A Broken Promise
October 31, 1988
Sirius used to love the snow, everything about it. Loved how white and pristine everything was after that first snow fall, before anyone had had a chance to ruin it. Loved the odd way the snow reflected light so that the ground glowed as if it was itself a star. Everything was perfect when it snowed, everything serene. Even Grimauld Place had looked more like a home when it snowed.
October was early for snow; usually people were still walking about in their fall jackets, still able to ignore the icy wind that threatened to bring winter to them. But now there was no denying the cold. The snow had blanketed the ground, like a soft linen sheet that had fallen over Britain. It was everywhere: on the sidewalks, on the rooftops, in people's hair. Everyone kept their heads down as they walked, bracing themselves against the cold and wind and flakes that stuck to their eyelashes and coats, only to melt again in an instant. They grumbled to themselves, their eyes on the ground, about the weather, about how it was far too early to have to worry about winter robes and cloaks, it was only Halloween for God's sake.
Not Sirius. He had nothing to complain about, not the ice, not the wind, and most certainly not the snow. He kept his head high as he walked the streets, a haunting tune leaving his lips (as was only appropriate for All Hallows Eve), letting the snow pile around his collar and on the tips of his bangs, making it seem like his hair was made of hundreds of tiny icicles. Why should he be unhappy? As far as he knew things were going better for him than they had in months. No one he knew had died in over 5 weeks; more members were trickling into the Order with new information and were all eager to help the cause; and, most importantly, all of his closest friends were safe. Remus was living under the heavily guarded roof of Order Headquarters, while James and Lily were still living happily in their big white house on Something-or-other Street, their son Harry a few months over a year old. Sirius smiled at the thought. Peter, despite his usually cowardice, appeared to have taken his role as Secret Keeper very seriously, as no one had seen hide nor hair of him since August.
Sirius' gaze drifted up to the sky above him, specked with white. Three young girls passed him on the sidewalk, heads bowed against the icy wind. They were giggling and looking back at him with their big innocent eyes, their hair blowing in the wind. Sirius raised his hand and wiggled his fingers at them, letting out a bark of laughter. 'I still got it.' He thought merrily as he heard their sighs.
The Leaky Cauldron, now not more than a street away, appeared to be booming. Sirius could here shouts and laughter issuing from the door even from where he stood. Beer mugs were clanking and chairs were sliding noisily against the floor. He imagined that somewhere in the back there was a pretty woman, waiting for someone to join her in a Butterbeer. He chuckled, who was he kidding? The only woman that would be there was McGonagall, and she would hardly have time for his idle chatter. She would hand him Dumbledore's oh-so-important letter and be on her way, leaving him alone once again. He sighed, watching as his breath froze in front of him, and then was carried on the wind up to the sky and out of sight.
He made his way closer and the shouting got louder, the music more raucous, people on the street were glancing toward the doorway as they walked past.
Oh, The Leaky Cauldron was booming all right, but it quickly occurred to him that there was something wrong about the sound. As Sirius stood outside the door he could hear that it was not sounds of jolly Halloween-tide partying that were drifting out into the streets. Passersby were not glancing that way in innocent wonderment, but in confusion and worry. In fact the people inside the pub sounded downright hysterical. He could hear now that there was no music at all, just the sound of tens of people shouting in different tones. He hesitated, his hand on the door handle, listening for any snippet of conversation that he could get. Several men were yelling all at once, and every so often someone would shout something like, "I don't understand! What happened to them?" or, "He went there Himself? Where is he now?"
Sirius froze like that, arm outstretched, listening closely to the angry voices, but not daring to go inside. Mist stopped forming at his mouth as he forgot to breath, instead focusing all of his efforts on not panicking.
A familiar fear had taken over his body as he listened to the people's shouting, trying with all his might to understand what they were all talking about. But nothing was making sense, someone had died, that much was certain, but who? Did he know them? Were they important? He could feel his hand shaking on the door knob, making a horrible rattling noise that echoed inside his head like it was a dark cave.
When Sirius finally remembered to breath he had nearly fainted from lack of oxygen. The things around him kept fading in and out of focus, the noise from the pub sliding in and then away. Then he heard it, the word he had been praying not to hear, someone had shouted it: James.
Sirius flung the door open, slamming it on the inside wall loud enough to silence the entire pub. Everyone stared at him, many of them standing, mugs in hand, chests heaving up and down as they caught their breath. The woman at the bar was being comforted by a customer, but even she has stopped her sobbing and was now looking up at him, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
Then there was McGonagall, looking strange in the middle of it all, sitting with her hands clutching a sealed letter, hat perched perfectly on her head. She was the only one who seemed calm, the only one who didn't look like she'd been shouting a moment before. She looked at him with sad eyes, the corners of her mouth bent down slightly in an unhappy frown. She seemed unable to speak for several moments, then, finally she said, "Sirius, please, come sit down."
Sirius could feel himself shaking. But he nodded slowly and closed the door behind him, then went to sit in the chair she had indicated.
"So," he said quietly, "What's all the hubbub about Minerva?" He hoped he sounded cheerful.
"Sirius," said McGonagall slowly, carefully, pushing the letter toward him.
"No, don't," Sirius warned, "Don't call me that Minerva. You always call me that when something bad has happened."
"Sirius."
"No. You called me that when you found out I'd hung Snape from a tree. You called me that when you told me my brother was dead. Don't."
"Sirius… please."
Sirius fought to take in breath, slowly shaking his head, "Don't do this to me Minerva. Don't tell me something's gone wrong."
McGonagall picked up the letter and held it out to him. He took it but refused to open it. She looked at him for a long while, trying to get control of herself. She was taking deep breaths and clasping her hands together to keep them from shaking. Sirius could see her knuckles turn white as she squeezed them. All at once she brought her hands to her face and started sobbing.
"Oh Sirius," she cried, her voice weak against the force of her sobs. "I can't believe what's happened. I don't understand how it could have happened. Sirius, it's awful!" she leaned forward, her hands shaking over her mouth and eyes.
Sirius was mortified, too scared to move. Minerva had never lost it like this once since he'd known her. She'd never lost it at all. She was always composed and always in control, but not here. Here she was more like a small child in need of comfort. But he couldn't comfort her, he couldn't even breath. He didn't want to hear whatever horrible thing that was making this proud woman sob so openly. He wanted to get up and run for the door, out into the snow, where it was safe.
People around them were staring at McGonagall with pity in their eyes, but none of them moved to help her anymore than Sirius did. Everyone just sat there, waiting for her to say what they all already knew anyway, waiting for her to tell the poor soul sitting across from her, who had no idea.
"Minerva," Sirius said finally. He swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat, "Minerva what- what's happened? Is it- is it Peter? Is he missing or something? What?" McGonagall gestured toward the letter, shaking her head. Sirius nearly threw up, "Minerva, please. Please tell me it's not James."
"Sirius, just read the letter!" McGonagall cried, running her hands through her hair.
"No!" Sirius leaned forward and stared intently at her, "Minerva, god Minerva, please. Please tell me he's alright. Tell me nothing's happened to him!"
She looked up at him then, eyes wide with fear, and simply shook her head.
"DON'T LIE!" he screamed, pulling his wand out of his cloak and pointing it at her, his hand shook as he held it, the tip pointed at her face. Through the tears in his eyes Sirius could see that she was terrified, but all she could do was cry more than ever before.
"I wouldn't lie to you Sirius," she sobbed.
"NO!" He couldn't take it. His brain couldn't contain that kind of information. James Potter, dead? The thought of it kept slipping in and out of his mind, each time making him sway dangerously to one side or the other. He kept screaming at McGonagall that it wasn't true and that she shouldn't lie about those things. He kept shaking his wand in her face, hoping that maybe, out of fear, she would tell the truth.
But then there were people on him, arms grabbing him from all sides, forcing the wand out of his hands and pushing him to the ground. He fought them, kicking and biting them, telling them to let him go the slimy bastards, he had to get to James before it was too late. But they yelled over him, saying the most terrible things. James Potter was dead, they said, and there was nothing he could do to help him now. Some of them even knew his name and kept telling him that everything would be alright. But it wasn't going to be alright, Sirius knew that. It wasn't alright as long as James was lying out there alone, waiting for someone to take him out of the snow.
After a while Sirius was too weak to fight the hoard of people anymore and sunk down to the floor, laying his head on his knees. Tears were still pouring out of him and his shoulders shook with trying to control them. He heard the people cautiously backing away, still saying the horrible things about James. There were footsteps in front of him and suddenly everything was silent.
"I'm so sorry Sirius," McGonagall said, coming nearer to him and laying a shaking hand on his shoulder. "We honestly don't know what happened. You didn't tell anyone. You wouldn't, would you Sirius?"
Sirius remembered. He hadn't told anyone that Peter had become the Potters Secret Keeper; everyone still thought that he was. He looked up at McGonagall, eyes shifting uncertainly, at a complete loss for what to say.
"Would you Sirius?"
"N-no," he stuttered, "Never."
McGonagall frowned for only a second, uncertainty scrawled across her face, before she smiled a sad smile at him and nodded her head. "I know you wouldn't Sirius, I… I know you wouldn't."
She held him then, her thin arms wrapping around him and engulfing him in the folds of her robes. She told him over and over how sorry she was, how she knew what James meant to him. She tried so hard to comfort him. Sirius listened to what she said, but couldn't understand why she was saying it. It was James who had been killed, not him. Why was he the one being consoled? Why were all these people standing around him, staring with such pity in their eyes? He didn't want to be pitied, he didn't deserve it. It was James who ought to be pitied. It was Lily and Harry who ought to be consoled. He pulled away from McGonagall's embrace.
Lily and Harry.
"Minerva," he said, trying to ignore the miserable stares all around him, "What happened to Lily? Tell me what happened to Harry and Lily."
McGonagall couldn't look at him. Her tears traced rivers down the wrinkles in her face, her eyes were all red with crying, and she couldn't look at him. "It's- it's all in the Dumbledore's letter, Sirius. The letter will tell you-."
"No, I want you to tell me," Sirius took her by the shoulders and shook her, forcing her to meet his eyes, "I want to hear you say it, Minerva. What happened to Lily and Harry?"
"Lily… is gone," Minerva said, sinking to the floor as if all the strength had gone out of her with that sentence. "She died protecting her son."
Sirius choked back more tears that were swelling up behind his eyes. He forced himself not to think about it, forced himself to be angry instead of sad. "And Harry," he snapped, "what about Harry?"
"Oh Sirius, it's all very complicated."
Again he shook the old woman, the rage growing in him, masking the sorrow. "Goddammit, Minerva, just tell me what happened to my god son!"
The crowd began to step forward again, looking concerned more for McGonagall than for him now. One man put his hand on his shoulder. Sirius growled at him.
McGonagall used the interruption to wriggle free from his grasp, "Sirius," she pleaded, "Sirius, please calm down for just a moment. I know how hard this is, I know how you must be feeling…Harry is safe, Sirius. Dumbledore has sent Hagrid to take him from the house."
"He's alive?" Sirius' heart skipped a beat.
"By some miracle, yes. He'll be safe with Hagrid."
"Hagrid?" Sirius shook his head. Every feeling but anger was gone from him now. He was numb; whatever pain he was supposed to be feeling could be kept for later. "Why is Hagrid getting him? Why didn't Dumbledore send for me?"
"Because, Sirius, he knew you would be in no condition to go there now..."
"What?" Sirius pushed McGonagall away and stood up. She looked helpless as he stared down at her, like a giant looming over a child. His hands and his voice shook with rage as he told her, "He is my family, Minerva. You can tell Dumbledore that if anyone takes Harry from that house it's going to be me."
With that he turned around and left the bar, leaving McGonagall to call desperately after him before he disappeared into the snow.