Chapter Five
For the next week, following the death of Lily and James, The Daily Prophet had been full of nothing but the downfall of Voldemort; both celebratory articles and ones counting the losses. Wizards were waking up, the paper told Peter, having been placed under the Imperius curse and forced to do the most terrible things by the Dark Lord. Lucius Malfoy had made a sworn testimony in front of the Ministry - renouncing Voldemort and all the horrors he had committed.
There were stories which recounted the whole sordid and sorry history of Voldemort's rise to power; there were stories about the lives and the losses of all those who had fallen to his wand … and then there were gossipy, cheap, little stories of people boasting about their own brushes with You Know Who, their own close shaves and near death experiences.
At least half of them must be false.
But these were what were of interest to Peter. There was a market out there, it seemed, for the stories of those who had lost someone close - and were willing to share their tale of woe. The witches and wizards of Britain were lapping up these stories, eager to vicariously live the loss now that the Dark Lord was safely gone.
And Peter had the biggest story to share - for who was a bigger story than Voldemort's last victims? What could top being the surviving best friend of the family who had brought down You Know Who?
...
He waited a few days, waited until Hestia and Emmeline had left him - with promises to check in on him and to floo them if he needed anything at all. And then, when a seemly amount of time had passed, once the muggles were done with their bonfires and fireworks and the nights were quiet again - he sent an owl to Rita Skeeter.
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She turned up on his doorstep the next morning - and now they were sitting in his kitchen and he was giving an exclusive interview, while her quickquotes quill scribbled a mile a minute trying to get everything down.
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Peter Pettigrew, a small and unassuming young man whose quiet exterior hides a massive heart ravaged by grief …
...
The quill wrote.
'Just ignore the quill,' Rita told him, when she saw him looking. 'And tell me, in your own words - how this all began. How did you know James and Lily Potter?'
'We were best friends,' he told her. He remembered himself and sniffed, taking out a hanky and dabbing at his eyes.
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Luminous tears pool in his eyes, as he remembers a fond friendship that changed his life…
...
The quill wrote. All though, in fact, his eyes were completely dry. If Rita noticed, she didn't seem to care.
'We met at Hogwarts,' he told her. 'On our very first day - right after the sorting. The three of us were Gryffindors.'
...
They shared that special relationship that only those of a bold and lionhearted disposition can understand - bravery and chivalry at their very core.
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'James was … the truest friend I ever had. Brilliant and brave, the most talented wizard in his year. I looked up to him and he looked out for me. We were … brothers. More than brothers.'
The quickquotes quill continued its furious scribbling, taking his sickly words and turning them into sentiments even more cloying and trite.
Rita looked up at him, over her rhinestone rimmed specs. 'Hmmm … and what about Sirius Black?'
...
The next day, when the newspaper hit the stands and the people saw his story, the whole wizarding world began to buzz with the tragic tale of little Peter Pettigrew and his heartbreaking loss. And conversation turned from the downfall of Voldemort to the escape of Sirius Black - and the other traitor he had fled with, Remus Lupin.
...
It was that same afternoon that Peter received his first owl from a total stranger, offering him condolences. By the evening, he had been inundated in a feathery hailstorm of well wishes: letters, cards, home baking and even knitwear.
As he sat in front of the fire, reading his cards and eating the chewy, ginger biscuits sent to him by one Muriel Prewitt, he felt that life was really pretty sweet indeed.
Over on the island of Herm, it had been raining solidly for the past week. Harry had started to fret. It had a taken a day or two - but he was missing James and Lily now, and wanted them back. He couldn't understand where they had gone, or why he was left with his uncles.
Remus had done everything he could think of to keep the boy entertained, to try and comfort him, to soothe him when he cried … while Sirius watched, and worried.
...
Soon enough, Harry would stop crying - he realised. Too soon - far too soon - the little boy would stop calling for parents who never came, and then he would forget all about them - as if they had never been. While Sirius would carry the loss of James in his heart every day until the day he died, Harry would not grieve for the loss of a man he did not remember. He would not love James and Lily as he should … and Sirius' heart broke for his dead friends being forgotten as much as it broke for the little boy who must now live without them.
And then - on top of his grief - there was the way Remus would look at him. There was so much depth in those warm, brown eyes - and Sirius could not work out half their meaning.
He was worried that he saw remorse, and reproach, in the way Remus looked at him. He worried that, as they sat in this poky little cottage, on this rainy little island, Remus regretted running away with him - becoming a wanted man.
He worried Remus blamed him for how trapped he currently was … and he was worried that his friend was right to blame him.
Perhaps it had been selfish of him, to go to Remus, to beg him to join him on the run. Perhaps he should have left him behind - allowed him to stay at home. He would have had the Order. He would have had Dumbledore. His whole life wouldn't have been turned upside down with no hope of things ever going back to normal.
But then - if Sirius hadn't gone to Remus, Remus would now believe that Sirius was guilty, a Death Eater, that he had betrayed Lily and James. He would still be friends with Peter - and not know that he was breaking bread with the real snake in the grass. He would hate Sirius, if he had stayed behind and … Sirius couldn't bear that. Not from Remus. He could bear the whole world hating him, the whole world hunting him … but not Remus.
...
When they had first discovered that there was a traitor amongst them, that someone was passing along information to Voldemort about Lily and James, James had refused to believe it was any of his friends. Well, he was loyal to a fault and would refuse to believe that the same was not true of the people he loved.
But Sirius was not as good as James, not as trusting. He had not grown up in a loving family, with doting parents who had taught him the world was a fundamentally good place. He had been brought up in darkness and shadow, taking pride in things that didn't matter and sneering at all the things that did. He had seen a darkness in people that James never had - had seen it from his earliest infancy, had grown up around it. And so, when the time came to believe the worst of one of his friends, he was able to - whereas James was not.
But the realisation that the spy must be Remus had still caused his heart to crack in his chest, had left him feeling dead when he was still alive. To know Remus was lost to him, to carve him out of his soul and force himself to say goodbye - it had left him breathless with pain. And then to go on pretending nothing was wrong - that everything was the same as it had always been, sometimes it had hurt so much he could hardly breathe.
To look at Remus, and make himself hate him. And all the while keep on smiling and pretending they were still friends. That had been agony, had hurt more than he knew he could be hurt.
Because it was Remus.
...
It would never have hurt that much if it had been anyone else - not even if it had been James, himself. Because Remus was … he was Remus. And Sirius felt … had always felt … he didn't know. But he had never felt for Remus in the same way he felt for James. There was something else, something more, something other … if it wasn't impossible he would think it was...
But it couldn't be that. They were friends. Brothers. To want more was … it couldn't be that.
And what would Remus think if he knew?
Though sometimes, when they were still at school, there had been moments where they would look at each other - and he would wonder if his friend felt the same way- was burning with the same secret.
But it couldn't be.
And they had left school - and they had joined The Order and they had seen less and less of each other, though the less he saw of him the more Sirius' heart had ached. Until the day the news there was a traitor came.
And he had to force himself to cut Remus out of his heart.
...
Standing in Godric's Hollow, surrounded by the loss and grief and bodies of his best friends - even as aching and empty as he had been, the realisation that Peter was the traitor had still come as a salve to his wounded heart. So much loss - all his fault - and still Sirius had felt the joy that he could love Remus once again. A selfish, reckless and heady joy that had no place in that house of grief … and yet he was selfish enough to feel it.
And having just got him back, and being all he had left, he couldn't then leave him behind. Leave him to hate him and blame him and grow closer to Peter. He had had to make Remus come with him.
But now those brown eyes looked at him, and he didn't know whether he truly read blame in them - or if that was his own guilt reflecting back at him. But he didn't dare ask. He didn't want to know if the answer was "yes" … the Gryffindor failed in him at the thought of being hated by Remus.
...
In the end, he couldn't take it any more and - ignoring Remus' calls after him to ask where he was going - he transformed into Padfoot and bounded out into the rain, to run through the stormy streets and roll in the mud and work off some of his pent up emotions.
...
Although the rain was cold, it felt good against his fur - and he ran along the roads, barking and yelping and chasing the seagulls. He ran down to the beach, crunching across the shells and then crashed into the iron grey waves, getting drenched in the spray - and then he sprinted helterskelter back up the beach - leaving doggy paw prints in the wet sand.
He ran the length and breadth of the tiny island, yapping like mad. There were no cars allowed on the island and the roads were clear - the tourist horses and carts not venturing out off season and in the rain.
He chased more gulls, stole some chips from a man leaving the little fish and chip shop and ran away, as the man yelled after him. He found a big, long, boggy stretch of grass beside the lane which twisted back down towards his home, and flung himself in the mud - rolling over and over until he was entirely slick with the clinging muck. He rolled until he was dizzy - until he was wet through to his bones and he had barked until he could bark no more.
And then he knew it was time to go home. He couldn't run away forever - not from his feelings, or responsibilities and certainly not from Remus. The mud would not dry in this rain, he needed to go home and take a bath.
Reluctantly, he rolled over one last time and then got back up on all four paws and began to dawdle his way back down to the lane towards the cottage.
...
He transformed once he reached the front door. He didn't want to think what a sight he must look - drenched through, his clothes sticking to him, his hair slick against his head and every inch of him covered in mud. He didn't want Remus to see - either because Remus would understand something was wrong and would care and worry about him… Or because he wouldn't care - but would be angry at the dirt Sirius was now tracking in.
He took his shoes off, left them out by the front door and then crept in his socks towards the staircase.
'Sirius!' he heard Remus call. He froze. 'Is that you back?'
He cleared his throat. 'Yeah - I'm - uh - I need a bath to get warm.' And he bolted for the stairs.
...
The steam rose in spirals - and he stripped off his wet things and plunged under the hot water. Then he lay back and closed his eyes… until a gentle but insistent tapping at the door forced him to open them again.
Remus was worried - not just about their future, or about Sirius running off, or about whether or not Sirius was regretting asking him to run away with him, all though all that weighed down on him too. But right now he had something a bit more immediate to worry about - and he couldn't wait to share it. So - even though the thought of barging into the room when Sirius was in the bath made him flush down to his toes, made his palms sweat and gave him heart palpitations … here he was, tapping on the door, asking to be let in.
He heard Sirius call out to him, a note of question in his voice, and he pushed the door open and went inside. He tried to keep his eyes averted, as he took a seat on the toilet lid but he was painfully aware of the pale creaminess of Sirius' skin under the water - smooth and unblemished and so totally different from his own scarred and ravaged body.
...
There was a splashing sound and, out of the corner of his eye, Remus saw Sirius draw his knees up to his chest - as if to give himself some modicum of privacy. He blushed - and wondered if that was because Sirius knew how he felt - and didn't want him looking. If Sirius had been regretting inviting Remus along when he went on the run, then being trapped naked in a bath while Remus invaded his privacy must surely put the final seal on him realising his decision had been the wrong one.
Sitting in the bath, Sirius wrapped his arms around his knees and tried to look casual - though his heart was beating faster and he was feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the heat of the water.
Remus hadn't even looked at him, he realised. Whenever he looked into Remus' eyes and hoped that he saw that same longing looking back at him - he must have been mistaken. Because if Remus felt anything like he did - that sweaty discomfort of not understanding why he felt so differently about this one boy - he couldn't have just walked into the room, cool as you please, and not even bothered to look. Not even a sly glance beneath lowered lashes.
Sirius couldn't have walked in on Remus in the bath and not looked - he was sure of it. Remus felt nothing for him but a brotherly friendship … if their friendship was still intact, that was.
'What is it?' He asked gruffly.
'The newspaper came while you were out,' Remus told him, shaking out their copy of The Daily Prophet.
'And?'
Remus held it up so Sirius could see the headline. 'Wormtail's been talking to the press.'
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My Broken Heart: Peter Pettigrew and the Potters
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The headline read. Sirius snorted in derision. 'Little rat.' He glanced up - just as Remus glanced at him, catching each other's eye. 'I meant … well, you know what I meant.'
Remus nodded … and then they both seemed to remember that Sirius was in the bath, and naked - and swiftly looked away from each other.
'So, um,' Sirius cleared his throat. 'What does Wormey have to say?'
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Remus looked down at the paper, scanning the page, grateful for a reason to look anywhere but at the man in the bath. 'He says … everything. Talks about meeting James and Lily at school - how they were all the very best of friends from their very first day at Hogwarts.'
'Yeah? And where do we fit into this rewrite of history?'
'Oh - well, it seems little Peter always knew you were a wrong 'un, Padfoot, old friend. That you hung around James - trying to be close to him - and James was too kind to kick you aside. But you were always jealous of how close James and Peter were.'
Sirius snorted, 'right. What about you?'
'I barely get a mention,' he smiled wryly. 'I must confess I'm a little hurt at that. I was just a fellow Gryffindor that was easily led astray by your - um - manly wiles.'
There was a moment of tension - almost palpable in the air. And Remus wished he hadn't said it.
'Well … I didn't mean to - uh - wile at you there, Moony.'
They both laughed - and the tension eased a little.
...
'So - is that it? Is that all he says?'
But Remus shook his head. 'No - he's told about Lily and James going into hiding, that they knew Voldemort was after them. He said they used the fidelius charm. He's … he's publicly named you as the Potters' secret keeper.'
'Despite him being James' bestest best friend in the whole wide world and me being dead jealous about it?'
'I suppose he's hoping no one joins up the dots. He's bewailing that he didn't take on the job himself, that he let James pick you when he always knew you couldn't be trusted … and you turned out to be working for Voldemort all along.'
'So that's it then…' Sirius forgot about his modesty, and stretched out, leaning his head against the rim of the bathtub and closing his eyes as he realised that Peter had put a price on his head. 'It isn't just Dumbledore anymore. Now everyone in the world thinks I'm Voldemort's spy. I suppose I really am a wanted man now.'
...
Unable to look away any longer, Remus glanced towards Sirius - drinking him all in with his eyes - while the other man was oblivious, lost in his thoughts. Catching sight of his own thoughts, of his breathless longing, Remus blushed and squirmed with shame … but he still didn't look away.