Peter woke with a start from his latest round of nightmares, and noticed that the sun was shining. What time is it? Am I late for Sirius? He glanced at his wrist, then realized his rat form wasn't wearing a watch. Scurrying to a private location, he transformed, and discovered that it was still only nine. That wasn't enough sleep, but he'd never really gotten the hang of sleeping as a rat, so it would have to do.

Peter stretched out his muscles. A day after being subjected to the cruciatus curse, they were stiff and achy. He hoped he wouldn't need to dodge any curses today.

He still had an hour before meeting with Sirius, so he apparated to Diagon Alley and bought a copy of the paper, hoping to learn what was going on. An unusual number of witches and wizards were around, whispering to each other in excited clusters. Why are they all so happy? Peter thought resentfully. He knew that wasn't fair: they probably didn't know about James and Lily, and there was no law of the universe that said everyone had to be sad just because two of his best friends had died. He trudged to a bench well away from any of the excitable groups, and unfolded the Daily Prophet.


DARK LORD VANQUISHED! INFANT BOY SURVIVES KILLING CURSE!

Last night, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named paid a visit to the home of James and Lily Potter. It is believed that he cast the killing curse at their young son, Harry, when it rebounded and killed You-Know-Who instead. James and Lily perished in the attack, but Harry is alive and well.

After more than a decade of fear, many are already celebrating last night's triumph. The ministry would like to remind all citizens of the importance of maintaining the Statute of Secrecy, even on happy days like this one.

Our savior, now dubbed the Boy Who Lived, has been rescued from the ruins of his home by none other than Albus Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore refused to say where Harry would be going, nor did he offer any theories on how a one-year-old child could defeat the greatest Dark Lord since Grindelwald. When pressed, he said only, "Harry will be raised safe and happy, away from any who might wish to seek revenge on him. I beg his fans to avoid inundating him with mail, since he cannot read it himself and I do not wish to impose more upon his caretakers."

Director Crouch of the Auror Office was unavailable for comment, but his assistants say he is no less vigilant in the aftermath of You-Know-Who's apparent demise. The Aurors will continue to track down Death Eaters and anyone else who uses violence to pursue the former Dark Lord's agendas. If anyone has information on how You-Know-Who was able to find the Potters, the Auror Office encourages them to come forward.

For more discussion of how Harry might have survived, see the article on page 2 by the Prophet's resident charm expert, Monica Jacobs. For details on the planned memorial ceremony for the Potters, see page 4. For an exclusive interview with the Potters' next-door neighbors, the Gibsons, see page 5.


Peter's first thought was relief that Harry had survived, followed closely by happiness that the Dark Lord was gone. His next thought was that this article made no sense. The killing curse rebounded off a one-year-old?! There were no shields that could deflect avada kedavra, and when it hit something it was absorbed, not reflected. There was no way that Harry, who was unremarkable for an infant, could have overcome it. Maybe Lily could've come up with something, and cast it with her dying breath, but even that was unlikely, and wouldn't match the prophecy that either Harry or Neville would be the one to take down Voldemort.

So maybe, given the prophecy, it had been Harry after all? But prophecies didn't bestow amazing reality-defying powers unto people, they just predicted things that would already happen. The prophecy was evidence for the hypothesis that Harry was responsible, but it didn't provide a mechanism by which that hypothesis could possibly be true.

Peter reread the first paragraph of the article. It didn't supply any evidence for Voldemort's claimed death. Had there been a body? If so, it hadn't been there when Peter arrived, but then again, someone had already been there to get Harry. Besides, if the Dark Lord were going to fake his death for some reason - Peter wasn't sure why he would, but now that he'd thought of it, it seemed more plausible than Harry surviving a killing curse - he could easily manufacture a body.

For that matter, how could anyone ever be sure that any Dark Lord was dead? Magic offered so many different ways to fake things that an intelligent and powerful wizard should have no trouble. I suppose if they were Secret Keeper for a Fidelius charm, you'd know they were dead when other people could speak the secret, Peter thought with morbid humor. Note to self: trick all evil wizards into Fidelius-ing something I don't care about and telling me the secret.

Peter wondered how many other spells might have equally many unintended uses, if they'd ever come to his attention in a life-or-death situation. Sometime when he was less sleepy, he'd make a list.

Suddenly noticing that it was 9:56 already, Peter turned and apparated into a secluded spot near the street where he'd asked to meet Sirius.


Sirius, apparently, did not share Peter's respect for the Statute of Secrecy. He appeared in the middle of the street with a loud crack promptly at 10. Peter spun toward him at the sound, and hissed, "Padfoot, there are muggles around!"

Sirius bared his teeth. "Did you think I would care about witnesses?" He looked deranged. Peter could tell he'd been crying, and suspected he'd gotten no sleep. Sirius had always been a bit difficult to reason with, and his current state was unlikely to help.

Peter decided to appeal to his protective side. "Padfoot, listen, the Death Eaters are after me. We need to figure out somewhere safe to go without causing too much of a scene."

Sirius laughed cruelly. "Oh, the Death Eaters are looking for you, huh? Do they want to give you your reward for killing our friends?"

"I didn't kill them! I did my best to save everyone - you don't get it, Voldemort would have killed them all with Fiendfyre!"

"He DID kill them! He killed them and he knew where they were because you BETRAYED them!"

"You betrayed James and Lily first!" Peter shrieked out of desperation, hoping that Sirius would be surprised enough by this revelation to stop and listen. Unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

"So that's your angle, huh, you little scum?" Sirius had lost his patience for talking, and started firing spells. They weren't stunners, either; Peter recognized a couple curses that were Black family magic, meant to kill their victim as painfully as possible. Sirius despised his family and hadn't used their magic in years. Peter had severely underestimated how angry he was.

Peter wasn't sure what to cast back. He couldn't produce a shield strong enough to block these spells, so his best bet was to incapacitate Sirius, ideally in a way that wouldn't hurt him and would leave him able to listen. His first thought was a laughing jinx - the Marauders had cast it hundreds of times, and it would leave Sirius unable to speak while also hopefully improving his mood. He fired a few of them while dodging Sirius's heavier spells, and eventually hit. Sirius started guffawing in the middle of the street, but unfortunately, he was a strong wordless caster. He didn't even bother to cast the countercurse, he just fired more curses as he laughed.

A blasting curse sailed directly at Peter. He threw himself to the side, and it sailed past him into a car, which promptly exploded. Peter didn't have any time to worry about the Muggles, because another curse was following in quick succession. He dodged the other way this time, thinking he'd made it, but a sharp pain in his fingertip indicated that he hadn't quite avoided the hex. Peter glanced at his hand, then did a double take, watching in horror as dark tendrils spread down from the fingertip.

This was really, really bad. Peter didn't know what the curse was, but he guessed at best it would permanently injure his hand, and at worst it would consume his entire body until he died screaming. He didn't have much time to deal with it; Sirius was casting spells as quickly as he could recharge the energy for them, and it wouldn't be long until one hit. Peter braced himself, and cast diffindo at his own hand, severing the finger cleanly.

It was definitely time to run. Peter hadn't done a very good job with this conversation to start, and it had deteriorated fast. He could message Sirius later, when they both had gotten some sleep and time to grieve, and work things out remotely with considerably less risk. Peter still needed help, but he was evidently not going to get it from Padfoot. Dodging another hex, he ducked behind a car and transformed into a rat, hoping it was enough cover that no muggles would see. He spotted the nearest sewer and ran for it.


And that was where they found Sirius Black, laughing maniacally in the middle of a destroyed street, surrounded by a dozen dead Muggles and Pettigrew's severed finger.


Thanks for all the lovely reviews! They are much appreciated. Yes, I saw that this fic has been posted on r/rational, and I encourage anyone who enjoys it to check out the other work there. I agree that being able to swear on your magic is broken; I didn't think that through enough before posting, and I don't intend to use it again in this story.

This chapter was delayed because I was pretty busy at school, and also because Worth the Candle posted a huge update recently. :P I'll probably be faster in the future, but no guarantees.