Disclaimer: Pfft, that's a good one!
Summary: Long Oneshot. Follows Sirius on the night Lily and James die. Very, very slight DH spoilers.
Warning: At one point there is a tiny amount of fairly violent swearing, because honestly, what do you think would have been going through Sirius's mind. "Oh dearie me, how frightful!" Come on.
Author's note: This is just an idea I've been kicking around for a while, have mostly written in my head, and decided to try putting down onto paper… you know, figuratively. It's my first fanfic, but I won't do the whole, "please be nice to me" thing. If it sucks, tell me. If it doesn't, then tell me even more!
Sirius frowned slightly as he waited for a response to his knock. What was Peter doing, it shouldn't be taking so long to answer the door? Sirius knocked again, more insistently. Even Peter wouldn't have been thick enough to go out, would he? Not now that everything depended on him staying safe.
He glanced around at the deserted London street, looking for anything remotely suspicious. The muggles wouldn't be able to see him here, nor the door to the flat that he was repeatedly pounding on, but Sirius half expected to see Death Eaters begin materializing around him.
Sirius tried the doorknob, not expecting it to be unlocked. To his surprise, and slight concern, it turned easily and the door swung open. God, how careless could he be?
"Peter?" Sirius called softly, stepping into the darkened front hall the small flat. "Oi, Wormtail, you here, Mate?"
There was no response. Feeling definitely apprehensive, Sirius lit his wand and raised it, scanning the surrounding rooms for any sign that something wasn't as it should be. Everything was normal. Too normal.
"Peter?" Sirius called loudly now, beginning to stride into each of the rooms. Sitting room, all normal: kitchen, nothing disturbed (not that Peter could cook for himself anyway). Then the bedroom. Peter's bed was made. Peter's bed was never made. Something felt not right about the whole situation.
Sirius jogged back out of the flat, and it silently disappeared behind him as he pulled his motorcycle back upright and straddled it. Sirius kicked it into life and rose quickly into the air. Should he go directly to Godric's Hollow, or go to Dumbledore? He settled on Godric's Hollow. It might, after all, be nothing. It could just be that Peter had gone out or something. Maybe Moony had stopped by…but no, Moony was on a mission for the Order. It was probably nothing…it had to be nothing. That didn't stop Sirius's stomach from churning with fear as he urged his bike to go faster, flying towards his best friend.
It was all Sirius could do to land the bike, as he stared, shaking and horrified at the ruins of the small cottage. For long moments, his brain couldn't process the image. The house…the ruins…half of the top floor blown open…no stir of motion, no people clustered around yet. No James. No Lily.
Sirius didn't even get off the motorcycle, just sat staring at the ruined cottage, not able to accept it, not willing to accept it. It occurred to him that he should investigate, see what, if any, evidence there was of what had happened. But the evidence was right there. It was obvious. And to investigate meant to see the truth for his own eyes, the truth he wouldn't accept. That James and Lily were…were… And Harry. Little Harry, his Godson, only a few months past his first birthday.
Suddenly there was motion from behind the ruin of the house. Instinctively, Sirius pulled out his wand, pointing it at the shape that slowly emerged from around the house. It was large. Large, and very familiar, and making soft hushing noises to the bundle in its arms.
Before Sirius could do anything, though, the person seemed to realize there was somebody watching, and suddenly straightened, tightening his grip protectively on the thing he carried.
"Who's there?" he called gruffly, peering into the darkness. "Who is tha'?"
"H-Hagrid?" Sirius called back. "It's me…Sirius". He lit his wand so that Hagrid could see where he was.
"Sirius!" Hagrid said, his relief evident in his voice. "Thought you mighta' been somebody else."
"Wha – what… what happened, Hagrid?" Sirius asked shakily, unable to tear his gaze away from the image of destruction before him.
"What happened!" Hagrid rumbled. "Bloody You-Know-Who happened, didn' 'e?" Through the anger in Hadrid's thunderous voice, there was an unmistakable hint of tears. "He showed up, and…and…" Hagrid broke off, unable to complete the sentence.
"They're…they're all…?" Sirius, too, was unable to say the words out loud.
"No," said, Hagrid suddenly soft. "I've got 'Arry, I've got him here," he said, indicating the bundle in his arms.
"Harry," Sirius breathed, looking into the tiny face. The boy was awake, whimpering fretfully.
"Hush, it's alrigh'," Hagrid murmured to him, rocking his arms slightly.
Sirius just looked back at the house.
"But James…Lily…" he breathed, the tightness in his chest so great that he thought he must suffocate. "How…how did he… this isn't…"
Hagrid gently moved Harry so that he could cradle him in one arm, the other he moved to grip Sirius gently in the shoulder.
"They di…they died to save 'Arry," Hagrid told Sirius consolingly. "They died as 'eroes, as they would have wanted to." At this, Hagrid's voice broke, and he sniffed loudly, unable to go on.
Sirius wasn't listening. He wasn't sure that he could have been aware of anything at the moment, anything other than the fact that his best friend, the man he had shared everything with, the man who had been more of a brother to him than his real brother, was gone, murdered…murdered because he had been betrayed.
James was dead. And Lily was dead. Killed by Voldemort. And Harry…Harry was alive.
"What happened?" Sirius repeated, realizing there was so much he should be curious about, but unable to summon any real interest in it. In anything.
" I dunno," Hagrid said, wonderingly. "Even Dumbledore doesn't really know. But You-Know-Who…he's…gone! He's gone, and Harry's alive!" Hagrid's voice contained equal parts amazement and confusion.
Harry was alive. James's son. James had been so excited. In his head, Sirius saw the picture that Lily had sent him a few months ago, Harry on the toy broomstick, James chasing him, and Lily laughing in the back.
"Give him to me, Hagrid," Sirius said suddenly, reaching his arms out to take the tiny bundle. "I'm his Godfather. James would have wanted me to."
But Hagrid, instead of giving the baby to Sirius, drew back slightly, pulling Harry closer to his huge chest.
"Sorry, Sirius, but I can't," he said, sounding honestly sympathetic. "Dumbledore's orders. I'm to take Harry to his Aunt and Uncle's place. Dumbledore says he'll be safe there."
Of course. Of course. Bloody Hell. Jesus fucking bloody Christ. Dumbledore didn't know. Remus didn't know. Nobody knew. Only four people had known, two of them were now dead, and the third wasn't about to go advertising it. Well, that just meant Sirius had a shorter time frame to accomplish what he needed to get done.
"I understand," Sirius said mechanically. He looked up at Hagrid, then down at Harry. "You can take my motorcycle, Hagrid. It'll make it easier for you to get Harry to safety."
"Wha'?" Hagrid said in surprise. "Take yer bike?"
"Yeah, I won't need it," Sirius replied. He wouldn't need it. It would just slow him down. "Just…can I say…can I say good-bye to him?" This last connection to James, and to Lily. More precious than anything.
Hagrid wouldn't relinquish his grip in Harry, but leaned forward so that Sirius could see into the small cocoon of blankets. He gently pushed them down so that he could see the boy's face. Lily's bright green eyes stared solemnly back up at him, the small face topped by James's untidy black hair.
"Harry," Sirius whispered, and found that he couldn't go on. His voice caught in his throat, the suffocating tightness back in his chest, and a new emotion beginning to force it's way through his icy disbelief. Utter, implacable, undeniable rage.
"I should go," Hagrid said, pulling Harry back, and climbing onto the bike. Sirius nodded, face blank, but mind working furiously.
Hagrid stopped in the motion of kicking the bike into life and looked back into Sirius's face.
"It weren't yer fault," he said gently, his eyes kind. "It weren't anybody's fault, except bloody You-Know-Who's, and he's finally got what been comin' to 'im."
Sirius nodded again, and watched as the bike rose into the air, carrying Harry away, until it became just a spec in the dark sky, and then disappeared. Sirius stood there, as the roar died away.
Hagrid was wrong. It was somebody's fault. Hate, hate such as Sirius had never known, never felt, far surpassing the mild dislike he had for his family, rose in him as stood there. James, James his best friend, his partner in crime, who had always stood by him, had taken him in when he left home, his brother; and Lily, who he come to love like a sister; and Harry, now to be raised by muggles, who would never know his parents. And it was somebody's fault.
Icy resolution filled Sirius, and he turned on the spot, not knowing where he was going, but knowing, somehow, that he was going to exactly where he wanted to be.
He reappeared in the middle of a street. What? What the hell was he doing here, on a muggle street in the middle of London? Early morning workers hurried by on either side of him, looking grumpy and frazzled. Sirius looked around, his certainty that his anger would take him to wherever He was fading slightly as he examined the street.
But no. There was a short, familiar figure, hurrying around a corner, onto a different street, on slightly smaller than the one he was on. Sirius ran to follow him, and gradually his friend came into clear view, looking very small and scared. The traitor had not seen him yet. Sirius ran so that he was only about ten feet behind the man who was scurrying along, glancing compulsively left and right.
"PETER!" Sirius thundered, and with a start that brought his feet of the ground, Pettigrew spun to face this new danger.
"S-Sirius," he squeaked, looking positively faint with horror at the sight of one of his three best friends.
"You…you," Sirius was unable to articulate anything; nothing could be said that encompassed the enormity of Peter's crime.
But suddenly Peter's expression changed from one of sheer terror to one that Sirius did not at all like to see.
"Lily and James, Sirius!" Pettigrew cried, his voice full of theatrical tears. "Lily and James, how could you?" His voice was attracting the attention of the surrounding muggles, and Sirius realized at once what Peter was doing. His eyes widened. Had Peter, for once in his life, had what might just be a good idea?
"You traitor…you traitor," yelled Pettigrew, and Sirius saw, too late, the real traitor drawing his wand behind his back.
"NO!" Sirius shouted, but before he could do anything else, the street behind Peter exploded, sending pieces of concrete flying in all directions, and knocking Sirius to the ground. Muggles were screaming, in pain, in fear, but Sirius did not hear that, did not hear anything, did not see anything, but Pettigrew. Raising his wand in his shaking left hand, pointing at the middle finger of his own right hand. The scream of pain that Sirius did not hear, as that finger was severed, dropping to the ground, blood spraying over Peter's robes.
Sirius lunged, but it was too late. The robes fell to the ground, empty, and Sirius saw only the long, bald tail disappearing through the sleeve of one as one more rat joined those swarming up out of the destroyed street.
And suddenly there were wizards appearing every which way, some running to the mouth of the street to discourage more muggles from joining the commotion, some moving to placate, aid, or obliviate those muggles who were already in the street. But most of them, it seemed, far too many of them, had run to point there wands directly at Sirius.
And now the sound turned back on, the confused blurs became clear. There were bodies littered everywhere, screaming muggles.
"Don't you move," he heard a voice shout at him. "Don't move or we aim to kill!" Sirius didn't move; not power on earth could have made him move. He felt rough hands searching his pockets, taking out his wand. He saw the wizards talking to each other, but never taking their eyes, or their wands, off of him.
And then, to his own surprise, he started laughing. Where the wild laughter was coming from, he had no idea. His best friend was dead, who knew how many muggles were dead, he was blamed for it, and the real culprit was practically impossible to find. The ministry wizards suddenly looked fearful, watching him in confused apprehension.
But still he laughed. He laughed, because what else was there to do?
A. N: Wow, that was harder than I though it was gonna be! I have new respect for fanfic writers. And I suddenly understand the previously scoffed at pleas for reviews. Tell me if it was crap. Tell me if it wasn't. Tell me if I'm a delusional moron. Hell, just let me know you actually read it!