A/N: I had an anonymous reviewer ask about Mr. Potter's job, so I thought I'd take a second to answer that. The Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee is part of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and is responsible for coming up with plausible explanations for magical incidents in the muggle world. (Major incidents that require the Muggle Prime Minister's help to cover up, in contrast, are handled by the Office of Misinformation.) For example, it was likely the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee who put out the story that a gas explosion killed the twelve muggles when Sirius confronted Wormtail after James and Lily's death. Hope that helps, and enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 3: Ill Tidings

The Pettigrews' home was small and cozy, full of cheery colors and smiling, waving photographs. Unlike the Potters and the Blacks, the Pettigrews did not own a house elf, and so there always seemed to be a bit of clutter that no one had bothered to pick up. Peter's room in particular looked like a hippogriff had torn it apart (Peter flushed crimson when James made this observation, but James and Sirius merely laughed). Peter's parents had magically extended the room to fit three additional beds.

"There are guest rooms across the hall, of course," Mrs. Pettigrew had told them. "But I'm sure you'll be up talking half the night anyway, and you might as well do it from your beds."

Peter's room, three large guest rooms, and a toilet took up the first floor, while the master bedroom was on the ground floor with the kitchen, dining room, and various living areas. All told, it was a bit smaller than James' house in Godric's Hollow, and Sirius confessed that the Black residence at Grimmauld Place could likely fit both their houses inside, but there was no doubt that the Pettigrews had the best yard of the lot.

"Not that anyone's got a lawn where I live," Sirius said, pressing his face against the window in Peter's bedroom that looked out over the broad stretch of green, "but blimey that's a lot of grass."

James laughed, but had to agree. "It's almost as big as a real Quidditch pitch!" The Potters had a nice-sized backyard, of course, good for garden parties and games of tag, but James had to walk more than a mile outside town to find a place to fly. "It's got privacy charms on it?"

Peter nodded. "We can fly whenever."

With a round of cheers, the three boys charged downstairs with James' Nimbus. Peter and Sirius went to fetch the Pettigrews' brooms from a cupboard while James waited for them by the back door, bouncing on the balls of his feet and calling for them to hurry. Soon enough, they reappeared, carrying older but well-maintained broomsticks. Grinning, James dashed outside and mounted his Nimbus.

It flew like a dream, shooting high above the rooftop and turning obediently into a sharp dive. After a few circuits around the yard, James pulled up next to Sirius and Peter, who hovered a few feet off the ground, watching his flight. Sirius grinned as James urged his broom into a figure-eight pattern around his friends, and Peter looked on in awe.

"Hey Pete!" James called as he executed a graceful loop. "Got any Quidditch gear?"

Peter nodded mutely.

Sirius sidled up beside Peter and gave him a light punch on the arm. "Then quit drooling and go get it!"

At once, Peter touched down and scuttled inside. While they waited for him to return, James and Sirius raced each other back and forth across the yard. James won easily every time, of course, but Sirius was too busy grinning at the Nimbus' performance to notice that he was losing.

Peter rejoined them a few minutes later with a regulation quaffle tucked under one arm, and Mr. Pettigrew conjured three gleaming gold hoops at either end of the yard.

"Dad says we can play with the quaffle for now," Peter explained, tossing the oddly shaped red ball to James, who caught it easily. "And after dinner, if we want to add a bludger, he can be our second Beater. He's just got something-or-other to finish up right now."

"Fine by me," James said, tossing the quaffle experimentally. "Two-on-one?"

Sirius and Peter happily teamed up against James and the Nimbus, but even so, James flattened them. His superb broom, together with the extra practice he'd been putting in, made him untouchable. Before long, James handed the Nimbus over to Sirius and took the Comet he'd been riding, and a while later, Peter took his turn.

James was easily the best Chaser of the three, regardless of what broom he had, and he managed to score as many goals as the other two combined even when they had the Nimbus. It was apparent that Sirius was a better flyer than Peter, despite the fact that he had never touched a broomstick before coming to Hogwarts, as his parents hated travel by broom and there was nowhere for him to have played Quidditch. Equally apparent was that, while Peter's many games with his family and neighbors had made him a halfway decent Chaser, Sirius was not cut out for the position. He could fly, and was pretty good at slipping past James' defense, but he couldn't catch a pass to save his life, and most of his shots went wide.

By the time Mrs. Pettigrew appeared at the back door to call them in for supper, Sirius was looking rather down.

"So you're not a Chaser," James said bracingly as they touched down. "And you should probably steer clear of Seeker, too."

"And Keeper," Sirius added with a sigh. "I'm rubbish at Quidditch."

"No you aren't," Peter said earnestly, but Sirius just snorted.

James rolled his eyes. "You can't give up until you've tried Beater! C'mon – one more game after dinner. You can be on my team!"

"Cause that way, even if I make as terrible a Beater as I do a Chaser, we won't be completely walloped?"

Laughing, James clapped him on the back. "Now you've got it!"

A smile tugged at Sirius' lips, but he shoved James playfully toward the door. "Oh, sod off, you."

James shoved him back, and the two of them wrestled each other through the door, followed by a laughing Peter. They left their brooms and their shoes just inside the door and followed the smell of roast toward the kitchen.

Before they got there, however, they were stopped by Mr. Pettigrew's voice from the sitting room.

"Peter, in here. You, too, James, Sirius."

James and Sirius froze, exchanging guarded looks. James knew they were thinking the same thing: that grim tone never meant anything good. Mrs. Potter used it when James was in trouble for some prank he'd pulled or mess he'd made or rule he'd broken, and James had a strong suspicion Sirius had already heard it more times than he could count that summer.

Peter shot them a confused look before walking into the sitting room, and with a deep breath, James and Sirius followed him. Inside, Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew stood waiting, but to James' surprise, they weren't alone. His own father was there as well.

Seeing James in the doorway, Mr. Potter smiled. "Having fun, James?"

If it had been his mother asking, James would have known it meant trouble, but since this was his father, James merely grinned. "Aren't I always?"

"What's going on?" Sirius asked suspiciously, still lingering in the doorway and eyeing the adults warily.

"You're not in trouble," Mr. Potter said, apparently recognizing Sirius' apprehension for what it was. (But then, James wouldn't expect any different in the man who'd raised him.) "I've been to see the Lupins."

James perked up at that, studying his father's face for any trace of bad news. "Are they alright?"

Mr. Potter nodded. "Remus is not feeling well, I'm afraid, but his mother assures me it's nothing serious. She wasn't aware he'd been invited over. Although with everything that's been going on, it probably just slipped his mind."

"Everything that's been going on?" Sirius asked, frowning. He finally stepped fully into the room and perched on the arm of the couch beside Peter. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"His mother has been ill," Mr. Potter explained. "She only recovered a short while before Remus began to feel out of sorts. I'm sure with a bit of rest, he'll be good as new. You'll see him on the Hogwarts Express, no doubt."

"Did you actually see Remus?" James asked.

With a small smile, Mr. Potter nodded. "Only for a moment when he came down to get a glass of water, but yes, I saw him. He was looking a bit peaky, and as tired as his mother, but—" The man gave a teasing smile— "he hasn't been spirited away by a Tengu, if that's what you're worried about."

James hadn't been worried about that at all, of course, as his father clearly knew. In all honesty, James wasn't sure what exactly had prompted his question, just the vague notion that something strange was going on with his bookish friend. But if James' father said Remus was alright, then there was no reason to argue.

"Alright. Thanks, Dad."

Mr. Potter reached out to ruffle James' hair, and James twisted away, scowling. His father laughed. "Well, I'm off. See you in two weeks."

As Mr. Potter disappeared into the fireplace, Mrs. Pettigrew ushered them all into the kitchen for a much-appreciated meal.

-.-.-

After dinner, Mr. Pettigrew retrieved a heavy iron bludger and two Beater's bats and joined the boys outside. When Sirius said he wanted to try Beater, Peter's father took him aside to show him how to use the squat black bat to knock the bludger away toward the opposing team. While they talked, James spotted Mrs. Pettigrew, who peered out the kitchen window with concern etched on her face.

"Are you using the practice bludger?" she called to her husband.

Mr. Pettigrew warded off the bludger Sirius had hit his way, then shot a smile over his shoulder. "Yes, Enid."

"Pracice bludger?" Sirius asked distractedly as the bludger swerved toward him. His bat connected with a crack, and the bludger whizzed away.

"That's it!" Mr. Pettigrew congratulated. "A practice bludger is lighter and softer than a real one. Less likely to break bones."

Sirius pouted. "Well that's no fun."

Laughing, Mr. Pettigrew caught the bludger and pinned it against his chest. "Just for now, while you get used to playing Beater. We've got two weeks before you all leave; I'm sure you'll be ready for the real thing long before then."

"I'll be ready tomorrow," Sirius said thoughtfully, and James laughed.

"What happened to, 'I'm rubbish at Quidditch'?"

Mr. Pettigrew shook his head. "Alright, you lot. Up in the air."

James (once more astride his Nimbus), Sirius, and Peter obediently mounted their brooms and kicked off. Once they were airborne, Mr. Pettigrew released the bludger, tossed the quaffle up between James and Peter, and joined them in the air.

James snatched the quaffle and took off toward the goal posts at the north end of the yard, Peter hot on his tail. He heard the crack of a bat and rolled over to let the bludger pass over him. Sirius gave a whistle as he chased the bludger and knocked it toward Peter, who was forced to pull up to avoid a faceful of iron. This gave James the chance to shoot ahead and put the quaffle through the center hoop.

While Peter swooped down to retrieve the quaffle, James flashed Sirius a thumbs-up, then swerved to avoid the bludger.

They resumed play, Peter pelting down the pitch with the quaffle in the crook of his arm, James flying lazily alongside him. The bludger skimmed over Peter's back, and he jerked away from it, losing his focus just long enough for James to steal the quaffle and shoot back the other way.

But Mr. Pettigrew was now in control of the bludger, and he was so close that James didn't have time for any fancy flying. It caught his shoulder, and he dropped the quaffle. Peter picked it up and wheeled around. By the time James had righted himself, Peter had scored.

An hour later, as the sun began to set, Mr. Pettigrew called a halt to the game, and they all touched down, tired and sweaty, but grinning from ear to ear. It had been a close game – James and Sirius had won by just two goals. Mr. Pettigrew was an excellent Beater, James had to admit, but Sirius had held his own, even knocking Peter from his broom once. Mrs. Pettigrew had come bustling out to check for injuries, stopping the game momentarily, but Peter had been unhurt (if embarrassed), and quickly returned to the sky.

"I think we've found your true calling," James told Sirius, who grinned and puffed up at the praise.

"Yeah, I think I'm ready for the real bludger now."

Mr. Pettigrew laughed and stowed the balls back in the trunk with the second practice bludger, two regulation bludgers, and the tiny golden snitch. "I'm not sure my wife's poor nerves could handle that."

James charged inside, kicking off his shoes, and carried his Nimbus upstairs. As he opened the door to Peter's room, he received a faceful of feathers as Luftwing fluttered over to perch on his shoulder.

"Hey, boy," James crooned, spitting out several small, downy feathers. "How'd you find me?"

Luftwing merely hooted and held out his leg to which a short roll of parchment was tied. James took the letter and unrolled it, scanning the small, careful script. James, it read. Your father stopped by today. I guess you were wondering why I never wrote you back. Something had been written here and then scribbled out, and the letter continued, I've been busy. Sorry. I'm not feeling too well right now, but your owl showed up and wouldn't let me sleep. I'll see you on September first. —Remus

"There you are, James," Sirius said, appearing so suddenly that James jumped and startled Luftwing into the air. "What's that?"

"Letter from Remus," James said, handing the parchment over so Sirius and Peter could read it. While they did, James held out his hand to Luftwing, who merely blinked his big orange eyes and began to preen.

"Busy." Sirius scoffed. "You'd think he'd been doing his homework, not worrying about his sick mum."

James' eyes drifted to his rucksack. Buried in the bottom, he knew, was a half-finished essay for Professor Binns and his Charms book so he could look up a dozen spells for Professor Flitwick. "He probably has been doing his homework," James grumbled. "But you're right, it's weird."

"He's sick," Peter said, taking the letter from Sirius and muttering something that sounded like, lay off.

James shrugged and plucked the parchment from Peter, ignoring the shorter boy's protests. He found a quill on Peter's desk and scrawled out a note beneath Remus' – Don't worry about it. If you feel better, you can always floo over. —James.

Reading over James' shoulder, Sirius snorted. "Way to invite him over to Peter's house."

"Peter already invited him; I'm just reminding him. And anyway, he doesn't mind, do you, Pete?"

Peter mumbled that he didn't mind at all, but James was already tying the parchment to Luftwing and carrying him to the window. "So," he said as Luftwing took off. "What next?"

-.-.-

The days flew by in a blur of Quidditch and sugar and prank planning. True to his word, Sirius supplied a long list of ideas to make the new term interesting. There were only a few kinks left to work out, and the greater portion of their midnight meetings were spent arguing over which of Sirius' pranks to pull and in what order.

During the day, James, Sirius, and Peter took it in turns to fly the Nimbus, and James continued to perfect his Quidditch moves while Sirius practiced with the bludger. Mrs. Pettigrew wouldn't let them use the regulation bludger until Mr. Pettigrew returned from work each evening to ensure no one got hurt, so while they all sported some new bruises every day, there were no lasting injuries.

They heard no more from Remus over the course of the next week, but Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew adamantly denied any plea to let the boys go and see for themselves that their friend was alright.

"He needs rest," Mrs. Pettigrew insisted on Wednesday when James asked, for the dozenth time, whether they couldn't just pop over for tea. "And Merlin knows he won't get any with you three around. Now be a dear, all of you, and go fetch your laundry. I'll do a load now and another next week before you leave for school."

Thursday found the three boys up in Peter's room after dinner, playing a game of gobstones. Rain lashed the windows, and thunder rumbled in the distance, and while James thought it was a golden opportunity to practice Quidditch in foul weather, Mrs. Pettigrew was having none of it and had locked all the brooms away, including James' Nimbus.

Mr. Pettigrew's voice drifted up the stairs and through the open door. "I've got no choice, Enid. Everyone's on edge tonight."

"This hasn't got anything to do with You-Know-Who, has it?" Mrs. Pettigrew demanded sharply. "It's the Aurors' responsibility to deal with him, not yours."

James strained his ears to hear Mr. Pettigrew's response, but the man had dropped his voice low, and James couldn't make out the words through the sloshing of the rain outside. Sirius and Peter had abandoned their gobstones to listen, as well, but their frowns confirmed that they could hear no more than James. Climbing silently to his feet, James dug in his rucksack for his invisibility cloak, and as soon as he pulled it out, his friends were at his side.

James threw the cloak over their heads, checked to make sure their feet weren't showing, and together they began to creep toward the stairs. They stopped at the landing to listen.

"Have you heard something, Phillip?" Mrs. Pettigrew was saying. "Is there going to be another attack tonight?"

Mr. Pettigrew sighed. "I wish I knew. All we've got to go on is rumors, but that's enough to frighten people. We've got to take them seriously."

After a long pause, couch springs groaned, and Mrs. Pettigrew asked, "How late will you be?"

"I expect I'll be gone all night. With any luck, they'll give me tomorrow off."

"Be safe."

"I will," Mr. Pettigrew said. James heard the sound of the couple kissing and made a face. Then Mr. Pettigrew spoke again. "I'll just say goodnight to Peter and then I'm off."

James' eyes widened, and he gestured wildly for the others to turn around and hurry back to Peter's room. They did so, closing the door with just enough time to stow the cloak under Peter's mattress and throw themselves down next to their game of gobstones before they heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," Peter said breathlessly, and James shot him a warning look before turning toward Mr. Pettigrew.

"Hey, boys," Mr. Pettigrew said, opening the door. "I have to go take care of something at work."

"You're leaving?" James asked in mock surprise.

"Unfortunately." Mr. Pettigrew ruffled Peter's hair. "You'll be in bed before I get home, so I just wanted to say goodnight."

"Okay," Peter said, fidgeting under his father's gaze. "'Night."

Mr. Pettigrew turned and walked toward the door. "Have fun."

"We will!" Sirius said.

"Don't stay up too late."

James smirked. "Us? Never."

With a laugh, Mr. Pettigrew shut the door, and his footsteps faded down the corridor. The three boys remained silent for several long moments while they listened to Mr. Pettigrew descend the stairs, say something to his wife, and move on. The door clicked shut. A crack resounded through the quiet neighborhood, and to anyone unfamiliar with apparition, it might well have sounded like a thunderclap.

It wasn't until they heard Mrs. Pettigrew set about washing the dishes that the three boys dared to break their silence.

James spoke first: "They were talking about Voldemort."

"Shh!" Peter hissed, glancing around anxiously. "We aren't supposed to say his name!"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Don't be a nancy, Pete. The Ministry isn't gonna arrest you just because you say 'Voldemort.'"

Once more, Peter flinched. "We aren't even supposed to know about him. My dad says he's not allowed to say the name outside of work!"

"They're just being paranoid," James said.

"Think your dad's gonna catch him?" Sirius asked Peter thoughtfully, diving for James' rucksack and pulling out a chocolate frog. He caught the frog as it tried to hop away, then checked the card. "Hey, look! Elfindork Endowynn! Haven't got him yet. James?" he asked hopefully, waving the card.

James wrinkled his nose, remembering the events of his first year at Hogwarts. As far as James was concerned, he never needed to hear another word about Endowynn or del Bene. "You can have it."

-.-.-

James woke to a distant crack. He opened his eyes and squinted toward the window on the far wall, through which a stretch of palest pink sky was visible. With a groan, James rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, but before he could fall back to sleep, he heard a door close and voices drifting up from somewhere below.

Mr. Pettigrew was home.

For one long moment, James deliberately ignored the almost-intelligible conversation. Then his curiosity got the better of him and he grabbed his spectacles from the bedside table. As he lowered his feet to the floor, he glanced at Sirius' and Peter's sleeping figures, wondering if he should rouse them. He decided against it.

James made his way to the top of the stairs, then hesitated. He could hear Mr. and Mrs. Pettigrew's voices; they sounded like they were coming from the sitting room. Holding his breath, James began the slow, careful climb down the staircase.

A hand on his arm nearly made him jump out of his skin, and James whirled around to see Sirius and Peter behind him. Sirius released James and pressed a finger to his lips. At James' questioning glance, Sirius pointed to the step James had been about to place his foot on, and James nodded in understanding – there was a squeaky board in that stair. He lowered himself slowly to the step beyond, and heard his friends following close behind.

Before long, they reached the ground floor and slipped down the corridor to the sitting room door, where they stopped to listen.

"Oh, Phillip," Mrs. Pettigrew moaned.

James' breath caught in his throat, and he shot a fearful look to Peter, who had gone white.

"I know," Mr. Pettigrew whispered. "I know."

"Who was it?"

"A muggle girl. She… she didn't make it." Mr. Pettigrew paused, shushing his wife as she let out a stifled sob. "She was just a toddler; she didn't stand a chance."

Mrs. Pettigrew drew several shaky breaths before she managed to choke out, "Did you at least catch the one who…?"

"No." Mr. Pettigrew sighed. "He was long gone by the time we caught wind of what had happened. We can't prove it was him. And the girl's parents didn't see anything – thank Merlin. The Obliviators have got a tough enough job without…"

Mrs. Pettigrew made a pained noise, and Mr. Pettigrew fell silent.

"The poor dear," she said thickly. "The poor, poor dear. I can't imagine… If it had been Peter—"

"It wasn't," Mr. Pettigrew assured her. "And it never will be, I swear to you. He will never get our son."

Footsteps sounded beyond the door, and James shoved his friends back toward the stairs. He heard the door open as they started up, taking the steps two at a time, skipping the one that squeaked, and urging each other in hushed voices to get a move on.

James was the last one into Peter's room, and he eased the door shut, wincing as it hit the jamb with a tiny thunk. Not waiting to see if anyone had heard, James crossed the room in two strides, dove onto his bed, stowed his spectacles under the pillow, and pulled the covers up to his chin. He could hear Sirius and Peter breathing a little too quickly in their beds and wondered whether their hearts were pounding as loudly as his.

The door opened. The corridor light clicked on.

James shut his eyes and lay still, listening to the buzz of silence that filled the house.

"They're safe," Mr. Pettigrew whispered, so faintly James wondered if he'd imagined it. A moment later, the door clicked shut, and the Pettigrews retreated downstairs.

None of the boys spoke, but James knew they lay awake, minds churning like his. A little girl had been killed that night, by a madman the Ministry couldn't catch. Those responsible for keeping the wizarding world safe dared not even say his name.

The sun was high and hot before James dragged himself out of bed.