Chapter Text
Incipit: The Servant of Lord Voldemort
“I, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than myself? But you, Peter- I’ll never understand why I didn’t see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who’d look after you, didn’t you? It used to be us…me and Remus…and James…” -JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
—
The door burst open.
It was Sirius, wild and frantic, and there was dark red dripping, and James and Lily were on their feet with their wands out.
"James," Sirius managed, pupils blown, "James." His eyes, Lily noticed, were harsh, glinting like steel- composed, even, in sharp contrast with the rest of him.
"I just killed Peter.”
—
The wind was bitingly cold as a dark-haired young man made his way down the street, whistling above his head while he dug his hands deeper into his pockets.
Sirius huffed out a cloudy breath into the frosty air, flicking some of his hair out of his face.
His eyelashes had snowflakes in them; or something sort-like. It hadn't quite snowed yet, not properly, but it was getting there.
Everything about the grey skies and heavy clouds screamed November, as did the empty street and the fading, dead leaves on the sidewalk. Sirius feltlike November- weary and waiting for autumn to die away.
He'd narrowly escaped three Death Eaters about eight hours before reaching this particular street, which meant his body was groaning in protest with every step he took. Even now, long after the incident, his eyes kept flickering about with added edge. It never really went away nowadays.
Sirius honestly hadn't quite expected life to get so dangerous so quickly. Yes, they’d been aware of the growing threat in their school days, but never to this extent. They'd been out of Hogwarts for little over two years, and already a number of their good friends had been taken by the war, murdered at home or killed in combat.
Gryffindor or not, it was enough to make anyone constantly twitchy, especially at nineteen years of age. Sirius was far from a coward, and was fully prepared to give his life if necessary, but even he had to admit, at least to himself, that he'd been unprepared for the realities of war
He was unsettled by the earlier encounter.
It had taken him off guard, and for a moment he'd thought he'd actually die there, on a dreary November morning, alone, at the hands of some random masked genocidal maniacs who’d just happened to be in the area.
The thought had made him angry enough to surge up and shake off the bastards, but he was aching all over from the effort. Disapparating afterwards probably wasn't the cleverest idea, but he'd wanted to get away, quickly.
More than anything, he realised, pausing to light a cigarette and inhaling the burning heat gratefully, it was the wrongness of it that irked him.
In the lonely, empty street, his huffed exhale sounded loud.
Yes, the wrongness. Not just the wrongness of his near-death, no; something more, something else.
The warmth didn't last long against the harsh wind, and he was going to get ashes in his eyes standing around like this. Sirius set off again.
Something else...Ah, yes. How they'd found him.
Because they hadfound him, he realised now. He'd thought, at the time, that it was simple coincidence, an unlucky encounter. Happened to everyone.
These men, however, well...There'd been something off about them. The whole affair had been too neat; reeked of foresight.
It was on an Order mission he'd been sent to the Barns, to plant some surveillance equipment- it wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, that Dumbledore had to resort to cheap spying tricks. The area was simply too remote: any Order friendlies would stand out like a sore thumb amongst the inhabitants of the little village, and alert any Death Eaters to their presence in the area.
For the moment, no one had been caught, so they'd believed they'd gotten away with it. Wrongly, as it now appeared.
Sirius breathed out slowly, watching the smoke be swept away.
Yes, wrong. How strange that all the minor Order members going there had been left unscathed, and yet Sirius had been assaulted by not one but three Death Eaters.
Feeling sullied by the thought, Sirius flung his cigarette away, allowing the cold to nip at him wholly. Yet more proof of a traitor in the Order.
Dumbledore had been right once again.
This time, however, Sirius had made a worse discovery than imagined, because the traitor was no longer simply an Order newbie or an outside contact. No- if they’d known he was coming today, or at least someone like him, this person came from the inner circles, closer to the heart of the Order.
Sirius' stomach lurched uncomfortably as names flew through his mind.
Mad Eye Moody. Arthur Weasley. Fabian and Gideon Prewett. McGonnagal. Frank and Alice Longbottom. Hagrid.
Peter. James. Remus. Lily.
Disgusted, Sirius shook his head. He knew it was only instinct to immediately think of anyone who could possibly be the traitor, but the thoughts felt disloyal nonetheless.
There were few crimes that he detested more than betrayal.
James didn't understand. James was too good a soul. The world through his eyes was simpler and brighter than through Sirius'; they’d fought many a time over the past couple of months on this very topic.
James, arguing with pained eyes: "A lot of them are just scared people, Padfoot. Weak people perhaps, but- you can hardly blame people for being scared."
Sirius, retorting with acidity: "I would die rather than turn to their side. And if these cowards would rather close their eyes and watch the world burn, then death is what they deserve."
Marlene McKinnon had been killed that week. Sirius couldn't get the guilt out of his conscience, nor could he stop thinking about the exact pitch of her laughter.
James had looked understanding and a little disappointed, a blow Sirius was resigned to stomaching. Even James would never wipe out whatever streak of cruelty was tucked firmly away under Sirius’ ribs.
"People can't all be as brave as you are, Sirius." Lily had said, tiredly. "Lots of people confess under duress only. You can’t resist being tortured."
Sirius hadn't answered at the time. Now, however, the thought struck him that Dumbledore had probably suspected this situation would arise.
It left an unpleasant taste in his mouth to know how easily their old Headmaster continued to gamble lives.
Remus understood Sirius' growing and unwilling mistrust, but Remus was getting distant, these days.
Sirius didn't wantto start doubting Dumbledore. He was a wartime leader. He had to make tough calls sometimes.
Still, there was just something jarring about the old man, with his twinkling eyes and cold strategic moves. Sirius, for all that he himself was sometimes calculating in a way he didn't like, wasn't fond of it.
He was almost by the Portkey when the thought hit him.
Not telling Dumbledore...It was a risk to take, for sure, and one that would likely lead to trouble, and yet...
Not sharing his information about the traitor close by was the only sure way to find him.
Sirius, hovering by the entrance to the pub, found himself hovering between two rather different paths.
Indecision was dangerous in a war.
"Nothing to report, Professor."
Dumbledore's kindly blue eyes were sharp as a knife as he stared right through him, but Sirius didn't so much as squirm.
After a moment of quiet consideration, the old man seemed to revert to his usual cheerful self, dismissing him with a "Very well, Sirius."
The balance had shifted, ever so slightly.
Halfway through January, Sirius' secrecy paid off.
The street he was crossing this time was filled to the brim with a bustling crowd of Muggles, but the situation was naggingly familiar.
Solo missions were growing almost suicidal, but there were few Order members that didn't have a spouse or family at home that could still afford going on them, so it befell Sirius to accomplish them, all too willing to put himself in danger.
No surprise attacks this time, thankfully- it had been an assault mission, and Sirius was grimly satisfied, still hearing the Death Eater's surprised screams over the chattering Muggles.
His resolve kept failing him. His determination to find and annihilate the traitor was strong, but not telling the others was painful.
It wasn't the Order he worried about, of course; he'd gotten over that soon enough. Not telling James, Lily, Peter, Remus- thatwas what was keeping him anxious.
Logically, it was the right thing to do. And yet, a part of him hissed, it also meant that whether he liked it or not, he didn't quite trust them wholly.
It stung, and burned at him, but he'd held on to his secret, gritting his teeth through the guilt.
He'd been narrowing his list, too- this was almost as bad as the secrecy, because the remaining names were too familiar.
He neededto know, but he didn't wantto. A cornelian dilemma.
The New Year had come and gone with its new births and deaths.
Alice Longbottom had called Lily in a panic the other day- pregnant at barely twenty, especially in these times, wasn't the easiest of things. On the other hand, Order members and their families had dropped by their hundreds. Not to mention the civilian casualties.
Grim-visaged war indeed.
Still, life wasn't all that bad. He had James, and Lils, and Remus, and Peter. The Order. Hope.
The others, for lack of better knowledge, had attributed his recent broody attitude to the huge fight they'd had mid-December. Sirius didn't actually mind raging battles, but there was something to be said for those thatdidn't include close family members.
He was sick of all the sympathetic or suspicious glances thrown his way after encounters with the Blacks- he suspected he might even prefer the latterto the pitying ones.
Still, he'd even take other people's reactions over actually fighting them. Fighting the Malfoys often resulted in a lot of sneering comments from Lucius et co, but it was fighting Bellatrix that made Sirius desperately itch for an Unforgivable.
The cruel, taunting insanity on his cousin's part was too cold, too clever to be true madness, and Bellatrix was a constant reminder of where Sirius had come from, who he could've been (still was).
He wanted Bellatrix dead almost more than he wanted Riddle gone. Voldemort.
Regulus was the worst. He'd never directly encountered him, or not that he knew of, at least, but sometimes, in the flick of a wrist or the shout of a spell, he found his younger brother on the other side of the battlefield.
The others didn't want to upset him by mentioning it, and Sirius point blank refused to talk about it.
Whatever Regulus Black was these days, it wasn't his brother. If he sometimes desperately prayed for him to see sense, well, that was for him alone to know.
He'd had a moment of terrified panic today, suddenly certain that one of the Death Eaters behind him was Regulus.
It had taken a lot to send a golden flash of light his way, and in the aftermath, Sirius had lingered a moment too long to look at the face under the mask.
Same youthful features. Same dark hair. Not Regulus.
He had a bit of a limp as he walked up the steps to Pendragon Alley, having struggled with a paralyzing spell earlier. As such, he paused at the top of them to catch his breath, sparing a moment to look down at the Muggles below.
All were conversing obliviously, on their way home, and looking at them Sirius was suddenly fiercely glad that none of them had ever known a war.
He’d been meant to return to Edinburgh immediately, but for one reason or another had decided to take a detour. He knew a little shop in the area that he’d used as a hideout once, figured he might as well pick up one or two things for Moony, who always seemed to run out of books.
Shaking the bookbag a little as if to check for his purchases, Sirius eventually turned back to the street, ready to march on to his final destination, an "abandoned" fish and chips shop on 12th, where he'd get some Floo powder and skip out of the suburbs.
He'd barely turned the corner when he spotted Peter.
"Wormtail?"
Peter did a full-body twitch, jumping around in surprise. Upon spotting Sirius, his expression flickered for an instant before settling on curiosity, cheeks red with the cold.
"Sirius? What are you doing here?"
Sirius laughed at his naively bewildered expression, stepping closer to ruffle his hair. "On my way back from the mission- figured I'd dawdle some."
"You're heading back to city centre, right? We can go together." Peter said, escaping the hair ruffle with an eyeroll.
"Sure," Sirius begun, before hesitating. Something was nagging at him. "Hey- what were you doing around here?"
"I wanted to look around. I've been stuck in our area all week." Peter said, morosely. “And James said it was the best place for a proper bite.”
Sirius grinned, reassured, opened his mouth to crack a joke, and froze. "Pete- aren't you supposed to be watching HQ here today?"
"Uh, no." Peter answered, frowning as if confused. “Kingsley wanted to stay in today. We said this two weeks ago, remember?”
"But that changed," Sirius started, slowly. "Didn’t Moody say something unplanned had happened and he needed someone else to watch base?”
Peter looked nervous. "Oh, fuck. Listen, I know I screwed up, it’s just I haven’t been able to grab anything to eat-”
A cold rush went down Sirius' neck. "Are you telling me you left HQ unmanned?"
Peter seemed to shrink into himself. "I've only been gone ten minutes, honestly, I was about to head back-"
"Are you fucking insane?" Sirius interrupted, incredulous anger flowing through him. "Peter, we're in a bloody war, in case you hadn't realized! You could get hundreds of people killed!"
"I know, I know, I'm sorry-" Peter whimpered, flushing with shame, “I put all the defences up that I could think of-”
"Merlin-" Sirius huffed, running a hand through his hair. "Come on, you dumb bastard, we have to get back before someone else notices and murders you."
Peter nodded rapidly, and they practically sprinted to the shop, Sirius still shell-shocked from Peter's stupidity. He hadn't expected this one- although they'd often teased Peter about not being the brightest academically speaking, he was shrewd enough, usually.
Leaving the HQ like that, early in the evening- it was, what, seven? Half seven? A bit before eight, anyhow.
This was so mind-blowingly stupid, it was like Peter wantedsomeone to walk in.
Sirius stilled in front of the door.
That, or he was sure no one would.
"Pete," he managed, slowly, hand hovering above the handle. "For real, what were you doing in here?"
"I told you!" Peter exclaimed, guiltily. "I just wanted out a little. Look, I can get chewed out by the others later, but can we please get back?"
It was all very Peter- almost too much so.
Surely he was wrong. Surely he was just paranoid- surely he was finding links where none existed.
"Peter," Sirius repeated, blood pounding in his head, feeling like the world was about to collapse around him. "What were you doing here?"
"I told you!" Peter replied, bemused, but there was a flash of anxiety in his eyes that felt more real than any of the previous ones.
A lot of suspected Death Eater activities in the area, Sirius thought.
A lot of suspected Death Eater activities in the area.
"What were you doing, Wormtail?"
For a milisecond, Peter's hand twitched to his side.
Sirius' eyes followed it, and then he jerked backwards.
“You’re the traitor,” came out of his mouth, barely above a whisper. He felt like he was asleep.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Peter yelped, holding his hands up. “Sirius, what?!”
“Then why were you about tocurse me?”
“I wasn’t- you’re just not making any sense, I thought-”
“How stupid do you think I am?” Sirius snapped, cutting him off. “Everything you’ve been doing- it’s been so obvious…” His mind was racing to piece things together, still fighting him on this, still looking for a way out. So many people, recently, so many lives lost…
“You’re crazy! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Peter exclaimed.
Sirius reeled backwards like he’d been burnt.
The McMiller family, three days ago, killed at the safe house that Peter had suggested back at Halloween.
“You son of a bitch!"
Peter seemed to sag, eyes turning desperate, pleading. "Sirius, no, you don't understand-"
Sirius felt like he was going to puke, shaking his head in denial. Impossible.Impossible.
"How l- how long?”
It was only then that Peter seemed to realise he wasn’t going to be able to change his mind.
"A-almost a year now, Sirius, please-"
Peter's hand reached for him yet again, and Sirius recoiled violently, dropping his bag.
"Don't you dare touch me, you filth. Don't you fucking dare," Sirius spat out, in waves of enraged betrayal.
Wormtail, whom he'd looked out for eight years now. Wormtail, whom they'd spent every hour of the day with for all their Hogwarts years. Wormtail, that Remus had spent countless hours with to help pass his exams, that James had defended fiercely against bullies, that Sirius had taught how to waltz.
Their best friend- their best mate.
"I was scared, Padfoot, you don't understand, I'm not brave like you and James and Remus-" Peter tried. Sirius choked on words, so he pushed on: "They got to me, I'm so sorry, please help me get away from them, Sirius, please-"
For a moment, he was the pudgy eleven year old that had worshipped the ground James and Sirius had walked on, and Sirius's resolve flickered.
The revelation hit him then that Peter had always sided with the strongest.
"How many people have you killed, Peter? How many lives taken? You're a traitor, and a murderer, and a back-stabbing, cowardly cunt!" Sirius practically roared, beside himself. All the dead were flashing through his mind, whispering Peter's name- how many had died because of him?
"Sirius-" Peter begged, teary-eyed.
It might've worked on James.
"Save the pleading for Azkaban." Sirius snarled, holding his wand out.
The shorter man's pale eyes followed the movement, and a transformation occurred under his eyes, as Peter went from snivelling to determined.
"I didn’t want this to happen.”
Sirius growled, and lunged at him with a bright flash ofIncendio. (It wasn't clean fighting, but he needed to hurt.)
Peter twisted out of the way, and then a blur of green whizzed by Sirius' ear.
Sirius saw red.
The fight escalated from there, as they exchanged increasingly rapid spells, Muggles screaming around them as the street grew ravaged by fire and explosions.
Both were intensely focused, Peter's beady little eyes squinting in concentration, whilst Sirius' hair whipped around him, his teeth bared in a snarl.
Sirius was fighting messily, savagely, with a brute magical force he wasn't used to, but his advances were short-lived. What a marvellous actor Peter was.
Amidst the screams and shouts and flashes of light, Sirius instinctively felt a spell near him, jumping aside to avoid it.
It him in the arm, hard, with an agonising burn. Cursing at the blackened tint of his skin, he stumbled upright.
He recognised that spell. A family of four had been killed by it three weeks prior.
White-hot, blinding rage overtook him, and he found himself barrelling forward, cutting through Peter's curses as though they were thin air, coming close enough to see the naked fear paint itself on his face.
Good, screamed a voice in his head. Good. Make him suffer.
With a last, decisive "Repulso!" Peter was slammed into a wall, collapsing beneath it as Sirius ran to him.
Peter had barely struggled upright when Sirius had his wand pointing unwaveringly at his throat.
"Did you forget who talked you through D.A.D.A in your N.E.W.T.s, Peter?"
His voice echoed mockingly through the now silent street.
Peter eyed the wand fearfully, changing tactics once more, his nose twitching.
"Sirius, don't- You wouldn't forgive yourself-"
"You seem to have gotten over your guilt soon enough." Sirius interrupted, voice shaking with cold anger.
Peter swallowed, then hissed: "I know things, I can help the Order, Dumbledore would want-"
"No one wants a traitor.” Sirius' eyes hardened, wrist flicking reflexively.
"I know things about- your brother! Regulus!" Peter cried, turning his face away from the wand.
Sirius wavered, caught off guard.
"I know lots of things," Peter pressed, eagerly. "I know a few missions he's been on, where he's going- you could get him out, Sirius, you could save your brother."
His words, growing soft by the end of the sentence, rang persuasively through the deserted alley, catching Sirius off guard for just long enough.
Suddenly, in a burst of light, he found himself flung to the ground, excruciating pain in his every nerve.
"Sorry, Sirius." Peter said, apologetic, nervous. "I told you I couldn't let you leave."
(In fourth year, once, Professor McGonnagal had found Sirius in the Owlery, perched high up, head buried in his arms. He'd been skipping class, figured she'd be mad.
Instead, the witch had gestured to the steadily floating cages behind him and commented dryly: "Well, say what you want about the aristocracy, but you don’t see a lot of fourteen year olds with such an aptitude for Charms.”
When Sirius had performed wandless magic for extra credit in seventh year, he'd shot her a grin that he swore she'd returned.)
In the present day, spasming helplessly, he concentrated all his fury on silently breaking the curse.
Finite Incantatem.
Finite Incantatem.
Amidst the haze of pain, suddenly, relief came. Raising himself on trembling knees, the spotted his wand lying a mere foot away.
Peter's wand was pointed at him just as he reached for his own.
"You can't use an Unforgivable, Sirius, just let it go."
Sirius watched him silently.
Peter advanced, cautiously, something a bit cruel in his tone as he continued: "It's against the Order's values. And you'd be disappointing James."
He said the last part almost tauntingly. Sirius wondered just how much of Peter Pettigrew had been a lie.
And then he stood up, clenching his jaw, leaving the wand behind.
"You won't get away with it." Sirius spat, as a satisfied relief visibly swept over Peter.
"I'm sorry, Sirius." Peter said, genuine regret seeping through his steady tone. "I would just Obliviate you, but you're too good at Occlumency. I'll tell the others you died a hero."
He was approaching slowly, as Sirius shook with hatred.
Peter raised his wand, opened his mouth.
In the split second he did so, Sirius flung himself at him.
They both went down heavily, slamming against the rubble hard enough for the ground to shake underneath them. The spell went flying over them, and there was a blur of movement as Sirius got his hand around Peter's throat, clenching it firmly.
Peter's eyed bulged, but even as he tried to wrench the wand upwards, Sirius twisted his leg to bring his heavy metal-soled boot down on his hand.
There was a satisfying crushing noise, and Peter howled in pain as Sirius panted.
"I'm not James, unfortunately for you." Sirius hissed lowly, watching Peter struggle with a darkly pleased feeling.
"Sirius- you wouldn't- I-" Peter tried.
"Shut your fucking mouth. It's over." Sirius cut him off, pressing harder.
He could see it unfold- the crack of bones, the agonized gulps for air, the silent screams.
The thought almost pleased him, which in turn repulsed him. He was no Bellatrix, wouldn't allow himself to be, no matter how his entire body screamed for revenge.
He loosened the pressure slightly as Peter gagged, reaching down for his wand.
"Your turn to be betrayed."
Peter shivered weakly. "It's an Unforgivable- you wouldn't, Sirius-"
Wands chose their owners. Sirius couldn't imagine why any wand would choose Peter Pettigrew, but holding it, it was clear the wand had chosen a new master.
Perhaps it sensed that Peter's demise was near, Sirius mused grimly. Or perhaps the sheer intensity of Sirius' intentions had conquered Peter's hold over the wand.
Peter was in tears now, pleading desperately: "Padfoot, please, I'm begging you, I'll do anything, please-"
"Rot in hell," Sirius grit out, and then, with a decisive shout: “Avada Kedavra!”
Peter screamed, but it was too late- a bright, cold light burst out of the wand, illuminating the street with green, and his screams cut off abruptly.
Sirius let the wand drop.
In the sudden silence, it sounded like a clap of thunder as it hit the street.
Peter was dead.
His eyes were wet with terrified tears, face twisted unbecomingly with fear. He looked bizarrely surreal. For a moment, Sirius imagined that another Peter would walk up, a real Peter, and be startled by the impostor.
His ears were ringing. His hand, he saw now, was still gripping Peter’s neck- so tightly that he had dug his nails into the skin.
The skin of a corpse.
The thought spurred him into action, and he jerked backwards, understanding the reality of the situation. He had been wounded without registering it; the black gaping maw on his arm was sticky and bubbling like rotten fruit, and there were large gashes on his chest, bright red turned copper.
He stood up in a rapid gesture that almost knocked him over. The cuts on his chest had lost more blood than he’d thought, and the Cruciatus Curse’s effects were still potent.
He knew all this with a sort of clinical detachment. It was as though by killing Peter he had also killed himself, and was now but the hollow corpse of Sirius Black, idly standing above his victim.
He stood there blankly for a moment, examining his arms and then his hands.
And then his eye caught on to red underneath his nails; blood from Peter’s body. Sirius jolted awake, folding in half and retching in revulsion. He took a panicked gulp of air, shaking his hands frantically as though to rid them of the blood, eyes flicking around the street.
They caught on to his wand, and he stumbled towards it, grasping it with shaking hands. His first attempts at casting a spell were dismal: his throat wasn’t working, and he could only manage strangled coughs.
He practically screamed Aguamenti!and water finally burst out of the wand, sending a veritable jet to douse his hands. He rubbed them together hurriedly, scrubbing furiously at his nails.
He had to get it off, get it away- the filthy blood of the old friend that he had killed. Leaving it would be to poison his very soul, he knew.
He felt tainted, as though revealing Peter’s true nature had somehow affected him morally- the Aguamenti spell, from his own wand, felt light and pure as he cast it, contrasted by the unfeeling accuracy he’d used Avada Kedavra with.
The wail of a siren reached his ears, and Sirius whirled around. The Muggles from earlier were standing by the edge of the street, pointing and muttering with tangible fear in their eyes.
“Shite,” Sirius said, out loud. “Obliviate.”
It wouldn’t be enough, obviously; a number of the earlier spectators hadn’t returned, but it would make the mess easier to clean up.
Holding his wand between his teeth, he gingerly grabbed Peter’s corpse by the hair, dragging him after him towards the shop. The wailing of sirens was getting closer now, as well as the murmuring crowd.
He grabbed the handle with sweaty, grimy hands, swearing when he missed, and casting a quick Alohomora. Sirius shouldered the door open, yanking Peter inside, before running back to pick up the dead man’s wand.
He couldn’t touch it, resorting to levitating it behind him as he ran back in and slammed the door shut behind them.
The police had arrived, cars screeching to a halt at the top of the alley.
Sirius bit his lip hard enough to bleed and dragged Peter to the back of the store. They were leaving a trail of blood behind.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Sirius muttered. He had to get rid of the evidence.
Dumping Peter’s body next to the chimney and floating his wand into his pocket, he cast a vaguely panicked Scourgify. The blood vanished, as did half the dirt in the shop.
The police were at the door now.
“Useless bastards.” Sirius hissed, hauling Peter into the chimney. The Floo Powder was hidden behind a cracked flowerpot, and he reached for it with shaky hands, heart beating a rapid tattoo as he clambered into the fireplace, shoving his wand into his back pocket.
The front door crashed open, and Sirius grabbed Peter by the collar, throwing the powder over them both and declaring “Castle Rock, Edinburgh!” as clearly as he could.
Bright green flames engulfed them just as the first officer ran into the room.
Sirius opened his eyes and found himself crouching inside the darkened fireplaces of Edinburgh Castle.
The panic receded immediately, and he let himself slump against the cold stone walls inside the chimney.
Merlin. That had been way too close.
Well, the Ministry could handle clearing it up. Muggles didn’t like the supernatural, anyway- the handful of street-goers who’d seen him would likely be dismissed as nutters, especially seeing as some of them had completely forgotten about him already.
The wrecked street would be more difficult to explain, but the Muggles would manage. Terrorist attack, or something. Bombs.
The police would spin up a nice cover-up tale to avoid the stain on their reputation. A maniac and a corpse could only go so far, after all- how were they meant to track a man who vanished into thin air?
He was lucky none of them had actually seen him vanish into thin air. That would’ve been a tad harder to manage.
Still, with Voldemort’s genocidal ways, it wasn’t as though the Muggles were unused to strange deaths, recently. Their governments just explained it differently.
Unfortunately, once his panic had receded, the events finally sank in; his mind now devoid of worry and therefore an easy prey.
He’d murdered Peter. He’d used the Avada Kedavra- he’d used an Unforgivable on someone he’d considered a brother.
And he’d done so because Peter had been the traitor. Peter had changed sides. Peter, whom he’d loved and protected and would’ve died for, had instead died by his hands, because he’d been a coward, whose own hide mattered to him more than the lives of innocents. Than the lives of those closest to him.
So many deaths… How many of them had Peter helped orchestrate? How many friends of theirs had Wormtail pretended to grieve for, knowing full-well that he had helped to kill?
Sirius’ eyes were getting blurry, he noticed. Tears of guilt and rage were on the verge of spilling down his cheeks- and his injuries weren’t getting any better.
He ducked and climbed out of the fireplace, reeling backwards when the pain hit him. He’d been numbed by disbelief, then running on adrenalin: now, his wounds were burning at him, and he finally registered how blood-soaked his clothes were.
Sirius poked gingerly at the bubbling black rip in his arm, thoughts of death awakening in him as he bit back an agonised shout. He was gravely injured- what if he died, now, in this room? It would take until evening for Order members to arrive, and they’d find his corpse and Peter’s lying side by side.
What if they got it wrong?
It was fully possible that they would never discover the real story- they might think Sirius and Peter had been killed upon their arrival. They might check their wands, and think Peter the hero and Sirius the traitor.
The thought horrified him with a violence that made his head spin.
Instead, he took a determined, slow breath, tugging his wand out and firmly ignoring his injuries.
“Accio.”
It would come, he knew. He hadn’t left it very far.
He took another steadying breath.
Step by step. One thing at a time.
Peter’s corpse had grown stiff, rigor mortis beginning to set in. His eyes and jaw were both oddly rigid. Sirius forced himself to look at him as he pulled him over to the window, to take in all the smallest details of Peter Pettigrew’s dead body, to engrave the face of his victim forever.
Peter’s hair was mousy and ruffled, and his cheeks conserved their chub even now, so reminiscent of the eleven-year old he had been.
Everything about him seemed to have had the colour sucked away. His clothes were drab, robes now caked in dirt and dust that also covered his hair from where he’d been dragged around. All the scratches he had seemed unnaturally bright against his pallid skin, the vivid purple bruises on his neck like a necklace.
Peter’s face, never the most attractive, now held something of the grotesque. His features, contorted both by fear and by death’s steady grip, were pulled in an eternal mask of terror, so powerful it seemed the corpse would come alive just to scream. His tearful, pale eyes, pitiful as they would’ve looked, only stirred the blackest joy in Sirius’ heart.
A wave of nausea hit him again, and he tore his eyes away to look at the dark red still spreading across his robes, like a blood-thirsty creature crawling up his torso.
He had been almost masochistic in refusing to heal his wounds until now, punishment for a crime he didn’t want to regret.
Peter had deserved death. Peter, in fact, had deserved a fate far worse than death.
With that in mind, Sirius allowed himself to pull out the small Order mandated bottle of pain-relieving potion he had in his pocket, and gulped it down with increasing ferocity.
His mind felt a thousand times clearer as the potion burned at his insides, a renewed focus to his thoughts.
He was attempting to shove the empty bottle back into his pocket when his bike came crashing through the glass windows, making his dirty, blood-soaked fingers drop the vial to the floor.
His reflexes reacted for him, a Protego! ripping itself from his throat before he’d even managed to think about it.
The bike bounced off the shield and onto the floor, thousands of shards of glass falling around it harmlessly as the protection flickered and vanished.
Sirius’ arm fell back down, his heart thudding. Shit, but he was out of it.
The noise would’ve alerted someone. He had to work quickly.
Physically grabbing Peter and toppling him into the sidecar felt like blasphemy; his prized possession tarnished by the corpse, but Sirius did it anyway, firmly pushing down the complaints from his body and mind alike.
He really was losing a lot of blood. He’d have to hurry.
Swinging his leg over the side of his bike and adjusting himself came as a relief. The familiar metal and leather was a welcome escape from the surreal day, and Sirius almost felt his balance restored as his fingers gripped the handle-bars.
He turned the motorbike around slowly, closing his eyes and letting the growling hum of the engine reassure him.
When he was facing the window, he exhaled slowly, before giving the bike a sharp rev, propelling them out of the room and into the air outside, wind cutting at his hypersensitive skin in a painfully welcome way.
He stopped it rapidly to cast a quick Reparoon the window, and then sped off into the darkening skies, letting the looming castle fade into the distance as he soared over the city.
One of Sirius’ very favourite things in life was this; the exhilarating rush of flying, the wind whistling in his ears and making his hair whip around his face, his steady grip on the handles and the glinting light from the bike shining brightly in the night sky. Even now, as his strength failed him and the sharp sting of his emotions burnt deep within him, he breathed more easily up where the air thinned.
James loved flying as much as he did, but James preferred the broom, a more intimate connection with the heights. Sirius preferred the solid build of his bike, roaring and humming and growling like a wild beast, master of the skies, an Alexander there where he could never be conqueror.
Sirius had never been afraid of flying too high, rather of falling too low.
Night had fallen, a dusky darkness wrapping itself around him as he sped ahead. He needed to leave Edinburgh, go somewhere safe- the Order’s HQ in Scotland, maybe, but even then he wasn’t sure they’d believe him.
No, he’d go to James and Lily’s, even if it killed him. They’d understand.
They had to.
Sirius grit his teeth and hunched forwards on the bike. He’d been tweaking around with it, a while back. Now was as good a time as any to test some of his additions.
In an entirely different part of the country, two girls sat on with their legs dangling over the edge of the clocktower, silently contemplating the mysteries of life.
Their companiable silence was broken by an exclamation.
“Liv,” one started, rubbing incredulously at her black eye, “There’s a bloke on a fuckin’ bike. Flying.”
“Don’t be a tosser, Em.” the named Liv groaned, not looking up from picking at a hole in her tights.
“Right, well, if you’re not going to listen-”
Liv made sharp noise of protest as her head was wrenched upwards, her remonstrance dying on her lips.
“Fuck off.”
Em might have said something back, but she was too engrossed in the sight.
The bike wasn’t flying very far off, in fact drifting closer to the church. There was a man sitting on it, dark hair whipping around his face- his expression, as he came closer, was strangely thoughtful for a bloke flying on a motorbike.
“Be stranger if he did look weirded out by it,” Liv argued, when Em had voiced her thoughts. “At least he looks like he fits.”
Em nodded in quiet agreement. The man did fit the image- he looked, if not comfortable, at least at ease on this magical motorbike, seemingly unaffected by the fading orange flames behind him, though he sat oddly still.
“He’s not half bad looking, for a wizard bloke,” Liv noted, as the bike drew ever closer.
“For a regular bloke either.”
They snorted, though neither was quite comfortable enough to do more than stare quietly. It was difficult believing they were seeing something real, not just some shared hallucination.
As he drew nearer, however, the man’s head snapped up, eyes jumping to them, and the bike came to a screeching halt.
For a moment, both girls half-expected it to plummet down to the ground, but it remained, hovering in the air as its owner stared at them.
“What are you two doing up here in the middle of the night?” Wizard bloke asked, looking more surprised than anything else. He sounded like he’d just awoken from some deep slumber.
“Toff,” Em whispered, before crossing her arms. “What are you doing on a flying bike?”
Wizard bloke looked down at the bike, eyes lingering on a lumpy thing in the side-car before shrugging. “Going for a ride.”
The girls laughed incredulously, maybe a little nervously.
“Normal means of transportation, then?” Liv asked, finally speaking up.
“Never seen a motorbike before?” Wizard bloke repeated, in a fair imitation of their accent.
Em snorted. “Right, run of the mill biker, you are.”
Wizard bloke blinked, then gave a startled, unwilling grin. “You could say that, yeah.”
“God, I wish this was the average biker,” Liv muttered resentfully, as Em nodded emphatically. “Where you off to, then? Staying in the area?”
Wizard bloke considered them absently. “I’m off to Somerset, actually.”
“That’s not half far!” Em said, whistling. “You’ll be riding ages yet.”
“Took me two hours from Edinburgh.” Wizard bloke answered, with half a smile.
Liv only shook her head. “Don’t even have any traffic to deal with. Lucky bastard.”
Wizard bloke laughed, a bark of a laugh, eyes flitting west. “Yeah, that’s me. Listen- any other night- but I’m afraid I really have to go.”
“Hang on a mo’- can’t we patch you up?” Liv asked, gesturing at the dark stain creeping across his chest. “Assuming wizards bleed, too.”
Wizard bloke looked back, a glint in his eye. “Wizard injury, I’m afraid. Won’t do me much good.”
“Get it in a wizard fight?”
“Most certainly.”
The two girls fell silent for a moment, contemplating him, and then Em spoke up: “So what’s the other bloke look like?”
Wizard bloke stiffened, and then, with implacable calm: “His body’s in this sidecar.”
The girls laughed.
“Well, all right then, wizard bloke. Enjoy the ride.” Em said, half mournful. “Come say hi if you’re passing in the Manchester area some time.”
“Shit, Manchester?” Wizard bloke muttered. “I’ve been veering off course.”
“No navigation magic at hand, Merlin?” Liv asked, scratching at her knee yet again.
“Sirius, actually.” Wizard bloke said, very seriously indeed.
“Your name’s really Sirius?” Em questioned, lips quirking upwards. “You’re having us on, aren’t you?”
“Sirius Black, à votre service,” Wizard bloke replied, with a little bow of the head.
“Ooh,French. You are a tosser.” Liv said, with delight.
“Worst of the worst.” Sirius responded, before giving them a considering look. “You two won’t go telling anyone about our nocturnal encounter, will you?”
“Are you mad?” Em crowed, laughing. “They’d think we were smashed.”
“Not to mention the old geezers would have my hide if they heard I were talking to foreign men in the middle of the night.” Liv snorted.
“It’s not the men they ought to worry about, love.” Em replied, snickering.
Liv elbowed her in the knees, almost making her drop off the ledge where she stood.
“Good to know,” Sirius said, sounding amused. “But I’m being rude- you offered to patch me up and I haven’t returned the favour.”
Em considered her hand and then looked up. “Magic healing powers?”
“I’m very good with my wand.” Sirius intoned mildly, before twirling a stick between his fingers. “I’m guessing you’ve got a broken finger to match the black eye?”
Em nodded, wriggling her hand to show the three fractured bones.
“Hold still.” Sirius warned, before flicking the wand into a curve. “Episkey!”
A whooshing noise followed, and then the girls yelped in surprise as the sound of crackling bones reached their ears. Liv grabbed her hand, wiggling the fingers one by one. “You fixed the bones!”
“It was only a minor injury.” Sirius shrugged, looking well pleased with himself nonetheless.
“Minor? Oh, can you imagineJess’ face when I show up with healed bones?” Em laughed, waving her hand in the air. “God bless, mate.”
Their companion merely inclined his head, tucking the stick- wand- away and reaching for the ignition. Both stilled to observe him as he straightened, gazes lingering over the darkening patch.
“Ladies.”
“Mr. Black.”
The bike came to life with a mighty roar, a veritable fiery explosion blasting it off into the darkness- the girls watched him go, silent.
“Sorta makes you wish there were more wizard blokes around, don’t he?” Em sighed, after a moment.
“Sure does,” Liv agreed, looking at the gleaming bike. “Sure does.”
It was a good thing he’d crossed those girls, or he’d have been heading off towards Scandinavia, Sirius mused. Besides, it had woken him up- it really did take a while getting there, even with the dragon fire and other gimmicks, and he’d felt about to faint before he’d shaken himself awake to deal with them.
If he did faint and plummet to his death, he would turn ghost out of sheer embarrassment.
He focused on his burning hatred for Peter to stay awake.
Sirius Black was not a forgiving sort of person- not towards himself, nor towards others. Vengeance and loyalty had always been strangely intertwined in the Black doctrine, and if Sirius had inherited two of his House’s values, it would have to be those.
It was taking some effort to merge the two Peters in his mind- Peter, his best friend, and Peter the traitor. It still overwhelmed him, but he was managing, and the urge was growing in him to throw Peter’s corpse out over the nearest ravine.
Avada Kedavra had been a mercy of sorts, ironically. Had he no moral compass, Sirius would certainly not have stooped so low as to allow Peter an escape from the pain he wanted to inflict upon him.
What had Peter promised? Who had he sold? Who was he preparing to sell?
There was that prophecy Dumbledore had hinted at, that might be concerning James and Lily- Voldemort wanted the Chosen One dead, perhaps Peter had offered…
For a moment, Sirius seriously considered using his wand as a blunt knife and mutilating the body lying next to him.
He wouldn’t give in, just yet. Peter had died a coward, and it needed to show.
He wished he could take his face and project in the skies. This snivelling rat betrayed his friends and his morals to save his own hide. He died swiftly and quietly, unlike the agony his victims went through. Join us in celebrating his death.
He’d killed Peter, though. He’d killed him. With intent.
It had not been an accident. It hadn’t even been self-defence. Sirius had gazed down at his erstwhile friend and calmly used an Unforgivable on him, with the sole intent of watching the life drain out of him with one swift flick of the wrist.
It was rather funny, he supposed. His whole body seemed to be disgusted by his actions, bleeding and protesting in pain, while his heart beat too fast and his throat felt too tight.
His mind, however, was calm; bitterly content.
You just killed Peter!his body cried, tainted with the blood of someone he’d called brother not three days ago.
Good, his mind snapped, watching the corpse. Good.
Sirius willed his bike to go faster.
He lost track of time along the way, but he thought it was around three in the morning that he found himself by James and Lily’s house, letting the bike come to a screeching halt in front of it.
He’d stalled to poorly heal his wounds twice, but he felt completely out of it regardless: his thoughts had become a jumbled mess, only the strong sense of urgency remaining. It was hard enough thinking straight- navigating in this state had been a nightmare.
Fuck, what a hellish night.
He clambered off the bike with stiff, unsteady legs, grimacing distantly at the blood that came dripping out of his wounds almost immediately as he stumbled drunkenly forwards.
Peter’s body was tinted purple, now.
He had to get to James and Lily. Had to tell them. Had to make them understand.
His hands shaking with convulsions, Sirius battered on the door with all the strength he could muster, croaking out a “Hey!” that turned into incomprehensible shouts after a minute or so.
It only took a couple of minutes for the lights to flicker on, and for the creak of stairs to reach his ears.
Peter was dead, and he’d killed him, and James and Lily were awake and alive and hehad to tell them.
Feverishly, Sirius muttered half a curse and half a prayer under his breath, before slamming the door open with a ferocity that almost threw it off its hinges.
James and Lily stood there at the bottom of the staircase, in their pyjamas, their wands out, alert eyes and tense bodies belying their sleep-ruffled hair.
“James,” Sirius tried, vision beginning to blur as he swayed.
Lily’s eyes shot over his shoulder, scanning the outside and flicking back to the blood he was only barely aware of. James’ eyes, however, remained fixed on his face, brow creased in alarmed worry.
“I just killed Peter.” Sirius told them, and watched their world collapse.