After the rain had stopped, the sun shone hazily over London.
The people in the long robes folded their umbrellas, carrying them at their sides. Feet splashed, little children were swung over the puddles in the street. Gleaming mist slowly dried away by the gentle light of an afternoon sun.
His feet were hard against the cobblestones. So many people, so little time. So many memories, so little time. So many helpless hours spent worrying. So many tears, and so much love.
Eyes falling on his reflection in a puddle, he quickly turned away. A grim, tired looking man stared back at him, a man who's clouded blue eyes looked black, who's black hair was long and uncombed. A very different man than he knew himself to be.
Suddenly, a rather large woman in faded red robes, her face covered in wrinkles of happiness, came up and hugged him around the waist.
"Why the long face? He who must not be named is dead! Celebrate!" she yelled, and ran along.
He sighed.
One of many.
One of many.
One of many.
He was different. Why couldn't he be happy, for crying out loud? No more
deaths! No more terror!
They shouldn't have had to pay the price. They died with honor. They sacrificed themselves, for their son, for the world.
I paid for it too, so that people like that woman could be happy. That was what we'd wanted all along, what we'd known. That it was very likely we would die. We wanted to die like James and Lily!
But it was more than that, wasn't it?
It was Peter. It was Peter, the shrinking, sodding bastard of a traitor. All these years.
It was the fact that only he knew – he was not the secret keeper, the traitor.
It was Remus. God, it was Remus. It was those red circles, that he refused to talk about. It was the pain in his eyes, that pain that he couldn't stand. It was when he turned away. When he turned away. That pain, that hurt, was all his fault, all his goddamn failing fault.
Someday I'll make it up to you, beautiful.
He bumped into a young couple. But instead of telling him "sorry," or even to watch where he was going, they just gave him these huge grins.
At the corner with the sign that said Carpe Diem in faded gold letters, he saw him.
A chubby looking fellow, with bits of blond hair sticking out from under a cloak. Obviously, he was trying to look inconspicuous – bending over slightly, leaning on the signpost – but Sirius would recognize those darting, sky blue eyes anywhere.
Sirius jumped for a second, but after realizing what he was seeing, fury overwhelmed his shock.
"PETTIGREW!" he screamed.
The blond man stared at him. His eyes opened wide.
"PETTIGREW! GET OVER HERE!" he yelled again. "You fucking bastard, get the hell over here!"
Pettigrew turned and ran into he crowd, ignoring Sirius.
Sirius cursed again and ran after him. The sign that said Carpe Diem shook as he passed it.
The two men fought to make it through the crowd, though Sirius was quicker. Faces whirled, confused eyes, the horizon tipping, his feet working not to trip, voices, his own voice, screaming at the man in the cloak, who he never took his eyes off of.
Suddenly, Peter ran out into a clear street. He looked around him, but before he could decide upon a way to go, Sirius was upon him.
He collared the shorter man, pressing his wand into his neck. "WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU THINKING? WHAT DID YOU DO? WHAT DID YOU DAMN DO? WE TRUSTED YOU, PETER! LILY AND JAMES, YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU KILLED THEM!"
The blond struggled against him, whimpering. "Sirius…calm down…Sirius…Padfoot…" A crowd had gathered around them.
"DON'T YOU FUCKIN CALL ME THAT! YOU'RE NOT A MARAUDER ANYMORE, PETTIGREW!"
Peter gasped for air. "Sirius…is you don't calm down…I'll have to…" he glanced at the crowd.
Sirius laughed painfully. "Do WHAT, Peter? Do what? Your fucking friend is fallen because of you! Voldemort can't help you!"
Suddenly, the chubby man twisted out of his grip, staring at him wide eyed. "SIRIUS! LILY AND JAMES, OH SIRIUS, HOW COULD YOU?"
"What…" hissed Sirius. His wand was still pointed at Pettigrew.
"YOU KILLED THEM! SEE," he pointed to the animagus, "THIS MAN KILLED LILY AND JAMES POTTER! NOW HE'LL KILL ME! HELP ME!"
An outcry from the crowd covered Sirius' protests.
Suddenly, Sirius realized that Peter had his hand in his wand pocket, and was slipping something out, behind his back. One was his wand, and the other glinted in the sunlight for a second. Sirius still had his wand pointed at Peter's chest.
He realized one second too late what was about to happen. What had been about to happen from the moment he saw Peter. What had been set up. The bait and the trapper were one and the same, and this was the trap.
"NO….PETER…"
A sudden blast deafened him.
At that moment, Peter Pettigrew cut off his finger, transformed into a rat at the precise moment, and blew up the street, killing twelve people.
Sirius kneeled in a street covered in debris. People were crying in agony, but he couldn't hear them. He was covered in blood, who's, he wasn't sure.
The sunny sky shined down on London.
Remus… his feeble mind whispered.
Black covered his eyes, and as aurors in blue robes surrounded him, he fell back, in uncontrollable hysterics. This was death.
Remus.
Two young men lay in bed, naked, asleep.
Rain drizzled outside.
"I'm sorry," whispered the black-haired boy, trying not to think about those golden eyes crying.
The tawny-haired boy fingered the buttons on his shirt and started taking off his tie, smiling into his lips. "There's nothing to be sorry about, Padfoot."
Sirius slid his lips down Remus' jaw line, nuzzling into his neck. Remus moaned, throwing away the tie.
"Moony…" Sirius whispered.