide, the realization sitting with him. "That's why it was burning so badly. But—James, please—" he steps towards him, shaking his head as he reaches out for James' arm "—I wasn't going to do it. Dumbledore told me we'd warn them and get them out before the death eaters got there, they weren't supposed to go tonight, it wasn't—it wasn't meant to be tonight! They were supposed to send me in, to—to prove myself, but I was supposed to make it look like they put up a fight then escaped! Please, James, I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Sirius asks sharply. His eyes dart to James, who still hasn't turned back around. "Prongs? What does he mean? Wormtail, what do you mean, you were supposed to be there?"
"They warned us..."
James quickly turns around. Remus stares at Peter. Cold disbelief slowly twists his features, making him look more like he does on a full moon than ever.
"No," James hastily says, "Moony, it's not what you think."
"Not what he—what does he think?!" Sirius looks between the three of them, utterly bewildered, too stuck in his grief and confusion to catch on as quickly. "Can somebody please just tell me what's going on?!"
Remus pulls his wand from his back pocket as he stands up, eyes trained on Peter like he's waiting for him to make an escape. "He's the spy. Dumbledore told us that there was one working for both sides. Looks like we found him."
Peter isn't moving. James thinks he probably should be. It only solidifies for him that Peter isn't trying to run away. Not from them.
"You're right," Peter says.
The outright confession throws Remus slightly. He had probably been expecting more of an argument and to have to prove it himself, or even for Peter to prove him wrong. Tell him he's got it all wrong, that none of them would ever betray the others. The shock numbs into dangerous fury.
Sirius stares at him. He doesn't blink. "What?" he asks, and his eyes slide to James for a response that makes sense to him.
He doesn't have time to give him one; Remus storms across the room, wand pointed directly at Peter. James puts himself between them, but the look on Remus' face tells him he's willing to find a way around him if it comes to it.
"Moony, just hear him out!" James insists, hands moving to Remus' shoulders. When he tries to push past him, James is forced to shove him back. "It's not what you think! Let him explain!"
"He's one of them!" Remus snaps, clearly thinking James isn't grasping the situation. "Dumbledore warned us!"
"When?" Sirius asks. "He never mentioned a spy at any of the meetings."
"The last time I saw him." Remus barely throws him a glance over his shoulder, practically snarling the explanation. "About a week ago, he wanted to meet me to talk about the situation with Voldemort trying to recruit werewolves—he was going on about maybe sending me in to spy on them." His eyes turn back on Peter. "But he told me to be careful because there was already another spy in the Order. Working for the death eaters. Said he wasn't sure who it was yet."
James reels from this additional information. He frowns. "Dumbledore said that?"
Remus nods. His wand is surprisingly steady, remaining pointed close to James' shoulder.
"That's... he was lying to you, then," James says at the same time as it really hits him.
His chest spasms under another imaginary stupefy. He feels so stupid.
"He was lying to all of us."
"Moony, just—" Sirius takes a step forward, then falters, double-checks with James before continuing. "Take a second. Think about this. There has to be some good explanation here."
"Yeah, there is. He's the spy. The traitor."
"I am the spy, you're right," Peter confesses in a rush. "But only because Dumbledore asked me to do exactly what he asked you!"
Remus starts to scoff, but James jumps in. "Dumbledore lied to you! He knew who the spy in the Order was because he was the one who sent Peter to the death eaters, so that he could give them false information while getting information for the Order! Just like he wants you to do! Think about it, Remus."
He does. He tries to take it in, find a way for it to make sense, just as James had been trying to do not long ago. James looks over at Sirius, praying that he can understand. Sirius is staring at the three of them like he doesn't know what to think. Which is fair.
"Why would Dumbledore lie, then?" Sirius asks, shaking his head slowly. It's obvious he doesn't want to doubt James' judgment, but it's not exactly the easiest story to believe. "If he was the one who sent Peter in, why tell Remus there's a spy at all?"
"That's what we don't know either," James says. "But why would he only tell Remus? Why not tell everyone in the Order?"
"I thought he did," Remus admits. He glances back at Sirius, but he shakes his head again, and Remus is finally faltering. He looks at James, confused, and lowers his wand. "He really never said anything to either of you?"
"No," James breathes out, relieved. "That's what I'm saying. Peter was only spying under his orders, but for some reason, Dumbledore has suddenly turned against him. Acting like he never asked him to do any of it, that he was doing it all on his own and betrayed us."
"That doesn't sound like Dumbledore..." Sirius points out.
It doesn't. Not the Dumbledore that James has held high on a pedestal in his mind all these years. That Dumbledore would never do something like this. At least, he never thought he would.
"We don't actually know him." It hurts James, but it's true. "We never really did. We just trusted him because... he made us think we could."
"Which made it easy for him to ask anything of us, because he knew we'd do it," Sirius says quietly.
Remus steps back. As good as it is to see that he's no longer on the verge of hexing Peter—or worse—the look on his face doesn't make James any less uneasy. He's going through the same thought process that he had to, and it's not a pretty one.
"We're talking about Dumbledore," Remus says incredulously, staring at them. "Are we really trying to say that he's working for the other side? For Voldemort?"
"No," James immediately says. "I don't think he is at all. But I do think that he's willing to do whatever it takes to win this war against him."
There it is. Sirius' face drops. He seems to age twenty years in a second as the weight of it crushes him. To James' own surprise, though, Remus doesn't look surprised. Despite all of his arguments, this doesn't seem to come as news to him.
And maybe it doesn't. James is only now starting to see that maybe he had been too blinded to actually see Dumbledore properly. He's not this flawless, all-good wizard who would never make a mistake. If he's really done all of this... this isn't a mistake.
"He must have a plan," Remus voices for him. He tucks his wand back into his pocket. "Sending Peter to the death eaters, trying to do the same with me--"
"But why tell you all of that about the spy?" Sirius asks again, seemingly stuck on that part.
"Surely he knew if you discovered it was Peter, you would assume he'd betrayed us because you wouldn't have been able to know that Dumbledore was behind it," James says. "Unless he was trying to turn us against each other, I don't see what his point was in doing that."
Sirius takes in a sharp breath. "That was the point." When Remus looks up in confusion, and James mirrors it, Sirius explains. "He wanted you to not trust any of us. Because it would push you further away, and you'd be more likely to agree to his plan. If you went in as a spy, it wouldn't be long before you found out that Peter was the other spy."
"But why?" Peter asks what they're all thinking. "I don't understand, how would that help anyone?"
James shares a look with Sirius. Finally, he understands. With a sigh, he leans back against the table behind him, his eyes closing.
"Because we were going to make you secret keeper," James says.
"We told Dumbledore we thought it should be you, because the death eaters would never think to go for you first," Sirius tells him. "We figured, making you secret keeper was the best bet we had at keeping Lily and Alice's whereabouts safe."
"And he agreed?" Peter asks, in disbelief. No wonder; after everything that Dumbledore has put him through.
James nods. "He thought it was a brilliant idea."
"Which means he was probably hoping you'd go mad under the pressure of lying to us, and to the death eaters," Sirius says. "You'd pick a side."
"And he figured I'd pick Voldemort, right?" Peter says bitterly. His mouth twists humourlessly as he looks around at them. "That's what you're thinking. Dumbledore chose me as a spy because he knew I was a coward, he knew I couldn't handle it and would go running to Voldemort and tell him what was going on, beg for my life in exchange for the location of Lily, Alice, and the babies, right? Then I really am the traitor, just like he told Remus, so he never looks like the liar!"
He backs away, shaking his head, his face contorting.
"No, Pete, that's not—" James starts to say, but Peter's losing it again.
"But it is!" Peter shouts. "It's what you're thinking, it's what Dumbledore thinks of me! And I can't blame him, because I'm not sure I wouldn't have! If Dumbledore had gotten the chance to make me secret keeper, maybe I would've told Voldemort! After all, I'm a death eater now!"
As the words leave his mouth, he angrily yanks his sleeve up to once again reveal the dark mark. The outline of it looks redder than James recalls it being before. But it's still slithering against his skin, trying to detach itself from him, like it knows it shouldn't be there.
Sirius and Remus are silent. They've frozen in shock at the sight of the mark.
"No," James repeats firmly. "You're not. That mark means nothing. And it certainly doesn't mean you would ever betray us."
"How do you know that?" Peter asks, but he isn't trying to convince him anymore. He's pleading for James to convince him.
"Because it could've been any of us."
They both look over at Remus. He sinks down onto the sofa. Looking up at them, he smiles dryly.
"Dumbledore was hoping he could use me the same as he used you," he says to Peter. "If he chose you because he thought you'd betray us, then he thought the same thing of me. If you would have been a coward for trying to find a way to survive after Dumbledore left you in there to be caught and killed, then chances are I'm a coward, too."
"No," Peter says, his eyebrows furrowing. "You... you would never. You—all of you would rather die than be traitors, than risk Lily or Alice... I would never want to hurt them, but I—" Peter starts crying, fresh tears retracing the paths of the dried one as his shoulders shake. "I just want to go home. I want to see my mum, and I—I would do anything to just go home to her. I haven't been able to see her, Dumbledore said I couldn't—it was too dangerous."
James pulls him into a hug. Peter doesn't protest, sinking into his arms as he cries harder the more he goes on.
"That doesn't make you a coward," Sirius speaks up.
"No. It doesn't," Remus agrees softly.
"And after everything Dumbledore's put you through..." Sirius shakes his head, looking down. "I honestly can't say I wouldn't have gone a bit mad and done anything to get back at him. Even if it meant accidentally betraying the people I care about."
He glances at Remus. Remus stays staring down at his hands.
"The things you were forced to do..." James holds him closer, and his heart twinges with every sob that sinks into his chest, "It's on Dumbledore. He manipulated you, made false promises, and convinced you it was all for some greater good. You never betrayed us. You were just doing what you thought was right—what you were told was right."
"I might as well have betrayed you," Peter mutters. "The things Dumbledore told me to tell them..."
Honestly, James doesn't want to ask. He doesn't want the answer, because the thought of what the death eaters could know about their side... it's worrying, to say the least. He knows that Dumbledore never got the chance to make Peter the secret keeper based on his surprise at their mention of it, but there were so many other things discussed during Order meetings... But Dumbledore wouldn't have...
The thought is cut short. Because James is understanding that he doesn't actually know what Dumbledore would and wouldn't do. The lengths he'd be willing to go to in order to win the war that they're right on the brink of. He thought he could see the clearly drawn line. Now he knows they were looking at different lines.
"It'll be okay," James assures him. "Just... we need to know everything, okay? So we can be prepared, and we can figure out where to go from here. I promise, it's going to be okay."
Peter swallows. He pulls away from James and refuses to look up for their reactions. "I had to tell them where Marlene and her family were. But like I said, Dumbledore promised me they wouldn't get hurt, he promised he'd get them out before we got there, it just needed to look like I had messed up the information."
James closes his eyes. It had slipped from his mind in the chaos of too many revelations at once, but the wave of grief comes crashing back down on him all over again. Nauseous and dizzy, and wanting nothing more than to simply wake up. James can't even muster an ounce of blame toward Peter, because he knows that he is feeling exactly the same way. They both knew Marlene and her family from the same age, grew up with them and loved them as much as their own families.
He already knows that Peter will be haunted by this. For telling them, for not being there to stop it.
"Dumbledore sold them out," Sirius mutters. He's angry. But not at Peter. "He used you as a convenient scapegoat to hide behind, because he knew they'd go straight for her and her family. He knew they'd want to kill them because it would send a message. He planned on Marlene being murdered, that bastard!"
James was barely beginning to accept it, but now he has no other choice. Dumbledore betrayed them.
"We need to warn Marlene," he says tightly. "If she's with the Order, she'll be thinking she can trust him."
"He'll probably try and spin the same story he gave me about a spy and point her in Peter's direction," Remus says, eyes widening. "If she thinks he did this..."
"She'll kill him," Sirius says, coming to the same conclusion.
Peter stares blankly at the floor, saying nothing. James' stomach twists painfully watching him. He saw that same look on his face back up at the church tower. When he was going on about how he should've died instead of joining the death eaters. He knows he's thinking the same now; he should've died instead of Marlene's family. If she showed up right now, James is worried Peter wouldn't even try and fight back.
"I'll send a message," James decides. "She'll listen to me."
As he stands up, pulling out his wand, he passes Sirius on the way to his bedroom. Pausing, he quietly says to him, "Keep an eye on Wormtail for us, yeah? I'm worried about him."
Sirius gets the message and nods. James leaves to send his Patronus to wherever Marlene is with the message to come to their flat immediately, with the additional warning to not trust Dumbledore. Just in case anything tries to stop her. They're going to need everyone they're certain they can trust. James just never expected that to exclude Dumbledore himself.