Like Magic

Epilogue

October 24, 1981

Peter wasn't certain why he was asked over to the Potter's for dinner. It wasn't that he didn't often have dinner with Lily and James - in fact, he had dinner with them once or twice a week regularly. But this time was - odd. First off, Lily had made a point of asking him to be there Thursday night.

"What's so special about Thursday?" said Peter.

"Nothing, nothing," said Lily, but he didn't believe her.

"Petunia won't be there, will she?" he said, guarded.

"Oh, Peter. I haven't heard from Petunia in months." Lily sighed, and her eyes were saddened by mention of her sister. She reached for the necklace she always wore around her neck now - a thin gold chain, with a thick golden heart suspended from it. It looked to Peter as if the heart had once been two hearts, now magically molded together. One side of the heart said "Lily" - Peter could very well guess what the other side said, and his bet was that it didn't say "James."

"I'm sorry, I forgot," he mumbled. "Of course I'll be there Thursday. Count on it."

Peter hadn't heard from Petunia since before her marriage, but he knew that Lily had kept in contact with her. He also knew (from James) that Lily and Petunia had their own falling out shortly afterwards, and though Lily tried to keep in touch with her sister, sending a birth announcement for little Harry, and semi-regular letters, Petunia had never responded. Peter supposed that she still hated him, but that she had cut Lily out as well surprised him.

Peter stared at his reflection in the mirror. It was the one bit of his apartment that came from home. It had hung in the hallway for years, and when his father had died, Beatrice Pettigrew had given it to Peter. The reflection stared back at Peter, and he took a breath. He still looked the same. He still felt the same - or at least, the way he'd felt since Petunia had kicked him out three years before. He felt - hollow. Empty. And cold, very cold. The tips of his fingers had been blue for three years now, even on the hottest day in July.

"You need a woman, is what you need," said the mirror.

"I had one," said Peter, but he wasn't sure who he meant. Petunia, who was married with a child of her own in Surrey, or Narcissa, also married and also with a child of her own. Peter thought briefly of her supposed barrenness, and then thought of the rumor that he'd heard from other Death Eaters more recently.

They say she traded her soul for that child - she gave certain favours to the Master - they say she found him a Gryffindor spy ...

Peter looked down at his fingers, and then at his forearm. Yes, still there. Still burning, even, just a bit. He touched the hot flesh on his left arm with a cold finger, and shivered. Nothing could make that mark go away, not even death, or so he'd been told. Peter looked at the ugly mark, and wished it could have been different. But every time he thought to leave, to get away and never return, he was wrenched back, like a rat in a trap, and he knew there was no way out.

The clock on the wall chimed, and Peter saw that it was reading "Time to Go." And so he pulled his jumper's sleeves down to hide the mark, and took a cloak from the closet. As soon as the frog at the throat was fastened, he had Apparated away.

* * * * *

Two hours later, Peter learned why Thursday was so important. He sat on the tattered couch by the fire in the parlour, as James attempted to explain again his plan.

"So that's our last chance," James was saying. "Not that it can do any more good than to buy some more time."

"Time we can use," said Sirius. "Anything, so long as you're still alive, we can get this solved and finished before He gets to it."

"But why tell me this?" said Peter slowly.

"Because," said James. "You're to be our Secret Keeper."

Peter dropped the cup of tea he'd been nursing. "No!" he said, standing. "James, I can't! Don't ask me - "

"Peter, I need you to do this!" said James. "You're the last chance Lily and I have! We all know we can't trust Remus anymore - "

"It should be Sirius, he's a better wizard than I've ever been," said Peter urgently. "He's stronger, powerful, smarter."

"And I'm the obvious choice," said Sirius. "Peter, we've talked about this already. It won't take Voldemort long to find out what James and Lily have done, and the first person he's going to go after as their Secret Keeper is, me. I can't run forever, and no one can stand up to torture for long. I can't tell him what I don't know, so the best choice is to pick the person who is the least likely candidate for James and Lily to choose as Secret Keeper."

"And that's you, Peter," said James quietly.

"You don't know what you're asking," said Peter, shaking. "James, please!"

James reached for Peter, and took him by the shoulders. "Mate, I know exactly what I'm asking. I'm asking for your friendship, your loyalty, and your trust. I wouldn't pick you if I didn't think you could do it for me. And Sirius here will watch out for you. Please, Peter, I'm asking as your friend - will you help me?"

Peter stared at him, and then at Sirius. Both men looked back; completely calm and deadly serious, and still. And then Peter knew. His mark was not permanent. Nothing was permanent. He could do this, and this could be his way out. I can change, and I can start now, with this, with a promise, thought Peter. This will be my salvation.

"I'll do it," said Peter. "If you're sure."

* * * * *

October 31, 1981

Lily's mind was racing. She held the baby to her breast tightly, holding his head so he couldn't see. It had barely been a week - how could Peter have broken so quickly?

"I'm stronger now," he'd said to her two years ago, and on the basis of that statement she'd suggested to James that he might be a good Secret Keeper for them. Poor Peter! He had broken somehow, when Petunia married Vernon Dursley, and Lily didn't know how to fix him. All the life had gone out of him, and Lily knew that it was her fault. She hadn't managed to keep them together, and watching Peter fail at nearly every job he ever held had been difficult, knowing it should have been different.

Poor Peter! Lily didn't want to think about how he must have been tortured, perhaps nearly killed, before revealing them. She should never have dragged him into this mess.

James had told her to run. And run Lily had; straight into the woods with Harry. She sat among the trees, shivering with cold and fear, holding the baby.

"Momma," said Harry, squirming.

"Shh, love," whispered Lily. "We're playing hide and seek with Daddy."

"Shh," repeated Harry, and giggled, and fell silent.

Lily leaned against the tree, rocking the baby back and forth. Oh James, oh James, oh James, she thought over and over. Why did I leave you? Where are you now? What's happening to you?

"Lily!" a voice called out. Lily stiffened, and began to creep farther into the woods. "Lily, please come out! You're safe now! Lily, it's me, Peter!"

"Peter!" cried out Lily, and stood. Peter reached for her, and Lily ran to him, nearly choking on her sobs. "Oh, Peter, you're safe, thank God. I thought you might be dead. Did they hurt you badly?"

"Come inside, Lily," said Peter, a bit mechanically, putting his arm around her. "Here, give me Harry, he must be heavy."

But Lily held her son harder, and they began to walk back towards the house. "Is James - oh, Peter, have you seen him?"

They were at the door before Peter could answer. He stopped and turned to her, his face full in the light from the windows, and Lily could see that his eyes were strangely blank and bright. He began to shake, as though in a seizure, and Lily reached for his arm, grasping it tightly. Peter gasped, and stared at her. "I'm sorry, Lily," he said, sounding more like himself, and then he opened the door.

Lily began to scream, and back away, but before she could move far she felt herself lifted and pulled into the centre of the circle of black-robed figures that lined the room. Before her stood a thin tall man, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin. He smiled at her.

"Thank you, Wormtail, for bringing her to me," he said.

"Peter," said Lily, finally understanding. "Peter."

* * * * *

Sirius Black stared at the rubble, unbelieving. He had only been here yesterday, and now the house was demolished - James's life had been destroyed - Lily and Harry were gone. Sirius took a few steps away from his motorbike, unable at first to comprehend what he was seeing, until he nearly tripped on what once had been a supporting beam.

"Oh, God," he whispered to himself. "Oh, James, oh what have we done."

Until he heard the crashing of debris being moved, Sirius thought he was alone. But the figure on the other end of the pile of rubble proved him wrong, and Sirius nearly flew at him, landing hard on his back. He was promptly thrown off, landing in a pile of broken shingles.

"Hagrid!" gasped Sirius, staring at the man. "I didn't - "

"Help me find Harry," was all Hagrid said before turning away again. Even in the dark, Sirius could tell he'd been crying.

Sirius stared at the destruction around him. "Harry?" he asked, dumbstruck. "He - survived?"

But Hagrid didn't answer, and in a moment Sirius began to help him remove bits of wall and broken furniture, trying to find the baby boy.

It was an hour later when Sirius found him, huddled by the fireplace, now a pile of bricks and mortar. The boy was sitting quietly, green eyes blinking, and he looked up at his godfather silently. Sirius found that his throat was full of lumps, and couldn't speak.

"Shh," said Harry, very serious. "Momma sleep." And he pointed.

Sirius looked, and nearly fell over. He crawled to the body, and reached out to touch the calm face. It did look like Lily was sleeping, dreamlessly, and might wake up. But when he touched her skin, it was cold. Sirius brushed back a lock of red hair, and his fingers touched the gold chain at her throat. On it was a golden heart, with her name inscribed. "Lily," he said, unable to say anything else.

"Here's the tyke," said Hagrid behind him, and Sirius stood, and turned towards him. Hagrid was wrapping Harry in a blanket, and the boy giggled as Hagrid's whiskers brushed his face.

"I'll help," said Sirius, and he held the boy as Hagrid finished wrapping him up tightly. He hugged Harry close to him.

"We'd best be leavin', the Muggles'll be 'round soon," said Hagrid, and reached for Harry, but Sirius held him back.

"Let me take him, Hagrid," he said. "I'm his godfather, he'll come to me anyway."

Hagrid shook his head. "Dumbledore's orders, I'm to take him to Surrey. Now, where's that Portkey? Here somewhere." Hagrid began to search his pockets.

"Surrey? But - "

"Yeh'd have teh ask Dumbledore," said Hagrid. "Can't find tha' Portkey, I'll have teh Muggle it. And Harry!" He took the boy from Sirius, who in his shock didn't have it in him to argue.

"Take my motorbike," said Sirius. "It'll be faster than Muggle transport. And I don't need it anymore." He handed the keys to Hagrid.

"If yeh're sure," said Hagrid, and he turned to go.

"Wait!" said Sirius suddenly, and he turned around and knelt by Lily again. When he stood, the golden chain with the heart was in his hand. He tucked it into the folds of Harry's blanket.

"There you are," he whispered to the boy. "To remember her by."

"Bye, bye," repeated Harry somberly, and Sirius kissed the boy's forehead. Only the unruly locks kept the scar hidden.

"Bye-bye," Sirius said, and taking one last look at his godson, began to walk away.

"Where are yeh goin'?" called Hagrid.

Sirius looked over his shoulder, and something about the look in his eye gave Hagrid a cold chill. "To see an old friend," said Sirius, and he winked out of sight.

* * * * *

November 2, 1981

Petunia Dursley woke just before dawn. Her husband snored softly beside her, and she stretched her long thin form over the bed, wiggling her toes. It would be a lovely day today, she thought. It was, after all, her twenty-first birthday today, and she intended to enjoy it, starting now!

Briefly she wondered what her sister Lily had done for her own birthday, only three weeks before. And just as quickly shook the thought away. Now why did I think of Lily wondered Petunia, annoyed. Oh, it must be because Vernon mentioned them yesterday. He's never shown any interest in them before - quite the opposite, really.

Petunia rose from the bed and checked on Dudley before popping into the shower. Dudley, now nearly two, was chubby and demanding, high- spirited and rather spoiled, Petunia knew. But she loved him with all her heart, every last bit of it that she had to give, and that was quite a lot, since she had put Lily and Peter out of her mind.

"Now stop that!" said Petunia aloud to the soap dish. "No thinking of Lily or of him, not today."

Petunia fidgeted with her hair, and then went into the kitchen to begin breakfast. She set the kettle boiling and laid the table, chopped the tomatoes and sliced the bread.

And she thought. About a great many things, such as her plans for the day, and what she would dress Dudley in when he woke, and predicted what tie Vernon would be wearing when he finally descended. She wondered what he'd have for her birthday present.

Petunia finally sat at the table with a mug of tea and looked out the window to the garden, so carefully laid and trimmed, so much like Violet Evans' garden that it was easy for Petunia to imagine two small girls running out to greet their friend, all three laughing as they jumped high into the tree above. Petunia smiled at the vision, and stopped fighting, and let the memories continue.

Other birthdays: Lily tying a paper hat to her head, and Peter sending bows and ribbons flying into the trees, making her laugh. Her parents, still alive and laughing, and a small cake that her mother had once made for her. Owls weighed down with brown-paper packages, under which were brightly coloured papers that sparkled and twinkled, and containing exploding candies and dolls that really spoke to you.

A little girl, eyes wide at the approach of an owl - the first owl - and the letter it carried. And the growing realization that she was more than special - she was magical.

Lily. Petunia blinked back a tear, and sat up straighter. Not a day went by that she didn't think of her older sister and wonder where she was, if she was happy, what her son looked like. Out of habit, Petunia reached for the necklace that was no longer there, and her fingers closed over empty space. A moment of anger, and her necklace was gone forever.

The silence between them had lasted for two years, and though she put on a show for Vernon, Petunia missed her sister dreadfully. Each owl that had come with a letter had been sent away without nourishment, and each letter had been burned - some before even being read. Petunia wished she could turn back the clock and change what had been said. She wished she could just speak to her sister one last time, and ask for her forgiveness, and do something to show Lily that she still loved her.

Peter too fit that description. Petunia could never think of Peter without feeling as though some part of her was missing. Not quite a hole in her heart, but something that went far deeper. Petunia tried not to think of Peter too often, but on a day like today, it was even harder not to.

Peter. Nearly three years since she'd seen him last, just before her wedding. And the pain she'd felt when he'd slammed the door on her. So physical! It was worse than childbirth, such an emotional pain. Like being torn in two - which, reflected Petunia, was exactly what had happened. Peter had been a part of her, since the time she was born.

The footsteps on the stair didn't disturb Petunia, but the voice at her ear did. "Happy day, love," said Vernon, kissing her. "I thought breakfast in bed, but you're awake already."

"For several hours," said Petunia. "Some tea?"

"Yes, that would be lovely," said Vernon, sitting himself down. "Dudley still asleep?"

"I haven't heard him cry yet," said Petunia, bustling about. "Here's your tea, then."

"Milk?"

"Oh, bother, I forgot to check. I'm sure it's here," said Petunia, frowning. "I'll only be a moment, dear."

Petunia walked into the front hallway, thinking. Every birthday, without fail, brought an owl from Lily. And perhaps this time, Petunia thought, she might answer it. Perhaps she would take pen to paper tonight, and write her sister a letter, and all would be well again. And Lily would write back, and everything would be as it was before ... like magic.

Petunia smiled to herself, fresh with resolve, and opened the front door.

Finis