by blacksock
Rating: PG, right now, but it will probably change very quickly very soon.
Warning: This fic contains spoilers from Order of the Phoenix, though not yet. It would not be a good idea to read before you've finished OotP!
It also contains some lime content (nothing explicit) and very subtle (so far) slash. If you don't know what slash is, then you won't notice it. Yay.
Disclaimer: None of these characters or settings are my own (except for the ones that are because I made them up because they were necessary). They belong to the brilliant Ms. J.K. Rowling.
Enjoy. ^_^
Chapter One: Fidelius
Sirius Black stood just inside the Potters' front door, staring around curiously at his surroundings. The narrow hallway was crowded with tall, exuberant plants, many of which had outgrown their own pots and were invading their neighbors'. They were beautiful, in a deadly, magical way, but they also filled his stomach with a vague apprehension. He remained very still, waiting.
Finally there was the sound of approaching footsteps, and Sirius grinned widely. He would have recognized that rhythm anywhere - how long had he known James?
"I think your house needs weeding, mate," he said softly.
"It does, but you know Lily," came an answering voice, warm with welcome and affection. Its owner stepped into the hall a little warily, suggesting that he did not much trust his wife's embellishments either. "She says our defenses may as well be pretty."
"They are dangerous, then?" inquired Sirius, meeting James' brown eyes with concern. He looked outwardly content; a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. But his hair was (if possible) even messier than usual, and his skin was pale and seemed stretched tight across his face.
"Only to the wrong sort of people," James replied grimly. "You're not. So come on in; the baby doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"Takes after his father."
Inside, the house was small and clean and very wizardly. The walls practically glinted with protection charms and portraits of (mostly) benevolent relatives, and each bore the trademarked untidy hair of the Potters. Lily's relatives were hidden from sight, long since shelved away. Black did not blame her; he knew how it felt to be disowned.
"Padfoot!" Lily greeted him from the corner of the living room; she was sitting cross-legged in an enormously overstuffed blue armchair. "I'd get up and hug you, but... well, my arms are a little full at the moment."
And indeed they were, occupied by a small sleeping Harry. James went to sit beside his wife, and the armchair expanded to accommodate him.
"He's still tiny," said Sirius, gazing at his godson.
Harry's eyes opened very suddenly to reveal startling green irises. "Paddy?"
Sirius barked a laugh, trying and failing to hide his pleasure. "Who around this house has been calling me Paddy?" he demanded reprovingly.
"Wasn't me," said James innocently. "I think he made it up himself. It does fit remarkably well, though."
"Do you like the new place, Padd... Padfoot?" asked Lily, smiling.
"It's nice, Lily. The others know about it yet?"
"Only Dumbledore," James answered. "Actually..." He glanced down at Harry, who had begun to wave one fist back and forth at the mention of Dumbledore. "We still haven't decided... if we should tell them."
"You still think the spy is one of us?" Sirius could not help feeling incredulous. "A Marauder?"
"It's someone close," James said quietly. "It can't be Dumbledore. That's beyond reason. And it can't be you. Only two people remain, then." He glanced at Sirius, whose face had set stonily. "I know, Padfoot. It doesn't even bear thinking... Peter or Remus as a traitor..." Sighing, James raked his fingers through the long untidy bangs that fell stubbornly past his eyes.
"Look at Harry," Lily implored. "Look at him, Padfoot, and you'll understand."
Against his better judgment, Sirius knelt down to the same level as his godson. The infant had stilled and was watching the adults calmly, as if he sensed the sobriety of the room. A few dark strands of hair curled over his scalp, and his eyes were so large and slanted in his face as to look Oriental. Harry was not exactly a pretty baby, with his imperfect features and thin body, but to Sirius...
"He is beautiful," Padfoot said, sounding nearly as gruff as his canine counterpart.
"Yes." Lily nodded; she seemed satisfied.
There was a slight pause, followed by a swift rush of air and the blur of fiery wings. All three adults started before registering the presence of a very large, noble crimson-gold bird in their living room. The phoenix perched atop an old bookcase and fixed an intelligent black gaze upon James, who stared back thoughtfully. There was a folded slip of parchment inside the bird's beak. He held it proudly, and it was marked by Hogwarts' seal.
"Hullo, Fawkes," said James, rising to remove the letter. "I can't believe Dumbledore would use a bird like you for mail-carrying unless he had something important to say."
Sirius grimaced. "In these times, important usually means very, very bad." He stood and promptly stole James' place on the extendable armchair.
"Hey now, don't be pessimistic – " Prongs broke off with a mock-glare in Sirius' direction. "And don't steal my seat, either."
"Sorry," Padfoot answered without a trace of remorse. "Pretty girls, you know..." he winked at Lily, who had suddenly become occupied with Harry's blankets and did not respond, though her auburn hair cascaded gracefully to conceal a warm amused smile.
"That particular pretty girl," James began, with a distinct note of pride, "is my wife."
"I know, I was there, remember?" said Sirius lazily. "Best man? You'd do well to open that letter before it crumbles in your hands. Dumbledore won't allow relics."
"No," Lily breathed, half in agreement and half in trepidation; Harry had scrunched up his face and was drawing in the breath for a full bodied scream. "It is bad news. Harry always seems to know."
Her words and Harry's shrill keening cries were enough to restore the somber mood. There was a storm hovering over the house, an invisible cloud burden which rested on the shoulders of three young and hopeful people.
James opened the seal with his long nimble fingers and read:
"Dear James, Lily, Harry (and hopefully this letter will also find you, Sirius, in good company),
Frank and Alice Longbottom have been attacked.
It saddens me greatly to bear these tidings, but they must be borne. The Longbottoms were on duty at half past nine last night, carrying out investigations for the Order. A ring of Death Eaters, consisting mostly of underlings but headed by the elite Bellatrix Lestrange, apparated around them. Alice was able to stun or obliviate nearly all of the subordinates while Frank attempted to immobilize Lestrange. He came very close to succeeding, but it is well known that Voldemort's servants are not restrained by the same human laws as we. Lestrange used the Cruciatus curse on both Frank and his wife.
They are still alive, in St. Mungo's care at the moment. Yet the Healers are already overwhelmed, and there is not much to be done. They will never fight again, and it is possible... it is possible that they will never be Frank and Alice Longbottom again.
The Longbottoms' infant son, Neville, was in hiding and is unharmed. He is now with his grandmother, and hopefully he will be safe there.
I share the pain of the Order, though time, as always, is fleeting for me. There is much to be done and little chance to grieve.
I beg you - Lily, James, Sirius - think on what I have said. Think very, very hard, and remember Fidelius.
Regards,
Albus Dumbledore"
James let the letter fall from his hands; they seemed to have become strangely stiff and unworkable. It caught flame before it reached the floor and smoldered angrily 'til only fine grey ashes remained. Fawkes studied these with a peculiar regret, spread his great red wings, and nodded at James. In a rush of warmth and light and lilting phoenix song, he was gone.
"Better dead," Sirius muttered, but his throat had constricted, and he found he could say nothing more.
James had his head in his hands.
"Alice was my best friend at Hogwarts," Lily whispered. Her bright viridian eyes had grown even brighter, but she comforted Harry and did not tremble. "James. Fidelius. What is it?"
"A charm," James answered. In an impossibly slow, interminable movement, he lifted his head. "We used it loads of times, the four of us. We'd leave the map out in the dormitory, in plain sight, and let Padfoot play secret-keeper."
"Sit down," said Lily calmly. "You're not making sense. Tell me what it does, how it works."
James sank obediently into the chair-couch beside Sirius, who watched the strength ebb gradually back into his friend's frame. His shoulders straightened; his jaw hardened and his bearing gained a new intensity. James had always been the most resilient of the four, in Quidditch and everything else.
"Fidelius," Prongs echoed now, his voice low. "It's a charm that allows concealment of an object. Its location is confided - " he indicated Padfoot, " – in a single person. No one else can see anything, anything at all. This is magic based on trust, which makes it very powerful. Spells are useless against the Fidelius charm. But if the secret-keeper divulges the location..."
"It is no longer a secret, and the magic dies," Lily said simply.
"Yeah," agreed Sirius. "We hid the Marauders' Map for three years that way. It didn't fail us even once."
"And this charm… is it strong enough to hide an entire house?" Lily asked. She seemed steady, as serene as could be expected, but abruptly something in her demeanor changed. She had seen a chance – for some kind of security, for a real home – and tasted hope.
Sirius and James glanced at each other, speaking without words the way only certain people can. Their friendship had been tested many times; it was proven true. They were like two fitted pieces of mahogany, and all their knots had long since smoothed away.
"It could," James said finally. "Padfoot will do it."
In answer, Sirius flicked his wrist and removed a wand from the inner reaches of his robe, looking uncannily like a Muggle magician as he did so.
"I know Voldemort has his ways, Lily," he said. "And I'm not Dumbledore. But I'd – I'd sooner die than betray any of you."
James drew his own wand and touched the tip against Padfoot's; there was a ring like tinkling glass, and then they were both suffused in a golden amber flare. Lily was quiet, watching, but she gathered Harry even closer to her body and murmured something that might have been a prayer.
Prongs spoke first, and somehow he managed to convey both reverence and assurance in his words: "I, James Potter, give the knowledge of this place to my chosen secret-keeper, Sirius Black."
"I, Sirius Black, accept the knowledge and seal it with my life."
"19 Lapidary Alley, Godric's Hollow," James recited, and locked eyes with Sirius, who smiled very slightly. The Marauders finished together in a single joined voice -
"Obfirmio Fidelius!"
The golden light wavered for a moment, rippling like the surface of a pond at sunset. It danced higher, brighter, stronger until every piece of furniture matched the ochroid wands; Padfoot's eyes were burning yellow. Lily and Harry embraced the aura in the same precise moment, and then there was a feeling – taut – stretched – as if every strand in a spider's web had been pulled to the tensest limit – and a sound like snapping wood. The light rushed back in on itself; it spun flaxen into the tall figures of Padfoot and Prongs, where it pulsed rhythmically for a few seconds before fading entirely.
"Done," panted James, his face white.
"And done," Sirius confirmed.