Peter's flat was empty.
Not in the way Sirius had feared it would be empty when the door had gone unanswered. There was no corpse curled up in the scrupulously cleaned corners.
Just - empty. No sign of a fight. No note.
They had agreed this wouldn't happen. Peter was the Secret Keeper. It was too dangerous for this to happen.
The molten lead that had settled into Sirius' chest boiled over into his veins, stoking him into hot recklessness.
The last time he'd felt like this, he'd dared Snape to look under the Whomping Willow.
He ran for the bike.
James. Lily. Harry -
He slammed on the gas and punched the button that sent it shooting into the air.
If Wormtail had betrayed them -
Sirius growled and pushed the bike faster.
By the time he reached Godric's Hollow, the bike was shuddering with effort, and he was heartily wishing the old magic of the town didn't make it almost impossible to apparated there at this time of year.
He forced the bike to go just a little bit faster. It shook.
And dropped through the air.
He yelled as it plunged downward toward the street. The night might hide it from view for a moment, but the Muggles were sure to see it when it landed.
The street rose up to meet him. Costumed children stopped and looked up.
"Out of the way!" he roared.
Most scattered. The bike gave one last lurch.
And landed with a sickening thud and a faint crunch.
Sirius leaned over and swallowed hard.
Someone in a dark cloak was under the bike. The dark liquid seeping into the pavement was not encouraging.
He half-fell off the bike and shoved it off the victim. A wand was jolted free of the owner's hand and went rolling down the street.
An unnaturally pale hand. A hand that belonged to a man whom people got out of the way of, not the other way around.
A noseless face was lifeless against the street.
He had crash landed on Voldemort.
Sirius stared uncomprehendingly at the corpse.
James was never going to let him hear the end of this.
A/N: For prompt number seventeen, "Crashed."