CHAPTER 11

By the time Remus arrived at Godric Hollow it was a couple of hours past moonset. Remus quietly walked past the sign that read 'Godric's Hollow'.

Nothing looked different, at least to the muggle eye, but Remus could see instantly something was terribly wrong.

Sirius was standing fixed near a smoldering pile of rubble. Remus' entire body felt numb or, maybe, a more precise description would be that he couldn't feel his body at all. He was afraid to speak; afraid to hear from someone else's mouth what he already knew in his heart to be true.

The Potters were dead.

Voldemort had found them.

Voldemort had killed them.

And he would never see Prongs again.

Remus quickly marched up to Sirius, who was, fixated on the remains of the Potter's house, and was fighting back sobs. His eyes seemed to carry a new weight; a depth of unimaginable sorrow that even Remus could not penetrate.

He placed a hand on Sirius' shoulder, feeling Padfoot's body shudder under the weight of his pain and frustration.

Sirius pulled Remus into a tight embrace; holding onto him like a drowning man would cling to a piece flotsam in the middle of a ocean tempest.

"Peter was their secret keeper, and he betrayed them!" Sirius gasped for air as the tears hit him with full force, but continued ranting. "I would've DIED; DIED rather than betray my friends!"

When Sirius had finally gained some composure, he managed to explain everything. Remus – who had already experienced a considerable amount of shock this evening, thank you very much – considered the news.

He seemed to look through rather than at Sirius. If he had gotten a good look at his face than maybe Remus would have seen that the mischievous grin that usually brightened his comrade's face, had disappeared, only to be replaced with a maniacal frown. Sirius looked like a dead man whose soul had just been torn asunder.

Remus gazed at Sirius, trying to keep a level head, and asked, "Harry will be living with you I presume?"

"No," Sirius closed his eyes and sighed. "Harry will be staying with his aunt and uncle. Dumbledore wouldn't tell me why, but I trust him. I lent Hagrid my flying motorcycle; he'll be taking my godson to wherever he needs to be."

Sirius began to tear up again, and with this new barrage of tears came the same emotional rants and insane death threats, which he had been vehemently spouting earlier.

But Remus could only think about Lyca, and how his breath had gotten caught in his throat when he had kissed her. He knew it was selfish of him, but she made him happy.

Remus heard a slight change in Sirius' voice, but barely took notice of it. Padfoot seemed to be going stark raving mad, but, then again, that could be considered normal behavior for Sirius.

Remus shook his head in agreement to whatever nonsense he half-heartedly heard. His thoughts were fully concentrated on Lyca: the smell of her hair and the feel of her skin.

"I'm gonna kill Peter," Sirius declared. "That bastard doesn't deserve to live. I'll rip his body apart with my bare hands!"

Before Remus could fully register the implications of Sirius's last words, there was a loud POP, and Padfoot was gone.

Remus found himself wandering around aimlessly. This was something he hadn't done since he was in his 6th year of school.

He didn't want to talk to Lyca, or even to Dumbledore. He retreated to the roaring fire of the Leaky cauldron, and a large tankard of Firewhisky. He hadn't drunk like this in a long time either.

Remus didn't like the idea of reverting back to his old habits, which he had gotten over so many years before, but what else could he do? His world was falling apart and there was nothing he could do about it.

The Potters were dead; Wormtail betrayed them to the Dark Lord;

Padfoot had gone off to find and kill the traitor; and all this time Remus had been absorbed in his own little world.

He had let his reunion with Lyca distract him from his duties as a friend, Auror, and member of the Order.

Every blessed memory of Lyca was now undeniably tainted by his failure.

Lyca's face had become synonymous with his own failure and weakness.

He couldn't bear to think about her, let alone see and speak to her. Yet

He couldn't just leave her without saying a word…but what other choice did he have?

He was helpless.