Sirius had been feeling strange all night.
He was no longer the Potters' Secret-Keeper, which was strange in and of itself—he still knew where they lived, of course, but now every time he tried to say their address or describe their cottage, he found himself somehow unable to form the words.
But there was something else, too, a sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't explain. Searching for something to occupy his mind, he sent a Patronus message to Dumbledore asking for details on any new missions he had, but he never got a response. This was even stranger: Dumbledore had never failed to answer one of his Patronus messages before.
It's late, he told himself; Dumbledore's probably asleep already. Didn't he just turn a hundred years old?
But the thought wasn't enough to comfort him. He glanced out the window of his cabin, at the spot of grass where he'd parked his flying motorbike—he hadn't taken it out for a ride in a long time. Maybe he could go check on Peter, make sure he was all right after the transference.
Swallowing back his apprehension, Sirius hopped on his bike and took off, flying above the darkened forests towards Pixie Grove. He half-considered swooping down on one of the Muggle towns nearby and giving the people there a real Halloween fright; maybe he would have done it if he weren't in such an anxious state of mind already, or if the thought of such a prank didn't remind him so painfully of his carefree school days pulling off similar sorts of Halloween stunts with James. So instead he flew straight to the house where Peter and Remus were staying, the house they once had all lived in back before the prophecy about Harry. He parked the bike in the front lawn and made his way inside.
"Peter?" he called, peering into each room he passed. "You here?" He checked everywhere—all the bedrooms, bathrooms, the back deck—but Peter was nowhere to be found.
Sirius held a hand up to his mouth, feeling himself beginning to sweat. He and James had told Peter to stay put in the house for a while after he became Secret-Keeper, and Peter had promised that he would. Maybe he'd run off for a bit, out to one of the bars in town for some late-night firewhiskey. Maybe he was tucked away in some dark corner, sleeping in his rat form the way he sometimes liked to do.
There was no sign of a struggle, after all; it certainly didn't look like Peter had been dragged off by Death Eaters. But he was Secret-Keeper now, armed with information that Voldemort desperately craved…maybe, just maybe, he had provided him with it. Maybe that was the real reason Peter wasn't where he was supposed to be.
Oh, God.
Sirius sprinted from the house, grabbing his bike, and Apparated with it to the spot in Godric's Hollow where he knew the Potters' protective wards began, a little ways down Augurey Lane. He rode the bike the rest of the way down the street and crashed it through the Potters' front gate, staring up in horror at the dark silhouette of the cottage ahead of him. The entire right side of its top floor had been blasted apart, with bits of roof and wall littering the lawn—it was where Harry's bedroom had been, Sirius knew. The front door was gone as well, turned to rubble by a Blasting Curse…Sirius threw down his bike and ran inside.
Immediately he saw a body, pressed up against the wall to his right: James, his eyes blank and wide and his arms hanging limply at his sides. He was dead.
"No. No." Sirius fell to his knees beside the body, cradling his head in his arms and trembling violently with silent sobs. James, his first and closest friend, his brother, his forever partner-in-crime, was now a lifeless, empty shell, his skin already cold to the touch; Sirius teased off his glasses and pressed his forehead to James's, willing him to take some of his warmth, whatever he needed to bring him back to life…he couldn't be gone, Sirius didn't know how to live without him….
"They're going to pay for this," he whispered, because it was the only thing he could think of to say that didn't feel hollow. "He is going to pay for this." If Sirius had stayed the Secret-Keeper, if he hadn't convinced James to switch to Peter, if he'd just trusted Remus…it was his fault that James was dead. His fault, just as much as if he'd turned him in to Voldemort himself. The thought alone was nearly enough to tear him in two.
There was a sudden, lengthy creak coming from the Potters' staircase—someone else was here, someone he hadn't heard before. He laid James gently down against the floor and rose to his feet with his wand in hand, tiptoeing through the living room towards the stairs. He was shaking so much his teeth were chattering—he'd never been able to use the Killing Curse before, but if there were any Death Eaters lurking around, he felt that he very much would be capable of it tonight.
But there were no Death Eaters coming down the stairs: there was only Hagrid with a baby clutched in his arms. A moving baby, grasping at the fabric of the blankets he was wrapped in; he turned his face towards Sirius to reveal a deep, bloody cut across his forehead.
Sirius took a step back. "Harry," he choked out. "He's alive?" How could he be alive?
Hagrid blinked down at him, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs. "Oh, Sirius," he mumbled. "I thought I might find yeh here, you or one o' your friends…it's all so horrible, isn' it? You-Know-Who, trying ter kill a tiny baby—"
"What about Lily?" Sirius interrupted him. "Did he…did he kill her too?"
Hagrid nodded, letting out a massive, snotty sniff. Sirius felt bile rising in his throat. "Killed 'em both, he did…James an' Lily…but when he tried ter to do it to little Harry, he must've done summat wrong…he's gone now, we think, defeated by his own curse…."
Harry let out a wail, which stirred something deep inside of Sirius—he was the boy's godfather, he'd sworn to protect him if something ever happened to his parents…Harry was his responsibility now. He stepped forward and reached out for him. "Give him to me, Hagrid," he said quietly.
Hagrid hesitated, his dark eyes flicking up and down Sirius's trembling form, but he handed Harry over after taking in the expression on his face. The baby's cry was hoarse, worn out like he'd been wailing for hours, and he was still bleeding from the wound on his head. Sirius raised his wand to it. "Ep—episkey," he murmured, struggling to summon enough concentration to sustain the simple spell. Harry's blood leached away from his skin, leaving a dark, sharp scar in its place that looked oddly like a bolt of lightning. The healing charm did not touch it—it was an enchanted scar, Sirius realized, damage from Voldemort's rebounded curse.
The prophecy had been right all along: James and Lily's son really had been the one destined to defeat the Dark Lord. But it wasn't supposed to be like this, with dead parents and backfiring curses and a baby who had no idea what he'd even done. Was this really the way the war they were fighting had been fated to end all along?
"Dumbledore sent me here ter bring Harry ter his aunt an' uncle's," Hagrid was saying. "He thinks it's best fer Harry ter live with 'em."
"Dumbledore sent you?" Of course he'd sent Hagrid to Godric's Hollow before even letting Sirius know what was going on. Then, with an awful jolt, Sirius realized why: Dumbledore thought he was still the Potters' Secret-Keeper, that he was the one who had betrayed them. Remus still thought he was the Secret-Keeper.
"Mama," Harry said, pulling at Sirius's hair to get his attention. "Mama."
Sirius's heart gave a painful clench. "I'll take him, Hagrid," he said, pulling Harry tightly to him. "His aunt and uncle, the Dursleys…they hate wizards, and magic, and everything James and Lily ever cared about. Harry can't grow up with them, he can't. I can raise him; I—I'm his godfather." Sirius had no idea how he was going to take care of an orphaned, Dark-Lord-defeating baby, but he knew he would figure it out. He owed James that much, at least.
"Dumbledore made me swear ter bring Harry straight ter to Dursleys," Hagrid said uncertainly. "Says it's the bes' place fer 'im."
Dumbledore doesn't know what he's talking about, Sirius wanted to say; but then he thought of Peter, running around a free man somewhere after turning his friends over to Voldemort. The only people who knew what a murderous traitor he really was were either dead or Death Eaters or Sirius. Sirius had promised James he'd make Peter pay—and until he did, he would be the one blamed for turning on the Potters, hunted down by the Aurors to be shipped off to Azkaban. He couldn't take Harry, at least not yet.
"I'll come back for you soon," he whispered into Harry's ear, too quietly for Hagrid to hear. Then he handed him back to the gamekeeper. "Take my motorbike," he offered. "I've got it parked right outside—it's got a sidecar where you can put the baby. Please, take it; I don't need it anymore."
"Tha' would be great," Hagrid said, glancing down at Harry. "Thank yeh, Sirius. I promise I'll tell Dumbledore yeh came by wanting ter take Harry. We'll see if he changes his mind abou' the Muggles." He laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and patted him comfortingly. Sirius swallowed, nodding; he wouldn't change his mind, at least not until Sirius cleared his name. But he would be doing that soon enough.
The two of them walked together back into the front hall, where James's body still lay, and Hagrid hugged Sirius before squeezing his way out through the open doorway. Sirius watched him silently as he settled onto the bike, tucked Harry into its sidecar, and flew away. Once he'd disappeared into the night sky, the loud roar of the bike fading away to silence, Sirius knelt over James, kissing him on the forehead and drawing shut his still-open eyes and promising him again that he'd make things right. Then he changed into his dog form and slipped out the back, his mind swarming with thoughts of the cowardly, traitorous rat he had only this morning considered one to be of his greatest friends.
Peter was going to die for this.
