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As soon as Peter heard Sirius’ motorcycle, he knew something was wrong.
The engine protested as if Sirius kept it in too low of a gear, and the tires hit the road hard outside Peter’s safehouse. Peter’s stomach dropped nauseatingly to realize that Sirius having arrived meant it was done. Lily, James, and Harry were dead.
He started to shake. He expected Sirius, of course. Still, Peter knew he needed to play it cool. Then again, how cool would a person be for one of their best friends to show up like this, in the middle of a war?
Peter stepped out the front door. Dust kicked up underneath the motorcycle, and then formed a cloud as Sirius brought it to a halt. He clambered off, and Peter went out to meet him.
“Sirius, what—?” was all Peter managed to get out before he was punched in the face.
He hit the ground with a gasp. He expected fists or feet to follow, but Peter instead opened his eyes to a wand. His eyes crossed, to see the point of it so close to his face.
“Sirius,” Peter tried again, voice shaking. “What are you—? When did we first meet?”
“Don’t,” Sirius said in a low, dangerous tone.
Now Peter looked closer at Sirius in the porch light, his eyes were red-rimmed and irritated. His mouth was doing some strange things, as if Sirius no longer knew how to naturally hold it.
“You need to answer the question,” Peter replied. “So I know you’re you.”
“We met at the Sorting,” Sirius said. “You sat down beside Moony, and was still in the middle of introducing yourself when James—” His expression rippled with grief, and his voice cracked as he continued. “When James was Sorted after you.”
“All right.” Peter nodded jerkily, for doing so with any exaggerated movement would end with his eye being poked. “What’s—what’s happened?”
“DON’T ACT LIKE YOU DON’T KNOW!” Sirius roared, making Peter flinch. He stood over Peter with his feet firmly planted on either side of him. “DON’T ACT LIKE YOU DIDN’T GIVE THEM UP!”
“Give—? What are you talking about?” Peter started to shake again. “Sirius, you’re not saying—?”
“HE FOUND THEM!” Sirius’ voice broke, and it sounded painful. “HE FOUND THEM, AND THEY’RE DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!”
“Sirius,” Peter said, “you know I’d never—”
“Then how are they dead?” Sirius’ wand was back in Peter’s face. “If you didn’t give them up, how are Lily and James dead?”
“I don’t know!” Peter tried, hands up in attempted placation. “Sirius, calm down, and we can figure this out. They’re—they’re dead? Dead dead?”
Sirius nodded, and his expression rippled again. A rapid tear ran off his cheekbone and landed on Peter’s chest. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
Peter shook his head. “The spell must not have worked. Oh my god, James. . .”
All considered, it was pretty easy to cry. Peter was scared that Sirius might yet do something, and it wasn’t like he really wanted to hurt Lily and James. James had been his friend too, for Merlin’s sake. Peter had been as much an uncle to Harry as any other of Lily and James’ friends or family. More, in fact, than some! Look at Lily’s Muggle sister, and her hateful husband!
“What do you mean, the spell didn’t work?” Sirius asked, equal parts dangerous, leary, and curious. “Are you insinuating Dumbledore didn’t do it right?”
“Dumbledore didn’t do it.” Peter frowned. “James did. That was the only way to keep me as Secret Keeper completely—well, secret.”
A horrible silence passed as Sirius stared at Peter, wide-eyed.
“You didn’t know that?” Peter asked. “Nobody ever told you?”
“I was there when James told Dumbledore I would be Secret Keeper.” Sirius’ breathing grew shallow. “I thought there had to be another conversation—or you were just there instead, when he showed up. . .”
In his panic, Sirius seemed to forget about Peter. He stepped off, wand limp at his side and his free hand rubbing his mouth.
“Fuck,” he said. “Dumbledore’s going to think I did this. Everyone’s going to.”
“The spell didn’t work.” Peter sat up, wincing as he moved his jaw around. It would be hours—maybe days—that he felt that punch for. “They can’t blame you.”
“But who’s going to know!” Sirius erupted, whirling back around. “You and James were the only ones that knew about the switch, other than me!”
“And Lily,” Peter hesitantly added. “I’ll tell them, Sirius. James—with Harry, you know, having a baby, he must have been tired, or something. It was—there were so many steps. . .”
Sirius’ shoulders rose and fell in time with his laboured breaths. He stared at Peter, and then drew a lungful of air that left him in one rush.
“They’re not going to believe you, either,” Sirius said. “They’re not going to believe either of us. We’ll be rounded up with everyone else. It won’t matter. Nothing will.”
“. . .Everyone else?” Peter repeated.
“The Death Eaters.” Sirius’ face was pale. “The war’s over, Peter. Voldemort’s gone too.”
Peter blinked. “What?”
“Don’t ask me how, but—”
A soft cry cut the night. Peter had been vaguely aware of a rustling sound over by Sirius’ motorcycle, but hadn’t registered what it was. He knew that cry, though.
“Harry survived?”
By the time Sirius made it to the sidecar, Harry’s head had appeared over the edge. He stopped trying to climb out, and reached for Sirius instead. Harry peered around at the dark surroundings with a hand balled up against his mouth, turning owlish when Sirius gasped with each inhale while adjusting him on his hip. The way Harry looked at Peter as he approached was like a silent request to please make the man who never cried stop crying.
Peter’s stomach twisted. “What’s that on his head?”
Sirius sniffled and wiped his face with the back of a hand. “A scar. He was bleeding when I found him. The explosion, Peter—I can’t believe anyone survived, let alone a baby.”
Harry rested his head against Sirius’ shoulder, and idly regarded Peter as he ran his thumb over the scar. The shape of it—like lightning—had a tell-tale signature to it. All the pieces started coming together. Lily and James were dead, the Dark Lord was dead, someone had cast the Killing Curse on Harry, there was an explosion. . .
“You should come inside, Sirius,” Peter told him. “We need to figure this out. Harry might be hungry too.”
Sirius nodded, and let Peter lead him into the house. They went into the kitchen. Heart pounding and hands still shaking, Peter went about getting the kettle going. He had bananas. Harry would like those—maybe. It wasn’t like he was old enough to understand that his parents were dead, and that he’d nearly been a murder victim tonight too. Fucking hell.
The entire thing was surreal. Peter expected Sirius tonight, yes, and he expected to be confronted. But—fuck. The Dark Lord was gone? And now Sirius was here with a baby—a baby that had caused the Dark Lord’s death. Dumbledore and his allies were all going to be after Sirius, for James and Lily. The Death Eaters would be after Peter. Everyone would be after Harry.
They had nowhere to go—no one to turn to. All Peter had was Sirius, and all Sirius had was Peter—and they were all Harry had, now.
Peter put his back to the counter, next to the hob. “How do you know You-Know-Who’s dead?”
“I saw the explosion,” Sirius repeated with another sniffle. “I don’t know what else could have happened. I went into the house, and—James was there, and—Lily. It was him. It had to be. I found this.”
Sirius adjusted Harry in his lap so that he could reach into his pocket. He brought out a wand that Peter recognized, and that which seeing free of its owner made his mouth go dry.
“It’s yew,” Sirius said. “It’s his. Look at Harry’s scar. You recognize the shape, right? The wand movement?”
Peter nodded, and then pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “How’s anyone going to know that Harry survived? Should. . .should we be trying to plan around all this? What is the plan? Do you have one?”
“No,” Sirius croaked. “I was just walking up to the house with these bloody Muggle sweets Lily wanted, and then. . .I don’t know, I found Harry, realized that Voldemort found them all, then figured I ought to come kill you.”
Sirius’ blasé tone added to the absurdity of the entire situation. Peter laughed, although cut it short just as abruptly. “Sorry. It’s not funny.”
“It’s fucked.” Sirius rested his cheek on top of Harry’s head, gaze a thousand yards long. “Incredibly fucked.”
“There’s grieving to do, don’t get me wrong, but we need to sort out what we’re doing,” Peter told him. “Everyone’s going to think you betrayed them, Sirius. Harry’s missing. If they don’t just assume he’s dead, they’re going to figure out that you took him. If you run—if you go without me—they’re going to come here. They’ll want to know if I know anything. I’d lie for you, but. . .”
“They’re going to think you had something to do with it too, if we both ran,” Sirius replied.
“So then they do,” Peter said. “I’m not letting you go alone. And we have Harry to think about.”
“I have Harry to think about.” Sirius’ arms tightened around him. “I’m his godfather.”
“I know.” Peter held back a sigh. “I’m responsible for you now, though—which means Harry, in turn. He’s best off with you.”
“Yeah.”
The kettle came up, so Peter set the tea on steeping. He sliced up a banana in the meantime, to set in front of Harry. Harry, who had been looking quite bored, reached for the plate and started to babble. He didn’t know very many words yet, but the sounds he made mimicked adult speech patterns. He’d never really been around other children, Peter realized all over again. He’d never had the chance.
Fatigue from the entire situation caught up to Peter as they sat at the table. Harry fell quiet with food in his mouth, which made the entire house so eerily quiet. Other than Harry chewing, all Peter could hear was his and Sirius’ breathing. He couldn’t imagine how stone silent James and Lily’s house was. No breath, no child, no life—nothing.
“We can’t stay here,” Peter eventually said. “How long do you think it’ll be, before someone else figures out what’s happened?”
“I don’t think anyone else planned to drop in on James and Lily tonight.” Sirius’ eyes welled again. “It was just going to be us.”
“So. . .tomorrow,” Peter replied. “That’s unless it gets around You-Know-Who’s gone. Someone will think to tell James and Lily, because it might mean they don’t have to hide anymore. Or they’ll check on them, because of the prophecy.”
“Dumbledore, you mean.”
“He’s the most likely one to, I suppose.” Peter chewed his bottom lip. “If the war’s over, they’re going to start cleaning up. They’re probably just going to throw anyone in Azkaban that fits a certain mould. If they think you betrayed Lily and James. . .”
Sirius rubbed his eyes. “We should probably leave right away.”
“Do you know where we could go?”
“Not really.” Sirius paused, looking ill. “My parents would hide us for a while, I think. They would give us some gold. But—god, I don’t want to ask them.”
Peter didn’t want Sirius to, either. The only person other than the Dark Lord that knew Peter belonged to him was Bellatrix, and there was a very solid chance she might swing by Grimmauld Place in search for him to answer for what had happened.
“You don’t need them for gold,” Peter said. “Honestly, with magic and being unregistered Animagi, we could make a clean getaway into the Muggle world. We could head for the Continent. We’re going to have to be far, far away from England when time comes for Harry to go to school. You know Dumbledore will be keeping an eye out at any of the major schools for him.”
Sirius nuzzled the top of Harry’s head again, nodding.
Peter flicked his wand to pour him and Sirius each a cup of tea. “Did you grab anything of Harry’s? His clothes? Toys?”
Sirius shook his head. “Didn’t think about it.”
“That’s all right. We’ll just start him off fresh.”
“Okay.”
“It’s Sunday tomorrow,” Peter said. “We’ll find some Muggle store that’s closed, and break in. It shouldn’t be too hard.”
“No,” Sirius agreed.
“I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes for yourself, either.”
“Just what’s on my back.”
“All right.” Peter stood. “I’m going to pack, and then we’ll leave.”
“Where are we going to go?”
“There’ll be an unoccupied Muggle house somewhere that we can squat in, or even a hotel room. We’ll Confund whoever we have to. We’ll have a bed and a roof, is the point.”
“Yeah.” Sirius’ tone was flat. “Okay.”
Shock had finally settled in. Sirius stared at the table as Peter left the room, and still did when Peter looked back from the bottom of the stairs. He grimaced, although was grateful to have remained calm. This definitely required some careful consideration and navigation.
One day at a time, now, he told himself.
Peter headed upstairs. He had a bag under his bed, which he started shoving clean clothes into. He wished he’d known to do laundry, since he’d been dragging his feet on it. Tomorrow, tomorrow, he kept saying, and now he wouldn’t have a tomorrow to do it in. He was going on the run. He was responsible for James and Lily, and for the Dark Lord—which, honestly, perhaps a little flicker of pride existed, for that. It wasn’t really that Peter revered him, and how powerful could he have honestly been if he was blown to tiny pieces when trying to kill a baby?
This wouldn’t be so bad. It would be just Peter, Sirius, and Harry. They could go anywhere, and be anyone. They had the entire world at their fingertips. . .
The floor creaked behind Peter. His first instinct was Sirius, but the soft beat of magic that followed through the room was too subtle. Regardless that Peter expected someone to be standing there when he turned around, he still jumped and gasped.
“Peter,” Dumbledore greeted him, although not with his usual warmth. “The room is Silenced, and we must speak quickly before Sirius realizes that I am here.”
Mind and heart racing in tandem, Peter jerked his chin in a nod.
Dumbledore took a step closer, his face coming more into the lamplight. “Are you aware of what’s happened tonight?”
Peter nodded again, glancing at the open doorway. “He confessed everything.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He broke the Fidelius Charm for You-Know-Who.” Peter started to shake again. “He told him where they were. You-Know-Who went there tonight. James and Lily—they’re—”
“I know,” Dumbledore said, almost curt. “Go on.”
“You-Know-Who couldn’t kill Harry,” Peter said. “He tried, but—Sirius said there was an explosion, and You-Know-Who’s dead. Sirius has his wand. He picked it up. And he has Harry. He brought him here.”
Just then, a squeal of delight sounded downstairs, followed by the murmur of Sirius’ voice. Dumbledore closed his eyes for a few seconds, and sighed in relief.
“What else?” Dumbledore asked. “What was Sirius going to do?”
“He said we were going to take Harry to Bellatrix,” Peter rattled off. “He was going to meet her afterward. They-they need to figure out what to do, and if-if there’s nothing to do about You-Know-Who. If he’s really—you know—gone.”
Dumbledore nodded, thinking.
“I was just going along,” Peter quickly said. “I didn’t want to upset him. He’s so. . .matter of fact, about it all. He’s not himself. I didn’t want to get hurt—”
“Of course not.” Dumbledore held up a hand. “I understand.”
Peter glanced at the doorway again. “What do we do?”
“We need first to get Harry away from him,” Dumbledore replied. “If Sirius isn’t in a right frame of mind, he could hurt him.”
“Right.” Peter wet his lips. “Should I go downstairs and try?”
“You should remain here.” Dumbledore turned to leave. “You’ve been in enough danger tonight.”
Dumbledore’s footsteps were utterly silent on the floor. The heel of his cloak vanished, and then his shadow with it as he headed toward the stairs. Beyond, Sirius talked to Harry, and Harry was laughing.
Peter wiped his sweaty hands off on his trousers before extracting his wand. He traversed the long, narrow hallway, and peered around the corner to the stairs. Dumbledore was halfway down, his own wand at his side. He slowed to a stop and turned his head enough for the profile of his face to become visible. Before he could hear anything beyond the tiny creak of floorboard beneath Peter’s foot, Peter pointed his wand at him.
“Avada Kedavra.”
He almost didn’t expect the spell to work. You have to mean it, though—and Peter certainly did. He would rather see Dumbledore dead than Sirius go through the anguish of his godson being ripped from his hands. Not to mention: Sirius hearing the lies Peter had told Dumbledore in order to get his back turned, or Dumbledore potentially believing Sirius about the switch in Secret Keepers. . .
Dumbledore’s body hit the bottom landing hard, with a horrible noise. The scrape of a chair sounded in the kitchen, and Harry had gone quiet.
Then—Harry started to laugh with wild glee. Sirius was saying something to him, and then Harry grew muffled. Peter stepped around Dumbledore’s body. In the kitchen, Sirius stood with his back against the far counter, eyes wide and his hand over Harry’s mouth. As Sirius stared in horror at Dumbledore, he slid his hand up to cover Harry’s eyes instead.
“We need to leave,” Peter told him. “Now, before it’s Aurors next.”
“Pete,” Sirius breathlessly replied. “You killed Dumbledore.”
“I know. We need to go, Sirius.”
Harry still laughed, as if it was just the hugest lark in the world that some old man fell dead in front of him. Sirius kept his hand over Harry’s eyes as he joined Peter in the sitting room.
“Did you finish packing?” Sirius asked, gaze still stuck on Dumbledore.
“No, but forget it.” Peter grabbed his jacket from where it laid over the back of a sofa. “Come on.”
They dashed out the front door, and beelined for Sirius’ bike. There, Peter struggled into his jacket while Sirius worked on settling Harry in the sidecar. Sirius threw a leg over the seat, then jerked his head in invitation for Peter to climb on behind him. Peter wrapped his arms tightly around Sirius’ middle as the bike roared to life, and looked back at the house. What would whoever discovered the scene think? Front door open, lights all on, bag half-packed upstairs, Dumbledore dead, and two cups of unfinished tea and an uneaten banana on the table. . .
It didn’t matter, Peter decided. There was no going back. One day at a time, now.