Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me. Though I suppose you knew that already...

Bravery

"Thank you for coming," Dumbledore said silently. He was sitting in his office, his elbows on the desk, his chin leaning on his entwined fingers. The look in his eyes was one of worry and pain; more serious that Peter had ever seen.

"I came as soon as I could, professor," Peter replied with a small smile.

"Come in," Dumbledore said, standing up and moving to the blazing fireplace.

"Of course, sir," Peter replied.

"I've already told you, call me Albus."

Peter shrugged half-apologetically and unclasped his wet cloak. That line was becoming almost a rule at his every meeting with Dumbledore. It was true that during the years he had been out of school Dumbledore had asked it repeatedly, yet in his mind it seemed too simple, too short to encompass everything he thought of his Headmaster and the leader of the Order.

He threw his cloak on a chair as Fawkes gave him a severe look, tilting its head.

"Where are the others?" Peter asked, sitting down in an armchair by the fireplace. He already felt his numb fingers melting in the warmth; it was unusually cold outside for this time of the year. Not only had there been constant sleet for more than the two weeks of October already, the previous summer had been all about rain and thunder and an odd day of hail. It seemed as if the weather was reflecting the state their world was in — news of death were all but unusual; it was rather with dull, terrifying anticipation that people expected to see the Dark Mark above their homes. It seemed unreasonable to hope to survive; people were pointing at those people who dared start a family and have children, those were called demented.

Dumbledore shook his head.

"I wanted to talk to you alone," he said. "Tea?"

"Yes, please." Peter didn't understand this. "It… it has got something to do with the spy, hasn't it?"

Dumbledore locked his piercing blue gaze with his and nodded.

"In a way it has."

It was more of a public secret that there was a spy in the ranks of the Order. It wasn't just the Order members themselves who knew it, even in the few newspapers that still hadn't closed up there were constant speculations on who it might be. The Order meetings had become something just short from chaos, with fewer and fewer members gathering each time, and nobody daring to voice his ideas in the fear of the spy overhearing them. The Order had splintered into groups of four or five, standing huddled together in the corners of the room, throwing suspecting glances at anyone who came too close, whispering in their midst. And professor Dumbledore always just sat at the table, his brow furrowed, worry etched into his face, deep in thought.

"You… you can't think that I'm the spy!" Peter exclaimed, jumping up from his chair hurriedly. "Professor, I… I would never… I mean you know I couldn't in any way… I can swear I'm not… please, believe me, sir!" he finished in a desperate whisper.

"Sit down, Peter," Dumbledore said darkly, and Peter stomped down again. "I don't need you to swear anything."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. Peter expected him to continue, but he remained silent. It felt too much like back at school when the four of them were called up to see the Headmaster when they got in trouble again. But this time he had been asked here all alone, alone as the war had left him, alone as it had left everyone.

The flames in the fireplace danced and cracked as the wind outside crashed against the tower and the rain rattled at the windowpanes. The two men sat sipping their tea in silence for a little while.

"Peter, I know I can trust you," Dumbledore said finally, looking at the short stubby man in front of him.

Peter's face lit up in relief.

"And I know that everyone else trusts you, as well."

Another silence.

"So," Peter started, "you want me to tell you who I think the spy is?" he asked in a frightened voice. He looked around and noticed that the portraits of previous Headmasters weren't sleeping this time, but silently leaning forward in excitement, and listening intently to everything that was said. Fawkes tilted its head again when their eyes met, then took off from its perch and flew over to Dumbledore.

Peter hadn't expected this question. Of course he had his suspicions on the identity of the spy, he had pondered on this no less than every other person in the Order. He had even tried to feed false information to that person, but it was getting too difficult with the growing level of distrust. There seemed to be only one person left whom everyone believed — Dumbledore.

When the summons to Headmaster's office had come, Peter hadn't wasted a moment, even though last night at the Order meeting Dumbledore had personally emphasised the importance of his mission. So he had come immediately, knowing full well that it wasn't for some trivial matter that he was asked to abandon his work and return to Dumbledore. But he hadn't expected to have to reveal his suspicions.

Peter found his fingers fumbling with the sleeves of his robe.

"I can't say I haven't got my suspicions," he said finally, not meeting Dumbledore's severe gaze. "I just didn't expect… Ah, well, better come out with it," he said, smiling apologetically and raising his head to meet the blue eyes for a moment, then shifting nervously away again.

"I… I think it's…" he started, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"No."

Silence.

"What?" Peter asked.

Silence again.

"I said no." Dumbledore rose up from his armchair and moved to stand behind it, leaning his wrinkly hands on its back and staring intently at something an inch above Peter's head.

"But then… Why…" Peter started again.

"Because everyone trusts you. And I need someone whom everyone can trust."

At this Fawkes made a strange crunching sound and shifted on Dumbledore's shoulder closer to his cheek.

"There is no spy," Dumbledore said.

Peter felt as if he had walked out into the rain without the water repelling charm on. He pinched himself, just to make sure he wasn't sleeping, and when the bit of pain registered in his brain, all kinds of different thoughts came flooding in.

"But it can't be… The Order… The Bones' were killed and… and then he… I mean the newspapers and all… but he was… I mean, Remus… and at the meeting… but the way she looked… and then when he said… I mean, everyone…and then it said in the Prophet, and… and the meeting was…"

"Peter!" Dumbledore said with a humourless snort of laughter, cutting down the monologue. "You're making no sense. Sit down."

Peter looked up at the Headmaster. He hadn't even noticed getting up from his chair, but now he found himself pacing the office and flinging his arms around, speaking out his thoughts that he couldn't even understand himself.

"Sit down," Dumbledore repeated, and Peter followed the advice.

"I know what you must think, but it's true," Dumbledore continued. "There is no spy."

"But everyone says that… I mean…" Peter interjected, but Dumbledore didn't let him finish.

"Listen to me, Peter, and drink your tea before it gets cold. When I say there is no spy, I mean that there actually is no spy." He had started pacing himself, his hands crossed on his back, looking everywhere and anywhere but towards Peter.

"Everybody thinks that there's a spy because I told them I thought there was one. But I never thought that. There has never been any doubt in the members of the Order being anything but completely loyal to me and the Order. I have never doubted anyone of selling information to Voldemort or taking part in the Death Eater activities. I have every proof to believe that nobody has even considered abandoning us for the Dark side.

"So why did I start this rumour of the spy?" He stopped pacing for a fraction of a second, and looked at Peter with concern and fear, then turned away again and resumed walking. "Because I needed a spy. No, don't get me wrong," he said, as if Peter had tried to ask something, though the younger man hadn't even moved and was sitting at the edge of his armchair, listening so intently that it wouldn't have been a surprise if he had forgotten to breathe.

"I didn't need one who would spy on the Death Eaters for us, though Severus is doing a pretty good work there. I needed one that would spy for them on us. I needed one that would not hesitate to tell our deepest secrets to Voldemort in person. I needed to find out whom I could trust to betray us.

"Everyone trusts you, Peter," Dumbledore finished, meeting Peter's intent gaze finally, none of the worry and fear that had been there before having left his face.

"What do you have me do, sir?" Peter asked, unexplainable and overwhelming terror suffocating him.

"I need you to sell us off to Voldemort."

Silence.

"Why?"

Dumbledore sat down again and threw his now cold tea down his throat to buy time.

"There was a prophecy made some time ago," he said severely, now channelling all the intensity of his blue eyes into Peter. "I have spent a lot of time trying to understand it. Do you want to hear it, Peter?"

"I… I think I'd rather not, professor," Peter said slowly. "But, sir, I thought you didn't believe in prophecies."

"I don't," Dumbledore replied, "but Voldemort does."

"What does it mean?" Peter asked hesitantly.

"I won't go into details, if you don't insist me to, but you need to know that he'll try to kill either Harry Potter or Neville Longbottom. Or probably both. And I've come to the conclusion that for him to settle down or at least keep a lower profile he'll have to get a chance to do it. Because he'll never rest before he has the chance." Dumbledore's voice was morbid, and his face was ashen.

Peter felt the dread of what he was asked to do paralysing him. He felt, if possible, worse than Dumbledore looked.

"Why?" he asked, but quickly changed his mind. "No, I don't want to know."

Silence took over again as both men thought their own thoughts. The fire was dying down while the storm outside showed no inclination to do the same. Fawkes took off from Dumbledore's shoulder, and with a silent thriller landed on Peter's knee.

"Which one?" Peter asked finally.

"Harry."

"Why him?"

"Because Alice and Frank left Neville at Augusta's while they're on mission. And because Lily and James are planning to go under Fidelius. You must become their Secret Keeper."

"But… But he'll kill them," Peter said, his voice even and emotionless as he struggled to keep the tears back.

"I don't know," Dumbledore answered. "But that's the only hope we've got. Otherwise this war will kill the wizard race off completely."

"So it's me that everyone's talking about. I'm the spy." Peter let out a sigh that sounded more like a sob. "They'll hate me."

"They will." Dumbledore affirmed. "Will you do it?"

Peter nodded.

"I will," he said, a tear finally escaping down his cheek.

Dumbledore got up from his seat and walked over to Peter. Fawkes let out a soft consoling thriller. The Headmaster took hold of Peter's shoulder, as if trying to give all his strength to the younger man.

"The highest form of bravery…" he started, but the words choked in his throat.

Peter ended the sentence for him in his even and emotionless voice.

"…It's to fight against your friends. I know."

A/N: Well, this is it. Actually I don't believe in that theory, but the inspiration for this story came just like that out of the blue... so I decided to write it.

And, please, REVIEW! Or I'll have Dumbledore come up with a scheme to get back at you...