Fault

padfoot

It's over.

As over as over can be, at least. Voldemort's gone. The war is over. James and Lily are dead. Peter's in hiding for a long, long time, Remus has no one to turn to and I'm in here for life.

It's pretty much game over for everyone.

It's not fair, although life never is - not occasionally, not every so often, never. It should never have happened. Looking back on it now, it only makes perfect sense, but still it should never have happened. The Potters shouldn't have died. Peter shouldn't have gotten away with it. I shouldn't have gone without a fight, and Remus should know the truth.

It's a pity life has a way of laughing in your face.

My best friend and his wife are dead, killed in the worst way possible with a swift, unexpected stab to the back. It's nothing short of sickening. The four of us were supposed to be such good friends - the kind of friends you die for, not die because of. The type of friends you can trust with anything, including your life.

Yet, thanks to one fucking traitorous rat, one of us is alone, one of us is in prison, one of us is regarded as a hero and one of us is dead.

And despite what the world thinks I didn't even get to kill him and even the score.

With one idiot move Peter ruined the lives of five people - seven, if you count himself and his 'master'. He chose to do the one thing that would knock everyone off their feet, with one quick sucker punch.

It left James dead. One of the best aurors for the ministry, father of legend-in-the-making Harry Potter, my best friend, and the most trusting person I know, six feet under, dagger between the shoulder blades. Unable to know we won, unable to see his son grow up because he's dead. Fucking dead.

It left Peter in hiding. Dead to everyone in the world and condemned to spend one hell of a long time hidden, no support on either side thanks to his own cowardice. No allies, none of the big body-gaurd friends left to protect him. Not a redeeming thing to show for his twenty five years.

It left Remus alone and unaware. He doesn't even know the whole story. He won't ever really know why it is James is dead, why it is 'I' blew up a street full of muggles or why it is the biggest part they found of Peter was his finger. He'll know what the media feeds him, misinformed, misunderstanding, misunderstood, frighteningly alone and without the sturdy pillars of friendship to lean on.

It left me here.

The worst aspect, apart from the loss, apart from the wrongful conviction, apart from the innocence, apart from all of that, is the nagging voice at the back of my head.

Your idea, it says. You convinced James to use Peter. You convinced him it was Remus. You convinced yourself not to take the position. You convinced them it was /safe/. You convinced them it was for the better. You pursuaded them, talked them into it, talked them into their death.

The worst part of thise whole thing is knowing that the nagging little voice is entirely too correct.

It's my fault.