***DISCLAIMER: (Sniff), this is so sad... I'm glad it's not my story, or characters, or plot, or anything!
"Oh, by Padfoot and Prongs…."
Peter.
Sirius Black, sitting astride his motorcycle, pulled to a halt in midair. He gulped and looked frantically about, terrified at what this meant.
"Voldemort…."
He swallowed hard, his throat tightening and his eyes beginning to sting. His voice wouldn't come; he had to force himself to mutter the words he dreaded but knew held true: "I did this." He circled and sickened at what he saw from the different angle: "James!" He sped to the ground, hopped off before coming to full stop, and rushed to his best friend's side. James lay slumped against a wall, as though so terribly exhausted he hadn't reached his bed before he fell asleep. No mark of any violence. Sirius coughed, felt his stomach turn, resisted the urge to run from this place and never return. Squatting in front of the dead man, he reached for James' wand arm, clasped his two hands around James' still-warm one. He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes closed, praying this was all some horrid nightmare. "I'm sorry." He reached for James and embraced him, moaned in distress. Slowly Sirius had to instruct his shocked body to stand, and he glanced around gingerly. He murmured again, "I'm sorry," and picked his way through the debris down the corridor. He turned a corner into the couple's bedroom and emitted a strangled cry from some primitive region of his throat.
"Lily."
He bit his lip as he went to her side and picked up her wrist; he knew he wouldn't find a pulse. He stood up again, just looked at her; prostrate as though she'd merely fainted on the hard wooden floor. He knelt down and kissed her forehead, "Forgive me, Lily; I loved you two like family." He reached for a blanket lying nearby and covered her chest and shoulders with it. He stared, taking in nothing but the contrast of her bright orangish hair against the darkness of the room; only stared hopelessly at the pastel blues and greens in the baby quilt. Then he jumped, stepped away with wary fear etched in his eyes.
"Harry."
He dashed across the hall. Nothing dramatically unusual in here, the nursery looked sheltered from the hurricane that had swept through the rest of the house. He sprinted to the crib. Empty. He scanned the room for any sign of the baby. Nothing. Pale and shaking, he crimped his lips and hurried out of the house to where he'd left his motorcycle, planted himself in the seat again, and rose into the night sky—then he noticed a familiar figure: "Hagrid! Rubeus Hagrid!"
The huge man looked up sorrowfully and silently waved at Black. Sirius landed again and gasped at the baby in Hagrid's arms. "Harry! He lived!" Hagrid nodded, "Poor littl' thing."
Sirius shook his head, looked up at the man twice his height, and reached for the bundle in his arms, "Give Harry to me, Hagrid; I'm his godfather, I'll look after him."
Hagrid shook his head, "I've got orders from Dumbledore to take him to his aunt and uncle's."
Sirius shook his head again, "James doesn't have any brothers or sisters." Hagrid nodded quietly, "But Lily did."
"What!" Sirius balked and dropped his arms to his sides at this. "Those horrid Muggle gits! Harry Potter is going to live with them? No child of James and Lily will ever see the insides of that house if I can help—"
"But ya' can't help, Sirius. Dumbledore's orders."
Sirius shook his head, more slowly now than before. "Hagrid, you're a good man. Do what you must." He swallowed a sigh, swiped at one eye, "Take my motorbike; I won't need it anymore." Looking down at the shaken man, the giant leaned down to let Sirius see the child before he left. Sirius kissed the baby's forehead and took out his handkerchief to wipe Harry's face clean of the blood not yet dried. He smiled as Harry yawned, oblivious to the dark forces at work around him, and whispered to him, "Your parents were the dearest friends I had. As long as I'm alive, you'll never be alone." He kissed him, smiled weakly at Hagrid, and walked away, his robes trailing behind him soaked in water leaking from the broken pipes of the house.
The street bustled busily, Muggles amiably chattering amongst themselves. The tall man swallowed and looked around, certain that he'd run into the wizard he wanted. He pushed a piece of dark hair back into place, then wiped at his eye casually, watching himself in a shop window. It had been hardly a day since he'd discovered James and Lily dead in their home, and here he was in the middle of a Muggle street looking for a Dark wizard responsible for their deaths. He shuddered but stood his ground in spite of himself. If he came, Sirius Black would be ready for him….
A short young man hastened through the crowd, muttering to himself aloud and receiving confused glances from the other passer-by. He bumped into Sirius, apologized thoughtlessly, and continued on his way.
"Peter."
The short man ran a hand through his thinning white-blond hair and spoke loudly from ten yards down the sidewalk, "Right then, that's Sirius Black!" He turned around with a small smile but didn't move any closer to Sirius.
"Did you hear the news from Godric's Hollow?" Sirius didn't advance toward him either and stared coldly at his friend. Peter allowed the merest echo of a flinch to cross his face before painting his expression interested. "Not yet, Sirius; Lily due for another one? Little Harry—"
"No, Peter. Little Harry needn't worry about that. Lily and James were killed last night." Sirius studied the false shock on Peter's face and growled, "By a Dark wizard." He gave a vicious scoff and added smugly, "Now who do you think it was?"
Terror stared back at him from Peter Pettigrew's beady eyes. The old nervousness of his past returned as Peter shook his head in horror and began to back away, his voice wavering hysterically with every shouted word. "Sirius Black! What are you saying? Are you admitting to the murders of your best friends!"
Sirius' eyes flashed furiously, "Pettigrew, I don't need—"
"Lily and James, Sirius!" Terrified tears ran down his pallid cheeks as he wildly waved his arms in the air. He shook a frantic finger toward Sirius, "How could you?" He pulled a penknife from within his cloak and ran it along the inside of his hand with a wince and moan of pain. Blood rolled down his wrist and forearm, and Black hesitated at the space for the missing digit in the middle of Pettigrew's hand.
Peter turned savage eyes on his fellow wizard, didn't heed the Muggles beginning to stare. He deliberately reached behind his back, and Sirius plunged his hand into his robes in defense. Peter Pettigrew shouted an unrecognizable word, and the street exploded before Sirius' eyes.
Every person within twenty feet of where Pettigrew had been standing no longer stood. Black stood with his wand drawn, twelve Muggle casualties lying prostrate in the street before him. Shrieks filled the air from people who had seen the incident. He stared at the wreckage around him, noticed Pettigrew's finger on the ground. He appeared to ponder his predicament for an instant, then—to the alarm of the Muggles still on the street—laughed. His legs froze, but he doubled over with laughter in the crater-like remnant of the avenue, several corpses surrounding him. Pettigrew's robes lay before him in a gore-stained heap, and the sheer sight of them seemed to force Black into more hysterical laughter.
Several men seemed to rush in from nowhere, wearing the characteristic pine-green-and-navy-trimmed robes of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. The number of the people, now milling about the scene of the crime, were moving to speak to the numerous Muggle witnesses, then waving wands across their faces with a mumbled Memory Charm. Two or three of the larger men from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad approached Black, who now smothered his louder outbursts and only gave occasional chuckles and snickers. He watched with an absurd smile as one directed his wand toward Black and tightly bound his wrists.
"Sir, what is your name?"
"Black, Sirius Black," he grinned, "but I don't think I'm the man you want."
The wizard constable shook his head and spun a finger near the side of his head for his comrades. One whistled a long, low note, but the other shook his head at Black.
"We'll see, Mr. Black. Tell the dementors at Azkaban."
