Disclaimer: Despite the fact it was my birthday yesterday, nobody has given me the rights to Harry Potter, the world or any of the characters in it. This is most unfair and if I weren't far to old for sulking to be attractive in any way shape or form I'd be pouting right now.

A/N Reminder: this is an AU. This first chapter looks at Sirius' POV of the events in the prologue. It's kind of a strange chapter because it is first person and there isn't much of a plot this chapter, it's more like a second introduction. However the plot is coming in later chapters I promise!

Chapter one: Alone

I trusted him. I would have trusted him with my life – I did trust him with James' and Lily's. I was wrong, so wrong, how could I have been so wrong? It was my fault. All of it: James, Lily, Peter and even Remus, poor Moony. I can't believe I didn't trust him. That's a lie, yes I can. They were dark times, scary times. We were all paranoid. Not paranoid enough though.

I look back on it and I see the signs. It was always Peter now I think about it, Peter who fostered my distrust of Moony. Peter who, every so subtly, started hinting at things. Pointing out, with that puzzled, slightly stupid, look on his face that the Death Eaters seemed to know some of the intimate details of our lives, that it was almost as if the spy in the order (we all knew there was one) knew things that nobody except us marauders knew. Us marauders. The four most accomplished pranksters Hogwarts ever saw.

Peter was never really fully a part of us, now that I look back on it. We tolerated him because he was our audience, James and I. Remus was our friend, our equal. The only one who was safe in disapproving of us. He never stopped us, but he did make us feel bad about our actions sometimes. Remus was our conscience. Peter was our fan. He cheered us on, manipulated us, right from way back. He wasn't nearly as stupid as we thought him. He wasn't strong, wasn't powerful, wasn't book smart. But he had street smarts as I suppose you'd call it. By staying in with us, by being important to us he was protected. Moony would help him in classes and Prongs and I would keep others from bullying him. Prongs and I: the darlings of Hogwarts. The smartest, most arrogant, most privileged (to outward appearances) students in the year, possibly even the school. People ignored Peter because we were there. We ignored Peter – I can't call him Wormtail any more. Wormtail was a friend, a name for happy remembrances. As it turned out, Wormtail wasn't reality.

I've tortured myself over this, time and again. Was it our fault that Peter went over to Voldemort? I've thought about it so much and have come to a conclusion – in a way it was but in a way it wasn't. Peter was always attracted to power. At school he was our groupie, but out in the world there were far more powerful people. Peter went over to Voldemort because Voldemort was power. That part was not our fault. But part of it was. We revelled in Peter's infatuation with us. We encouraged it, rewarded it. We allowed him to remain the person he was because we never challenged it. We were young and stupid and every bit as arrogant as people thought us (in the most part). We were kids and we were flattered. We didn't grow up fast enough. We never had to.

I went insane that night. Completely insane. Seeing the ruins of Lily and James' house. Seeing their bodies. Seeing little Harry. I knew then what had happened but when I caught up with him…. I'm surprised I had the presence of mind to disapparate when the aurors arrived. After Peter had done his little disappearing trick. I searched for him for months. I probably would still be searching (a rat is very good at hiding and I wasn't thinking, I was just reacting) or I'd have been caught long ago if it wasn't for Harry.

Harry's first birthday had been such a joyous occasion. All of us there, friends. Celebrating. Little Harry was such as sweet child. I don't know that I could have loved him more if he had been my own. So I had to see him. Had to see my little Mini-Prongs on his second birthday. I dogged up, as Moony had jokingly referred to it, and snuck onto Privet Drive.

I could not believe it. That foul sister of Lily's and her even fouler husband. Their monstrous infant was in the garden with Harry and … I can't even describe the behaviour. Harry looked tiny, far smaller than a normal two-year-old. And those horrible Muggles blamed him for their little monster's behaviour. I couldn't leave him there. I just couldn't. And that was the saving of me. Harry thinks it was me who rescued him, but in truth it was he who rescued me. I took him away from that house, that situation. But he rescued me from my obsession with finding Peter. He gave me something to think about other than myself and my guilt.

Such a lovely little boy. He recognised me, it had been nine months but he remembered me. He called me Padfoot. And he understood me when I told him he had to pretend I was his Daddy when we saw other people. He behaved perfectly. I knew he was too young to tell the truth to and he never questioned me. Kids can accept things quite easily really – it's surprising. He never asked questions, I'd see questions in his eyes sometimes but he never asked.

We lived as Muggles to the outside world. An ordinary Muggle widower and his little Muggle son, living on the Isle of Wight. I knew I had to tell him the truth sometime but it was hard. I waited until he was six. He was still so young but he'd been at school two and a half years and been living a lie for four. Shortly before his sixth birthday he came home from school in a mood. Kept giving me questioning looks when he thought I wasn't looking. After several hours I finally got the truth. Some of the kids at school had been teasing him about not having a Mum. I knew there was more to it. The question he didn't ask. He knew he didn't have a Mum or a Dad and he wanted to know why.

So I sat him down, at the beginning of the summer holidays, the day after his sixth birthday. I told him. Not the whole truth but part of the truth. It became a tradition. On the first of August every year I'd tell him a story, a true story. A bit more detail every year, as he grew older, as he could understand more. Now he knows the whole truth about his parents, about me, and about Peter. He is ready for Hogwarts. I know he is ready. And they will come. They will come for me as both Harry and I know they will.

Over the last nine years Harry has grown up to be such a wonderful boy. He has James' flair and Lily's bravery but more than that. I loved Harry the baby because he was James' son. I love Harry the boy because he is Harry. I no longer see a Mini-Prongs when I watch him playing in the garden, nor do I see Lily when I look into his bright eyes. I see Harry. I don't know when this change happened it was a gradual thing. James was my friend and a wonderful man. Harry is my Godson and I love him as if he were my son.

Leaving Harry is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. The last few months we have been preparing, or trying to. We've been talking a lot. I've been concentrating on happy stories about Hogwarts. I want him to have a good time there, as good a time as Prongs and I had. I want him to look forward to going, not to dwell on us parting. I'm doing enough swelling for the two of us.

For the last few months I've been going into his room at night and watching him sleep. Just sitting there watching him. He has become my life. I don't know what I'm going to do now. But now it's time. Tonight I have to leave.

Maybe it is cowardice to run again, I don't know. But now I need to carry on. I've spent nine years looking after Harry, looking after the only thing in my world that is left that means anything to me. Now I'm back on the hunt. But I no longer have the same enthusiasm for it I once did. I find I no longer hate Peter. I don't feel anything much any more. There is a hole inside me, a hole that blots out my ability to feel anything. A Harry shaped hole. I'm going back to my search for Peter but I'm no longer even sure why. What is the point, alone?