Chapter Text
Sirius woke from a nightmare, a foul taste filling his mouth. There had been Death Eaters, green lights, screaming, flashes of violence and bright red hair. As soon as he was part of the waking world again, however, the dream fragments quickly faded and were replaced by more tangible worries.
As usual, his thoughts first flung to Lily and James and baby Harry, hiding under the Fidelius Charm, their secret no longer safe with him but with Peter.
Peter.
Peter would know if they were alright.
Sirius had taken to a bad habit of visiting with Peter whenever he felt uneasy, whenever he worried about the Potter family, the people he loved most in the world. He didn't know why he had handed over his ability to protect them to Peter, but some sick part of him was relieved.
If something happened to them, it would be Peter's fault.
He would regret that thought for the rest of his life.
Filled with thouhts of worry, the nightmare still spinning ruthlessly around in the corners of his mind, he Apparated to Peter's place. A cold, small space it was, but his friend felt safest there.
A coward, Peter Pettigrew was, and Sirius was about to find about how much of a coward he was.
The flat was in disarray, things flung about and some of the walls charred. In a moment of terror, he realized that someone had taken Peter. Abducted him.
Which meant nothing good.
He began to hyperventilate, and he had to steady himself before Apparating out. He had to get to James and Lily. He didn't care about the Fidelius Charm, or the wards; he wasn't thinking about those. All he could think of was James, James and his stupid smile and sense of humor and undying loyalty.
It wasn't how it was supposed to work, but it was enough will to do the job, and he felt the world close in on him with the crack of Apparition, taking him to wherever James was. It worked, too.
Which was a problem, because if the wards and Fidelius were still working, he wouldn't have been able to get there. They would have blocked his memory of the location, Splinched him, or done something to keep him from getting there. And yet, he had arrived somewhere.
But they were down, and that meant something terrible had happened.
It was not warm. He immediately felt an absence, a disturbance, and when his eyes blinked open, he nearly fell to his feet, nearly lost his balance, nearly fainted.
The Potter house was smoking, the door blasted down and the house wide open. The Halloween decorations were still twinkling ominously.
Worst of all was the Dark Mark, a sickly skull and smug snake floating like green smoke in the sky above the house.
Sirius nearly vomited, but before he could possibly process the scene before him, he felt his legs carry him into the house. Already, his head was spinning in shock, and he felt as though his ears were full of cotton.
The first thing he saw was James, splayed out on the floor of the living room, close to the door. There was no rising and falling of his chest, no grunt of recognition.
He was just there, and it took Sirius a long moment to realize that James Potter was dead.
It was then that Sirius fell to his knees, staring blankly at his closest friend. He didn't bother to wonder if the killers responsible were still in the area. He needed... he needed to grieve, but that was impossible. Instead, he knelt on the ground next to James. His fingers clutched the material of his shirt, and he rocked back and forth, trying to comprehend the scene before him.
James was dead, his brown eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. It was unfair, it was wrong. Sirius tried to close them, and cringed when the skin was cooling and unresponsive. James' face, as dark and as beautiful and as familiar as it had always been, was anything but peaceful, and there was only one explanation, and it was so obvious, but Sirius didn't want to think about it.
The Death Eaters had gotten there first.
Where is everyone else?
The silence hit Sirius like a brick, and he stared down at James and his limp body, looking so horribly gone but still horribly James. He felt a sob escape from him as he lost all control and collapsed onto the corpse, the body of one of his most beloved. He was still warm, but no heart beat was audible within him.
"James," he moaned, trying to cradle the body--trying to revive it, trying to get James to sit up and grin his stupid grin and say, "Gotcha!"--but it was limp and unresponsive.
Rage and desparation took over Sirius. "Goddammit, Potter!" He screamed, shaking him violently, needing a response, needing him to be alive. "You can't do this to me!"
He felt a trickle of tears escape him before he could stop them, before he started sobbing, before he could allow the floodgates to completely release. He dropped the body with a thud, and he was lost in a moment of horrid realization. The realization that he had just begun living in a world without James Potter.
Voldemort might as well have won the war. James was all that he had left. James was the one that had taken him in when his family disowned him, the one who was there every time his heart broke, the one who was next to him on every battlefield, the only one he could trust anymore.
And now he was gone, and Sirius couldn't believe it. He felt as though he were shattering, as though his brain were slowly melting and the tears were burning acid ruts into his face.
He was prevented from total breakdown, however, when he was startled by the distinctive cry of a baby.
Harry. Harry is alive.
Sirius nearly laughed in relief, but it came out choked, and it was all he could do to press a farewell kiss to James' still warm but cooling face before he clambered to his feet.
He was delirious, delirious with hope. He stumbled his way towards the sound, and found himself going into the nursery. It was in shambles, part of the wall blown out, and it smelled of smoke and death, but none of that mattered. The cry sounded again, and there was life in the nursery.
Harry--gorgeous baby Harry--was alive. His forehead was bright red and bleeding, but all Sirius could see was the life in the child and hear the sheer aliveness of his crying.
It wasn't until he stumbled over the body of Lily--Lily Evans, Lily Potter, the woman who had stolen James' heart--that he realized what was happening, and he almost broke again. But Harry's crying was persistent and alive and real, and he couldn't grieve another moment for the dead, because Harry was alive, goddammit and Sirius needed to do what he could to keep it that way.
He scooped up the small baby, still warm and vital, and cradled him to his chest. The boy had never liked him much, not as much as Remus, but he couldn't think about it now. Not about Remus.
Remus, who was still alive. Remus, who he had cast away. Remus, who was probably a traitor--
Harry cried louder for a moment, and Sirius cursed himself for losing his train of thought.
He hushed Harry, held him, and felt himself sink to the floor. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, shushing Harry and murmuring and crying.... Oh, gods, the crying, but how could he stop? His best friend had died, his best friend's wife had died, and he didn't know where Peter was....
But he had to focus on the baby. That was what was important.
Harry eventually quieted, but the little innocent seemed to know what was amiss. Sirius ached with the knowledge that the child had probably seen his mother die, and he wished that Harry hadn't understood it, but he didn't believe it.
He was achingly cold when he heard something stir downstairs. He sprung to his feet and drew his wand, keeping Harry close to his chest, having swathed him as well as he could in his own robe.
"Who is it?" He demanded, sliding down the stairs and peering into the living room. He could make out a large, hulking shape....
"Sirius?" Hagrid stepped out of the shadows, looking despaired. "Sirius, thank Merlin." He let out a long breath. "Yeh've got Harry."
Sirius took a deep breath and shoved his wand back into his pocket, holding Harry even closer to himself. The boy only shifted and made a whimper, a warm, heavy weight against his chest.
"Where have you been?" He demanded, suddenly feeling hostile and defensive. "I've been here hours... But if I hadn't been, Harry would have died from the cold." He shuddered, and all of a sudden the tears came back when he saw the outline of James' body still on the floor.
"Hasn't been more than an hour, Sirius," Hagrid whispered cautiously. "Dumbledore was here jus' after they... they passed." He shook his head and stared at James' body, and he let out a loud sobbing sound. "Gods, I didn' think it was true... but there James is! And baby Harry..." He bit his lip, and tears and snot began to stain his face and get lost in his beard.
Sirius shut his eyes. He didn't want to deal with other people's grief. He wanted to be angry, he wanted answers, he wanted to scream.
"And where is everyone else?" He raised his voice far too loud, and Harry let out a cry, but he didn't care. Rage was boiling inside him. "Their bodies are here, Hagrid, and no one is here. No one did anything to stop this."
Harry let out a loud wail, and Sirius winced. He hugged the baby closer to him, stroked his back, tried to remember how to comfort an infant.
"I don't know," Hagrid admitted quietly, stilling himself and wiping his face with his sleeves. He took a step forward and placed a hand on Sirius' shoulder. "I'm jus' here to take Harry to the Dursley's. Dumbledore's orders." He sniffed and looked full of resolve unique to Hagrid.
Sirius flinched away from him. "No," he growled. In that moment, he didn't want anyone else to be holding Harry. They hadn't been there for him.
Harry was his responsibility.
"Sirius, yeh can't--"
"No!" Sirius screeched, and this time Harry didn't react. "Where is Dumbledore now? Where was Dumbledore when this happened?"
Hagrid took a step back. "Listen, I know yeh're upset... but yeh need to calm down."
Sirius shook his head, and held Harry as tightly as he could without crushing him.
"Take me to Dumbledore," he demanded.
The Headmaster looked exhausted.
Sirius didn't give a single fuck, however, because he was even more exhausted. His deceased best friend's baby was in his arms, and he was on the verge of mental collapse. His concept of time had gone down the drain, and all he could feel was shock and anger coursing through him like lightning.
Dumbledore was pacing in circles, and hardly noticed when Sirius rushed in.
"Who killed them?"
That was the first thing out of Sirius' lips, and he hadn't even realized that it was what he was thinking. But once it was out, the words swam around inside of him, reincarnating the memories of the Dark Mark, and, more devastatingly, the image of James' dead body. Lily was there, too, in his memory, but Sirius was snapped back to reality he felt Harry squirm in his arms.
Dumbledore looked up and met his eye, suddenly looking years older than the last time Sirius had seen him.
"The Dark Lord himself," he answered curtly, frowning as he acknowledged Harry. "And I would suggest you sit down in case you drop the baby."
Sirius glared at him, but he felt his body settling into its chair. His body seemed to be running off of shock--he couldn't fully experience anything he did.
Except holding the baby. For some reason, that was so much more solid than everything else.
"The Dark Lord found out where James and Lily were hiding." Dumbledore's voice was shaky, but somehow devoid of emotion. Sirius couldn't help but notice that he was clutching his wand. "He went in just hours after I had left, and killed James. Then he got to Lily."
Sirius took in a sharp breath, and Harry made a tiny moaning noise.
"How is Harry not dead?" Sirius asked, staring at the little boy in wonder. Why would the Dark Lord have spared him?
"Harry killed Voldemort, it seems," Dumbledore answered.
Sirius blinked, and his hold on the child almost loosened before he gathered himself. He knew he must have heard it wrong. It couldn't have been true.... The Dark Lord? Dead?
"I don't catch your meaning," Sirius breathed. For some reason, tears were beginning to prick at his eyes again.
"The Dark Lord is gone, Sirius." Dumbledore shook his head in disbelief. "And Harry Potter survived."
Sirius let out a choke of laughter, and even managed to smile at the tiny child, who already looked so much like James with his dark skin and hair, who was still staring up at him with Lily's knowing green eyes. But thinking about them made him feel like he was crashing again.
"But how did the Dark Lord know where they were?" asked Sirius, gravity seeming to weigh down his voice once more.
"It was Peter," Dumbledore answered, continuing with his pacing back and forth. He still seemed disgustingly emotionless, and more thoughtful than anything.
Sirius felt something within him snap, but he did not drop baby Harry. He tightened his hold on him and glared up at Dumbledore, willing him to continue, willing him to explain the vile situation.
"I can't believe we didn't see it coming." The old man's pace increased, and there was a terrifying precision to his movements that even Sirius couldn't ignore. "And perhaps we never would. We were informed of Peter's betrayal mere hours before the attack. That was why I was not present--I had rushed off to get a hold of Peter." He shook his head. "Foolish. Brash."
Sirius clenched his eyes shut. "How do you know it wasn't a distraction? That the person was planning to get you to go after Peter?" He was still trying to cope with the fact that his friends had passed, let alone the fact that it was Peter who had gotten them killed.
Dumbledore's step faltered, but he continued pacing. "It wasn't," he growled, his voice firm with resolve.
"So it really was Peter?" Sirius demanded. Harry shifted in his arms.
Dumbledore turned to face Sirius, his blue eyes pierced with grief.
"He tried to convince me it was you," he said slowly. He took a step closer, staring into his eyes. "It wasn't you, was it?" His voice was hard with accusation, and it chilled Sirius to the bone.
Taken aback, he struggled to find words to protest. "No!" He cried, his throat clenching. "No, Albus... I would never... you know this..."
Dumbledore watched him with narrowed eyes, and for a flickering moment, Sirius thought he felt the probe of legilimency, but it was over just as it began.
"Of course you wouldn't," Dumbledore agreed, turning away for a moment as if he were ashamed that he would have thought otherwise.
Harry chose that moment to let out another wail. It was sharp and piercing, and it hurt Sirius in his core, because he realized that he was not the only one suffering from the occasion. He pressed his face close to Harry, trying to soothe him.
"Why do you have Harry, Sirius?" Dumbledore queried, his voice slow, sitting down in the chair next to him. "I told Hagrid to take him to Petunia's family."
Sirius didn't answer him for a some time. He tried to wipe at the cut on Harry's forehead, but it only made him squirm. He lost himself in thought for a long moment, wondering who had delivered the wound, what it had come from, where that person had gone.
Harry eventually stilled, and for the first time in the hours--less than that?--since Sirius had found him, the boy slept.
"I went to check on them after waking from a nightmare," Sirius explained, his voice low and quiet. "First I went to find Peter, though. His appartment was torn apart. I knew something was wrong."
Dumbledore laughed wryly, watching Harry fondly, his tone not matching the gravity of his words. "That was on the account of Alastor and I. As soon as I had finished with our informant, I left the Potters to find Alastor so we could find Peter and arrest him."
"But it was too late."
Both Sirius and Dumbledore said it at the same time, Sirius with bitterness and remorse, Dumbledore with scathing indifference. Sirius wished that the old man would show a little more emotion than just subtle regret, but he was too busy trying to bottle his own emotions.
"And I went to Godric's Hollow, which should have been impossible. But there I was, so I knew something was wrong. And there was the smoke and the Mark to prove it," Sirius continued, clenching his fists and battling the emotions threatening to overcome him. "It was empty, besides the... the bodies. And Harry." He stared at the boy in amazement. He didn't know what to feel, really. His best friend had died, the boy's mother had died, but so had Voldemort, and Harry was alive...
He supposed the rest of the world would hear the story soon. They would be celebrating.
And that made Sirius feel bitter. Angry. It wasn't right.
"Why was it empty, Dumbledore?" Sirius demanded, trying to fight his voice from raising lest he wake the babe in his arms. "Why was no one there? What will be done with their bodies?"
Dumbledore hung his head. "It will be dealt with, Sirius," he assured him. "But for now, we must focus on Harry. He must be taken to the Dursley's as soon as possible."
Sirius shook his head adamantly, remembering Hagrid's words.
"You can't," he insisted, clutching the boy closer to himself. "I'm his godfather. He's mine now. You can't give him... give him to muggles!" He thought of what he had heard about Lily Evans' sister and family, and he knew he couldn't let Harry live around that.
"It will be best for him there," Dumbledore said, slowly reaching out to touch the boy.
"No!" Sirius stood up and stepped away from Dumbledore, defensively guarding Harry. "You can't possibly think that."
"Think about it, Sirius," Dumbledore coaxed, standing up and looking at him pleadingly. "Soon all the world will know him as the boy who lived to defeat Voldemort. He will be famous, and he won't even remember what he's done." He shook his head heavily. "That kind of fame won't be good for him."
Sirius blinked and stared at the boy's sleeping face, torn between agreeing with Dumbledore and fighting against him.
Harry took a deep breath, still lost in sleep, and his tiny form shuddered against Sirius' chest. He felt a surge of protection for the boy that was his best friend's son, the boy who was now really his.
He chose to fight for Harry.
"And neither will be living with a family who won't know what to do with him," Sirius countered, meeting Dumbledore's bright blue eyes. They were too bright for someone who had just faced tragedy, who had just seen the death of his pupils.
Perhaps he didn't really care about the Potters, about Harry. Perhaps he just wanted to see Voldemort dead.
"What are you suggesting?" Dumbledore demanded. "Will you take care of him?"
Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Of course I will."
"You?" Bushy eyebrows rose in disapproval. "You're hardly responsible, Sirius. And you don't have anyone else to help you. Not to mention it would hardly do anything to keep the boy from the spotlight."
"I'll do what I have to," Sirius answered, feeling a new kind of resolve swell within him, something that seemed almost foreign to him. "Harry's mine now. I'll do what I must to take care of him."
"I can't let you do that, my friend." Dumbledore's voice was low, threatening even.
Sirius shook his head. "You can't stop me, actually. I'm his godfather. I have full legal custody over him," he reminded the man. "You may have led this war, Albus, but you can't control me. Especially not that it's over."
"You've gone mad," Dumbledore whispered, though Sirius fancied he saw fear flash in those blue eyes.
"I haven't." Sirius propped Harry closer to himself and prepared to apparate. "And I will take care of this boy."
Before the old Headmaster could protest, Sirius was apparating himself back to his flat. He had no idea what he would do there, how he would cope with his grief, how he would take care of Harry...
But he knew he would do whatever it took to keep Harry close to him.
Because he was his godson, and he was all that Sirius had left of James.