Chapter Text
October 31st, 1981 – Godric’s Hollow
October 31st, 1981 – Godric’s Hollow
Darkness had long since settled over the rows of nestled houses in Godric’s Hollow. It was deep night and the stars that winked up above in the velvety purple-black sky seemed very far away. Crisp, cold air bit into what little exposed skin showed outside the leather jacket of the man dismounting a motorbike in the middle of a small front yard.
When the growl of the motorbike had died into the night, a heavy silence seemed to envelop the whole street. It hovered, like an oppressive, tangible force. Sirius Black’s boots hit the ground with a thud like the stroke on a drum. A tall, lean shadow, Sirius stepped away from his motorbike and across the lawn, his footfalls heavy in the frost-covered grass. Every step seemed to ring like the pounding of his heart as he crossed that yard. Thud, thud, thud.
The Potters’ resident was ash and ruin. What had been a comfortable, modest home was nothing more than rubble. Support beams and exposed pipes lay across one another in piles of indistinguishable debris. Furniture melted into walls, belongings crumbled into charcoal, and the smell of fire, and power, and magic hung in the air.
Sirius picked his way through what had once been the western side of the house. His footsteps crunching bits of splintered wood and fragmented objects into the ground were still the only sounds. He stopped once to look up at the neighboring houses, but not one had so much as a candle lit in their windows.
Godric’s Hollow was not an entirely muggle town. Its impressive history and the ancestry that was still rooted in its cemetery had drawn a number of prominent wizarding families to the community, and yet no muggles or wizards, no house-elves or goblins, not so much as a stray dog had come to investigate the demolished house at the town’s center.
Sirius’s breath hitched as he made his way through the debris. He had to look down as he was going, because he was, of course, looking for something. Yet the prospect of what he might find under his feet terrified him. He knew the layout of what the house had once been, and it did not take him long to reach the spot he had known in his heart he must find. The Potters had painted the nursery a bright yellow. James had wanted it done in red and gold, but Lily had said that was too much pressure to put on a child. So they had painted it the color of the sunflowers that had once been growing in the front yard. Sirius had helped, and near the end the Potters’ cat had gotten into the paint and run across the hardwood floor, leaving a trail of pawprints behind it. Sirius and James had looked at each other and laughed, and before long a second pair of pawprints and one set of hoofprints decorated the floor. Even Lily loved it.
There was no sign of these yellow-tracks anymore. Indeed, the floor was reduced to splinters and scorch marks where the wood had turned black. One tiny piece of wall still stood, and it was against this yellow backdrop, striped now with soot, that Sirius found the remains of the crib.
Lily had made the crib herself out of holly. She’d used equal parts magic and muggle tools to build it, a combination that had fascinated and impressed James. “It’s a true half-blood crib,” Lily had said when Sirius asked her why she didn’t simply magic the thing together. “Crafted with magic, and my hands, and my love. It’s the safest thing I could make him.”
Lily’s body lay next to the crib, under shards of wood and blackened plaster. Her red hair cascaded out around her shoulders. Her green eyes were fixed open. She did not look peaceful in death, there was no pretending that it might be a sleep from which she would wake soon and grab Sirius by the shoulders, laughing and telling him to grow up. There was terror in her wide, dead eyes.
Sirius let out a dry sob, but turned his gaze away from the body of his friend. Lying only two feet from her, somehow free of rubble, was a tiny bundle of swaddling cloth. The long strips of holly wood that had once made the crib fanned out in a circle with this bundle at their center. Sirius knelt, and, his hands trembling, pushed back the cloth.
At one year old, Harry Potter was a small infant, even for his age. His eyes, wide and green like his mothers, were open too. As Sirius flipped back the blanket that had obscured him from the world, Harry’s eyes filled with tears and his tiny face scrunched into a red, blotchy circle of anguish. A thin red scar shaped like a lightning bolt stood out on his forehead. Harry’s cries broke the silence and Sirius stared at him in disbelief for several long seconds before he scooped his godson into his arms.
He had held Harry before, of course. Awkwardly, the first few times. He’d been afraid that he would drop him or hurt him. Sirius had never spent much time around children. His own younger brother had been close enough in age, and he’d never been the type of teenager people asked to babysit. Harry was different. Once the initial tentativeness had disappeared, Sirius had discovered he could make Harry laugh almost every time.
He held Harry to his chest now, clutched him as he wailed, and felt his own sobs threatening to break out. There was no sign of James, and Sirius would not look for him. He did not want to see his best friend’s body, not the way he had been forced to see Lily. And if Lily was dead, and Harry alone, then James was gone beyond a doubt. He would have put himself into any danger necessary, would have died a hundred times over before he would have let any harm come to his family. Sirius did not need to look to know that.
November 1st, 1981 - North London
Harry cried himself to sleep as they flew over Bristol. Sirius had conjured a makeshift sling and tucked Harry close to his chest, zipping up his jacket halfway over the child. He had taken him to the last place he had ever thought he’d go back to – certainly the last place he ever thought he would bring Lily and James’ child to.
Number 12 Grimmauld Place stood as daunting and dreary as ever. Sirius hurried toward the dark stone face of the building, one hand placed protectively against Harry’s back, the other holding his wand in front of him. He had not been back to his parent’s home in over five years, not even for his brother’s funeral or his parents’ succedent deaths. Even so, it would be high on the list of suspect places to look for him.
Praying silently that Harry remained asleep, Sirius tapped his wand against the keyhole of the door and let them in to the hallway filled with house-elf heads. The smell of his childhood home, a combination of scents he had not breathed in for years filled him with a crippling sense of nostalgia for a moment as he stood on the threshold.
He tiptoed past the covered portrait of his mother, down the hall to the dining room and waved his wand to light the torches around the room. It was empty, silent, and dusty.
“Kreacher,” Sirius said through gritted teeth. A moment passed in quiet than a sharp “pop!” and the house-elf appeared in front of him.
If anything, the house-elf was more decrepit and foul than Sirius remembered him. The indeterminate material tied around his waist was gray and torn and did not appear as if it had been washed since the last time a member of the Black family had inhabited the house.
“Master Sirius,” Kreacher croaked, bowing low. With his back bent, he added in a mutter to the floor “What is the blood-traitor doing back in the house of his noble parents? Kreacher thought the filthy boy had died by now. Oh how disappointed Mistress will be to know her treacherous son sets foot in her home.”
“My mother won’t know anything at all, Kreacher,” Sirius snapped. “Now stand and up and tell me, are we the only ones in the house?”
Kreacher straightened as much as his frame allowed. “Who else would be here, Master Sirius? You are the House of Black’s final Secret Keeper.”
The words “Secret Keeper” felt like a punch to the gut. Sirius’ arm spasmed where he still clutched Harry to him. He ignored Kreacher’s muttered “And how Mistress would cry to think of it.”
“Go through this house, room by room and floor by floor. Check every closet, every conceivable hiding place. Then come back here and report to me when you’re sure no one else is here. Do you understand me, Kreacher?”
Kreacher’s wide, weepy eyes looked into his own. Then they trailed down to Sirius’ chest, where Harry’s head poked from inside his jacket.
“Who has Master Sirius brought home with him?” then, to the floor again, “Has Master Sirius continued the Black family line? Mistress swore no child of his would ever enter into her house…”
“Now, Kreacher!”
There was another “pop!” and the house-elf disappeared. Harry stirred at the sound and his eyes opened. He blinked up at Sirius and then began to thrash, crying and writhing against the restraint of the sling and jacket.
“Here now, Harry,” Sirius said, softly, undoing the makeshift carrier. He lifted his godson up and bounced him a few times in the air, but Harry continued to cry. He reached his small arms out and wrapped them around Sirius’ neck, one of his hands fisted in Sirius’ long curly hair.
“Mummy?” Harry cried into Sirius’ neck. “Mummy, mummy, mummy!”
“No, Harry. She’s not here. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
There was no one else home. Kreacher promised that he had searched every room and floor as Sirius had instructed, muttering all the while about this child and the noise he was making. Sirius performed what examinations he could of the scar on Harry’s forehead. It was healed, not an open wound, and yet it had not been there just days before when Sirius had last gone to see Lily and James. Medicinal spells had never been Sirius’ strong suit. Even so, the scar did not seem to be directly causing Harry any pain.
After a while, Sirius managed to get Harry to drink some juice and he soon fell into another nap, exhausted from all the crying. Sirius conjured his and his brother’s old crib from the attic – a ludicrous thing with a marble engraving of the Black family crest on the side, lined with green and silver velvet. He cleaned off the dust and laid Harry down in it, where he curled up with his thumb in his mouth.
Sirius sat down in the floor of the dining room next to the crib and put his head in his hands.
Lily and James were dead. Lily, with her long red hair and her laugh and her kindness. A girl who had made him a better person, a better friend.
And James, with that mischievous glint in his eyes and his tousled hair. He was the best friend Sirius had ever had, the first real friend he’d ever made on his own, the first person to make him feel like he could be more than his family name.
The thought that Sirius’ grief and shock at finding Harry alive had kept away poured over him. It was his fault. All his fault. He knew what must have happened, what Peter must have done. A white hot anger flooded his veins, filling him with a desire he’d never known before. He wanted to kill Peter. He wanted him dead and he wanted to do it.
Sirius actually stood up, wand gripped tight in his hand. Then he glanced at the crib. Harry’s thumb was still in his mouth, his eyes closed, his breathing peaceful.
He remembered when James had asked him to be Harry’s godfather. He hadn’t so much asked as demanded it. They were out in the backyard after playing a bit of one-on-one quidditch the night that he’d learned Lily was pregnant. They’d put their brooms away and were drinking butterbeer on the back porch.
“Lily and I want you to be godfather for our child,” James had said abruptly. “You know, if anything ever happens to us. We’d want you to be the one to raise him.”
Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it in silence. He cleared his throat. “James, I don’t know anything about children.”
James shrugged. “You’re my best friend. Lily’s too. We know you would take care of them. I know you’d do anything for them. That’s all that matters, that you’d do whatever it takes to keep them safe.”
Sirius looked at the Potter’s sleeping child now and let his wand hand relax. He couldn’t take revenge on Peter if he wanted to look out for Harry. He couldn’t go out and leave this child defenseless, couldn’t get himself killed or become a murderer. He wasn’t alone in the world, no matter how much it felt like it.
“One day, Wormtail, I swear it. I will make sure you feel the pain I am feeling,” Sirius whispered to his lowered wand.
It was only an hour or so later that the front door opened. Sirius heard it creak from where he sat in the kitchen and he snatched his wand up from the table. Soft footsteps of someone creeping down the hall came closer and closer. Sirius moved to stand in front of the crib, holding his wand raised and ready.
Remus Lupin pushed the door to the dining room open. His prematurely greying hair was ruffled and his eyes were red, but his own wand held in front of him was not shaking. The two men stood, pointing their wands at each other, neither speaking for what seemed like minutes.
“What shapes do the four Marauders take?” Sirius asked finally.
“Rat, Stag, Dog, and Wolf,” Remus answered without hesitation. “Where were we when I told you my greatest secret?”
Sirius smiled humorlessly and lowered his wand. “Your greatest secret, Remus? You have so many. It was October of our second year, you and I were caught outside in the grounds in a storm, sheltering beneath the same tree we all used to sit under every spring when the weather became warmer. It was the first time I ever saw you cry.”
Remus nodded, but did not lower his wand. “Sirius,” he said, and his voice broke. “How could you? Tell me how you could do this.”
Sirius shook his head. “If you let me explain…”
“Lily and James. Lily and James, dead . You were the only one who could have… who could have…”
“I did not kill them. Remus, please listen to me –” Sirius was cut off by the sound of Harry whimpering.
Remus’ eyes widened as they traveled past Sirius for the first time to the crib behind him.
“No,” he said, inhaling sharply. “It can’t be…”
Sirius turned and scooped up the waking toddler. Harry rubbed one tiny fist against his eyes, yawning, then blinked and looked around. The first smile Sirius had seen since he’d found him in the rubble of his old home broke across Harry’s face.
“Moon-moon!” he cried, reaching out his arms for Remus.
Remus’ face went pale. He gripped his wand tighter, still pointing it at Sirius. “Give Harry to me,” he said, his voice shaking.
“Put your wand away, Remus, and I will.” Harry was already squirming, trying to get to Remus.
Sirius could see the indecision in his friend’s face. Finally, Sirius put Harry down and let him toddle over to Remus, who immediately picked him up and clutched him tight, kissing the top of his head.
“Oh god. God, I thought you were dead,” Remus whispered, loud enough that Sirius could hear.
“Lily and James knew that You-Know-Who was coming for them,” Sirius said. “And too many people knew that I was James’ best friend, too many even knew I was their secret keeper. I thought… I thought we were being too obvious. I told James we should make a switch, transfer their secret to someone no one would ever expect, someone they could trust but weren’t seen with. I… I convinced him, just days ago, Remus. I was going to go on the run, I thought I could draw You-Know-Who and the death-eaters away from their home, lead him out of the country… I told James to use Peter – who would suspect a man like Peter of having great secrets?”
Sirius put his head in his hands. A dry sob ripped from his chest. “I thought he would have died rather than betray us, betray James, as James and I would have done for him. But Peter… I went to his house tonight to check on him and he wasn’t there. No sign of a struggle. I knew what he must have done, and I went to Godric’s Hallow as fast as I could. I don’t know how or for how long, but Peter did have secrets. Great and terrible ones.”
There was a silence. When Sirius looked up, Remus had lowered his wand.
“Why Peter?” he said. “Why not use me?”
Sirius averted his gaze to the dark, hardwood floor. “Forgive me, Remus.”
“I see.” Harry was tugging at Remus’ ears as he bounced him slightly with one arm. “Because of Greyback.” Remus’ face was pale, his lips pulled together in a thin white line.
“No. No, not because of that. It was never about that. It… I did not want to risk putting you in You-Know-Who’s path. Not because I mistrusted you – I of all people should know how close you can keep a secret. No, I did not suggest you because I did not want to burden you with yet another secret. I knew what you stood to lose, even if you did not lose your life. I thought Peter was the perfect unsuspected man, that he stood the least at risk.” Sirius sat back down on the floor next to the crib and drew his knees to his chest.
“I as good as killed them,” he whispered. “I’ll swear whatever oath you like that I am telling the truth, take veritiserum if you’ve got it, but it makes little difference. It was my idea to switch secret keepers and it killed Lily and James.”
Harry was wiggling in Remus’ arms again, and reluctantly he put him down. Harry tottered back over to Sirius and put one small hand on his cheek, patting him several times. “Sad Foot,” he said, continuing to pat him. Sirius gave something between a laugh and a sob and pulled Harry to his chest once again.
Remus sat down on the floor next to them. He reached over and smoothed Harry’s hair, although it made no difference. A sad smile played across his face. “He’s got James’ hair, that’s for sure. He’s going to look just like him, I’m afraid.” When Sirius made no comment, he continued. “Sirius, people are looking for you. And for Harry. You can’t just hide in here forever.”
“I know.”
“Dumbledore contacted me, asking if I’d heard from you.”
Sirius looked up at that. “Did you tell him where you were going when you came here?”
Remus shook his head. “No. I wanted to… Well, I thought I might kill you myself if it were true.”
Sirius gave a real, hearty chuckle at that. At his bark like laughter Harry looked between them both, smiling too. “That’s my boy,” Sirius said, reaching over and ruffling Remus’ already messy hair.
“But he’ll turn up here soon. He’s Dumbledore.”
“Even Dumbledore can’t get in here. You and I are the only ones alive who know where it is.”
Remus raised his eyebrows. “What about Wormtail?”
Sirius shook his head. “I never brought him here. I never even brought James here. Just you, that once.”
“Oh.” Remus looked down at his hands. They were covered in half-crescent scars, as from fingernails or claws. Much of his body was like that. When the full moon overtook him, he was a wild beast, full of a power and brutality that seemed impossible for such a neat, soft-spoken man. “And I thought that was a bad day.”