Warnings: sex, canon-compliant character deaths, AU ending, language
Author's Notes: Written for rsbigbang. A huge thank-you to my beta, L, for going over this fic multiple times and for talking me off the metaphorical ledge during the writing process.


In the dim lighting of this dingy pub, Sirius traces "RJL" with his finger against the crumb-laden table in their corner booth. It's ironic how, in the wake of distancing himself entirely from Remus to make things easier on them both, he can't get Remus out of his mind. It's been two bloody months since he's seen his former lover's face, and the only reason he's not gone mad from it is because he's hardly had a moment's peace; the Death Eaters have stepped up their game considerably recently.

It's the sight of a coin being pushed towards him that breaks Sirius' reverie, his finger halting on the loop of the "J". He glances up to Peter, sitting across from him with a lopsided grin on his face.

"Sickle," Peter explains. "For your thoughts."

"It's nothing, mate," Sirius replies, picking up his beer bottle and taking a long drink.

Peter shakes his head. "You're a really dreadful liar, you know that? So the way I see it, you have two options: tell me what's on your mind now or I'll buy you drinks until I can force it out of you."

"Drinks sound tempting. But really, not in the mood to talk about it, Pete."

"It's about Remus, isn't it?"

Sirius looks up from the bottle between his hands. Peter's giving him that knowing expression—eyes narrowed and lips quirked. As much as he doesn't think he'll be able to get out of this one, Sirius tries it all the same.

"No, it has nothing to do with him."

Peter frowns. "You're sure? I was over at his flat the other day, and he seemed dejected."

"Yeah?" Sirius shrugs.

"Well if it's not about Remus, then it has to be about tomorrow night."

Yeah, tomorrow night—the other cause for Sirius' fierce yearning to get completely shite-faced. He's known about tomorrow for weeks, but it hasn't become any easier to accept the fact that they're actually going to do it—the Fidelius Charm.

Sirius had never wanted it to come to this; it shouldn't have. He should have been more careful, should have been around to protect the Potters more often than he was. Maybe then they wouldn't have had to go into hiding.

He tries to tell himself that it's not permanent. No, surely by next summer they'll be able to throw Harry a proper birthday, invite whoever they like without fear of spies or Death Eater attacks. James and Lily and Harry will be safe; he will see them again. Everything will be alright.

"Are you sure you can handle this, Wormtail?"

"For the thousandth time, yes. Do you think I'm incapable of keeping a secret?" Peter asks, his voice low.

"No, it's not that, mate. Sorry."

And it really isn't. Sirius knows he can trust Peter because Peter is one of them, one of the Marauders. He's kept Remus' secret safe for all these years, after all. A lot of people have judged him incapable of all sorts of things, but Sirius has never doubted Peter's ability in anything—well, except for Potions, maybe. No, Peter will come through for them like he always has, and when the war is over, things will just go back to normal.

Sirius is sure of it.

.

.

At 8:43 on Halloween, a glass slips from between his fingers, shattering on the kitchen floor. His heart plummets for reasons he doesn't understand, and Sirius fights to shake off the confusion. What in the bloody hell was that awful feeling just then?

He tells himself that it was nothing, that the paranoia of this whole Secret Keeper thing has set his nerves on edge. Yet almost in a daze, he kneels to the floor and begins to pick up the pieces of glass. As he stands to throw them in the bin, Sirius waits for his heart to start beating properly again, for the queasiness to stop churning in his stomach. But it doesn't, and Sirius begins to grow on edge.

In wondering what could have brought on this edginess, his first thought is James. Something's happened. Something's happened, and it's all his fault. But then he reminds himself that this is James. James who duels like a champion. James who would fight on out of shear principle. James would never allow himself…

He wouldn't.

Yet Sirius jogs into his bedroom to fetch the two-way mirror just to be sure. He scrambles for it where it lays on in bedside table and holds it closely to his face.

"Prongs?"

The reflective surface dissipates at the sound of his voice, the image of what looks to be the ceiling of James and Lily's bedroom appearing where James' face ought to be. At that moment, Sirius could kill him for leaving the mirror upstairs. They have a Promise, and you don't break a Marauder Promise. James was supposed to have the damn thing on him all the time.

"James!" he shouts, his hands beginning to shake. "Bloody hell, answer me!"

Sirius waits for what feels like an eternity, his legs frozen in place. He tries not to think of the worst because Peter isn't capable of that. The Potters are safe. Of course they are. They're downstairs listening to the wireless, playing with the baby. And he'll just Apparate over. And he'll find them there. And they'll fucking laugh because he's being such a worrier. And—

And he hears the screams of a baby over the mirror.

Harry.

.

.

Sirius will never remember how he does it, how he manages to Apparate without splinching himself into quarters. The important thing, though, is that he does.

He finds himself in the Potters' bedroom of all places, notices immediately his mirror's twin laying on Lily's vanity along with perfumes and powders and what looks to be a sexy nightgown draped over the chair. There's something unbelievably eerie about the house, something distinctly off.

It's only then that Sirius properly hears his godson's screams, as if he'd somehow been deafened in his fear. Weak legs carry him into the corridor, his hand on the wall to help support himself, down past the bath and into Harry's nursery. As he rounds the corner to take Harry into his arms, he jumps back.

Grey eyes fall on Lily's face, her body laying broken on the floor as if she is a ragdoll. He blinks rapidly, confused by the sight. Why isn't she moving? Why isn't she smiling? Laughing? Where is the, what are you doing here, silly? I'm just putting the baby down for bed?

"Red?"

A pause.

"Lily-love?"

And he feels the bile rising in his throat.

"Evans?"

Sirius can't hold back anymore and vomits next to the doorway. Before he knows it, he can't see, his vision clouded by tears he doesn't know how to cry in his shock. Who would…why would…? How can she be…

No, she isn't.

She fucking isn't.

She wouldn't…

Lily wouldn't leave her baby.

She's just been stunned. Yes, just stunned, he tells himself. And everything is going to be alright.

In an almost shuffle, he drags himself into the nursery, and Harry's screams have fallen into sniffles at the sight of him. Sirius drops to the floor next to Lily, gathers her in his arms.

And she's still warm. Yet, somehow unbearably cold in the same moment. Her limp frame shifts against him without resistance, her head resting against his chest, eyes staring lifelessly at his face. And suddenly, he knows and struggles with accepting it.

I'm thinking about asking James to marry me, but I wanted your consent first, Padfoot. So what do you say?

Gently, he wipes the strands of her hair from her face, tries to force the locks into some semblance of neatness—some semblance of Lily. But no matter what he does, he can't get her to look right. His cries wrack him harder, his deep breaths not enough to fill his lungs, his nose runs with wetness.

When I said we were having a baby, I meant it. The five of us. Me, James, you, Remus, Peter. It's going to take a bloody village to keep James' child in line."

And he's kissing her forehead over and over and over again, resting his cheek there and clinging to her as if he were a child.

We want you to be Harry's godfather. If anything happens to us, you have to promise us that you'll raise him as your own, Padfoot. Love him and spoil him like we would.

With shaking fingers, he closes her eyes. She looks like she could be sleeping, so peaceful and beautiful and alive even now. Gently, he lays her down, mindful of her head. He brings his lips to her cheek in a daze before whispering,

"I love you, Red."

And then, as if he's been burned, he recoils from her—from what's left of her—and falls backwards against the cot. He uses the side to haul himself to his feet. Harry's tiny hands begin to grasp desperately at him, and Sirius picks him up, holding Harry to his chest—though he doesn't know where he gets the strength.

Harry's sobs and screams renew—cries for his mum and eventually for his dad—as Sirius stumbles with him out of the nursery. Sirius tries to push Harry's face against his shoulder to prevent his godson to have to stare at his mother's dead body any longer. And he's probably being too rough, feeling Harry struggle against him. If he were in his right mind, he would do something about that—loosen his hold or readjust Harry—but Sirius doesn't know what to think, only that he needs to act.

"Daddy!" Harry shrieks, as if in pain.

The thought finally occurs to Sirius that he hasn't found James upstairs, and it's as if someone has jammed a knife in his throat. He falls against the wall from the shock of it, Harry's head—cradled by his hand—making contact with the hard surface. His godson's screams are heart-wrenching, and yet he's barely moved by them.

James.

Where is James?

He thinks to call out for him, but his throat is so dry and tongue so heavy. But if James isn't upstairs then maybe he…

"J-James?" he says, hoarsely. "Jamie?"

Sirius calls out for him over and over again, his words echoed by Harry. They walk down the corridor, voices growing louder and more hysterical. But Sirius goes no further than the stairs. He doesn't want to acknowledge the chances of James' survival, doesn't want to walk down the stairs to find out the truth that he already knows in his heart.

If Lily's dead…if the Death Eaters made it this far, then James has been long gone. He would have given his life to buy Lily time to get to the nursery.

It's for that reason that Sirius doesn't dare continue his search. There are no survivors down there. And oh, a part of him wants to see it for himself, wants to find James. But if he goes looking, if he finds what he knows he's going to find, then he'll never be able to leave James. Not like that. Never like that.

Sirius chokes a sob into Harry's hair, his shoulders jerking with every cry. He fights to reclaim himself, but it seems as if he's going to die right here with his friends. It's like he's been gutted and hollowed, and Sirius knows he needs to get out of here, to take Harry and get as far away from his place as possible.

But he can't. His magic, uncontrollable in this mad sort of grief, begins to crackle in the air. The lights flicker, scaring Harry all the more, but Sirius can't make it stop. He's worthless; he's let this happen. James and Lily are…not here…because of his failings. If only he'd been stronger, been smarter. But now, Sirius realizes the depths of his weakness and wants nothing more than to let go.

As he slips down the wall into a crumpled pile on the floor—Harry squirming and crying against him—he wonders why this happened. To Lily. To James. To all of them. Moony would tell him some rubbish about Muggle God, how He gives and takes. And, in that moment, Sirius hates him for it—for words that he has never even voiced, but still.

Hates him and yearns to rail at him, to tell him what an idiot he is for believing in all that shite. And he wants to say, don't you understand? This is why I can't bring myself to love you. Because of reasons like this. It's dangerous to love. Foolish and worthless and look what it's done to him now—

And before Sirius even realizes he's focusing all his attention on Remus, Sirius has Apparated himself and Harry with a pop!.

.

.

His vision blurs when his feet meet the floor, legs giving out on him suddenly. Sirius falls to his knees with Harry still in his arms, and his stomach is suddenly sick again. He feels the burning of his left thigh—unnatural and dizzying. Just as the idea of having splinched himself enters his mind, the thought leaves quickly with the sound of footsteps.

"Sirius!"

He hears the panic in Remus' tone but his focus swims at the steadily quickening stabs sinking into his flesh. Harry fights free of his loose grip, his whimpers and anguished squeals echoing through Sirius' head. And Sirius feels Remus' hands on his shoulders, on his face, pushing hair out of his eyes, yet it takes so long to register.

Shock, he thinks, but he can't manage to move his hand to feel at his leg.

"What's happened?" Remus begs, giving him a firm shake. "Sirius, please!"

The movement jolts him briefly from his stupor, and Sirius sees Remus kneeling next to him, Harry held to his chest. He knows how to answer that question, but his tongue struggles to shape to the words themselves. Finally, he feels the wetness collecting in his eyes again, sees it form in Remus' own, and Sirius knows that he knows.

"H-how?" Remus asks.

"Peter," he whispers. "The traitor. We switched…I…"

As if reinvigorated by the thought of Peter's betrayal, Sirius fights to get to his feet. He false starts, landing promptly on his arse, and then tries again to lift himself using the sofa for support. However, Remus stops him before he can make any more progress towards his wand that lies discarded on the floor.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going to…find him," he says, through gritted teeth. "Then…I'm going to kill…him."

Because, for the first time, Sirius has enough clarity of mind to have the ability to direct his anger and pain and sadness towards someone.Peter gave them up. Peter made Harry an orphan. Peter is just as responsible for this as he is.

"No, you're not. You'll splinch yourself in two before you even manage to get to him."

"I'm going, Moony." He takes a deep breath, struggling to stand once more. "Take care of Harry."

"You're not leaving this flat."

Avoiding the command altogether, Sirius limps towards his dropped wand, a shock of mind-numbing pain racing through him with even the slightest amount of pressure on his wounded leg. He manages a few steps before Remus has him by the arm, turning him.

Sirius is crushed by the weakness in Remus' eyes, the way he looks so vulnerable. And if he even felt a little less devotion to James, Sirius may have willingly given in to Remus' request.

But he can't. Because Peter broke the rules, betrayed them all and made them point fingers at one another. Sirius can never forgive him for that, nor can he ever forgive himself. Peter has to pay for what he's done.

"They'll kill you. You won't even stand a chance, Sirius."

"I know."

And he does. It's always the survivors that have it the toughest. And while he may be brave, Sirius isn't sure he has the courage to face a world without James, a world where friends sell each other out. Nor does he feel he has a right to be here when he's failed so miserably at the promise he made to protect them no matter the cost. He should die along with Peter for his misjudgment, for his lack of insight. He doesn't deserve to live if Lily and James can't.

It's with that thought that Sirius slips his hand against Remus' cheek, thumbing his cheekbone. In this final moment—their last moment together—Sirius wants Remus to know. And their life together flashes before his eyes—snogs and embraces and laughter and tears. He thinks they could have been happy, if he had been a better man. He thinks that so many things could have been different if he'd only been stronger.

"I love you," he whispers. "That's why I left in the first place. I loved you so much it scared the hell out of me."

Remus recoils as if he's been slapped, eyes wide before softening. And Sirius stares at him intensely, burns his image into his mind, on his heart with all the hurt and the regret.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Eyes wet, Remus shakes his head, as if in disbelief. "We would have been fine, if you'd just given it a chance."

"Maybe," he mutters, avoiding Remus' eyes altogether for fear that he's responsible for some of those tears. "But we're out of chances now."

"Only because you're choosing to leave me. Just stay."

"I need to see that Peter gets what he has coming."

Sirius' concentration begins to wane, adrenaline fueled determination having briefly alleviated some of his pain. Slowly, he bends to take his wand into hand, trying to focus on Peter's flat with all he can muster. However, it's a whimpered, "Pafoo" that breaks his thoughts.

He watches his godson reach for him from Remus' arms, hears his tiny cries and feels his own heart shatter. Harry needs him. He'd promised James that if anything were to happen to him and Lily, he would look after Harry like he was his own. So many promises had been broken tonight, and yet this promise—the one Sirius vowed to uphold no matter what—seems suddenly impossible to break.

This is perhaps more important than revenge upon Peter, upon himself. This little boy, with his mother's eyes and father's hair and beautiful smile and contagious laugh, might be more important than anything. And Sirius is torn. What should he do? Which promise is more important—the one to protect Harry or the one to see justice through no matter what?

"They won't let me keep him. I'm a Dark Creature," Remus says. "If you leave us, the Ministry will take him from me. God knows where he'll end up, Sirius."

Sirius' lip quivers at the mere thought—no, he won't let Harry lose anymore than he already has tonight—and Sirius sinks to the floor, back against the wall. As Remus puts Harry down, Harry immediately curls up against Sirius' chest, hiccupped cries now muffled. Placing his hand on Harry's back, Sirius rubs soothing circles there before pulling Harry tightly against him.

On the floor next to him, Remus sits. "I'll help you in any way I can."

"Moony…"

"You're hurt. Harry is bleeding. Stay, and let me take care of you both."

Exhausted and grieving, Sirius finally nods the acquiescence of his defeat. He can't leave Harry behind, can't risk him. Only he can keep his godson safe, raise him how Lily and James would want him to be raised. He doesn't trust the Ministry or Dumbledore or anyone for that matter. Just himself. And Moony.

.

.

It's half midnight as Sirius lies awake in Remus' bed, Harry tucked against his side. His leg still aches but is much improved under Remus' careful ministrations, though he would still worry about his ability to duel if Death Eaters came calling tonight. Remus also saw to the cut on Harry's forehead, the spot now covered with a bandage. Remus says he'll have a scar, and Sirius blames himself for that, too.

And it's amazing, how his mind can wander such distances when he's so weary. His eyes have threatened to close several times now, but he waits for Remus to return from contacting the Order. He can't sleep until he knows what's going on, knows that they're safe.

He doesn't have to wait long—and in the mean time has taken to watching his godson sleep—until Remus slips into the bedroom. During the walk towards the bed, he sheds his clothes and gathers up his pajamas in an all too familiar routine. Sirius waits in silence, eager for even a morsel of news.

Remus gets into bed—Harry between them—and stares at Sirius in a way that Sirius knows to mean bad news. He tenses at the thought of it, closes his eyes tightly, and feels Remus' hand close over his own that rests on Harry's back.

"Frank and Alice are gone. Tortured into madness, I'm told," Remus says slowly, evenly. "Neville's alright and with his grandmother right now."

"Who?" he asks, hoarsely.

"Sirius, it's not important—"

"Tell me."

"Your cousin and the Lestranges."

"God damn it," he hisses.

"I've contacted Dumbledore, told him everything. The Order is on the hunt for Wormtail."

Sirius looks at Remus. "Are the wards up on the flat?"

"Yes, of course."

"The good ones?"

Remus nods. "The best of everything I could think of. The ones sealed in blood magic. I've redone the enchantments so only I can Apparate in or out, no longer the five of us. It's a risk if anything should go wrong, but I think we're safe for tonight."

Sirius slips his hand into Remus'. "We'll adjust them tomorrow, first thing."

"Naturally. Now you need to get some rest, Padfoot. You're no good to anyone exhausted."

He knows that and wonders if he'll ever see sleep tonight all the same. There are so many questions left unanswered—most importantly, is Voldemort still out there? He's never feared Voldemort more than he does now, and Sirius wonders if it has to do with the new found responsibility of parenthood. He can't let Lily and James down. He won't.

Now that the grief has dulled and the adrenaline quelled, Sirius no longer suffers from a want of death. Because, as he thinks about it again, maybe the most just punishment for him, for his mistakes, is surviving. To suffer without James and Lily, to watch Harry grow up without them and to have to live every day with the fact that he's the reason why this little boy will only know his parents through pictures. It's a heavy burden to bear, but one that he deserves for letting so many people down.

"Sirius? What you're thinking right now—stop it."

"I can't."

"You will. You have to. Harry needs your full attention."

Sirius looks down at Harry nestled against him, takes in the sight of his tear-stained cheeks. He wonders how they'll make it through tomorrow or the next day or the one after that. He wonders if it'll ever get easier for them or if every day will be a fight. He wonders if Harry will grow up to hate him for all his shortcomings.

"It's not going to be easy," Remus says softly, "and it's not going to be the same. But I promise you that we'll make it through this."

He thought that he didn't have any tears left in him to cry, but Sirius has to choke back a sob at that. We? After all of this, Remus would still stand by him? That's an incredible thought—one he struggles to wrap his mind around.

And perhaps this isn't the right time or place, but he wants to clarify something all the same. He's tired of secrets—now understanding what secrets have cost them all. He doesn't want there to be any questions left between them because they'll never recover from this devastation—never heal—until it's all out there.

"What I said tonight—"

"Padfoot, please, you were in shock and—"

"I meant it. I really do love you. And I'm sorry for having been such a wanker about it."

"Sirius?"

"Yes?" he asks, hesitantly.

"We don't have to do this tonight—have this conversation."

"Right."

The relief that follows is overwhelming. Who knows what comes next for them, but whatever it is, it's not a relationship or even a talk of one. They have so much other shite to wade through, so much to come to terms with. Sirius feels like tomorrow morning he's going to wake up and have to learn how to live all over again. Of course they can't have this conversation now.

But the promise of this conversation in the future—the promise of forgiveness even though he doesn't deserve it—gives him hope. Hope for the future. Hope for Harry. Hope for them. It's enough for Sirius that Remus knows his feelings, that they'll face tomorrow not as a couple but as survivors. And everything else can come later.