Disclaimer: I own only the plot. The rest is J. K. Rowling's.
Inconnu
By Silberner Wolf
One review! (thanks, Brett) Pressing on!
~Silberner
Part 1: Ein Neuer Anfang
Chapter 1: From the Ruin
Sirius Black took his cloak off the hook as he walked out the door. He tucked his wand into his belt and pulled the cloak over his robes. It had been a rather cold Halloween this year. He stepped outside into the piercing wind of the very early morning. The sun would not rise for a while. He wrapped the cloak more tightly around himself.
His motorcycle waited patiently outside the door. He mounted it and the engine roared to life with a tap of his wand. He pulled back a silver lever, revved the engine, and rose smoothly from the pavement. He ascended steeply until he was just below cloud level. Wispy clouds swirled above him and the horizon became the deep purple of approaching dawn.
He had planned to check on Lily and James a bit later this morning, but he had awoken early and decided to check on Peter as well.
After nearly an hour of travel, during which the horizon became lavender, then pink, he reached his destination. He landed and concealed the motorcycle behind an ample bush, then entered the hideout Peter was currently using.
"Peter?" he called into the darkened house. There was no answer, just silence. No signs of a struggle or anything. He must have left willingly. But why? He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters were surely watching Peter as Sirius knew they were him, hoping to get a clue to the Potters' whereabouts. Wait. He staggered to a stop in the middle of the hallway and a horrified expression crossed his face. The obvious answer hit him like a very solid brick wall.
Sirius cursed loudly and raced back to his motorcycle. He ripped it roughly from the shrubbery and wheeled it onto the pavement, ignoring the twigs wedged in it and the leaves flapping with the motion of the bike.
If Lily and James had been found, it would be his fault. He had suggested that filthy spy be their Secret-Keeper.
Yes, spy. Peter had been the spy for You-Know-Who. Not Remus.
He leapt onto the seat and gunned the engine. The wheels squealed and the engine roared and groaned in protest as he rose unsteadily from the ground, the fear and rage coursing through him causing his hands to shake. He gripped the handles so tightly that his knuckles turned white and he began to lose feeling in his already chilled fingers.
It was a clear morning and a sliver of sunlight now illuminated the sky. He should have been careful to keep non-wizards from glimpsing him, but he did not care at the moment. He was in a dead panic, all the while mentally kicking himself for his stupidity. Why had he suspected Remus—because he was a werewolf? Why had he not seen that Peter was the spy?
For the same reason that he had suggested him to be the Secret-Keeper. Who would suspect such lowly, insignificant scum would be entrusted with such a task?
He could now see the neighborhood in which the Potters hid. He broke into a cold sweat.
No.
Smoke. A thick, black, oily smoke was pouring from one of the houses—or what was left of it. It was the Potters'. He was too late.
He landed hard, causing his bones to rattle and his teeth to come together painfully, and leapt off the motorbike before it ever had a chance to stop. It skidded to a stop on its side on the sidewalk, wheels still spinning and engine whining.
Sirius sat heavily on the wall that encircled the smoldering remnants of the yard. He was too late. His eyes burned and he did something that he had not done in years.
He cried.
He rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands and sobbed. His shoulders shook as he took shuddering breaths and his throat became raw with his ragged breathing. Tears soaked the front of his robes. His best friend, his godson, Lily—the only real family he had—were dead.
He did not know how long he was there, nor did he know when the sun rose. He did not even notice when the Muggles began to leave their homes and go about their day, oblivious to the fact that there had been murders just down the street from them. The house was still concealed, as was the mourning man just outside it.
He looked up only when he heard the familiar thundering footsteps coming nearer.
It was Hagrid. Dumbledore knew, then, that the Potters were dead.
Why did he send Hagrid, thought? What of value could possibly be left after such an attack?
Hagrid did not notice him as he walked up to the ruin and began to sift through it carefully. Sirius watched him as he lifted each piece of debris with a bit of interest, wondering what he was looking for, although he could not bring himself to announce his presence just yet.
After quite a while, Hagrid reached the most intact part of the house—the nursery.
He moved a large piece of something and seemed to find whatever it was he was searching for. His face brightened and he lifted something from the rubble eagerly, but carefully. Pulling a blanket from the inside of his coat, he wrapped it around the object of his search with great care.
Why would he do that?
Unless…
Could it be?
The bundle moved and he saw a small hand wriggle free of the blanket.
Harry was alive.
His godson was alive.
He struggled to his feet and stumbled toward Hagrid, his eyes watering with relief.
Hagrid looked startled as he noticed the ragged Sirius Black coming toward him. White and shaking, Sirius stopped in front of the large man. Hagrid quickly overcame his surprise and put a comforting arm on Sirius's shoulder.
It was a long while before Sirius could bring himself to look up. He still shook from shock, mingled with fury and sadness.
Sirius finally forced himself to be calm and stared up at his godson. "Give Harry to me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather, I'll look after him—"
Hagrid looked down at him sadly. "I've got me orders from Dumbledore. I'm ter take 'im to 'is aunt an' uncle's."
Sirius glanced over at his bike. Hagrid's eyes followed his gaze. "Take my motorbike. I won't need it anymore," he said, carefully keeping his voice from shaking.
"All righ'," Hagrid studied him intensely. "Take care o' yerself, Sirius."
Sirius nodded mutely and trudged down the street. He disapparated when he turned the corner. He had a job to do.
He was going to hunt down the murderous traitor. The traitor that had killed his best friend and orphaned his godson.
Peter Pettigrew.
Please R/R!