Chapter Text
Sirius Black, of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, was alone.
Sirius, third of his name, the last of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.
Sirius Orion Black.
The name would die with him.
He hadn’t always been alone. No one in history had always been alone. No, alone is something you become, and it hurts all the more for it.
Tonight, Sirius drowned his loneliness in scotch and wine, glowering at the family tree tapestry hung across the walls of the drawing room, reading “toujours pur,” again and again and again under every portrait.
He and the rest of his family hadn’t been on amicable terms since he was eleven-years-old. Single-handedly, he ended a centuries long tradition of Blacks being sorted into House Slytherin whilst attending Hogwarts, the most prestigious wizarding school in Britain. Always the rebel, Sirius was sorted into the rival house of Gryffindor.
The sorting wasn’t all that divided Sirius from his family.
He had the bad habit of embracing all that his family despised. He would bedeck his room in scarlet and gold, he covered the walls in muggle posters of supermodels and automobiles, he even dated muggle girls—and boys.
That was the final straw.
Hearing about his endeavors with not just a boy, but a muggle boy; his mother, Walburga, threw him out onto the street that very day. Now, a large black spot covered Sirius’ portrait on their family tree where his mother burned it away that same night.
A favor, he thought. It never was a flattering depiction .
Had it not been for his best friend James Potter taking him in, Sirius would have lived as a vagabond. James and his parents were more family to him than his own blood. Never was there a better friend, nor anyone Sirius loved more. After graduating, it was only natural for Sirius to side with James against his family during the rise of the Dark Lord.
He’d never given blood purity much weight, not so much as his family did.
Toujours pur meant “always pure,” after all. His family believed their pure-blood status was worthy of worship. They expected the rest of the world to bow to their superiority. And why wouldn’t they? After all, the House of Black was the closest wizarding society had to royalty. Just as it was natural for Sirius to side with his friends, it was natural for his family to side with the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.
Save for his cousin Andromeda. His sweet cousin’s portrait was burned the same as his. Her sin was falling in love with a muggle-born wizard, name of Tonks. “Blood-traitor” they called her. Despite being cast out by the same family for the same crime, with a war surrounding them, Sirius hadn’t the opportunity to reconnect with her. She and her small family kept to themselves, and Sirius didn’t blame them for that.
Next to Andromeda’s burned portrait were her sisters’s.
Her older sister Bellatrix sat at the Dark Lord’s high table, one of his most loyal Death Eaters, her arm proudly adorned with his Dark Mark. Always cruel, she enjoyed practicing unforgivable curses on rodents and house-elves. She and her husband Rodolphus Lestrange were notorious amongst the Order, killing several of their number. Nothing delighted her more than tormenting others before finally killing them.
Narcissa, the youngest of his cousins, was always so sweet when they were kids. She never shared Bella’s cruelty, nor did she share Sirius’s rebellious streak or Dromeda’s bookish nature. Cissa was his brother’s twin flame, and Sirius pitied their fates. She found herself married off to Lucius Malfoy, an arrogant man from another wealthy pure-blood family and prettier than she was. Though Malfoy kept his involvement amongst the Death Eaters close to the chest, Sirius was not so blind to it. Last he heard, they’d welcomed their first child only a month before Sirius’ own godson was born. Though quiet and sweet, Cissa was ambitious. When the opportunity to wed presented itself, she jumped willingly.
The three cousins were the only family he had left. The rest were all dead.
Sirius turned his attention to the three portraits in the center. All three of his immediate family passed on, one after the other, two years prior.
His wonderful mother was the first to go. Amid the Wizarding War, an acute case of dragon pox spread viciously through the population, and her pure blood did nothing to save Walburga Black from succumbing to it. Sirius always said he would celebrate the day his mother finally died; but when the day came, the cheer died in his throat. She was a woman quick to anger and only saw her children as an extension of herself.
Never one to forgive a slight, she was responsible for most of the scorch marks decorating the family tree.
His father Orion had gotten the pox just the same, but he pulled through, albeit weaker than he’d been before. So much weaker that, after his youngest son died, his heart gave out soon after.
Orion kept himself clean-shaven throughout his life, as “all civilized men do.” A proud man, his father was, and always carried himself higher than anyone he was with. He was stern, but quiet; content with letting his beloved wife carry out her punishments as she saw fit. Not to say he was forgiving either, only slower to anger, and when his wrath was due, none were safe.
Regulus was two years younger than him, and Sirius loved his baby brother very much. No matter how much he hated their parents, no matter how much their parents indoctrinated him, Sirius never stopped loving his little brother. As a boy, Regulus was Sirius’s shadow. He followed him everywhere and did everything his older brother did. Sirius never minded. He always loved attention, and as they got older, it was easier to keep Reg away from his parent’s anger if he were with him.
Sirius remembered the boy crying when he boarded the Hogwarts Express for his first year. It took all his willpower not to hop off the train to take his brother with him.
When the time came for Regulus to join him at Hogwarts, Sirius was over the moon. But in the year he’d spent away, his parents dug their claws into the young boy deeper than ever. Sirius introduced his brother to his friends while aboard the train and hoped that the little boy that always followed him around would follow him once again into Gryffindor.
The sorting left Sirius heartbroken.
Their parents dug their claws in too deep. Regulus was sorted into Slytherin with the rest of their family and all of their ancestors, and Sirius lost the last of his family. He still looked after his brother the best he could during their time at school, but being in separate houses and Regulus’ housemates whispering into his ear about pure-blood supremacy, the divide between the two brothers grew further and further. Despite the disconnect, Sirius cheered on his brother during his Quidditch matches (the ones not against Gryffindor) and Regulus argued with their mother for the first time the day she threw Sirius out. He could still hear him pleading behind the slammed door for her to let him stay.
He was always a sensitive and kind boy.
Then, Regulus became a Death Eater.
So far as Sirius knew, his parents weren’t, despite being staunch supporters of the Dark Lord. Even if they were, he wouldn’t have cared. But Regulus was a Death Eater. When he was first told, Sirius didn’t believe it. He called Mad-Eye Moody a liar, pulled a wand on the old auror just for the suggestion. James had to hold him back before things went south. He and their friend Remus spent the night comforting Sirius, but he knew Moody was right.
He hoped their claws hadn’t dug that deep. Reg was still a boy; he was still in school!
Being a Death Eater is what killed him.
Sirius had no proof of that. Kreacher gave him no details about his brother’s death, only that his body hadn’t been recovered. The old house-elf apparated into Sirius’s flat shortly after his father died. Kreacher told him of their deaths, of his inheritance, and Sirius wept. He didn’t care about his parents' passing, though he was ashamed to admit it, and he certainly didn’t care about their money. All he cared about was his brother.
Regulus had only turned 17, he’d only just become a man, and now he was dead. Sirius could only think of never seeing his brother smile again, never feeling him wrapped in his arms after the war, he’d never see the way the light turned his gray eyes silver again or his dark curls. He couldn’t even give him a proper funeral.
Sirius lost himself a bit after that. He didn’t hesitate to curse and hex his enemies; he lost all sense of restraint. His friends reined him in as best they could. Remus, James, and Peter never left his side; James especially despite having a newborn on the way.
It was James that was there at his lowest points. Stopping him when he’d gotten too deep in his cups and cursed Kreacher for not telling him where his brother was. He chased after him on a broomstick when Sirius drove his motorcycle through muggle traffic at top speed. He even prevented Sirius from setting his family home ablaze.
After each attempt at self-destruction, James held him tightly while Sirius drowned in tears. It was after the attempted house-burning that James told him they planned on Sirius being their child’s godfather, and he couldn’t be that if he was dead. This revelation snapped Sirius out of his destructive tendencies. He had a new purpose, and a reason to stay alive.
A year passed before Sirius ever stepped foot into 12 Grimmauld Place. He had no need for the monument to his torment, nor an empty house full of ghosts. It was only after Bella tried to lay claim to it that Sirius asserted his right to his ancestral home, and only to keep it from falling into her, or more likely the Dark Lord’s, hands.
The first thing he did upon moving in was remove the family portrait affixed in the foyer. A constant reminder of the pain his parents inflicted, and a reminder of the hole his brother’s death left.
That same year, he waited anxiously in the drawing room of the Potter’s home with his fellow Marauders as Lily’s screams and groans shook the house. It seemed like an eternity, all of them sitting and pacing disquietly for hours.
Wizarding births were never so tumultuous. Midwife witches had perfected spells to ease labor centuries ago, but Evans was steadfast in having a natural muggle birth. Mary MacDonald and James assisted Lily’s mother in delivering the baby, and after seven long hours, Lily’s screams were replaced with the sound of a baby crying.
Everyone in the room jumped to their feet and ran to the stairwell. A moment later, James stepped out of their bedroom, holding a bundle in his arms. Sirius elbowed Dorcas Meadowes in the ribs, shoving her out of the way, and ran up the stairs two at a time, just to be the first of them to meet the newest Marauder.
The baby boy was beautiful, swaddled in a muted red blanket. He was still pink, but showed signs of inheriting his father’s olive complexion and had thick, dark hair crowning his head. Sirius could already see him growing into the mirror image of his father.
The only difference was his green eyes.
He had his mother’s eyes.
The new parents named him Harry James Potter. Sirius teased his dad for arrogantly naming the boy after himself and Lily joined the teasing by suggesting James was a better middle name than Fleamont, James’s father’s name.
The rest of the evening was a joyous occasion, and for the first time since Kreacher broke the news of his family’s passing, Sirius felt truly happy. He was the last to leave that night; too busy holding Harry as he slept in his arms, taking in every detail of his little face.
Their joy didn’t last long.
A few weeks after the birth, Dumbledore informed the Order of a grave prophecy. Some quack of a seer gave it to him during a job interview, and Sirius struggled to believe it. Despite his reservations, the prophecy foretold a boy born with the power to defeat the Dark Lord, and his thoughts immediately turned to Harry and his parents. He’d lost his blood family already, he couldn’t risk losing the family he chose, he couldn’t lose another brother.
Harry wasn’t the only child at risk. Frank and Alice Longbottom, also members of the Order, welcomed their son Neville the day before Harry was born. Decisions were immediately made to keep the couples and their children safe from the Dark Lord, but none were deemed satisfactory enough for Sirius Black. Order members were posted around their homes day and night. They were kept constantly on the move. They were given polyjuice to change their appearance. And Sirius never left the Potters’ side for a moment.
Despite all the precautions, Sirius knew it wasn’t enough, and the constant surveillance and moving only wore Lily out and put James on edge.
James wasn’t the only one. The precautions left Sirius ever vigilant, finding enemies everywhere. Sleep was ignored so he would never be caught unaware. He soon lost faith in those he once trusted the most, not just amongst those in the Order of the Phoenix, but with other Marauders.
His trust in Remus Lupin faded quickly. All the discrimination his parents spewed suddenly made itself at home in Sirius’s heart. It made sense to his sleep-deprived mind. Remus was a werewolf, a well-kept secret, but the truth. The Dark Lord made close allies with all manner of horrible creatures. He gave them positions of power in his army. Sirius saw the shambles Remus lived in. He refused all offers from Sirius to help him in his squalor. Surely he saw the prospects of siding with their enemy.
One night, all of them exhausted from weeks of constant running and hiding, Lily broke down in tears. James comforted her and sent her to bed with their son. Once they were asleep and he thought he was alone, James broke down too.
He’d seen Sirius cry so many times recently, comforted him all the while, but in all the time that they’ve known each other, Sirius had never seen James cry. Not once. Not when he’d fallen off his broom and broke his arm their first year, not when he saw Lily in her wedding dress for the first time, not even when he lost his parents to the same pox that killed Sirius’.
Seeing him hold his face in his hands while he stifled his sobs made Sirius’s stomach turn. It was unnatural, and nothing he was prepared for.
Sirius stood frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. It took him a moment before he rushed over to his friend and pulled him tightly into his arms, just as he’d done for him. James wept openly as Sirius held him, his tears flooding his shirt. Sirius smoothed his hair and told him it would be alright, even though he didn’t believe it himself. The two stayed like that until James’s crying tired him out enough to fall asleep on the couch.
Sirius placed his ebony wand against James’ sleeping temple. “Extractum memoria.”
As he pulled his wand away, with it came a silvery stream that held James’s memory of tonight. The memory tore itself from his temple and Sirius flicked his wand, causing the memory to dissipate into the air. With the memory no longer at the front of his sleeping mind, James could sleep peacefully. It was that night, Sirius resolved to end this life of non-stop running his friends were living.
His first thought was storming Diagon Alley, calling out Voldemort by name, and daring him to a duel. It was a foolish idea, especially with the prophecy laying out his doom. James had always been a loyal friend. He had never abandoned him, Sirius couldn’t abandon him on a suicide mission. He was loyal, too.
Loyal.
The next morning, he dragged James and Lily to the Order’s headquarters. Sirius kept those in the meeting small, still wary of the others within the Order. He only allowed the Potters, Professor Dumbledore, himself, and their friend Peter Pettigrew. James insisted Remus attend the meeting, but Sirius convinced them his plan couldn’t wait, not wanting to worry them about his speculations that he couldn’t be trusted.
With the six of them gathered, He suggested they use the Fidelius Charm. It was old magic, extremely extensive and difficult to perform. Sirius would have done it himself, but he couldn’t risk the spell going awry. He needed a more practiced hand. Dumbledore thought it an excellent idea and reprimanded himself for not thinking of it sooner.
The details of the plan were laid out between the six of them. Sirius offered them the use of Grimmauld Place to keep them close to the Order, but Lily refused. She wished to stay somewhere smaller, somewhere that felt more like a home. They didn’t know how long they’d be stuck there, and she wanted a proper place for Harry to grow up. The old Potter home was destroyed by Death Eaters, leaving it ineligible; a place in Hogsmeade was deemed too public for them to live without someone noticing.
Dumbledore suggested a cottage he knew of in the small village of Godric’s Hollow. He told them it was his old family home when he was coming up in Hogwarts. The death of his mother left the home in his possession and he maintained it in the years since; though he hadn’t lived there in quite some time and it’s been years since his last visit. He figured it couldn’t have fallen too deep into disrepair during his absence and would be a warm home for the two young parents to raise their son while they weathered the storm. There was even an old friend of his that still lived nearby that could pop in now and then if they wished.
The decision was made. Dumbledore made a trip to the village first, fixing up the cottage before James and Lily would move in. Next, their things were quietly moved into the cottage by Sirius, Remus, and Peter, not risking anyone else knowing the location, even if the spell would make them forget. The last step was to finally cast the spell. Lily was with Harry in the cottage, leaving only James, Sirius, Peter, and Dumbledore to perform the spell.
Sirius planned for James to act as his own secret-keeper, but Dumbledore told them that’s not how the spell worked. It required deep trust in whoever was keeping the secret. So, James chose Sirius to be the secret-keeper, the only one in the world that knew and could reveal their secret and he accepted.
Dumbledore set up a ring of candles on the floor of an empty room of the Order’s headquarters. He’d transfigured the walls and ceiling into mirrors, reflecting everything back and forth infinitely. Normally, facing mirrors towards each other was avoided to prevent opening any pathways to the other side. The thought of doing so made Sirius shiver and wonder what he’d gotten themselves into. It was only Dumbledore, Sirius, James, and Peter in the room. The headmaster asked the men to step inside the ring of candles. Once in the circle, Dumbledore dimmed the lights in the room using only a cigarette lighter. The four men joined hands, and the professor began the spell.
Even as Sirius took part, he couldn’t comprehend the nuances behind everything Dumbledore did. Wards and runes flashed between them as the professor chanted the incantation “ Fidelius Absconditum ” and the others repeated. With each ward and chant, a candle in the ring surrounding them lit itself. Dumbledore himself was lost in a trance, his eyes rolled back in his head. Sirius did his best to ignore the shadows dancing in the mirrors, he knew they weren’t just their shadows being reflected in them.
This was an ancient magic, and the rituals proved the horrors inherent.
With a quarter of the candles lit, Dumbledore asked for the duration of the spell in a voice unlike his own and James responded with “indefinite.”
The chant changed to “Fidelius Perpetuum” and continued until half the candles were lit now in bright green and Dumbledore asked for the secret.
“Lily and James Potter are hiding their son at a cottage in Godric’s Hollow.”
Again they chanted “Fidelius Perpetuum.” The candle flames grew brighter and stronger than their wicks would naturally allow. Sirius could feel the heat against his back and he squeezed James’ hand tighter. With three-quarters of the candles lit, Dumbledore asked for the secret-keeper’s name.
Before James could respond, Sirius interrupted, “Peter Pettigrew.”
He kept his eyes forward, but could feel James staring at him. The chant continued until all candles were lit, burning so hot and tall that their flames joined each other in a ring of fire around the men. The ring shifted with the spell continuing, changing from bright green flame to blinding blue. With the final candle lit, the spell was complete, and Sirius Black forgot what they were trying to keep secret.
The chanting stopped, and the candles returned to normal. They released each other’s hands, Dumbledore clicked his lighter again, and the lights returned. The strain from the spell forced the elderly wizard to excuse himself to rest.
“Why did you do that?” James demanded, shoving Sirius. “You were supposed to be the secret-keeper!”
“I am the secret-keeper!” Sirius exclaimed, confused by James’ sudden frustration.
“No, you’re not! You made Peter the keeper in the middle of the spell.”
“I—what?”
“Exactly! WHY?” James was shouting now, “you’ve stuck with us through all of this? Why are you turning your back on me now? This whole thing was your idea!”
“I would never turn my back on you! You know I wouldn’t!”
The understanding of his impulsive decision came to him. He knew exactly why he’d changed it at the last minute.
“And so do they!” He gestured vaguely outside. “The Death Eaters know how close we are. They know we trust each other more than anyone else. Once they get wind of there being a secret-keeper, I’ll be their first choice. They’d kill me before I ever revealed it, but they would try. They’ll never expect Wormy. I trust him, you trust him. He’s been by our side through everything, our oldest friend, and he can slip out of anything. So, let them all think it’s me, let them come.” Sirius gave James a knowing look.
James cooled down. “You’re right.” He turned to Peter and clapped him on the shoulder. “I know you’d do anything to keep us safe, Lils and I trust you.”
Peter gave a sheepish smile. “Of course. Anything, mate. I’ll keep you safe.” He told the other men the secret before he and James disapparated to Godric’s Hollow.
Sirius spent the next several months performing various missions for the Order, doing what he could to limit the Dark Lord’s reign across Britain. When he wasn’t fighting dark wizards, Sirius was shut up in Grimmauld Place, surrounded by the portraits of his pure-blooded ancestors and kept company only by Kreacher. He hated the house-elf. He hated that he spouted the same hateful rhetoric his parents did. And he hated he had a house-elf at all, half the time he spent contemplating giving him clothes just to get rid of him for good.
His time spent cooped up in the haunting green house nearly drove him mad. No one but Kreacher to speak to, nothing to do but read the same books he’d already read, every day spent waiting for the Death Eaters to come for him. Sirius popped in to visit the Potters as often as he could, but never more than twice in the same month, fearing he could be tracked.
They even celebrated Harry’s first birthday early to avoid suspicion. Sirius bewitched his gift, a toy broomstick, to appear on the mantle for them to find the morning of his birthday. From the letter Lily sent after, Harry loved the gift. Dumbledore had him chasing down the Death Eaters that killed Marlene and her family, keeping Sirius from popping in then. Though he desperately wanted to.
They thought Marlene was safe.
The attack on her and her family only made Sirius more uneasy about the Potters’ safety.
As the weeks turned to months and the months turned to a year, Sirius grew suspicious of the lack of activity by the Dark Lord. Death Eater attacks continued and the death count rose, but reports showed nothing about attacks on either the Potters of the Longbottoms, nor were there any reports suggesting they were even looking for them. He knew the Dark Lord wouldn’t just leave them be, not when one of their children was prophesized to destroy him, not when they were still so vulnerable. Sirius couldn’t shake the thought. Why hadn’t there been any news? His instinct told him that perhaps he was targeting other members of the Order first, dwindling their numbers until there wouldn’t be anyone left to keep them safe.
Sirius finally grew sick of being trapped in his own home, tired of drinking and staring at the family tree covering the walls. He missed having fun; he missed who he was before the war, and all he wanted was a distraction. It was Hallowe’en. Even amid a war, wizards across the country would celebrate by hosting lavish parties and wearing garish costumes. He knew James couldn’t join him, though he’d want to; and he still believed Remus was a traitor, which counted him out; leaving only one marauder available.
Peter didn’t live far. He’d gotten a flat south of Islington off the Thames. No one else knew where it was except for Dumbledore, and when he wasn’t on Order business, he was shut away just like Sirius was. It was to keep them safe and hidden, Dumbledore told them. Peter was especially hidden. As the true secret-keeper, it was imperative that they never find him. Sirius didn’t even want to know his location, but Lily said he would need someone nearby to keep him sane.
When Sirius arrived, he found Peter’s door left ajar. This wasn’t wholly unusual. His friend was more than a little scatterbrained and this was something he would forget, but they were surrounded by danger. The Dark Lord marked them all for death. Forgetting to properly shut and lock the door to his home could be a deadly mistake. He was practically offering them an attack.
Sirius knocked on his door and let himself in. “Hey Wormy! You left your door open, mate!” There was no response. “I was thinking we could go out and have some fun tonight?” Still no response.
The flat was silent and dark, all the shades had been drawn. Again, this wasn’t unusual. This was a place to hide, after all. Keeping the blinds open was counterintuitive. Besides, Wormy always did like the dark.
It was the silence that was unnatural. Wormtail was always the quickest to laugh, and would come running the moment he heard Sirius’s voice.
“Wormy?” Sirius called again. His hand moved to his back pocket and grabbed his wand. “Peter!” He shouted, and still no response.
He held his wand at the ready and surveyed the scene. The flat looked the same as it had every other time Sirius had been here. It was tidy enough, at least by Wormtail’s standards. He preferred to keep his possessions strewn about haphazardly. Sirius crept through the apartment cautiously, checking his bedroom and bathroom, periodically calling his name.
He wasn’t there.
With the flat empty, Sirius raised his marauder’s signet ring to his mouth. “Wormtail… I’m at your flat. Where are you? Are you alright?”
From the bedroom, Sirius’ words echoed back.
He walked in to find Peter’s ring lying on the bathroom vanity.
He wouldn’t just leave his ring behind.
Dumbledore said nothing about sending him on a mission, Peter just got back from one recently, it was too soon to send him into the field again. Sirius remembered the door left open when he arrived and grew worried. His grip tightened around his wand. He looked around frantically, looking for any sign for where he went, any signs of a struggle. His friend couldn’t have been taken without putting up a fight. Even if they caught him unaware, Wormtail had always been scrappy, he could get out of it. Searching the flat, Sirius couldn’t find any signs of a struggle. Nothing was out of place. Still, his stomach sank.
They’d found him .
This was why the Death Eaters didn’t come for him, why there had been no attempts on their lives. They found out Peter was the Secret-Keeper. Sirius ran from the flat and jumped down the stairwell. He mounted his motorbike, revved the engine, and took flight into the dark night.
It was impossible.
There were only three people in the world that knew Peter was the secret-keeper. Even Dumbledore and the others in the Order believed Sirius filled the role.
It made no sense. James and Lily wouldn’t have given up that information, Sirius definitely hadn’t.
As he sped through the chilly night sky, Sirius’s thoughts continued to spiral.
Had Remus figured it out, or did Peter tell him?
Was this all a fluke, and the Dark Lord kidnapped Peter to draw Sirius out?
His thoughts raced, every possibility interwoven with prayers that his friends were safe. He didn’t know where Peter could be, but he knew where James and Lily were. If they had Peter, the Potters were at risk and Sirius needed to keep them safe.
During his spiral, Sirius remembered the letter Lily sent him after Harry’s first birthday.
Bathilda .
Lily said she talked about being related to Grindelwald, the last Dark Wizard before Voldemort.
She must’ve talked. She’s been to the Potters’ home, Peter told her the secret. From one Dark Lord to another, she played her role as the kindly old woman, but her allegiances remained the same.
If anything happened to Peter, if anything happened to James or Lily, if anything happened to Harry . Sirius shook the thoughts from his head. He couldn’t get ahead of himself. He reminded himself this could all be a misunderstanding.
It wasn’t.
Sirius could see the smoke from miles away. He pushed the bike past its limits. He could feel the engine shaking beneath him, threatening to fall apart. Sirius couldn’t breathe once he saw the destruction. The cottage had been destroyed, the upper quarter of it now completely missing, the pieces scattered in the street and in the trees. He jumped off the bike before it hit the ground and raced to the front door. He burst through into a sitting room full of smoke.
“James!” He called, choking from the smoke, “Lily!”
His wand was drawn as he searched the house for any sign of his friends.
His heart broke once he did.
Never had tears come so quickly as they did when he found James, paler than he’d ever been. His body was still on the stairwell. He looked to be running up the stairs when he died.
The cowards shot him in the back .
Sirius gathered his best friend’s body in his arms and wept into his motionless chest.
It wasn’t fair.
James was a good man. He’d done nothing wrong. He never deserved this. He was supposed to grow old. There was so much more life left in him. He was supposed to have so many more children and grandchildren. They were supposed to defeat the Dark Lord together and live out the rest of their lives, still getting into trouble.
He was supposed to grow old.
It should have been me.
Sirius didn’t know how long it was that he sat there holding James’ lifeless body, but the sound of a baby crying tore him back to the present.
It wasn’t possible.
He threw James’s arm over his shoulder and carefully carried his limp body to the couch, laying him down on it.
Padfoot removed Prongs’s glasses and closed his deep brown eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Sirius cried.
The cries continued, and Sirius ran up the stairs, two, three at a time. The baby’s room was just off the staircase, the door was blown open and when Sirius entered; he found the room completely open to the night air. Lily met the same fate as her husband, lying in front of the crib, the light gone from her emerald eyes.
Another set of those same eyes stared back at him from inside the crib, full of life and wet from tears. Sirius choked back his own when he saw the baby smile toothlessly at his arrival.
It wasn’t possible.
Sirius rushed to the crib. How? He wondered.
Somehow, his godson survived. Despite all the destruction, he looked perfectly fine. Fine, except for a fresh wound on his forehead in the shape of a bolt of lightning streaking across the sky. He picked Harry up and soothed the boy as best as he could. With the boy in his arms, he collapsed to the floor and rested against the wall, bouncing him while Harry kept a strong grip on Sirius’ long hair. Within a few minutes, Harry was asleep. Sirius took the child into his parents’ room and placed him on the bed surrounded by walls of pillows.
For extra measure, he conjured piles of pillows on either side of the bed, just in case.
With Harry secured in the bed, Sirius returned to the nursery. A magically glowing alphabet danced along the destroyed walls, floating off into the night sky. Planks of splintered wood littered the floor. Sirius got goosebumps from the cold autumn breeze blowing in. He crouched beside Lily, her fair skin paler than it had ever been. She was the kindest person he had ever met. She would have reshaped the entire wizarding world, and now she was gone. Just like her husband, far too soon.
Lily and James Potter were dead.
A sentence that once it becomes true, will stay true forever. The silence of their home haunted him. Ghosts that had just been brought to life were already visiting him. He would never see James’s smile again, he would never again see Lily roll her eyes at their dumb jokes, he would never see them press their foreheads together and whisper declarations of love. There would be no more jokes, no laughter, or joy. His heart would be buried in their coffins with them.
Sirius moved towards Lily when he tripped over a sheet on the ground. He caught himself before he could fall over, worried that doing so would wake up Harry, but still turned to kick the sheet away. When he did, he didn’t find sheets on the ground. Instead, he found dark green, almost black robes piled on the floor. His eyes grew wide with recognition, gathering the familiar, rough fabric in his hands.
They were the Dark Lord’s robes. He’d seen him wearing them the only time they’d ever come face-to-face. It was only the one time, but these were irrefutably his.
He’s gone.
He’s dead .
Voldemort is dead.
James and Lily didn’t die in vain.
Their death was a sacrifice that brought Voldemort’s demise. Sirius laughed in relief. His best friends still had one more trick up their sleeve. He wiped a tear from his eye and gathered Lily in his arms, carrying her down the stairs and placing her on the couch opposite James. With a last look at her now muted green eyes, he shut them and pretended his friends had fallen asleep.
Dumbledore needed to know.
The Order needed to know.
The entire Wizarding World needed to know.
Voldemort was dead. Killed by an infant, still in his crib. The war was over.
Sirius climbed up the stairs once again, aiming to carry the last Potter down them and out to safety.
Reaching the top of the stairs, his eyes flashed into the nursery, looking at the discarded robes. Seeing them again, he noticed a piece of parchment, just barely sticking out of a pocket. Sirius listened and made sure Harry was still sound asleep before collecting the robes. He dug into the inner pocket for the piece of parchment he’d seen.
Reading the words made his heart stop.
No. it couldn’t be. It’s not possible.
He ran through every possibility on the way here, every plausible answer. None of them ever considered this. It was incomprehensible. Unfathomable. Sirius recognized the handwriting. He’d seen it nearly every day for seven years, but he didn’t need to. He knew who wrote it. There was only one person in the world that could have. He fell against the wall, his own legs betraying him.
Written on the slip of paper was:
Lily and James Potter are hiding their son at a cottage in Godric’s Hollow.
It was Peter.
Their friend.
They trusted him.
Sirius trusted him.
Sirius didn’t trust anyone anymore. Still, he trusted Wormtail. He made him the Secret-Keeper.
He did this.
He’s the reason James and Lily are dead. He’s the reason their son is an orphan. They would still be alive if he had just done what they agreed to. Voldemort could have found him instead, he could have tortured Sirius until his last breath and he would have never told him where to find Harry. He thought he was so clever, finally outsmarting the Dark Lord.
He was wrong.
Every inch of him wanted to hunt Wormtail down. He wanted to scour the whole of Britain just to find him. He wished to kill every single rat across the country just to prove a point. He would have burnt London to the ground just so he would have no place to hide.
But Harry started to cry, and all of his aspirations of vengeance burned away.
Sirius picked the infant up and held him against his shoulder, bouncing him gently. They went down the stairs and into the kitchen. Sirius warmed a bottle of milk and placed Harry in his high chair, leaving him to drink from his bottle while his godfather packed his diaper bag.
All packed, Sirius threw the bag over his shoulder and gathered his godson. He looked back at Lily and James, wishing he could’ve done more to save them. Walking out of the ruined home, an old woman hobbled over as quickly as her fragile body could.
“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed. “Are they alright? Is the baby safe? I sent word to Albus. He’ll be here any moment.”
“Harry’s fine,” Sirius said. “You’re Bathilda?”
The old woman nodded and checked on Harry, smoothing his hair. “That’s a nasty mark, poor dear.” She looked up at Sirius, wide-eyed, “what of his parents? Where are they?”
“The Dark Lord found them.”
She gasped harshly, his face distorted in horror. “No! No, he couldn’t!”
Bathilda tried pushing past Sirius, but he stood in her way and held her under his free arm. Less than an hour ago, he thought this ancient woman was the one responsible for the secret unraveling, and now he was comforting her as she mourned the deaths of his best friends.
“They were so young,” she sobbed.
“I know.” He rubbed her arm as she wept. “But it wasn’t for nothing.”
Her glassy eyes looked into his with confusion.
“Voldemort is dead. I don’t know how, but his body was destroyed.”
She looked back at the destroyed cottage in wonder.
“James and Lily are resting in the sitting room. Make sure Dumbledore takes care of their bodies and let him know Harry’s godfather is taking care of the boy.” She nodded absentmindedly and Sirius walked to his motorbike, wishing he’d brought a better suited vehicle for an infant. “Oh, and Ms. Bagshot? Tell everyone you can. The world needs to know he’s gone.”
Sirius kick-started his bike and revved the engine. The muggles were stirring in their homes by now, a few stepping onto their stoops. He was ready to leave before he got any unwanted attention when he heard a loud POP just down the road. The figure’s silhouette was immediately recognizable by its massive size, like a brick wall appearing in the middle of the street. Sirius drove the bike down the cobbled street to meet him. He considered himself tall, but was still dwarfed by the man in front of him. Long unkempt black hair and a bushy beard to match hid most of his face.
“You know you’re not supposed to use magic, Hagrid.”
“Aye. won’ tell anyone if you don’t. What’s all this, now?”
Sirius’s eyes still stung, he imagined how bloodshot they must’ve been from all the tears they’ve shed. “The Dark Lord found them. He killed them.”
“No.” Hagrid shook his giant head, “Impossible. Dumbledore said they was safe!”
“Yeah, well Dumbledore trusted the wrong people!” He didn’t mean to snap, but he couldn’t keep reliving the same moment of doubt over and over. They were dead and they shouldn’t have been. “Where is he?”
“Couldn’ get away from the school. Sent me ter check things out ‘til he could.”
Sirius loved Hagrid. The groundskeeper had always been kind to him; he was always supportive, but Dumbledore sending him was a slap in the face. He couldn’t even legally perform magic, he hardly knew any spells, and he didn’t know Harry. The most powerful dark wizard in the world just murdered two of the most important people in Sirius’ life, and Dumbledore sent his gardener.
He felt his face contort with rage. “Tell Dumbledore when he finds time: my friends are dead, Voldemort is dead, and Harry is safe with me.” Sirius revved the engine of his bike, ready to take flight.
“Sorry, Sirius, got orders from Professor Dumbledore. I’m ter take the boy over ter Surrey.”
Sirius’s hold on the boy tightened. “No, he’s coming with me. There’s nothing in Surrey.”
Hagrid held out his meaty hands, “Dumbledore’s orders.”
“To hell with his orders! I’m his godfather, he’s my responsibility, not Dumbledore’s! If he wants the boy in Surrey so badly, then he can come speak to me himself!”
“Sirius… It’s fer the best.”
“He’s not going to Surrey. There is nothing in—” Sirius seemed to connect the pieces of the puzzle. “No… Hagrid, do you know what’s there?”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure there’s good reason.”
“There isn’t! Dumbledore is trying to put him with Lily’s sister . She’s told me about them! They’re the worst kind of muggles!” He noticed the muggles gathering around the destroyed house behind them and lowered his voice. “Awful, dreadful people. Hagrid, you cannot take Harry there.”
“Yeh know I don’ have a choice.”
“But I do. Tell Professor Dumbledore, my godson and I will be at Grimmauld Place should he wish to see me.” Sirius revved the engine a final time. “And tell him to find me Peter Pettigrew.”
With the last word, Sirius Black revved his engine and flew off into the night sky.
He didn’t know what would happen tomorrow.
He didn’t know what Dumbledore would say when he learned Sirius had Harry.
He didn’t know what would happen with James and Lily.
He didn’t know how to raise a child.
And he didn't know what he would do once he saw Peter again.
Come tomorrow morning, all the wizarding world would know the Dark Lord had been defeated, people across the country would whisper secret toasts to “Harry Potter—The boy who lived,” without ever knowing what truly happened.
Flying high in the clouds above England, Sirius looked down at Harry’s sleeping face, empty of any worry. He brushed his thumb against Harry’s cherub cheek and smiled sadly.
Sirius didn’t know much, but he knew he was no longer alone.