Note: This was originally a LOT longer – however, I split it into two chapters, as the latter half needed more editing. Well, that, and there was just need for a pause... -Shrug- Author's instinct. x.x It'll be up, at the very latest, a day or so after this, if not sooner. oo; The odd bit is, I wrote the LATTER bit first. This was actually written quite a while afterwards... x.x Eh, whatever. Enjoy.
Here it was.
Peter gulped. The door before him looked foreboding, an ominous, symbolic otherworldly thing. About a block away stood the traditional Black abode of Grimmauld Place. The decrepit, ancient house in which he stood now was generally called the Lachrymose House, for the obvious reasons. Grey, faded curtains hung from the windows, and a weeping willow, only just able to cling to life for another day, after day, stood out in the front lawn.
Lachrymose was something else, however. It was the point of no return.
After this, thought Peter, there was nothing else he could do to prevent the remainder of his plan. James and Lily were dead, gone; nothing could be done about them. He could, however, go back inside the house and wait for Sirius to return. Saving one of his oldest friends from a life sentence in Azkaban, or maybe even something worse.
Peter could have even returned to Knockturn Alley, where Lupin no doubt was. Where a poison, the affects of which were strangely similar to that of opium, lay dormant in the werewolf's veins, threatening to kill in some hours's time. He could have. There was still time.
There was so much Peter Pettigrew could have accomplished, saved, in that one moment. The wizard paused for a moment in contemplation before slipping the key into it's slot and turning it to the right. The door to Lachrymose was locked. As was the fate of Sirius Black.
Remus didn't like it. This sense of ominous, life altering waiting. It was enough to kill a man greater than he, even without the trials that he had already passed through.
Lupin had awoken some hour earlier, tucked lovingly into bed by some unknown. More or less Peter, Remus decided. Wormtail had probably suspected that his less than wonderful magical talents would not be enough to rouse the unconscious lycanthrope, and simply left him there, for time to wear the magic's effects away.
Remus peered blankly about the deserted alley. A sliver of pale silver shone through a cleft in the dark grey clouds, and the slight sickle fell across the werewolf's visage, carving light about his shadowed, weary features. His gaze did not waver when the moon's light caught against his amber eyes.
Was this really what it was like? The darkness, the fear that surrounded Knockturn Alley was not really at all what Lupin had thought it to be. His expression sobered even more, if that was possible. Perhaps he would start coming here regularly – it would doubtless be somewhat easier to obtain his wolfsbane here than at the usual Apothecary...
Nothing was as bad as it seemed, Lupin realised. These irrational, inane fears of his were nothing. He had nothing left to fear. Nothing to live for.
The cover that night provided was perfect. Sirius revved the engine on his motorbike. Perfect... Everyone was in at this point, too. He couldn't help but smile to himself. It seemed the whole of the Wizarding world was indoors, having some mass celebration. On another day, the Animagus would have asked indignantly why he wasn't invited. For now, however, his contemplation was elsewhere.
Padfoot swerved drastically about a corner, headed for Lachrymose. There was no way in Hell that they were going to catch Peter, or himself. For a moment, Sirius pondered who 'they' were, exactly – the Death Eaters, of course. For a split second, he had almost thought of them in another sense. The Ministry of Magic, perhaps? Sirius scoffed to himself. What would the Ministry want with either of them?
Sirius didn't bother to flick the silver switch on the handlebar, for once not wishing to soar above the clouds. Speed was the only thing necessary at the moment, and presently, flight was not necessary.
Lachrymose. Sirius's smile faded. It was dire business, this – not some frivolous jaunt. He slid off the bike and strode towards the aging house, rapped his knuckles against the door. "Peter," Padfoot hissed. "It's me. Padfoot. Open up."
No answer.
"Peter!" Sirius whispered again, louder. "Wormtail – it's Padfoot! Open the door!"
Still, nothing.
Sirius frowned. He didn't like this – Peter was usually on constant, vigilant watch. It was seldom that he never paid mind to when one of his three friends came about. "Alohomora," Sirius muttered, pointing his wand at the doorknob. There was a click; the door shuddered and creaked open.
"Peter?" said Sirius.
There was nary a sound in the entire house; generally speaking, the crackling sound of the borrowed record player would be blaring from the sitting room, or a kettle would be whistling on the stove. The complete and utter silence disturbed Sirius to almost a breaking point. "What the hell...?"
There was no one home.
Sirius strode urgently throughout the hall, up the stairs, and looked into one of the bedrooms. No one. The bathroom – the library – the spare room: no one there. Exigency was scrawled across Sirius's paling features. "Peter?" he cried in a low voice. He even checked the wardrobe. Nary a soul.
Sirius checked any possible message that Lachrymose had been found, but there was none. No sign that Peter had run for his life.
Fear registered across Sirius's features, and dawn crept against the horizon. With that, Sirius raced back out into the street and sped away towards Godric's Hollow.
It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible...
A dull thud in Remus's mind, an endless throb. He repeated it mentally, over and over. He could not believe it. He would not – it was too much.
Lupin had forfeited to his anguish, and now allowed the horrors within to take over. At least now it did not hurt, did not ache with the pain of so much grief. It was so much easier to deny.
Rosmerta glanced at the man, one she had witnessed grow from a weak little thirteen year old boy, as she wiped down the counters for the night. He was the only one left for the night, too. She shook her head sympathetically. He was completely and utterly sloshed. As were half the Wizarding population, the witch contemplated after a moment. Especially after yesterday's events – joyous mugs had been raised all throughout the day.
She glanced towards the clock. One in the morning, nearly. She looked back at Lupin. No, this hadn't been one of those celebratory inebriations she had seen all day. This was a 'gotta drown my sorrows' case. Rosie set the dishrag over her shoulder, having finished clearing the bar for the night. "I'll let him sleep it off," she decided quietly. With kindly deliberation, the owner of the Three Broomsticks flicked off the lights and vanished from the pub with a crack.
"Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?"
Sirius watched Peter with half-crazed eyes. The little bastard – Peter was going to plant the entire ordeal on him. "How could you?" Peter repeated in a sob.
The Muggles in the street stopped and stared. A grimy, dangerous looking fellow, who looked like he was on the run from the law, and a short little man who was attempting to face him down, bawling about someone unknown people. That was bound to attract their attentions.
It had taken Sirius all day to find little Peter Pettigrew
Sirius watched as Peter reached into his pocket and withdrew his wand, hiding it discreetly behind his back. "Bastard," said Sirius viciously, eyes narrowing. "Not here."
Suddenly, it was all clear. Remus wasn't the traitor – Peter was. Peter was stronger than he had thought, too – one move, and Sirius was fairly certain he wouldn't be as clumsy as the younger Peter had been in Defence class. Sirius swallowed, remorse and regret fuelling his anger. How could he have been so stupid? The entire time, it had been right in front of his eyes, and he had been too stupid, too arrogant, too complaisant in what he was CERTAIN to be right, to even see. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and hatred blazed.
"Voldemort taught you a few tricks, then?" scoffed Sirius quietly. "Fine. But not here, Pettigrew."
Pettigrew flinched at the sound of the Dark Lord's name, and his smile faded. He quickly regained his composure, however. "Yes, here," replied Peter in a cheery voice, lower, so no one could hear. "I never liked having to become the rat, anyways." He raised his voice for the entire world to hear. "I can't let you get away with killing them, Sirius!" Peter shouted. He gripped his wand tighter, and prepared to finish the job. "TRAITOR!"