The man - pasty skin, red eyes, snakelike features - tells him to kneel in a sibilant whisper that sends a shiver racing through his body. He doesn't think he could refuse if he wanted to, not with the heavy weight that settles in his shoulders and bends his knees at the word.
He kneels, tries to convince himself he's willing, that this is what he wants, even though his mother has told him his entire life that Blacks don't kneel, don't bend or break or bow or ingratiate themselves to others because they are better - he is better - than the rest of the world. He reminds himself that his mother has been wrong in the past, and it is this that calms him more than anything. He pulls an emotionless mask over his face, lets his eyes glitter with excitement, with fear, with something (and it's exactly what the Dark Lord expects to see), in the light of the torches lining the walls.
He holds out his left arm upon demand, says what the man wants to hear even as his arm is pulled forward, almost wrenched from its socket, by a cold-fingered hand. There is a whispered hiss - snake language, Parseltongue, he tells himself - and a burning pain that lights his arm on fire, that brands it in black ink, pooling into the shape of a skull and a snake, marking him in a way he knows instinctively is permanent. It is not, he thinks later, what he would have chosen to mark his body with (he'd have chosen something of himself, something like fire and ashes and resurrection and freedom, instead of death and serpents consuming each other in an infinite loop), but that doesn't matter now.
The Dark Lord has exacting standards; he likes a certain number dead - all of them - or mutilated or injured, and he cannot stand failure. He is both strict and lenient - casting his servants (slaves) into unbearable pain one moment and giving them a hostage to do with whatever they wish the next - and it is impossible to tell the difference between satisfaction and anger far too often. It makes him grateful that the reassurances of his family members were enough to ensure his place in the Dark Lord's ranks; he knows that nothing he would have done to prove his worth would have been enough.
He has never been more thankful that his skills lie within Inyanga; he is valuable for his abilities in healing, and so the Dark Lord rarely sends him out on raids, unwilling to risk losing one of the few within his ranks who can use and heal with dark magic equally.
The Dark Lord tells him things, offhand little details that creep up when they discuss death and life. "I have gone farther than anyone in my quest for immortality," the Dark Lord tells him once, and he knows that this is a man who fears death, who has protected himself from it. He returns to his mother's house and searches the library in search for information about immortality.
He volunteers Kreacher's services to the Dark Lord, tells him to obey and return as soon as he is no longer needed. Kreacher returns, sobbing hysterically, begging for water, begging for it to stop, apologizing for... something. Once he is lucid, Kreacher tells him everything he knows. Tentative plans are formed, notes written and signed and hidden - if he is lucky, they will never be found - and affairs are sorted (a gift for the brother and cousins he will never see again, for the children he will never meet).
"Show me," he tells Kreacher, and all at once he is standing at the mouth of a gloomy cave with dripping walls, black cooling around a sickly green. He summons the boat, grips the chain in his hand tight when he sees a flash of white below the surface, steps onto dry land.
He looks down at a thick potion, turns to Kreacher and tells him about secrets, about destruction, tells him to "Never mention this to anyone in my family," tells him when to leave. He scoops the potion into the cup and drinks.
He leans heavily against a basin filled with poisonous memories, holding a chalice in one hand and a locket in the other. He falls to his knees, overwhelmed, his throat burning, his mouth dry, his body wracked with the echoes of remembered pain. His left arm burns beneath a cold-fingered hand and a vicious brand, his nerves light on fire, and it freezes him before setting him alight again, a repetitive, never-ending cycle.
There is a loud crack that bounces off the cavern walls, taking on a cold hollowness as it is muffled by the black lake behind him.
The thirst grows, and he remembers every time in his life that he drank water to quench his thirst. Water. He needs water. The pain washes over him, and he collapses under the weight of his mother's hand and the furious shrieks of her voice. He struggles to rise under the pain of his father's death, and his brother's departure, and his abandonment.
He drowns beneath disappointment and failure; it is icy as it chokes him, as it wraps its hands around his wrists and drags him into darkness. The blood running through his veins freezes, and bitter cold coils in his chest, and he sinks beneath smooth glass, surrounded by expressionless faces and sightless eyes and grasping hands.
He gasps around the numbing water, and it burns him from the inside out. His vision flickers as he burns hotter and hotter, as the lake around him evaporates and the grasping hands glow red and draw out screams of pure agony. He burns. They burn, bodies surrounding him, the bodies of the dead and forgotten, bodies of the persecuted, of the innocent, of the chained. The cavern walls heat and glisten in onyx and emerald, eerily beautiful, and ash falls down around him like snow.
He burns in fire and it changes him, kills and resurrects him and kills him again until he is little more than a pile of ash and cooling embers.
("I will walk through fire to live," he tells his father in a long forgotten memory.
"You will burn to ash to survive," his father replies, stroking his hair as he breathes through the flames that burn through every divot and curve in his ribcage.
He burns alive, years later, in a time that is not yet a memory, and he claws his way out of the ashes of his rebirth.)
ii.
"The ultrasound indicates that you will be giving birth to a girl, Mrs Potter. It looks like you're about twenty weeks along."
Lily sobs, wraps her arms around her stomach, tries to convince herself that she's happy about this, tries to tell herself that she'd rather it be her child to carry the world on her shoulders, because Alice is her best friend, and she doesn't want her to suffer.
Lily has never mastered the skill of lying to herself.
The sonographer looks at her in concern, and Lily smiles weakly at him, trying to paste a look of excitement on her face. "Sorry," she tells him. "I'm just so happy. I've always wanted a baby girl."
He looks unconvinced, and Lily would feel offended - until she heard the Prophecy, after all, Lily had wanted a girl, but now she wishes more than anything that her unborn child was a boy - except that her words are not exactly true. Despite his skepticism, the sonographer ushers her to the lobby, shoves a copy of the ultrasound image into her hand, and moves on to his next patient.
Lily walks out the main doors of the West Suffolk Hospital, hurries down Hardwick Lane to a secluded alley, casts a brief glance over her shoulder, and - seeing no one around - Apparates to Godric's Hollow - the magical-only hamlet in Lavenham. She shivers as she hurries toward her and James' cottage; the air feels cooler than it did when she left, and Lily supposes that it must have rained a bit while she was out.
James is not at home when she pushes the front door open, and so - needing to talk to someone - she tosses a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace, saying "Alice Longbottom" as the cool green flames flare up. "Alice?" Lily calls once she can see the inside of the Longbottoms' flat.
"Just a mo', Lils," Alice calls from somewhere Lily can't see, before she is skidding around a corner in a flash of blonde hair and blue eyes, and bumping her hip against a table. Lily stifles a laugh, and Alice frowns at her playfully. "All this extra weight," she complains, "it's throwing me off balance. I didn't use to be this clumsy."
Lily raises an eyebrow at her. "Oh, really? I seem to remember you tripping over your robes nearly every day while we were at Hogwarts. And there was that one time that you tripped down one of the staircases, do you remember? One of the suits of armour had to catch you."
"Oh alright," Alice concedes. "But I got better when I started Auror training, and you know it. This little monster is making me revert back to my old habits."
"Maybe he'll be just as clumsy as you some day, and you can tell him that he came by his grace honestly."
"No, I'll tell him that he's been clumsy since the day he was created, and it's only fair that he suffer from terrible equilibrium after he forced it on me again."
Lily laughs. "Well, I'm glad you'll have something to tell your son in a few years. Merlin knows you've nothing else of importance to tell him."
Alice gasps in mock offense. "You mean telling him that I love him constantly won't teach him new things?"
"Nothing except that you love recklessly and completely; why else would you have married Frank?"
"You know me. I just love wondering if he'll come home each night. And you're one to talk; you married an absolute madman. I swear, the things James gets up to sometimes damn near give me heart attacks. You were there, Lily, and you know that it was your husband and not mine who compared You-Know-Who to a naga before shouting for everyone to hear that he'd figured out that You-Know-Who's mother is Echidna. The important thing to note here is that You-Know-Who was within hearing distance for both of those comments."
"Oh hush. You know very well that Frank can be just as bad. And at least I didn't marry Sirius; can you imagine the insanity he would pass down to our daughter?" There. She's said it.
"Frank is nowhere near as bad as James, though I will concede that Sirius is worse than the two of them combined, and - wait. You're having a girl, Lily?"
Lily nods, and Alice's face crumples. "You know," she whispers, "I was really hoping for a boy. I was really hoping that we would both be able to get out of this scot-free, that someone else's child would have this burden. But now?" She sighs heavily, and when she finally continues, her voice is thick with tears. "Now I just hope that my daughter will make it out of this war alive."
"Lily," Alice sighs, soft and sad and absolutely heartbroken. "I'm so sorry. Can I come through?"
Lily nods miserably, and moves aside to allow Alice some room to step out. Alice tugs her up, and they move over to the couch together, Lily curling into Alice and wishing with everything in her that things were different.
"She's not even born yet, and she's got this huge destiny just waiting to settle on her shoulders," Lily tells Alice later, after her tears have slowed and dried into tight trails on her cheeks. "The Prophecy might as well have demanded Atlas for all the difference it makes."
Alice squeezes Lily's shoulder tightly. "Your daughter is not going to be Atlas. This isn't going to hang over her for her whole life. You're forgetting something, Lily. Atlas defied the gods; he was condemned to hold up the heavens. Your daughter will only be defying You-Know-Who, and he is no god. She is not being sentenced to a life of punishment. She is being given the chance to save us. No one will condemn her for that."
"I don't want her to have to save us though. I just want her to be safe and happy, damn what's best for the rest of the world. What about what's best for her? Why should she save us if we can't even save ourselves?" She knows she's being selfish, wants to take back her words, wants to say she doesn't mean them. But she does. Lily means what she said with everything inside of her.
"You can't change destiny. You can't protect her from this." Alice looks hurt - for Lily, for the world, for herself and everything that could have been, and Lily collapses next to her, head on her friend's slender shoulder, a hand resting on top of the skin that separates her from her daughter.
"I don't want to have to decide between my daughter's life and the safety of the Wixen World when it's not even a choice. But," she adds, "if it were a choice, I don't think I'd make the right one."
"... I don't think I would, either," Alice says softly, and Lily hugs her tight, buries this shared, selfish secret deep inside her, and sighs.
James returns home while she and Alice are still curled up together on the couch, his cheeks flushed and his black hair wild and his eyes glittering furiously as he flops gracelessly into a chair, already talking. "Sirius and I nearly managed to catch Rodolphus Lestrange today, but then Sirius lost his temper and went absolutely ballistic - he still hasn't gotten over cousin Bellatrix's circumstances, no matter how many times I've told him that Rodolphus can't and won't break the marriage contract for anything. So Sirius is now at St Mungo's for the foreseeable future because he didn't duck one of Lestrange's spells, the absolute moron, and Dumbledore has me partnered with Caradoc Dearborn now, who everyone knows is only in the Order because his family's got money and he agrees with our ideals. He certainly can't duel to save his life, or mine, which I don't think our fearless leader took into account when he paired us, so now I have to go into fights while watching both our backs, which is absolute bull, so I think I'll try to get Dumbledore to reassign me to Frank, because Frank is with Remus right now anyway, and Remus is going to be sent off to someplace to try to recruit werewolves soon, poor man. Alice, you should mention it to Frank, because for all we know Dumbledore will stick him with old Figgy, and we all know the best trick in her book is hitting a person over the head with a frying pan, and she's almost as terrible at reconnaissance as she is at keeping secrets." James blows out a puff of air before turning to Lily, his face softening. "Anyway, how was your appointment today, love?
Lily looks at him, vulnerable, and says "We're having a girl, Jamie."
"Oh," he breathes out. He levers himself out of the chair and moves over to the couch, where Lily grabs his arms and wraps them tight around her. "It'll be okay, love. It'll be okay. We'll protect her, we... we'll do everything in our power to keep her alive. She'll defeat him. I know it."
Lily sighs as she huddles into James' warmth. She thinks of her research, thinks of how her and James' goal contrasts with Voldemort's, about what she's willing to do for her daughter. "Okay," she whispers into his shoulder. "We'll give her every chance in the world."
James drops a kiss onto the top of her head and settles down beside her, leaving her surrounded as she drifts off to sleep.
"You-Know-Who is really powerful," Lily tells James over dinner the next night, "but I've noticed that every time we've fought him, he always uses the Killing Curse at least once. I think it's his favorite spell - or at least the one he's most comfortable with, and given that he's a Necromancer, that makes a whole lot of sense, actually - and so when he comes after her, that's probably what he'll use."
"So how are we going to defend against it?"
"Well, I've been doing some research at work, and I think I've figured something out. I'll need your help, because you're as good with Runes as I am, and you can channel chaos to make them more powerful. But it's a ritual, and it's based on sacrificial magic as well as a mostly theoretical branch of magic that I'm tentatively calling love magic."
James arches an eyebrow at her. "You know, most people prefer it when I make an effort not to channel my chaos magic into Runes. You've seen what happens; the Runes tend to combust into plumes of pure magic."
"Exactly," Lily says, looking him straight in the eye. "That's exactly what we want."
"We do? Okay then. When do we start?"
"Tomorrow, the minute the sun goes down. You know as well as I do that the spring equinox is one of the best days to perform rituals or create new magic."
"Lily?" James whispers into the dark, much later. The sheets rustle as she moves, humming in question. "Why are you researching a theoretical branch of magic that has nothing to do with Enchanting objects?"
"It's a badly kept secret, I'll admit, but I can't speak of it unless you're in the know."
"Oh," James breathes out, awed. "I suppose you study unspeakable mysteries, then?"
"Yes," she breathes, relieved but not surprised that he understood; he was always a little too smart for his own good. "I study love."
"How long?"
"Since we finished school. Time Turners are a gift from the gods."
"Does time magic effect the baby?"
"I don't know. I stopped using it when we found out I was pregnant."
James shuffles closer to her, moulding himself to her back and wrapping an arm around her waist. His hand rests on her stomach, gentle and grounding. "I love you," he whispers into the back of her neck. "I love you so much."
"I love you, too," she says into the darkness surrounding her, her eyes wide and unseeing.
Lily frowns at the front door - white primer and paint on the wood, white trim, white siding, and as completely devoid of color as the rest of the houses on the street, save for a little gold knocker glinting in the late afternoon sun, and the limited splash of pigment that can be seen through the windows - of Number Four, Privet Drive. She knocks three times.
"Just a minute!" calls a voice from inside, and Lily grins as the door swings open. "Oh!" Petunia says in surprise. "Lily, what are you doing here?"
"What?" Lily asks, "Can't I visit my sister every now and then?"
"You can," Petunia replies suspiciously, "but you usually don't." She steps to the side, inviting Lily in, and closes the door behind her.
Lily follows her to a soft leather couch facing the mantle, admiring the photos lining the wall along the way: there is one of Petunia on her wedding day, her golden-blonde hair half up with loose curls falling down her neck, and her green eyes - so like Lily's - glittering joyfully as she stands next to Vernon, his dark hair combed neatly to the side. The one beside it is of Lily and Petunia, around ten and twelve, respectively, on swings, positively flying through the air, supported only by chains and plastic, with the wind tangling their hair and wide smiles on their faces. Next is Lily and Petunia, on either end of fifteen, grinning toothily at the camera despite their braces, their parents standing between them - forcing a pattern of red gold, red gold - and Vernon beside Petunia, his arm around her waist. The last picture is of James and Lily on their wedding day, with all their friends and family surrounding them, Petunia and Alice with their arms wrapped loosely around Lily's waist.
"I got a sonogram yesterday," Lily tells Petunia as she sits down, apropos of nothing. Petunia tilts her head slightly in curiosity. "I'm having a girl."
"Congratulations! You always did want a girl."
"Thank you," Lily says. She thinks about telling Petunia about the Prophecy, but decides against it. Petunia has gotten over her fear of magic, but she is still touchy about the subject, and Lily knows it is at least partly because of her rejection so many years ago, knows that the only reason they're still on speaking terms is because Lily had gone crying to her older sister about losing her best friend after fifth year. "How is yours coming along?" she asks instead.
"They says he's due in June, so Vernon and I have been discussing names. I've also been planning out his nursery, and making lists of everything we'll need when he's born."
"What names have you come up with so far?"
"Well, Vernon is quite partial to Leroy," she laughs softly when she sees Lily wrinkle her nose. "Yeah, that was my reaction, too. I suggested Edon, but Vernon thought that sounded too much like a girl's name, even after I pointed out that some names are unisex - after all, Sydney and Ashley switched genders. Vernon countered with Gunther, which is worse than Leroy, and he knows it. We finally agreed on Dudley." She looks expectantly at Lily, as though hoping for her approval.
"Dudley Dursley," Lily muses. "It has a ring to it. It has something to do with a glade or a meadow or something, doesn't it?"
"Yes," Petunia confirms. "I thought it seemed like a peaceful sort of name. A bit gentle, safe, you know?"
Lily smiles softly, thinks she likes the idea of a name that means safety. "How has Vernon been, by the way?"
"Oh! He was just promoted, actually. They've made him director, and he was really quite pleased."
"That's wonderful, Tuney! And how has business at your shop been? Are you still hand-making the jewelry yourself?"
"It's been doing quite well. I recently hired a lovely girl to help manage it. She's about your age, actually. Name's Marlene McKinnon."
Lily makes a note to thank Dumbledore for sending someone to keep an eye on her sister, and says, "How nice. I'm so glad you've got someone to help you out, and it'll be especially useful once you give birth to Dudley."
"Exactly," Petunia says, just as the front door opens. "Oh, excuse me for a moment, Vernon's just gotten home, and he'll be wanting some tea."
Lily waves her off, settling into the couch and admiring the cleanliness and orderliness of Petunia's house. Her sister has always appreciated it when everything has its own place and time, which makes Vernon - with his nine to five job and love for schedules - so good for her.
"Hello, Lily," Vernon grunts as he drops heavily into a plush arm chair across from the couch.
Lily smiles at him, unsure of what to say; Vernon has always been polite and kind, but he is far more reserved than most people Lily interacts with, and she knows next to nothing about him. She suddenly feels guilty that she's never made any effort to get to know her brother-in-law, but tamps it down. After all, he has never shown any interest in getting to know her, either.
They sit in silence until the kettle whistles in the kitchen, bringing Petunia through to the parlor only a moment later, holding three mugs of tea in her hands. She offers one to Lily, who takes it gratefully, sipping at the hot peppermint gingerly.
"Petunia said you've been promoted to director of Grunnings, Vernon. I wanted to offer you my congratulations," Lily offers in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence that has settled between the three of them.
Vernon grins at the opening she has given him; one thing she does know about her brother-in-law is that he loves his work. She doesn't quite understand the appeal of desk work and drill development and sales, but Vernon enjoys it, as evidenced by the way he rambles on about his day at work, and the many days before, often going off on tangents about certain clients and customers and co-workers and managers he has to deal with. It makes Lily glad that she picked this topic, because all she has to do is smile and nod and make encouraging noises every now and then, and sometimes she finds herself actually paying attention and laughing at a particularly funny story he pulls out of the woodwork.
"Will you be staying for dinner?" Petunia asks her some time later, and for a moment, Lily is tempted. It has been a while since she spent quality time with her sister, and nearly as long since she spoke to someone who wasn't at work or within her friend group or part of the Order. Lily is a social creature, and she thrives on human contact, loves talking to people about anything and everything. But there is a war on, and Lily is a hot commodity who cannot risk herself or her child or her sister and her family just because she wants human contact.
Sighing, Lily shakes her head. "Not tonight," she says apologetically, "I have to get home soon. Maybe we can try for another day?"
"Of course," Petunia says as she walks Lily to the door. "I'll call you with a good time, and we can make a day of it."
Lily turns at the doorway to hug Petunia, who hugs her back with all the strength in her bony body. She has never been more glad that they were able to overcome their animosity, and she thinks vindictively that she ought to thank Severus for inadvertently repairing her relationship with her remaining family. She won't, of course, but she wonders how he would react if she did; she no longer knows him well enough to guess, and he has changed from the little boy she used to know.
She has changed, too. Maybe even enough to realize that she was just as cruel when she refused to accept Severus' apology as he was to call her Mudblood and flaunt his friendship with people who hated her for her blood.
"Your mother's necklace," Lily says to James, "the gold one with the ruby and diamonds."
"The one with the little leaves on it?" James asks, and at her nod asks, "What about it?"
"I want to use it as a focus for protection. It'll act as a shield against the Killing Curse. I think your parents would have wanted her to have it, anyway, and I'd rather carve Runes into metal and gems than into her skin. It won't be too gaudy, either, and she'll be able to wear it constantly."
"I'll get it from Gringotts right now. You said it would be best to start this evening, right?"
"Yeah. I just have to finish sketching out the Runes I want to use in the ritual."
"Okay, love. Back soon."
Sowilo, Perthro, Eihwaz, Kenaz, Raidho, Uruz, Fehu, Algiz, Teiwaz. Various Runes for protection and defense, which Lily plans to have James carve onto the back of the necklace so that he can channel his magic into it. Lily hopes to delay the combustible tendencies of his Runes until they are triggered by a harmful spell.
There are two parts to her plan to protect their daughter; the necklace, with its Runes and Enchantments, and a ritual that will start long before Voldemort comes and fall into place the minute he comes for them. She only hopes that it will be enough.
James comes back with the necklace in hand, and Lily sets him to work carving the necessary Runes into it as soon as she finishes Enchanting it with a delay and trigger. The diamonds glow with her magic. She watches as he channels his magic into it, and the ruby shines unnaturally, casting a faint light from the inside out.
"So this is technically an illegal ritual, but I've altered it a bit, and no one will know unless we tell them."
"Will it protect her?"
"Yes."
James looks at her, his jaw tight and his eyes hard. "What do we do?"
Lily smiles sharply. "We create the ritual circle in blood, so that when the time comes, we can sacrifice our magic to protect her. Magic is in our blood, after all, and blood is what keeps us alive."
"So we'll be sacrificing everything for her? I can see why this ritual is illegal." He looks at her with interest. "What did you change about it?"
"I've set another delay; this way we can finish setting up the ritual when she is born, and it will only activate upon our deaths. And then even if we are not there to protect her, our magic will be."
"Good." And the way he says it is almost vicious.
"Congratulations, Mrs Potter, it's a girl. Seven point four pounds, healthy. Date of birth is thirty-one July, nineteen eighty. Time of birth is fifty-nine minutes past eleven, post-meridiem. Would you like to hold her?"
Lily gasps out an affirmative, already reaching out to hold her daughter.
"Have you decided on a name, Mrs Potter?"
"Haven. Haven Lily Potter."
"A wonderful name," the doctor says. "You and Haven seem to be in good health, so you should be all set to go home in a couple hours; we just need to keep you for a little bit for observation. In the meantime, if you feel up to accepting guests, you have an Alice and Frank Longbottom and a Sirius Black waiting out in the lobby."
"Oh, yes, please send them in," Lily says, before she turns her attention to James, who had been unnaturally speechless throughout the birthing process, letting her squeeze his hand almost to breaking. Now, he looks at the little bundle resting in her arms in wonder.
"She's so wrinkly," he says, "like a hairless rat or something."
Lily stifles a laugh against her shoulder, smiles up at him. "Do you want to hold her?"
"Yes!" James lets her place Haven gently into his arms, and stares down at their daughter, entranced. "I love her already," he tells Lily softly. "I didn't know it was possible to love someone this much after seeing them for the first time."
Lily understands what he means; before Haven was born, she was in love with the idea of a child while she suffered the effects of a parasite in her body. But the moment she held Haven in her arms, Lily was loving a real human being, was loving a tiny, fragile thing, and she had no choice in the matter. "We did this," she tells him, equally soft.
"Yeah. Yeah, we did."
After a perfunctory knock at the door, Frank follows a swanning Alice into the room, holding Neville, and Sirius trails in behind them.
"Alice, Sirius, meet your goddaughter. Her name is Haven, and we'll make it all nice and official later on. James and I thought it would be nice for Haven and Neville to have as much family as possible."
Alice wraps her arms around Lily before she approaches James with a demanding expression. "Let me hold my goddaughter, you absolute menace."
James looks at her with a pleading expression, but Alice pays him no mind, scooping Haven up from his arms and running a hand over the reddish peach fuzz on her head. Sirius looks down at her in awe after giving Lily a hug of his own. "She's so tiny," he says. "Even smaller than Neville is. Is she healthy?"
Frank rolls his eyes at Sirius. "She's fine, you big baby. The doctors would be here right now, or she would be with them, if anything was wrong."
Alice slips Haven into Sirius' arms, still supporting her. Sirius squawks at her, shifting his arms to hold the baby close. "Alice," he complains, "what if I'd dropped her? Lily would never have forgiven me!"
"I wasn't going to let her fall," Alice says indignantly, "and besides, you didn't drop her. You're holding her exactly right, Sirius. Don't worry."
Lily and Frank exchange an amused glance. "Not only are both of you Aurors," Frank tells Sirius, "but you were both Beaters on the Quidditch team for five years. You two know how to work together, and your reflexes are spectacular. You wouldn't have dropped her."
"Okay," Sirius says, his eyes barely flickering away from Haven to acknowledge Frank and Alice's reassurances. "Okay."
"Sirius, you shouldn't have!" Lily exclaims as she finishes helping Haven push the wrapping paper away from her birthday present. Haven squeals delightedly at the contents.
"I know, right?" Sirius asks gleefully. "It's the newest model; Nimbus finally decided to make children's brooms, and I knew that with a former Chaser for a father and two Beaters for godparents, it would be more surprising than not if Haven couldn't fly.
"You really, really shouldn't have." Lily repeats, and Sirius' smile slides off his face when he sees her murderous expression.
"It's child safe," he offers pathetically. "Cushioning Charms and Anti-Crash Jinxes and a speed and height limiter and everything. It's perfect for a first birthday present.
"Anti-Crash Jinxes aren't a thing, Sirius," Lily says flatly, not dignifying the final part of his pitiful argument with a response.
He looks pleadingly at Remus, who only snorts as he hands over his own gift. Haven scrabbles at it uselessly until Lily helps her out and is pleased to find a three-dimensional portrayal of the planets spelled to orbit a glowing sun. The detail is incredible, and as Lily strokes a finger over the little sun, she notices that it is warm to the touch. Her finger almost sinks into Jupiter, and she knows at once that Remus must have Enchanted this himself: few people in the Wixen World know much about the physicality of any planet but their own. She is impressed; his Enchanting is not nearly as flawless as her own would be, but then Remus is not an Enchanter. He is not born to tie spells to objects or people like she is. He is more inclined, she reminds herself, to blood and wildlife and, appropriately - or inappropriately, depending on who you ask - the moon. "It's beautiful," Lily says because Haven cannot, has not reached that level in her babbling speech yet.
Remus smiles softly, nodding his thanks as Sirius sidles up next to him and wraps an arm around his waist. Lily raises an eyebrow in curiosity, and Sirius' eyes dart away from her to focus on Haven. "We're trying it out," Remus tells her.
Lily thinks they could be good for each other and tells them as much. Only in the privacy of her own mind does she consider the idea that Sirius is too emotionally constipated after sixteen years with his mother, and Remus is too emotionally vulnerable about everything - a result of the treatment he received after he was bitten - for this relationship to work out unless something changes. She has trouble imagining Sirius allowing himself to open up, and she knows that it would take an actual miracle to get Remus to see himself as he actually is, and not as a worthless animal who happened to luck out in the friend department. Still, it doesn't hurt to hope.
Thoroughly done with the miniature solar system for the time being, Haven turns her attention back to the broom from Sirius.
"Fly!" she demands, and it is on the tip of Lily's tongue to refuse, even as the little broom leaps into the air at the demand, but James catches her eye.
"What can it hurt?" he asks, barreling through her attempt to speak when he sees her open her mouth to list out the dozens of ways it can hurt. "All of us are competent fliers, and that broom is Charmed and Enchanted to high heaven. It wants to keep her in the air, or it would, if it were sentient. It can't go very fast or very high, and if it makes you feel better, we can move the breakables and cushion the floor. She won't hurt herself, I promise. We won't let her."
"Fine," Lily huffs.
James and Sirius help Haven onto the broom, and as soon as her little fingers curl around the handle and the broom starts floating, she begins giggling maniacally. Without warning, she takes off, shooting between James' legs, twisting through the air and almost crashing into Peter's cat before she course corrects, flying as high and as fast as the broom will let her, racing alongside James as he runs cackling through the cottage.
Lily quietly dreads the day that her daughter is old enough for a proper broom.
Peter's gift, Lily is relieved to find, is completely child safe. It is a delicate gold bracelet - a simple glittering chain with tiny little rubies, and Lily is delighted to see that it's adjustable - that matches Haven's necklace.
Peter tells her that it is woven out of a protection spell of some sort, and allows her to investigate all the Runes and Charms and Enchantments that went into weaving the piece of jewelry. It is an impressive piece of work that Peter admits he had help in creating. Lily is unsurprised to learn that Dumbledore is the one who offered his abilities - given his proclivity for Alchemy, it is not surprising that he would find a way to Transmute magical energy into a physical, tangible form - and thanks both him and Peter profusely for helping her protect her daughter.
Peter waves off her thanks, smiling down at Haven as he loops the bracelet gently around her wrist, knotting it so that it fits. "Anything to keep her safe," he says softly, adoringly, and Lily wonders how she managed to end up with friends who love her daughter nearly as much as she and James do.
"Why aren't Gideon and Fabian here?" James asks Dumbledore. Lily turns from her conversation with Alice - one that had started with their children's latest accomplishments, and moved into a discussion regarding the Death Eaters' latest attacks and tactics - in curiosity.
"They are with Frank on a mission at the moment," Dumbledore says reassuringly. "They'll be back soon enough."
Reassured, James turns back to Sirius and Remus, giving them his full attention as he waits for everyone to settle down enough that Dumbledore can begin the meeting. Lily eyes Alice in concern. "Did Frank tell you he was being assigned a mission with the Prewetts?"
"No," Alice looks worried. "He told me he had a meeting with Dumbledore, Order related, but he never said what it was about, and it never occurred to me that it might be about a mission, even though we already had a meeting set."
"He'll be fine. Frank is a fantastic dueler, and Fabian and Gideon are creative enough to make up for any weaknesses they might have in the strategic department, which are actually not as many as you might think, given the amount of times they got detention in school because of a prank they played or a rule they broke during Quidditch. They've all fought together before; you've seen them yourself. I'm sure they'll be here soon."
"Let's begin," Dumbledore says, his voice carrying over the quiet conversations. "Peter, how did your infiltration of the raid the other day turn out? There hasn't been much information in the Daily Prophet."
Lily looks over at James in surprise; she hadn't noticed Peter's arrival. She offers him a wave, which he returns as he begins his report. "As you know, the village the Death Eaters were raiding was primarily a Muggle village. Very few wizarding families live there, and the ones that do - McKinnon and Meadowes - are mostly comprised of Half-bloods and Muggle-borns.
"Your spy was right," he acknowledges begrudgingly - Peter had been the most vocal protester when Dumbledore had told them about his source of intelligence, saying that one can never truly trust whose side a spy is on. "You-Know-Who wasn't there himself, but the Lestranges and Crouch were leading the raid. They had Anti-Apparition wards up, as well as Anti-Portkeys, so my team and I had to use Disillusionment Charms and other methods of disguise.
"They weren't prepared for our arrival, so we managed to take them by surprise. The Death Eaters all managed to escape, but there were no casualties and only a few minor injuries. The Muggles in the area didn't notice the commotion, so we're safe on that front as well."
"Wonderful news, my boy," Dumbledore says proudly. "Did you notice if they used any new strategies during the skirmish?"
Peter pauses thoughtfully. "Not during the actual fight itself, no, but I did notice that instead of Disapparating - even after the jinx was stripped - the eldest Lestrange brother flew away. No broom or anything, just what appeared to be unsupported flight, and he was able to cast spells with his wand even while he was flying away because he used a Disillusionment Charm not soon after he made his getaway."
"How interesting. Was he flying quite fast?"
"Fairly. Not as fast as a racing broom or anything, but fast enough. I think they might eventually be able to use flying against us in actual battles, and not just as an escape route. It would make for good evasion tactics, flying out of the way of a spell instead of dropping to the ground or sidestepping it. It certainly has the potential to be dangerous."
"Fascinating," Dumbledore whispers, almost to himself. "Absolutely remarkable. We will have to keep that potential in mind in our upcoming battles. Thank you for your information, Peter."
"No problem, sir."
"Now, Remus." Dumbledore says, turning his blue eyes toward his next target. "I have received information about a werewolf pack near London. Apparently, they rejected Voldemort's recruitment. Not many of them survived his wrath, but I believe that those remaining might be convinced to join us in this war. I want you to go talk to them."
Remus bows his head in acceptance. Lily notices Sirius' furious expression at the order and winces. He will try to talk Remus out of going alone, she knows, and Remus will argue back, and in the end, they'll both end up butt-hurt and speaking to each other in the way one speaks to a stranger, instead of talking it out the way most people who are trying to work out a relationship might. She looks at James, who rolls his eyes dramatically at their friends. They're on damage control with Peter, then.
"Do you have any other intel about the werewolves?" Remus asks. "Any extra information - the Alpha of the pack, for example, or size, or general attitude toward magic users, or jobs and interests and such - would be invaluable in the success of this mission."
"Nothing so extensive," Dumbledore says regretfully, and Lily frowns. She was hopeful for a moment that Dumbledore would have detailed information for Remus, but it seems that that is not the case. "If you will stay after, I can give you all the information I have, but I don't know how useful it will be. They seem to be very private, and I don't know how Voldemort even discovered them in the first place."
"Probably Greyback," Sirius says bitterly. "He's with You-Know-Who, and is known for his ability to track werewolves. Probably because he's so in touch with his wolf."
"That is very possible. It certainly explains why they knew about that pack before we did, but it cannot be helped. Greyback is not within our sphere of influence, and nothing we can offer will entice him to aid us." Dumbledore pauses, and Lily knows that he is making sure that he hasn't missed anything. "I will inform you of our next meeting location in a couple days, so please keep your eyes open in the meantime for any information about Death Eater attacks, and if my source tells me anything, I'll call some of you in to -"
He is interrupted by the crack of Apparition, and everyone jumps out of their seats with their wands out. Lily breathes a sigh of relief when she realizes that it is just Frank, but then she notices the blood. Alice stifles a sob and runs over to him. "What happened?" she asks urgently.
"We - we were underprepared," Frank gasps out, gritting his teeth in pain. "It was an attack in Ottery St Catchpole. The magical section is mostly occupied by Pure-bloods, though none of them support You-Know-Who. Um, we were outnumbered. There were at least twelve of them, um, Rookwood, the Lestranges, Macnair and Malfoy were there. It wasn't - ah, fuck - for recruitment. They were already dragging people out of their homes to be tortured and killed when we arrived. Um," he stops and grabs his ribs, his face contorting. Caradoc moves over to him to help heal him. Frank shakes his head and goes on. "Fabian and Gideon and I managed to take down six of them, but they weren't any of the inner circle. They all got away. They…" he sobs, and Lily can't tell if it's from the pain or from the stress of the fight. "They killed Fabian and Gideon. It - there was so much blood. I think the younger Lestrange got Gid with either an Exploding Charm or a Blasting Curse, or something else, pretty early on. I… I didn't hear what he used, only the scream. I only saw the aftermath, I…" he breaks off, his voice catching, and Lily has to look away as he completely breaks down. It's always painful to hear about losing one of their own, worse when it is their friends, the people they'd spent years with as they grew up. It's especially hard to hear about when the person talking about it is Frank, who has seen death and walked out sane, and is still torn up about Fabian and Gideon to the point that he's gagging on his tears as he tries to report.
"Fabian," Frank continues in a raspy whisper, and Lily wants to leave, wants him to stop talking shut up shutup shutup, doesn't want to hear about how Fabian died, "realized Gideon was dead. I think - I think he felt it happen. And you know how they were. They were so close. Connected. And. And Fabian is a Chaos Mage, and so he drew on the confusion and the chaos, and he exploded. He took out five of them when he did, and I got the other one. By that time, the rest had gotten away. There were casualties, I don't know how many. Injuries, too. I didn't stay to help." He chokes. "I'm so sorry. I - I need to go. Um. I can't do this right now. Alice can fill me in. I. I'll see you later." He stumbles to his feet, and staggers to the door, wincing, his face pale. He Disapparates, Alice right behind him, leaving the room in a painful silence.
No one waits for Dumbledore to dismiss them, simply filing out in silence until only Lily and the Marauders remain, waiting for Remus. Dumbledore hands Remus a stoppered phial with a shimmering memory inside. "All the information I have about the werewolf pack is in there. You may use my Pensieve if you do not have access to one." He turns a sharp gaze onto Lily and James. "My spy has informed me that Voldemort plans to make his move soon. It has been confirmed that Haven is the target. I advise you to go into hiding either someplace Unplottable, or under the Fidelius Charm. If we can keep her out of his reach, the Prophecy will be non-viable. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to defeat him so that your daughter does not have to. For your safety, this is your last Order meeting; after you go into hiding, you should remain home as much as possible. If that means you have to quit your jobs to stay safe, I suggest you do so." He nods at them once, and then he Disapparates, leaving Lily to stare in shock at James and their friends.
"I think we should do the Fidelius," Lily tells James later, resting on the couch with her head in his lap. "I've been doing some research and it seems like there are less potential issues than if we move to one of your Unplottable properties."
"What are the potential issues for Unplottables?"
"The wards have to be taken down every ten years for maintenance. I was looking through the properties that have been passed down through your family - and there are a ton of them, by the way - and the majority of them are currently Unplottable. But none of the properties have been used for decades, and maintenancing wards or redoing them completely takes time, which is really not something we have a lot of. In comparison, the Fidelius is the better choice because it's just a quick spell, and all you really need is someone you trust. We have those in abundance."
"Okay, so who are you thinking for Secret Keeper?"
"I was thinking Sirius; he's your best friend and we both trust him. I would have said Frank or Alice, but they have to take care of Neville, and I would never want to endanger another child. Remus will be on his mission for Merlin knows how long, and Peter's time is being commandeered by Dumbledore, because not only is he good with strategy, he's also a Ceremonial Magician, and great with rituals, and Dumbledore has been trying to figure out alternative ways to defeat You-Know-Who."
"I'll ask him," James says. "Do you mind if he comes over tonight? He's sulking about Remus' mission, and Peter's otherwise occupied, and I don't want to force him onto Frank or Alice after the Order meeting this evening."
Lily smiles at him. "Of course he can come. You're practically brothers; you certainly share your flare for the dramatic. I could never refuse a visit from him."
"I am not dramatic!" James protests.
Lily looks at him. "James," she says condescendingly, "you cried while I was the one giving birth, and I know I wasn't squeezing your hand that hard. When Sirius got hurt, you went on a rant about his stupidity even though all it took was a little Skele-Gro to fix him. And!" she says triumphantly, when she notices him trying to protest her accusations, "you absolutely humiliated everyone who ever showed interest in me at school because you wanted, and I quote, 'Just one date, Evans, and if you hate it, I'll let it go.' So yes, James, you are dramatic, and you probably will be until the day you die."
"Fine, fine," he concedes. "I'll tell him to get his scrawny arse over here."
"Sirius has a better arse than you do, dear."
"Lily!" he squawks.
"I'm allowed to look!"
"I suppose so," he says dramatically. "But you should know that I only have eyes for you." It's cheesy, Lily knows, but he says it with such sincerity that she can't help but lean up to kiss him, looping an arm around his neck to pull him down.
"I love you," she says against his lips. He kisses her harder, his hand resting gently against her cheek like she's something precious, the other in her hair, and Lily thinks that he doesn't have to say what she already knows, because he's said it a thousand times or more.
"I love you too," he tells her anyway, pulling away to shuffle down the couch so that his front is pressed along her back in a warm silhouette, his arms wrapped around her waist. "I love you too."
"Of course I'll do it," Sirius tells them once they broach the subject. It's like he's glad to have something to do now that Remus is out and she and James have been excused from the Order for the unforeseeable future. Lily worries a little at the way his eyes glitter despite the danger he will be in as their Secret Keeper.
"You're sure?" Lily can't help asking. "It's a lot to ask of someone." She needs to make sure that he understands the magnitude of this decision, needs to know that he knows he is risking his sanity - his life - for their safety. "It's not that I don't trust you completely," she clarifies when she sees the look on his face. "It's more about the fact that you're risking everything for us. It's not something I would want to ask of my worst enemy, let alone part of my family. You shouldn't have to risk your mind or your life for us."
He looks at her, his eyes hard and serious, his jaw set. "I would do anything for you guys. You and Remus and Peter are all I've got left. You don't get to decide what I should or shouldn't risk. Only I can choose that, and because you're my family - because you guys are the most important things in the world to me - I choose to risk everything for you." His voice is low and dangerous. "When the time comes, I will sacrifice everything for you. I'll set the world alight and leave it to burn until all that's left is ash, if that's what it takes."
The scary thing, Lily thinks, is that he means it. He'll do anything for them; he would find a way to burn down the entire world if that's what they needed. Sometimes, it is terrifying to be loved by a Black.
(Sometimes, it's terrifying how easy it is to love them back.)
"If something happened to James and I, would you be willing to care for and protect Haven? If it was absolutely necessary?" She wants to think she knows the answer to this question, but uncertainty means she can't look away from the newest picture on the wall: a little girl with hair the color of Pinot Noir and emeralds for eyes next to a slightly older blond haired, blue eyed boy, their hands and feet covered in wet sand, glittering waves crashing against the shoreline behind them. She doesn't know what she'll do if the answer is no.
"If it comes to it, I'll raise her as my own. You know me, Lily. You know I've always wanted a daughter, and now that that's an impossibility, now, at least biologically, she would be the next best thing because she's yours, and that's close enough to mine."
"She's in danger," Lily manages to press out. "I'm doing everything I can to protect her, and I need your help to do it as completely as possible."
"What can I possibly do besides agree to raise her if something happens to you?"
"I need a small amount of your blood." Lily risks a glance and sees utter confusion crossing her sister's thin face. Haven and Dudley babble quietly at each other in the background, a mixture of words and gibberish barely making it to her ears. "It's for a protective ritual; the blood of family members makes it stronger, but only if it's willingly given."
Petunia is not any less confused, but she doesn't seem to have an issue with Lily's odd request. "You don't need any from Vernon, do you? He's still not comfortable with the idea of magic, and giving his blood would be a foreign idea for him if it's not for donations or testing. I don't think he'd like the idea of his blood being used for magical purposes."
Lily frowns. "Did James and Sirius traumatize him at the wedding?"
"Yes." Petunia says flatly. "They turned him into a gorilla. Neither of us even knew that was within the realm of possibility. To be honest, I'm surprised he's not more anti-magic than he is, but I certainly don't blame him for being wary."
"No of course not," Lily concedes. "If that was my first experience with magic I'd be wary, too. And no, I won't need his blood for this, so you don't need to worry."
"Okay. Can you -" Petunia breaks off, like she's embarrassed. "Can you tell me about the ritual? It sounds interesting, and you know I've always wanted to learn about magic."
Lily smiles, slow and sly. "Well," she begins, "this ritual is illegal, for one thing, because even though it's for protection, it involves blood magic. However, because it involves blood magic, once the protection is triggered, it offers limited protection to its contributors. It won't be the same extent that it protects Haven, but it will hide you and Dudley from any Wixen that you don't want finding you, specifically anyone who is an enemy of Haven's. The ritual itself is hard to explain, but it'll involve using the blood to paint protective Runes onto Haven's skin; they'll become semi-permanent, lasting until she's considered an adult by magical standards, and the Runes and the magic powering them will protect her from harmful intentions."
"None of that seems like a bad thing. Why does the use of blood magic make this ritual illegal?"
"Blood," Lily says softly, "carries a witch or wizard's magic. That's not the only form it can be found in, because magic isn't really a tangible thing. Unless," she mutters under her breath, thinking of Haven's bracelet, "you're Albus Dumbledore." She pauses. "Basically, the Ministry objects to the idea of using what amounts to a fairly pure form of magic in rituals because it can be... destructive, or it can misinterpret the intentions of the ritual to adhere to the desires of the people involved, depending on the willpower of said people, I guess. Of course, it rarely is - destructive, that is - but you know how people are: something goes wrong one time, and it's suddenly known that it's always dangerous and deadly."
"So it's illegal to do something that might go wrong but usually doesn't, just like there's a chance for the same in everything anyone ever does?"
"Pretty much. Granted, the potential consequences are worse than your average every day thing, but it takes talent or actual effort to screw it up that badly."
"Wow. You people are crazy," Petunia tells her.
Lily laughs; she's not wrong. "I like to think the insanity is just part of the charm. But that's also what I tell myself during those rare moments when I wonder why on earth I agreed to marry James."
"Well, both those relationships are pretty permanent, so let's hope you aren't kidding yourself."
Lily looks over at Haven, where she plays with Dudley, carefully floating blocks around his head, making them dance in and out of his reach. She sees the hair, the same color as her own, but just as untamable as James', and the stubborn chin and high cheekbones that belong to her husband still hiding under baby fat. "I'm not," she tells her sister, soft and absolutely certain. "I don't think this is something I could ever regret, no matter what happens."
"What happens if I die while I'm keeping the Secret?"
Lily looks away from her book to look down at her lap where she's petting Sirius' hair. "Everyone who knows the Secret becomes Secret Keeper."
Sirius looks at her thoughtfully. "Everyone knows I'm your Secret Keeper."
"Yes?" Of course they do; their going into hiding was no quiet affair, given that James had resigned from the Aurors, and Lily had stopped going to work as well. Everyone had automatically assumed that Sirius, being James' best friend, had all the information about their sudden disappearance.
"I think you should switch Secret Keepers," he says, and it takes Lily by surprise.
"How come?"
"Because I'm willing to die for you guys, but not if it means that a bunch of people suddenly have the ability to tell You-Know-Who where you are. I love all of our friends as much as you do, but we've recently discovered a spy in the Order. What if they know the Secret and I die? They'll be able to tell him and he'll kill you and James and Haven. I - I can't lose you."
"Who do you think we should switch to?"
"Peter." His answer is immediate and confident. "No one knows what he's capable of; they're always underestimating him, so no one will guess that he's the Secret Keeper. I'll be a decoy, so no one will know you've switched, but no one will be able to get the Secret out of me or anyone else if I die."
"Have you talked to James about this?"
"Yeah. He thought it seemed like a good idea, but he wanted to run it by you."
Lily hums in consideration. "It's not a bad idea. Peter loves Haven as much as you do, and he loves James, too. I think it could work, especially now that Dumbledore isn't sending him out on as many missions as he was a few weeks ago. Why don't you ask him and let us know what he says."
"I... kind of already did," he tells her sheepishly. "He said yes."
Lily rolls her eyes. "Fine. We'll do the switch tomorrow, and no one will know." Except Dumbledore, she corrects herself silently, no one will know.
"Lily, take Haven and run!" James' voice comes from far away. She doesn't bother replying, doesn't bother shouting back that there is nowhere for her to run. There is no escaping this. There is no turning back.
She and James will both die tonight, betrayed to the enemy by Peter (They're always underestimating him), and there is no knowing if Haven will make it out alive. Even with all their preparations, there is no way to tell if the protections will hold up against the Killing Curse; they never dared to test it.
Lily makes her way upstairs, Haven cradled in her arms. She kisses her daughter's forehead gently. "You will live," she tells her desperately, her back to the door as she uses the last of the blood - she doesn't know anymore if it is hers or James' or Petunia's or someone else's, and it doesn't really matter - to draw Sowilo onto Haven's forehead. The blood sinks into her skin, leaving no trace behind.
(Will it protect her? James asks.
Yes.)
Lily hears footsteps coming up the stairs. Not James', she notices distantly. Somewhere deep inside her, something shatters. James (I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud into the night and the eyes I smile into in the morning; I pledge to you my living and my dying) is lost to her, swallowed in a sea of deadly green, taken to a place she cannot reach. She traps her heartbreak between her teeth, bares them in a mockery of a smile at her husband's murderer (Naga. Son of Echidna) as he prowls through the doorway.
"Step aside," he tells her, as though he means to spare her life when he has already stolen a part of her and aims to steal all that is left of her mangled soul.
"No." Her voice is sure and certain, no hint of hesitation or weakness. The world fades away around her until there is only this: a child with all the best parts of them at her back (I didn't know it was possible to love someone this much), a monster facing her (There are no monsters under the bed, her father tells her, because monsters aren't real. Only this time, the monster is real and murderous, and he has crept out from beneath the bed, and all that is between them is Lily's broken, bleeding heart, torn from her chest and throbbing with magic and determined refusal), and Lily, love seeping from the fissures in her heart as she stands between them, unwilling to stand by and let her daughter die. (We'll give her every chance in the world.)
"Step aside," he says again, fury coloring his voice.
"No," she repeats, steadfast and unwavering. (We'll be sacrificing everything for her. Our blood. Our lives. Our magic.)
"Step aside!" he commands, his rage cresting and overflowing.
Inhale. Exhale. "No." A whisper, calm and resolute. Unshakeable. Third time's the charm. (I love you.)
(Sometimes, it's terrifying how easy it is to love.)
"Avada Kedavra!" A flash of green flies forward to embrace her.
iii.
Godric's Hollow looks like it always does at night; quaint cottages with glittering windows line the streets, and the ground is wet enough to reflect the light in jagged squares.
Sirius shivers against a chilly breeze and wraps his leather jacket tighter around himself. It does nothing to protect him from the unpleasant temperature as he makes the walk from his motorcycle to the front door. He notices with consternation that the door - a bright red even when surrounded by darkness - hangs off its hinges. He pushes it open wider and flinches at the broken creak that seems to echo through the house. Sirius' heart leaps into his throat; he made the wrong choice.
Peter betrayed them. Sirius sent them into the hands of the enemy, and James and Lily stared at him with guileless, trusting eyes as he did so.
He can't stop the sob that rises up his throat from escaping. There - at the foot of the stairs. James is sprawled along the floor, his neck angled uncomfortably against the bottom steps, his arms and legs long and extending to the sides without care. His face is set with the lingering remnants of determination, his eyes wide open. Sirius kneels by his side, lifts a trembling hand to close James' eyes. Suddenly, he is terribly, irrationally angry. "Why'd you have to go and die on me, huh? Why'd you leave me?" His voice cracks and tears burn at his eyes, and he is selfishly glad that there is no one alive to see him crumble.
A creak from upstairs catches his attention, and Sirius rises from his crouched position and makes his way up the staircase. The door into Haven's room is completely gone - vaporized, maybe - and quiet babbling dances through the air toward him. He is filled with relief - Haven is still alive - until he hears a sob emanate from somewhere inside the room; he can't see exactly where it's coming from. It's not Lily, he notices: the rasp and tone of it is too low, and for a brief, horrible second, he thinks it might be Peter. The thought makes him dive through the doorway, his wand out threateningly, his tongue shaping words to accuse betrayal. The sight of greasy black hair strangles the words before they can leave his throat.
It's not Peter cradling Lily's limp, lifeless body. It's Snape, who looks up the moment Sirius enters the room, stands abruptly, and - tossing a sneer that is more heartbroken than loathing over his shoulder - Disapparates.
The loud crack (it should never have been possible, the wards should never have shattered enough to allow for Disapparition) disturbs Haven, and her babbling shifts to upset shrieks. Fat tears roll down her cheeks, and Sirius steps past Lily to scoop Haven up. She calms quickly, reaches up to pat his cheek with a chubby hand. "Pa'foo!" she says "Mummy and Daddy?"
"Mummy and Daddy are sleeping with the angels, Angel." He rubs a soothing hand down her back, angles her away from where Lily lays in front of the crib. He has to get Haven out of here, has to get her away from the crumbling supports in the room, away from the heat and dust particles that float through the air. He doesn't know exactly what happened here, but Haven's room looks only slightly better than a war zone, and Voldemort is not here, and Haven is, with only a bloodied Rune on her forehead. "Come on, baby, let's go have a sleepover."
He makes his way out of the destroyed room, grabbing things he knows Haven will need. He bends down as he passes Lily, and strokes his knuckles against her cheek, closes her eyes and blinds her to the rest of the world. He leaves the cottage to bury his friends and doesn't look back.
"I would have burned the world to ash for you," he says, pausing just before he steps off the property. "I would have died for you, or sacrificed my sanity to save your lives. You're dead now, and I know you'd want me to live for you. I don't know if I can live for you anymore, but I can live for her."
There is no answer; they are dead and silenced by it. The wind howls around him, whips at his hair and flings it into his eyes. He feels numb, like the cold can't reach him, even as it stings at his skin and sets his fingers tingling. He holds Haven tight to his chest where his body heat seeps through his shirt - even if he cannot feel the cold, she can - and turns on his heel. Godric's Hollow implodes before his eyes, and he shrinks and squeezes uncomfortably through a straw. With startling clarity, Hogsmeade blinks into existence, all golden light and shuffling footsteps and cheerful voices ringing with laughter as children race from door to door hoping for candy. As he walks past, the light is swallowed by shadows and laughter is swallowed by silence. If the joy has left his life, he reasons, why shouldn't it leave everyone else's?
("What are you doing, Pads?" James asks him two years earlier.
"Grieving." Sirius replies, staring out his window at the flickering city lights; they go out. He's got no father, no brother, no mother [even though she made it near impossible to love her].
"Regulus wouldn't have wanted this."
"Regulus is dead. It doesn't matter what he would have wanted. Leave me be, Prongs."
"No." James says staunchly. "You're right. Regulus is dead. But Sirius? You're not. You are still alive. Let yourself live, okay?"
"Why should I? He had his whole life ahead of him. He was better than me. He - "
"If you can't live for yourself, live for him. Live for me and Lily and our baby. Live for Remus and Peter. Live for us until you can live for yourself."
"Okay."
The lights flicker back on, spit back out by the shadows. The laughter crackles like a radio being tuned into a station. It smooths out.)
Sirius slips into the Honeydukes cellar unnoticed, and squeezes through the secret passage. It is tighter than he remembers, and he is grateful when he finally reaches the One-Eyed Witch and it moves to the side. He steps into the hallway, which is warm from the sconces lining the walls.
The walk to Dumbledore's office is long, and the Gargoyle standing guard outside is uncharacteristically impatient as Sirius tries guessing the password. He finally gets it - Sugar Quills - and makes his way up the spiral staircase. He shifts Haven to his hip and knocks on the heavy door that leads into Dumbledore's office. It swings open, and Sirius steps inside.
Dumbledore is behind his desk, reading a heavy book that Sirius is able to see covers Alchemy. Blue eyes peer at him curiously over half-moon glasses. "What brings you to my office tonight? I'd have thought you'd be out with James and Lily, cleverly disguised, sending Haven up to various doorways for candy."
Sirius looks away from his old Headmaster, cataloguing the contents of the room: the Sorting Hat still rests on a high shelf above a myriad of books. Silver trinkets still cover nearly all of the big oak desk. The only difference he can find between now and the days when he and the rest of the Marauders found themselves in Dumbledore's office every other week for various reasons (pranks gone wrong, or fights gone far too far) is the golden stand in front of the window, and the red and gold Phoenix perched on top of it. "When did you get a Phoenix?" he asks instead of answering Dumbledore's question.
"Fawkes found me around two years ago," Dumbledore replies, humoring him for a moment. "One day, he appeared in my office, which resulted in his burning day, and he hasn't left since then. On occasion, he brings me some fascinating reading material, and for the most part, he is an enjoyable companion."
"Why didn't you ever tell us you had a Phoenix?"
"One does not have a Phoenix, Sirius, only its loyalty. Why are you not telling me the reason for your visit?"
"James and Lily switched Secret Keepers. From me to Peter. It was my suggestion."
"Lily informed me of the switch, yes."
Sirius looks at him in surprise. He hadn't known that Dumbledore was aware of the switch, had never expected that knowledge to work in his favor, because he had thought that it being public would put Peter - and by extension, James and Lily and Haven - in more danger. "They're dead." Sirius says flatly, so numb that he can hardly feel the pain of his loss anymore.
A tear trickles down Dumbledore's wrinkled cheek. "I'm sorry, my boy. You should not have had to lose more family than you already have." He peers down at Haven. "She survived the attack?"
"Whatever Lily and James did worked. When I got there, Haven's room was in ruins, like an explosion had gone off. She had this cut on her head, but other than that, she's unharmed. And You-Know-Who was nowhere I could see."
"I shall investigate the site," Dumbledore says musingly. "Please take Haven to Madam Pomfrey for evaluation, and get yourself some food from the kitchens and try to rest. I'll see you both here in the morning."
Sirius makes his way to the door, intent on heading to the Hospital Wing. The sound of Dumbledore's voice stops him. "James and Lily made a choice, Sirius. Their deaths are not your fault. You are not their betrayer, nor are you their murderer. Do not disrespect your friends' memory or yourself by taking the blame for something you had no fault in."
Sirius walks out the door. Dumbledore may be right, but Sirius is not emotionally capable of accepting his words so soon.
"As far as I can tell," Madam Pomfrey tells him the next morning, having kept Haven overnight for inspection after threatening Sirius with Dreamless Sleep should he refuse to leave, "there is nothing wrong with her besides that little cut on her head, and it should heal up just fine. Of course, I've no knowledge of the effects of surviving the Killing Curse, but it seems as though there are no adverse side effects. To be safe, I recommend taking her to someone well versed in dark magic and healing - an Inyanga, maybe - but I don't think it'll hurt her if you don't."
"Okay," Sirius says, thinking that he would like to trust Regulus with this, that he wants his little brother's opinion on Haven's survival and the tiny cut resulting from it. But Regulus is dead, he remembers abruptly, has been for just over two years, and probably went out in a blaze of glory no matter how his death came about. The torches in the Hospital Wing flicker in unison; they go out, swallowing the stone floor and vibrant tapestries along the walls in darkness. Haven wails. The torches ignite all at once, glowing brighter than before as Sirius pulls his mind away from the losses of the past viciously.
He goes to meet Dumbledore in his office to talk about Haven and James and Lily. He learns very little there, only gaining confirmation that Voldemort used the Killing Curse when he attacked Haven, and that James and Lily used a very illegal ritual to save Haven's life. It is nothing he didn't already know; after all, he donated some of his blood to Lily's ritual. He can't say he regrets it when it saved Haven's life.
"I have already told them that Haven survived the attack. No one will question it, and few will wonder how she is still alive." Dumbledore tells him matter-of-factly. "So long as the reign of terror is over, few will question how that came to be."
Sirius eyes him curiously, slouched in the chair opposite Dumbledore's own, a leg thrown casually over the arm in a mockery of the give-no-fucks attitude he is known for. Was known for, before Regulus and James and Lily. "How can you be so sure?" he asks skeptically.
Dumbledore looks at him seriously over the tops of his spectacles. "No one bothered to ask how I defeated Grindelwald. No one thought to ask if he was dead or alive after I was done with him. All they cared about was that he was gone, unable to harm them ever again. People don't care about the suffering and the death and the pain that goes into fixing this broken world. They care about results, not details."
Sirius looks up at the ceiling, unable to think of what to say in reply. He is not given a chance to come up with anything; the fire beside him crackles to life, spitting green flames out.
"Dumbledore!" Peter's voice says frantically. "Dumbledore! James and Lily are dead and Haven is missing. I think… I think Sirius betrayed them to You-Know-Who! We have to find him and keep him away from Haven so he can't kill her!"
Dumbledore's eyes flicker over to Sirius, who is out of Peter's line of sight, as he tenses furiously. The brief glance is neither extended nor obvious enough to draw Peter's suspicions. Sirius watches as Dumbledore manipulates his face into a convincing look of concern. "Where are you right now, Peter?"
"I'm at home, why?"
"I believe you might be in danger; I suggest you leave as soon as possible. You needn't worry about young Haven. I will have someone search for her. You have my word that she will be safe from any malicious intent."
Peter looks relieved at Dumbledore's reassurances. "Alright. I'll see you soon, sir." He pulls his head back and cuts the connection. As soon as Peter is gone, Sirius rises abruptly to his feet.
"I'll be back. Watch Haven for me." Sirius doesn't bother to phrase his words as a request. He has no desire to give Dumbledore the chance to refuse, and he does not want to be talked out of the course of action he has decided upon.
Dumbledore looks worried. "What are you - "
Sirius doesn't let him finish his question, throwing Floo powder into the fireplace and stepping into the heatless green flames as he shouts, "Wormtail's Nest."
The image of Dumbledore holding Haven swirls away from him. He closes his eyes against the sickening spin of fireplaces that are not where he wants to go. The Floo spits him out in Peter's living room, and Sirius lands on his feet, stalks towards Peter, whose back is towards him. "Why did you do it?" he asks, allowing his voice to sound out his devastated confusion.
Peter doesn't turn around to face him, only raises his hands to rest against the counter top where Sirius can see them. "It wasn't because I didn't love them, Padfoot. You know I did. But I'm not like you; I'm not the kind of person who'll let the world burn - who'll burn it down - to keep his friends safe. I loved James and Lily. I adore Haven. But we are not the only people in the world, okay? We are not the only ones who deserve to live.
"You heard the same information about the Prophecy I did, Sirius. You know, somewhere inside you, that it was telling us that Haven was the only one who could defeat You-Know-Who. It was a risk, and I know that. But I took a risk, that risk, and it sucked - of course it did - but it paid off. He's gone."
"And so are James and Lily!" Sirius roars at Peter, agony wrecking his voice. "He's gone, yes, but now so are they. They were your friends, Pete! How could you…" His words shatter against nothing as they fall through the air from his lips. "How could you risk them?" comes out soft and heartbroken and lost.
"Two or three lives for the lives of the entire Wixen World, Sirius." Peter turns around, and Sirius notices furiously that there are tears tracking their way down Peter's cheeks. He looks broken and smaller than normal. "It's not even a question, Pads. I'd do it again, no matter how much it hurt, and you know why?"
Sirius raises his eyes to Peter's, waiting. "It worked, mate. I took a risk and it panned out, and we're all safe now. She beat him, and a few people suffering for the safety of an entire world? Hell yeah I'd do it again, even if it was my life being sacrificed."
Sirius sags, his strings cut and no longer holding him up. Peter darts forward, ducks under Sirius' arm and holds him upright long enough to settle him into a chair.
"Why'd you try to pin the blame on me?" Sirius asks. Peter rolls up his sleeves, showing off an ugly mark on his left forearm.
"Just because I was Sorted into Gryffindor doesn't mean I have no self-preservation instincts. It was a means to an end," he says, gesturing at the mark, "but I don't want people knowing about it. I know not everyone sees things the same way I do - you're proof enough of that.
"My choice has saved us all, but no one will see it that way. I said I'd do it again, and that's true. I would have offered up my own life if it would stop him. But there are fates worse than death, in this world, and that's where I would be headed if I hadn't done something about it.
"Come on Sirius, think about it. Think about where you come from: a family of Pure-bloods, a family of Muggle haters, a family with several members allied with You-Know-Who. They expect something like this from you. The world expects betrayal and prejudice and broken promises from a Black. It makes sense. Why shouldn't you take my place - everyone will know it was you, after all."
"Sacrificing more people for your Greater Good, I see," Sirius says viciously. "First James and Lily because you didn't want to die, now me because you want to remain free."
"James and Lily were for the good of everyone!" Peter shouts, furious. "But my caring about the good of the world doesn't mean I'm not selfish," he says, softer. "And it's not as though you really care about other people, either, now that James and Lily are dead."
"I - no. That's not true," Sirius argues. "I care about Haven and Remus."
"Then why are you here, Pads? Why are you here and not with them?" He smiles, soft and hard and unforgiving. "I'll tell you why. It's because you're just as selfish as I am. It's because you want revenge for what you've lost so much that you can't see what's still right in front of your face. You can't see what you already have." Peter's smile transforms into a goading smirk. He backs up, his arms spread wide. "Well, Sirius? I'm right in front of you, right in front of your face. I'm right here. What're you gonna do about it?"
Sirius lunges at him, manages to grab onto Peter's arm as he twists on his heel and Disapparates, a whispered "Catch me if you can," wrapping around the both of them as they squeeze uncomfortably into and out of nothingness. Sirius staggers when they reappear on a busy street corner. A quick glance at their surroundings tells him they're in Muggle London, and he casts a Muggle-Repelling Charm as Peter pulls out his wand.
The thing about Peter, Sirius realises as he watches his friend - are they friends, still? - trace a complicated golden diagram into the air in a series of quick motions, is that he is unpredictable. Most people don't adapt rituals for wand usage, and fewer still use said adapted rituals in duels. Peter is not like most people, Sirius supposes, so he gives a final flick with his wand, pushing the glowing ritual toward Sirius' chest like a battering ram.
Sirius lets go, and all his anger and betrayal and fear and agony and grief leap forward from his chest in the shadowy form of a dog. It - Padfoot, he - swallows the ritual and lunges for Peter, who waves his wand again, somehow faster and even more intricately than last time, and sends a silver-colored ritual shaped like a sword at the dog's chest. Both Padfoot and Peter's sword vaporize the moment they make contact.
"Expelliarmus! Stupefy! Incendio! Bombarda, Expulso, Reducto, Confringo, Petrificus Totalus!" Sirius calls out, linking spells together in a chain. The spells distract Peter for long enough that Sirius is able to swallow him in a shroud of darkness with just a flick of his fingers as he taps into his despair. Unfortunately, Peter is able to dispel the blackness that surrounds him with a quick flick of his wand and a bright wash of light.
Quicker than Sirius can follow, Peter casts a tripping hex that he is unable to dodge. Sirius falls to the ground, and pulls himself up to be met with the vicious glint of bared teeth. He can only watch as Peter sends a Cutting Hex toward his own finger, his face pulling tight in pain. And then, Peter begins to trace another ritual into the air, this one glowing blood red and silver and gold as he slams it against the ground, and shrinks into his Animagus form, scuttling toward a nearby sewer.
The explosion resulting from Peter's casting is more effective than anything Sirius has ever managed to cast. It seems to implode at first, swallowing up gravel and pavement, before it explodes outward, shattering the Muggle-Repelling Charm and destroying the bodies of several people nearby. The ones closest to the blast are little more than charred bits of skin and sinew and bone scattered across the ground. The ones farthest from it - and one of them is only a child, Sirius notices with a distant numbness - are in larger chunks, missing major limbs and bleeding steadily from the lacerations and holes that have found unexpected refuge in their bodies. There are at least eleven - no, twelve - that he can count, and he wonders hysterically how Peter could have done this.
Grief and rage and shock commingle as he looks out over the destruction, as an image of the death and destruction of the cottage in Godric's Hollow superimposes itself on top of reality. Sirius cannot help but laugh; not even a week ago, he was happy, his friends and family were safe.
And now? His family is dead, and these strangers are dead, and everything has gone so hilariously wrong. He laughs until tears come to his eyes because it's not funny how everything has gone to shit, but he can't stop himself, can't stop the tears, can't stop the laughter from bubbling up out of his throat, can't stop the world from blurring hot around him.
He is still laughing when the Aurors come.
"It's all my fault," he murmurs to himself. If he hadn't suggested switching Secret Keepers, James and Lily would still be alive. If he hadn't chased Peter, he would be with Haven, and those Muggles wouldn't be dead. "It's all my fault," he says again, and it changes nothing.
They take his muttered words as an admission of guilt. They remind him of where he comes from, of who he is, of the laughter that lined his face when they found him as they escort him to a cell. They show him a finger, bloodied, tell him it's all that's left of Peter, and he can't stop the laugh that tears its way out of his throat because it's not. It's not.
They throw him into Azkaban, where they leave him to snarl and rage at the injustice of it all, where they leave him to claw at the bars and the walls and the floor because he doesn't belong here, not in this cell, he's not guilty, not guilty, not…
The Dementors come and they dig up every terrible hopeless feeling and every devastating memory, and they convince him otherwise.
Am I guilty? he wonders in a haze, after the Dementors are finally gone (again? Again?) and he is no longer confined to his four-legged form. Am I? Did I? No.
The Dementors come back, and he grits his teeth against them, snaps and snarls and growls at them, refuses to let them hurt him.
He has been hurt enough already.
"I am not guilty," he whispers to the heartless creatures. He shouts it until the words ingrain themselves into his mind, his heart, his soul. The Dementors turn a deaf ear, and the prison guards sneer and spit at him, speaking of betrayers and murderers and this is the least you deserve. He keeps shouting it until the only people who hear him are the prisoners surrounding him, and even they do not reply.
("I didn't do it," he tells James and Remus and Peter. "I didn't make Snape go to the Willow on a full moon."
James looks at him in disappointment. "You goaded him. You know how he is and you poked and prodded and mocked him until you reached the point that you knew he'd try to find out what was happening, especially because it deals with the Dark Arts."
Sirius stands his ground. "I didn't make him do it. He made a choice and it was the wrong one."
"You gave him no other option because that's who he is, and you knew it!" James roars. "What you did put more than just Snape in danger, Sirius. You risked Remus' safety, and mine, and that's not even as bad as risking Snape's, because we know what we're getting into when we run with wolves. Snape doesn't, and you almost got him killed!
Sirius sneers at James, the expression feeling foreign on his face. "I didn't," he shouts back, unwilling to accept the truth.
"You did," James tells him, soft and deadly certain. "You did this. Don't try to misplace your part in this with lies. You are guilty.")
Guilty, guilty, guilty. It echoes in his head like a mantra, wraps around him and strangles him with the clinical syllables. Guilty, his memories whisper to him, cold and cruel and far away. He drowns beneath the accusations, beneath the truth, beneath the pain.
Guilty, guilty, guiltyguiltyguilty.
Not.
Not guilty.