Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

October 1981

It seems that no one could relax in that room. Sirius stood with his shoulder to the mantelpiece, arms folded, jaw tight. He had been early.  Moody was already there, one eye fixed on the door and the other eye fixed on literally everything and everyone else. Kingsley leaned against the far wall with his hands in his pockets.  Emmeline Vance sat at the table with a parchment in front of her and her quill floating near the parchment. McGonagall stood beside the window with her hands clasped, watching the street below through a narrow gap in the curtain. Dumbledore arrived last. He didn't look rushed. That made Sirius more uneasy than if he had. Everyone seemed to expect that the world was ending. 

"Thank you for coming," Dumbledore said, voice mild.  "I will keep this meeting short for brevity sake."

There were nods, murmurs, the scrape of a chair. The door opened again. Peter Pettigrew slipped in as if trying not to be noticed. He was breathing a little too hard. His hair was damp at the end. It was a marvel, Sirius thought, that he'd started to bald even before twenty-two. It made him look more dumpy than usual.  He shut the door behind him fast, then stood there for half a second, blinking as though he'd forgotten where he was. Sirius watched him without moving.

Peter's eyes flicked around the room. Past Moody and McGonagall and Dumbledore, landing on Sirius.  When his gaze reached Sirius... It bounced away, too quick.

"Sorry," Peter said, voice thin. "Sorry. I—there was—"

Moody made a noise in his throat that might have been a laugh if he'd ever laughed. "Always a 'there was,' Pettigrew."

Peter flinched. "I wasn't followed."

"That," Moody said flatly, "is what someone followed would say."

"Alastor," Dumbledore said quietly.

Moody's magical eye swung to Dumbledore. "I'm not here to soothe anyone. We're here for business, Albus. To take down those namby-pamby Death Eaters...."

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed. "You are here to keep us alive. As are we all."

Peter shuffled to an empty chair, scraping it loudly on the floor. He dropped into it and immediately adjusted his sleeves, pulling them down, then up, then down again. His knee bounced under the table. The entire room was doing small things like that but Peter was doing it all at once. Sirius didn't sit. He wasn't sure he could.

Dumbledore began with the facts. Attacks in the Midlands. A family taken from their home in the night. Two Aurors were injured on a raid that went wrong. A safe house compromised, and the people inside moved out just in time.

"Someone has gotten careless," Moody snarled, and looked around as if he expected the guilty party to raise their hand.

"Perhaps, it could be they are getting better, Moody," Emmeline said, controlled. "They're adapting to our plots as we have to theirs."

"They've always adapted," Moody snapped back. "The point is we can't keep acting like last month's spells will hold this month's monsters. We need to adapt better wards and protection."

McGonagall's mouth tightened. "The question, as ever, is how they are finding us."

The table went still. It felt like the air being held back. There was a spy. Everyone knew it. They just didn't know whose face to attach to the word. Peter swallowed. Sirius saw it. Saw his throat bob and his hands tighten on the edge of the table, knuckles whitening.

Remus arrived a moment later, slipping into the room with barely a sound. He was paler than usual. His hair looked uncombed, as if he'd run his hands out of that nervous habit of his. He nodded to the room as a whole, then took a seat without drawing attention. Sirius's eyes went to him automatically, as they always did, and then—because he hated what his mind had become lately—his thoughts floated between Remus and Peter. They were his best mates, his family, along wit h James. Why suspect either of them?

Remus was always exhausted, it was inherit given his - eh - condition. He'd been a bit more distant, which Sirius could understand but not really.  Sirius had never needed excuses from Remus before. Remus didn't make them.  He showed up when he could. He came back with that careful look on his face that hid the constant pain he was in.

But now, with the Order bleeding from the inside out, everything got dragged into the light and examined. Sirius forced himself to stop looking at Remus. He looked at Peter instead. Peter was staring at the tabletop, eyes fixed on a knot in the wood.  Dumbledore continued. "We will continue rotate meeting locations. This will reduce the number of people who know each location in advance. And we will stop sending single members on errands without a backup. No more solo runs."

There were nods again. No one argued.

"Remus," Dumbledore said, turning slightly. "Your last report."

Remus lifted his eyes. "Greyback has been recruiting again. Not just werewolves. Half-trolls, half-giants, some goblins.  He's been offering protection to anyone who thinks the Ministry won't protect them. He's using fear and is good at it."

Moody's eye whirred. "And what's he demanding in return?"

"Loyalty," Remus said. "He doesn't care what he gets as long as he gets something in return."

"And did you get any names?" Kingsley asked.

Remus hesitated for half a beat. "Two. I'll give them to you after."

Sirius watched him closely despite himself. Remus's face was controlled, but his face was pulled into a slight strain. His fingers pressed into the table. He kept his voice steady, but he sounded tired. Always tired. 

Peter shifted in his chair. "Greyback," he said, and then stopped, like he'd said something dangerous.

"Yes," McGonagall said sharply, looking to Peter as if he was a stupid boy.  "Greyback."

Peter's mouth opened, then closed. "Nothing. I just—nothing."

Moody's gaze snapped to him. "Say it."

Peter's eyes widened. "I—no, it's stupid."

"That," Moody said, "is what you say when you know something and pretend you know. Spill it, Pettigrew."

Dumbledore's voice softened, which always meant he was watching something carefully. "Peter, if you have heard anything, even something that feels uncertain, you should speak."

Peter licked his lips. "I just... I heard... someone said Greyback's been bragging. That he's got friends in places we wouldn't expect."

Sirius couldn't help it. "He always does that," he said. "He brags to get people scared. And it's working, obviously."

Peter nodded quickly, relieved to have an answer offered. "Right. Right, yes. That's probably it. It's probably nothing."

Moody's mouth curled. "That's comforting."

Peter shrank into his chair. Dumbledore moved them on. "We have also had word from a contact within the Ministry that there will be an increase in raids. The Minister is wanting to remain indecisive."

McGonagall's nostrils flared. "You would think that he'd be more worried about getting the war under control."

Sirius's hands tightened where they rested against his arms. The urge to pace was sharp, he'd done that since childhood. He wanted to be anywhere else, doing something useful. Sitting in a room talking about raids and spies and fear. Why weren't they doing something now? When James and Lily were trapped in a house they couldn't leave, relying on others to keep them safe. Relying on him. He looked at Peter again.

Peter's knee was still bouncing. His hands now played with the hem of his sleeve, rolling the fabric between thumb and finger. His face had a slight sheen, sweat catching the light. He kept swallowing. Dumbledore asked for updates from each member in turn. Names were said. Places were mentioned and then immediately corrected into vaguer terms. Plans were made and then half-unmade to keep them from becoming a pattern.

When it was Sirius's turn, he spoke quickly. "I've checked the wards twice over. No sign of tampering. I've moved the decoys. If anyone is watching, they'll have a hell of a time."

Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you."

McGonagall's eyes were hard on Sirius. "Have you slept?"

Sirius almost laughed. "Have you?"

Her expression didn't soften. "Answer."

He shrugged. "I've slept enough, Professor.."

It was a lie, she knew. But she didn't push it. He was appreciative.  The meeting drew toward its end. Dumbledore summarized. Moody repeated his warnings in harsh language. Kingsley offered to liaise with the Ministry contact. McGonagall insisted on certain protective measures. 

And all the while, Sirius kept watching Peter. Something was off. Something was wrong.  It wasn't just the shaking, or the sweating, or the way he flinched at every mention of compromised locations. It was the way he didn't join in. Peter always joined in, usually too much, usually talking circles around himself.. Lately he had gone quiet in a way that wasn't thoughtful. It was guarded.

Dumbledore stood. "We will meet again in four days. You will each be informed separately of the location. Do not share this information with anyone, even each other. Some of you will be sent to false locations, it is to be determined who shall be present due to the ongoing suspicions. Thank you all for attending and stay safe."

Chairs scraped back. Coats were tugged over roughened bodies. People moved toward the door in small groups. Sirius pushed off the mantelpiece and stepped into Peter's path before Peter could slip away.

Peter stopped short, eyes wide. "Sirius—"

"Walk with me," Sirius said, low.

Peter glanced at Dumbledore as if pleading to be saved. Dumbledore's gaze met Sirius's. Dumbledore just nodded. Sirius didn't move. He didn't blink. Peter's shoulders sagged. "All right," he whispered.

They moved into the small corridor outside the room. The house smelled faintly of old books and dust. The wards hummed under Sirius's skin, familiar and irritating. Peter twisted his hands together. "What is it?"

Sirius stared at him. Close up, Peter's eyes looked bloodshot. He hadn't shaved properly; stubble shadowed his mousy face. His robe collar was slightly torn at the seam, as if someone had grabbed it.

"Where were you before you came in?" Sirius asked.

Peter blinked fast. "I told you. I—there was—"

"Don't," Sirius said, and his own voice came out sharper than he meant. He lowered it. "Just tell me where you were."

Peter swallowed. "I was... I was making sure I wasn't followed."

Sirius held his gaze. "Where."

Peter's eyes flicked left, right, anywhere but Sirius. "Around."

Sirius's patience snapped. "Peter."

Peter's breath hitched. "I went to Diagon Alley."

Sirius stared. "Why."

Peter's hands went tighter together. "For supplies."

"What supplies?"

Peter blinked again. "Just—things. Healing stuff. Food."

"For who," Sirius demanded, and then immediately hated himself for the edge in it. But he couldn't stop. "For you? For someone else? Merlin Peter, you're not a healer."

Peter's eyes flashed with something. Fear with a tinge of annoyance. "For anyone who needs it," he said quickly. "It's not—Sirius, what's this about?"

Sirius didn't answer the question. "Did you go alone?"

Peter hesitated for a fraction too long. "Yes."

Sirius's jaw clenched. "We just agreed. No more solo runs."

"I know," Peter said, voice rising. "I know, but it was quick, and I—Sirius, you can't—"

"I can," Sirius cut in. "I can, because people are dying. And people are disappearing and families are being destroyed. You can't go off the grid like that, Wormtail."

Peter flinched as if struck. "I'm not—"

"Then stop acting like this," Sirius said. "You're coming in late, dodging where you've been, acting out of character. You've been lying to us."

Peter's face went white. "I'm not lying."

Sirius stepped closer until they were almost chest to chest. Peter smelled of stale sweat and cheap soap. "You're lying," Sirius said softly, a threatening tone underlying."I know you. I've known you since we were eleven and you couldn't cast a decent Shield Charm without falling over. You are lying."

Peter's eyes filled with sudden tears. It would have worked on someone else. It might even have worked on Sirius a month ago. Now it just felt wrong. "I'm scared," Peter whispered.

Sirius's chest tightened. They were all scared. Sirius was terrified he'd not make it to twenty-two. He'd always thought he'd die young. But there was no excuse for this. 

"We all are.," Sirius said, because he couldn't find the kinder thing without sounding false. "Be scared. But don't be stupid."

Peter shook his head. "You don't understand."

Sirius's temper surged. "Then help me understand."

Peter's lips parted, then pressed together. His gaze darted to the door behind Sirius, to the room where the others were, as if he could still run back and hide in the group. Sirius kept his voice low. "Are you in trouble?"

Peter's breath stuttered. "No."

Sirius didn't believe him. "Are you meeting someone you shouldn't?"

"No."

"Are you being followed?"

Peter's eyes flickered. "No."

Sirius stared at him for a long moment, and his stomach sank with every second. Because Peter was answering too fast now. He wasn't thinking. He was contradicting himself. Sirius's voice went even quieter. "If someone has got hold of you—if they're threatening you—tell Dumbledore."

Peter's face tightened. "I'm not going to Dumbledore."

"Why," Sirius said, very carefully. His skin felt hot. 

Peter's eyes flashed again. "Because—because he looks at you like he can't stop it. I hate that. I hate that he—he lets things happen."

Sirius stared at him. "He's trying to stop a war."

Peter's voice cracked. "And he'll let any of us die doing it."

Sirius didn't know what to say to that. Because sometimes it felt true, even if it wasn't fair.

Peter's shoulders lifted and fell quickly. He wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing the tears. "I'm fine," he whispered. "I'm fine. I just... I need to go."

Sirius's instincts screamed.

"Where," he demanded again.

Peter shook his head. Sirius's hand shot out and caught Peter's wrist. Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough that Peter couldn't ignore him. Peter froze. Sirius held his gaze. "Look at me."

Peter's eyes rose reluctantly, and there was something there that made Sirius's grip tighten. Not guilt exactly. Not just fear. Something small and sharp behind it. He couldn't place it. 

"What have you done," Sirius demanded.

Peter's breath caught. "Nothing."

Sirius leaned in closer. "If you've done something, Peter—"

"I said nothing!" Peter hissed, and for a second the cowardly edge dropped away and there was real anger. "Let go of me."

Sirius didn't let go. "Say it again and I might believe you."

Peter's lips trembled. "Sirius."

The way he said Sirius's name made Sirius's stomach twist. It sounded like a plea and a warning all at once. Sirius released him abruptly, as if Peter's skin burned. Peter snatched his wrist back, rubbing it. "I need to go," he repeated, voice small again.

Sirius's hands curled into fists at his sides. "Then tell me where."

Peter shook his head hard. "I can't."

Sirius's voice went rough. "You can."

Peter stepped back. "I can't." His eyes flicked down the corridor, toward the front door. "I'm sorry."

Sirius's heart hammered. "Peter—"

Peter's shoulders hunched. "I'll see you," he said quickly, and then—before Sirius could move—Peter turned on his heel and hurried toward the door. Sirius followed, fast. They reached the entryway. The wards shimmered faintly as Peter tugged his coat from the hook. His hands fumbled. His wand slipped and clattered to the floor. He snatched it up again, face flushed. Sirius's voice was low and furious. "Stop running."

Peter looked over his shoulder. For a heartbeat, his face did something strange, like he was trying to remember what he was meant to look like. Then he forced a smile that didn't fit. "I'm not running."

He reached for the doorknob—

—and Sirius's hand shot out to grab his shoulder.

Peter jerked away with a squeak. "Don't—!"

Sirius's grip tightened. "Where are you going?"

Peter's eyes darted. "Home."

"Then I'm coming," Sirius said.

Peter went very still. Sirius felt it in his bones. Home. Peter had never said home with that expression.

Peter's voice was thin. "No. You can't."

Sirius stared at him. "Why not?"

Peter's mouth worked soundlessly. "Because—because I've got things—"

Sirius's eyes narrowed. "What things."

Peter's breath came quicker. "Just—just leave it."

Behind them, the door to the meeting room creaked open. Dumbledore's voice drifted down the corridor, calm and dangerously gentle. "Is everything all right?"

Sirius didn't look away from Peter. "No," he said, loud enough for Dumbledore to hear. "No, it's not."

Peter's eyes snapped to the meeting room door. "It's fine," he said quickly. "It's fine. Sirius is just—he's worried."

Sirius's mouth curled. "Don't put words in my mouth."

Peter's eyes flashed with panic. "Please."

Dumbledore appeared in the corridor, and McGonagall was behind him. Moody too, moving with that predatory quickness, wand already half-raised. Sirius felt their attention settle on him. Dumbledore's gaze went to Peter's face, then to Sirius's grip on Peter's shoulder. "Sirius," Dumbledore said quietly.

Sirius's throat tightened. "He's lying."

Peter's voice shot up. "I'm not!"

Moody's magical eye whirred, fixing on Peter. "Of course he's lying. I'm lying. You're lying. He's lying. The floor is lying..."

McGonagall's voice was sharp. "Enough. This is not the time for theatrics."

Sirius's grip tightened again without thinking. Peter made a small sound, half protest.

Dumbledore didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "Sirius," he repeated, and something in that tone warned Sirius to let this go.

Sirius's jaw clenched. He released Peter. "Fine," he snapped. "Let him go."

Peter rubbed his shoulder, eyes bright with tears again. He swallowed. "I'm fine," he said quickly, looking at Dumbledore now. "I'm fine. I just need to—"

Moody stepped forward, wand now fully raised. "You'll go nowhere until I've checked you."

Peter's face crumpled. "Moody—"

Moody's voice was a growl. "Don't."

Peter looked at Dumbledore desperately. Dumbledore studied him. Sirius watched Dumbledore's face, trying to read what he saw. Dumbledore's eyes were unreadable. Always unreadable. After a long pause, Dumbledore said, "Alastor. A brief check. No more."

Moody looked as if he wanted more than brief, but he nodded sharply.

Peter flinched as Moody cast a quick, efficient set of spells. They flickered over Peter's body like cold light. Nothing dramatic happened. No hidden glamour fell away. No curse mark flared. If there was anything wrong, it didn't show itself easily. Moody's mouth twisted. "Clear," he spat, as if disappointed.

Peter sagged with relief. "See?"

Sirius didn't feel relieved. If anything, the clean result made it worse. Because Sirius hadn't expected something simple. Sirius had expected something slippery. Slippery like a little toad, he's being more a rat than a toad. 

McGonagall's eyes cut to Sirius. "Are you finished?"

Sirius's teeth clenched. "No."

Dumbledore's gaze held Sirius's for a moment. It was not a rebuke but a warning and an appeal all in one. Not here. Not now. Sirius looked back at Peter. Peter wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Go on then," Sirius said, voice low and rough. "Go."

Peter grabbed his coat, yanked the door open, and hesitated on the threshold, as if waiting for someone to call him back. No one did. He Disapparated with a crack that felt like a slap. The silence after was heavy.

Moody's eye swung to Sirius. "You've been watching him."

"Yes," Sirius said. He couldn't stop himself. "Sir, he's been acting weird. Showing up late, excusing everything and being very defensive. He's been acting completely out of character.  "

McGonagall's lips pressed tight. "That's not complete evidence, Black. A suspicion yes...."

"It's Peter," Sirius said, unable to keep the anger out. "It's not just the war causing him to act funny. It's as if he'd been cast with a personality spell that changed his whole persona." 

Dumbledore's voice stayed quiet. "Sirius. Come back into the room."

Sirius's hands shook. He clenched them. "I need to find him."

Moody let out a harsh breath. "You'll do what, exactly? Shake him until he confesses? That'll go well."

Sirius glared. "At least I'd be doing something."

McGonagall's voice was cold. "You will not act on suspicion alone."

Sirius's throat tightened. "Then what am I meant to do? Wait until he gets someone killed?"

Dumbledore's gaze softened slightly, and it made Sirius want to throw something. "We will be watchful," Dumbledore said. "But we need to stick together, Sirius. Voldemort counts on our weaknesses, and we will not give him any."

Sirius laughed once, sharp and humourless. "We've no trust. I want to keep my family and friends safe. That is all that's important to me."

McGonagall's eyes flashed. "Mr Black—"

Sirius cut her off without looking at her. "I'm going," he said. "I'm checking on him."

Moody snorted. "Of course you are."

Dumbledore didn't stop him. Instead, he offered, "Be cautious," Dumbledore said, voice quiet. "If you find anything, come back."

Sirius's jaw clenched. "Yes."

He turned and left before anyone could say more, before the pressure in his chest turned into something worse. Outside, the night air hit his face and did nothing to cool him. His body was filled with something red and hot.  He pulled his coat tighter and forced himself to walk. 

The street was ordinary in the way that made Sirius's skin crawl. Windows lit, curtains drawn, people inside making supper and oblivious to the world around them A man walked a dog, shoulders hunched against the cold. Two teenagers laughed too loud as they passed, their voices bright and careless. Sirius kept moving.

He didn't head straight for Peter's flat at first. He circled twice, checking for a tail the way Moody would. He saw no one. He watched reflections in windows,  listened for footsteps. He turned sharply down an alley and waited, wand ready, heart hammering. Nothing followed. That didn't reassure him much. It could've only meant that if someone was watching, they were good at it.

He Disapparated in a narrow gap between two buildings, the crack swallowed by the city noise, and reappeared on the outskirts of the neighbourhood where Peter lived. Peter had chosen a place that suited him. Small. Forgettable. Close enough to disappear into the crowd, far enough from anything that mattered.

Sirius stood at the end of the street for a moment, scanning. No one was obviously watching him.  He started walking. As he drew closer, the sense of wrongness sharpened. He couldn't keep his stomach from reaching his throat.  Peter's building was an old Muggle block with peeling paint and narrow windows. The front door stuck slightly.

Sirius paused on the step. He looked up and down the street again. A woman was wrestling groceries out of a car boot. A child ran past her, scarf trailing behind, shouting for someone to wait. A man smoked in a doorway two buildings down. Sirius took a breath and went inside. The stairwell smelled of damp and stale cooking. The lighting was flickery at best. 

He climbed fast, not caring if the sound carried. If Peter was inside, he'd know Sirius was coming. If not, well he'd have to come to that conclusion when he gets there.  Second floor. Third. The corridor was narrow. Doors lined it, each with its own scuffs and scratches. Someone had left a wet umbrella leaning against a wall; it dripped onto the carpet. Peter's door was at the end, slightly crooked in its frame. Sirius stopped in front of it.

He listened.

Nothing.

He raised his hand and knocked, three sharp raps. "Peter," he called, loud and firm

Nothing.

He knocked again, harder. "Peter!"

Sirius's jaw clenched. He tried the handle. Locked. Of course it was locked. He wasn't home. Sirius pulled his wand. "Alohomora."

The lock clicked. He paused, just for a second, because entering someone's home without permission was wrong in essence, he knew. But in this case, necessary. Propping himself up, he pushed the door open. The flat was dark. Sirius stepped inside and lifted his wand. "Lumos."

Light bloomed, pale and steady.  Smoke, faint and stale perforated the air  from something burnt hours ago and the scent had been absorbed into the walls.  Sirius's eyes moved quickly, taking everything in. Peter's place was always cluttered. Not filthy, but crowded. Books stacked in uneven piles. Mugs left on every surface. Crumpled parchment in the bin that should have been thrown away days ago.

Tonight, it looked... stripped.

A shelf near the door had a clean rectangle where something had been. Dust outlined the absence. The small table by the window had one chair shoved back at an odd angle, as if someone had stood up in a hurry. Sirius's heart began to pound harder.

"Peter?" he called again.

Nothing. He moved deeper into the flat, wand raised. The sitting room looked in disarray. Couch cushions strewn, curtains yanked wonky, pieces of paper littered across the floor.  Sirius crossed to the table and yanked the drawer open fully. Empty. The bottom was scratched, as if things had been dragged out. He swore under his breath. He moved to the fireplace. Cold ash.  No sign of recent Floo use.

On the mantelpiece, there was usually a framed photograph from school—James with his arm around Sirius, Remus half smiling, Peter squinting at the camera and looking proud just to be included. Sirius had seen it a hundred times. The mantelpiece was bare. Dust. Two faint marks where a frame had stood. Why leave the one of all of them? It was to be treasured. He went to the kitchen corner. A mug was in the sink, a smear of tea staining its inside. The counter was wiped clean in a way that didn't match Peter. Peter didn't wipe counters. Sirius was surprised if he remembered they existed. 

Sirius opened the cupboard. Half the shelves were empty. All the little dishes and knick-knacks Peter had collected over the years.  A tin of biscuits and the  bag of sugar was gone. The jar where Peter kept loose Sickles was gone. Sirius turned, scanning. On the floor near the kitchen table, something caught the light. A small scatter of ash and blackened parchment scraps. Sirius crouched and touched one carefully with his finger. It crumbled. Someone had left this out in the open, obviously on purpose. Sirius straightened, breath sharp.

He moved toward the bedroom. he bedroom door was open. Sirius stepped inside and stopped. The bedding was stripped and the blankets and pillows were gone. An open trunk sat at the foot of the bed, lid thrown back. Inside: nothing. Peter's wardrobe stood open. Clothes hung inside, but many gaps showed between them. The bottom drawer was half pulled out, socks spilling as if someone had scooped them up by the handful. 

On the small desk by the window, an inkwell lay on its side, dried black spilling across the wood. A quill was snapped in half. Parchment sheets were scattered, blank. Sirius turned in a slow circle, taking it in, forcing his mind to work. Peter had left. He had up and abandoned his life and his friends, that sealed Sirius' suspicions.  His hands tightened around his wand. He went back into the sitting room fast, almost running now. He checked the coat hooks by the door. One hook was empty that usually held Peter's heavier cloak.

He opened the little cupboard near the fireplace where Peter kept spare supplies. It was half empty. Healing potion and a bundle of bandages were gone.  Sirius's throat went tight. "No," he muttered, as if saying it would change what he was seeing. He went to the window and peered out, scanning the street below.  Peter had left on his own accord. 

Peter could have been taken quietly. Imperius. A threat at wandpoint. A stun and a body carried out under Disillusionment. But then why strip the bed? Why take the photograph? Why burn parchment on the floor? That wasn't the work of an attacker who had minutes. That was the work of someone who had decided to vanish and had been planning it. Sirius's breath came faster. He forced it down, forced himself to do what Moody would do.

"Homenum Revelio," Sirius said, wand sweeping.

Nothing. He moved through the flat again, more methodical now, checking corners, behind doors, in the bathroom. It was empty. Truly empty.  Sirius stood in the middle of the sitting room, wand light throwing harsh shadows on the walls, and the anger rose so fast it made his vision blur.

He thought of James - strong, confident, a bit macho- and Lily - strong, brash and sweet - and his godson. God, Harry. His little man. His favourite human being, even above James, though he'd never say that. It seemed they were running on limited time. 

He strode to the bedroom again and slammed his hand against the desk, rattling it. The inkwell rolled and thudded.

"PETER!" he roared.

The sound filled the flat and bounced off the walls and came back at him. It was too loud in the quiet building. It made his throat burn. He didn't care. "PETER PETTIGREW!" Sirius shouted again, voice cracking with fury. "WHERE ARE YOU?"

He stood there, waiting.  Silence. His wand hand shook. Magic prickled under his skin, hot and restless. He wanted to destroy the flat, to smash every piece of furniture until he found an answer.  Sirius turned sharply and went back to the sitting room, scanning for anything left behind. Anything Peter had missed in his rush. Anything that could tell Sirius where he'd gone.

He opened every drawer, every cupboard, every space where Peter might have shoved something thoughtless. He found nothing useful. A broken button. A stale biscuit crumb. A bit of string. A Muggle receipt for milk. Nothing that told him where Peter had gone.

Who did Peter trust to go to? Sirius's mind supplied names automatically, and he hated every one. He thought of Remus, quiet in the meeting, tired and controlled. He thought of the way Peter's eyes had flicked toward Remus sometimes, quick and unreadable. He thought of the little comments Peter had made over the last month, casual at first, then insistent.

Moony's been off, hasn't he? Moony doesn't tell us things. Moony has other friends now. Moony could be bought. Sirius felt anger at himself that he'd even consider this.  He had told Peter not to be stupid. He had told Peter Remus had always been like this. He had told Peter that if anyone in their little group knew what loyalty meant, it was Remus. But then the war got worse, and the Order got hit, and doubt slipped in through every crack. And Sirius hated himself for it.

No, even as distant as he and Moony'd been in the last couple of months, Remus was still his brother. There was a lot of secrecy. This was war.  Sirius's stomach dropped as the thought sharpened into certainty. The sick sense of dread rode of every inch of his being. God, what'd Peter done. Surely, he wouldn't do the one thing that would ruins all their lives. 

He didn't have time to contact the order. He had to warn James and Lily, he had to get them out of there.  Sirius went to the door, then stopped with his hand on the knob. He flicked his wand, quick and controlled, sealing the door behind him with a simple charm that would look like a stuck Muggle lock to anyone else. He dimmed the wand light and let the flat fall back into darkness.

Sirius's jaw clenched. He took the stairs two at a time, fast, not caring now. He shoved the front door open and stepped out into the cold. The street looked the same as it had ten minutes ago.Sirius stood on the pavement, chest rising and falling too hard, and the rage came back in a wave. Peter had been his friend. His mate. A part of their group, their history, their stupid schoolboy plans and their late-night laughter. Peter had stood beside them. Peter had sworn the same things.

And now—

The crack of Disapparition split the air.