Chapter One

A Magic Number

Saturday, August 20th, 1994:

Remus Lupin's Apartment

The crescent moon hung low in the sky.

It was barely visible through the window of the worn, tiny kitchen. A single candle sat flickering on the scrubbed wooden table, and one of the two occupants stared at the flame as it threw off shadows onto the walls.

"My fault."

One of the occupants, the one who had spoken, was slumped over the table and clutching a bottle of firewhiskey. His matted, black hair hung lankly around his gaunt face, which was stretched tight and thin across aristocratic features that only helped belie the image of a stark-raving madman. His grey eyes - currently a dark, smoke-like color - burned with rage and agony under something dangerously like insanity.

But the way he held himself told he was much worse than a madman.

He was a broken man.

Not entirely, mused the other across the table. He, like the other man, was fairly young. Despite the obvious lack of age, a terrible wisdom - the sort carved out of a person from years of hell - was thick on both their faces. He had amber eyes and flaxen, golden hair that shone slightly in the candle light. It cast dark shadows that mixed with the deep groves of scars on his face. He held a newspaper in his hands that he was staring attentively at, but not reading. Chipped, worn, and shattered…but not broken.

"What do you mean, Sirius?"

Sirius glared balefully across the table. "You know what I'm talking about, Remus. I as good as killed them. I did kill them."

Remus didn't answer. He did know what Sirius was talking about. Regulus, James and Lily, and Alice and Frank. They fell one after another like dominoes. A twisted puppet show with Voldemort holding all the strings.

But it's not Voldemort, is it? whispered the annoying little voice in the corner of his brain that always spoke up at times where he doubted Dumbledore. Remus gave an irritated huff and brushed the voice away. The little niggle was always in the back of his mind. It had been there even before that Halloween.

Remus knew that Sirius had never truly grieved. Being in Azkaban - near those thrice-damned dementors - only stacked up more and more guilt on him. Sometimes, Remus had the sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore just left Sirius in that cursed hellhole, until he either grew up or went insane…

No, Remus told himself firmly. Dumbledore's a good man - a great man! He would never do something like that. Think of all he did for you!

"They're gone," Remus said, folding his newspaper and looking Sirius in the eye. "It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is!" Sirius hissed back. "Think of all the lives I've damned, Remus! Reggie! James! Lily! Harry!" He choked over the last one, and a tear slid down his face. Sirius buried his head in his hands.

"If I had one wish in the world, it would be for Harry. He knows what parents are, but not his parents are. D'you—d'you think he even knows that they love him?" Sirius asked, lifting his head up.

Remus felt like someone had stabbed a rusty knife in his heart. He swallowed, "I don't know."

Sirius's head fell with a dull thump on to the table. "He's starting his fourth year this year. James never got to see him play Quidditch, or talk about their favorite teams. Lily never got to see his report card, or send him sweets from home. For Merlin's sake, they never got to meet him! Harry never got to open Christmas presents with his parents, or let them tell him funny stories. For all purposes, he's unwanted!"

Sirius winced - unwanted. It reminded him of his own home life. His mother, the demon of his nightmares, had abandoned him. Had he done the same to Regulus when he ran away? Would he have been able to convince his bratty little brother - who always craved their parents' affection - that their family was wrong? No. Reggie was dead, and it was his fault. He should've been there to take Regulus aside and tell what would really happen when was made a Death Eater.

Alice and Frank - damned to a life of insanity - he should have been there to fight his mad cousins. In some ways, his honorary nephew, Neville, had an even worse fate then Harry. Know your parents, but they don't know you.

Remus sat, gaping, when Sirius abruptly stood up.

"I'm going to bed, Moony," he turned to go to his bedroom, but spun around suddenly.

"Moony."

"Yes, Paddy?"

"When you get a family—shut up, don't deny it, you will get a family!—I want you to hold on to it with everything you've got. Because once they're gone, they're gone forever."

Remus refused to believe that. "I'm a—"

"NO! That family's going to love you whether you're a Black, or a werewolf, or whether you play pranks, or whether you constantly read, or whether you have a Death Eater brother or whether you are poor."

Sirius banged his fists on the table. "I can't do this, Remus. I can't take care of Harry, I can't convince you you're as human as everyone else, I can't get over James and Lily and Reggie and Alice and Frank, I can't do anything!"

Sirius stormed away into his bedroom, flinging open the door so hard it bounced off the wall and left it wide open.

Remus looked at Sirius's figure, collapsing on the bed, and asked, "What do you need, Sirius?"

Sirius's answer was simple.

"James."

Hundreds of miles away, a rat was scurrying along the road. He could feel it. For the first time in fourteen years, he could feel the presence of his master. Pettigrew scurried off the road, into the gutter and towards the woods that lined both. His eyesight was poor, but that didn't matter. His Dark Mark guided the way through the dense trees and the dark, cloudy night.

A shiver of fear ran through him. Pettigrew wasn't doing this out of loyalty or even fear for the Dark Lord. He was doing it out of fear for his former friends.

Pettigrew had made a mistake in joining the Dark Lord. His offers were just so tempting - glory, power, and most of all…recognition. That was something he never had, especially when it came to being with his friends. For at least six years, Peter knew they had been genuine friends. But he could only take so much of being the scapegoat and the ego punching bag before it grated on his nerves.

When he had been branded with the Dark Mark, Pettigrew had had one thought.

Never again.

Pettigrew wasn't stupid enough to believe the Dark Lord would reward him anymore. Not only did he only have selfish reasons for returning, but he was on the hit list of two Heirs of the Twelve Great Wizarding Families. Originally, Pettigrew hadn't thought much of it - Sirius was very vocal against his relatives; and, for someone so arrogant, James was surprisingly modest when it came to his family.

But now…

Pettigrew was distracted from his fear as he caught sight of a humanoid baby-looking thing curled at the base of a tree. It had milky, filmy red eyes and pure white skin that was tinged green and had odd hairs stuck to it.

The Dark Mark drenched his arm in pain. Pettigrew shifted back to his human form and took off his outer robe.

"Master…" he stuttered, bowing low. "I, your most faithful servant, have come for you…" Shuffling closer, he wrapped the robe around the hissing creature, and his finger brushed a bit of uncovered skin.

In that second, everything changed.

A shock of pure energy burst into the sky. It arched like lightening shooting the wrong way, and lit up the night sky of Albania with a blast of white light. As it did, eerie words echoed out; it was a male voice, grim and one that might have been easy to laugh years ago.

"The Traitor returns to the One-Who-Holds-the-Betrayal…for his Dishonor and Disloyalty let the One-Who-Was-Hurt-The-Most by him…let his Loved Ones return…let them Breathe against…Taste again…Hear again…See again…Touch again…let them Live again…let them Return from their Graves…to Live again…"

Pettigrew jerked up, looking around wildly, but a hissed, "Down, Wormtail," and a bright shock of pain brought him out of his curiosity.

Consequently, he ignored the trails of light arching from Albania to England.

In an isolated graveyard in Godric's Hollow, dust was blowing from a family mausoleum and down the streets to an abandoned cottage. Behind the front door, the dust twirled and billowed into a human shape. The same happened upstairs, on the landing, in front of a decimated nursery.

A hundred miles away in a cave, in a lake, a body was pushed from the water. It fell on the slimy, rocky shore, gasping for breath and spitting out water.

Miles from there, in a hospital bed, behind flowery curtains, two people woke with a start into a clear state.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or JKR's works.