Darkness Dying

November 22, 1980
 
Peter stared mindlessly out his window. The full moon was rising, but he was not with Remus and his other friends tonight. He had told them that he simply had too much work to complete, and that was not a complete untruth. He had in fact been missing deadlines since Roberta’s death. However, he was waiting here tonight because he had been ordered to do so.
 
The day before Roberta, her husband, and their seven-year old daughter had been found dead in the wreckage of their home, beneath the symbol of the Dark Mark, Peter had been visited by a coal black owl bearing a note of thanks for the help he had given its owner. For a brief, blissful instant, Peter had been confused. He knew no one who owned a black owl, and he had not gone out of his way for any strangers as of late.
 
Then he had remembered the rumor that Death Eaters used only black owls. It seemed dangerous, really-- shouldn’t it be easy to track Death Eater correspondence if they only utilized a certain type of bird?-- but apparently, it was true. The note had further suggested that Peter might want to answer a few questions about the vulnerabilities of that pesky junior auror, Sirius Black?
 
No, Peter did not want to answer any such questions. When Peter had first met Sirius, through James, he had been somewhat jealous. Sirius was James’ best friend, and everyone wanted a friend like James. But Sirius had instantly declared Peter a friend by extension, and over the ensuing months the title had ceased to be a formality. Having Sirius’ protection from the older, stronger, nastier students would have been blessing enough; having Sirius’ respect and affection was even better. Sometimes, it even seemed that Sirius wanted Peter’s approval and time as much as Peter wanted Sirius’. Peter’s decision to send information regarding the Rally of Light to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been one thing; sending along information about Sirius, whom Peter loved and trusted, was quite another.
 
The writing on the parchment vanished as soon as Peter read it. Interesting. That would make the writers and recipients harder to trace, and capitalized on the fact that no one wanted to admit that he or she had been the unwilling recipient of Death Eater recruitment, anyway.
 
Peter hastily scribbled a reply onto the parchment. I know nothing of use about Sirius Black. He affixed the parchment to the owl’s leg and sent it on its way. He hoped that the Death Eaters would believe that he knew nothing about Sirius; after all, he had not said that he refused to help them, just that he could not. They would not punish him for being ignorant, would they? He had no desire to have the head of a corpse waved in front of him again.
 
Despite his hopes, he had jumped each time an owl came near him, a fire sprang to life, or someone strode into his field of vision.
 
And his fears were realized. The morning after he failed to provide information about Sirius, his mother appeared in his fire, eyes full of unshed tears and face red and blotchy. “Roberta,” she gasped. “The Dark Mark. Peter, come home.”
 
He had gone home. He had arranged the funerals and given the eulogy. He had stared at the frozen body of Roberta, who had been dear to him before he had ever heard of Sirius. He had stared at the tiny body of his niece, who had already been counting the days until she received her Hogwarts letter. She was small for her age, and she looked smaller still in premature death. She would never cross the barrier to Platform 9 ¾ and search for her friends amidst the throng. She would never purchase snacks from the friendly witch on the Hogwarts Express, and never make the journey across the lake, wondering how the Sorting would go. She would never hear the Sorting Hat whisper its decision in her ear or see her new housemates applaud as she joined their table.
 
Ravenclaw, he thought irrationally. She would have been a Ravenclaw. She was so smart. Smarter than I’ll ever be. And now she’s dead, because a seven-year-old is such a great threat to the Dark Lord. Why did he kill her?
 
Why did I kill her?
 
For he was certain that the deaths of his sister, brother-in-law, and niece could be placed on his head. He was certain that this was his punishment for not detailing each and every character flaw that Sirius happened to have. He had traded Sirius’ life for Roberta’s. And her husband’s and daughter’s.
 
When he returned home after seeing that his mother and the gravesite were both taken care of, a letter awaited him.
 
Dear Mr. Pettigrew:
 
Please accept our condolences on your recent loss. It is always the hardest when our loved ones are robbed of life when their lives have hardly begun. Rest assured that they have not died in vain. We believe that their deaths have shown you the difference between right and wrong. For example, we doubt that you will soon refuse another favor to a friend. We have it on good authority that you refused the simple gift of information to a friend who has never done you wrong the very day that your sister and her family were so tragically killed.
 
Do not blame yourself.
 
Honor your family by being at your office on the night of the next full moon. And do watch out for werewolves.
 
We certainly will.
 
In Sympathy,
 
Your Friends
 
Again, the words erased themselves from the parchment as soon as he finished reading them. He had no trouble catching the thinly veiled reference to Remus. He guessed that Sirius and James were equally unwelcome. He also doubted that anyone could have invented a trap that would have caught this band of Death Eaters. The world was in a state of war, and the Light was losing. Besides, he had no intention of revealing to Sirius, James, or anyone else that he had been in contact with Death Eaters.
 
He did not feel a great amount of shame at having been contacted. In truth, in some corner of his brain, he was pleased to have been recruited. Recruitment meant that he had some talent that was valued-- and it was nice to be valued, even by the harbingers of evil. Compliments came to one only rarely when one’s friends could all be described by the word “genius.”
 
However, he did know that confession would lead him to Azkaban. He had never been near the Fortress, and he had no intention of remedying this situation. Even if he could figure a way to explain that he had been contacted and threatened without explaining that he had handed over information pertaining to the Rally of Light, he would surely be asked for further information while under the influence of Veritaserum. Revealing all he knew would lead to punishments far greater than any his conscience might give him.
 
And so, Peter sat in his office and watched the Beaver Moon rise.
 
Soon after it did, three figures entered his office.
 
“You’re here. Very good,” said the middle one, and Peter knew from his voice that this was the same man to whom he had spoken before.
 
“How did you get in here?” he could not resist inquiring.
 
“Do pay more attention. I as much as told you last time that we have many friends from the Ministry. They make it easy for us to search for more friends. You can never have too many friends, don’t you agree?”
 
“I suppose.”
 
“You’re probably wondering to what you owe the pleasure of this visit.”
 
“You could say that.”
 
“I just did. Are you ready to get down to business?”
 
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
 
“Very well. Now, don’t be nervous. There’s no need to be. Are you nervous with Sirius? Remus? James?”
 
“No.”
 
“Of course you aren’t. And we’d like to discuss that with you. But first we’d like to extend our condolences to you once more. We understand that your mother is taking your sister’s death very hard.”
 
“She is,” said Peter. He could not keep a sigh from escaping his lips.
 
“But she still has her life. And you yours. For now.”
 
“That’s a threat, if you were wondering!” exclaimed one of the Death Eaters who flanked the spokesman.
 
The spokesman whirled around. “You’re on report! And if I hear one more word, you’ll be out of the organization!”
 
Peter knew that there was only one way to leave the organization in question.
 
The spokesman turned back to Peter. “I do apologize for the interruption. I assure you that it will not happen again. And I wonder if you’ve remembered anything interesting about Sirius Black since we’ve been talking.”
 
“S-- Sirius is an interesting p-- person,” Peter replied. The dratted stammer had returned. Peter was cornered, and everyone present knew it.
 
“I’m sure. Now, Peter, I don’t want to be harsh, as I was forced to be last time. I want to be friendly. I want you to know that I value you and do not wish to cause you pain. I want to protect you from a dangerous world; after all, that is what friends do for one another. But I want you to realize that you have already helped me once. I want you to remember that speaking against me now will place you in Azkaban and lose you the respect and affection of Sirius and his cohorts. I want you to understand that you have already gone too far to turn against me now. And I want you to remember that we are taking over everywhere. We can get into the Ministry’s strongholds quite easily. There is nothing to be gained by resisting us. You will only sacrifice more lives. Likely even your own.” The man raised his wand. “Believe me when I say I don’t want to use this on you.”
 
Peter sighed again. It seemed that he was faced with irrefutable logic. No one expected the Light to win. Not anymore. And he had already made his decision. He should have died at the first opportunity instead of giving that honor to Roberta. “What do you want to know about Sirius?”
 
“What are some of his character flaws? Surely he has some.”
 
Peter thought for a moment. Although he had expected the question, just now he felt that Sirius was nothing less than perfect. Sirius would never have found himself in this situation. Sirius was so mature, so confident, so brave, so ready to die fighting . . . “Sirius can b-- be impulsive,” he answered at last.
 
“Impulsive. Thank you. Go on.”
 
“He, w-- well, he h-- has a temper. H-- he can’t admit when h-- he’s w-- wrong. He never d-- doubts himself about anything.”
 
“Would you like to give us examples of times these faults have hindered him?”
 
“H-- he. Once, h-- he, s-- someone made him m-- mad. S-- so he told t-- them h-- how to g-- get to Remus when R-- Remus was a w-- werewolf. R-- Remus was n-- nearly expelled. H-- he could h-- have b-- been arrested. S-- same f-- for S--Sirius.”
 
“That wasn’t so hard, now was it, Peter? We will be in touch. Remember which side you are on, and no harm will come to you. Be certain to pay special attention at those meetings you go to at Hogwarts. And be certain to pay special attention to anything any of your dear friends says to you.”
 
Peter nodded numbly, hating himself as he did so, but reminding himself that he had not actually passed any information this time. In a way, things were looking up.
 
December 24-5, 1980
 
Remus awoke early on the morning of Christmas Eve. He should have been tired-- he had managed to work several twenty-hour days in the past week despite the full moon-- but instead he was excited, though no one else seemed to want to put his charm-casting skills to work on Christmas decorations.
 
He had been having even more trouble than usual finding paid work as of late. If he was offered work that did not begin immediately, he never failed to receive a letter filled with hate or regret or both canceling the engagement before it began. Today, though, he could not find it in his heart to care. He was going to spend the holiday at James and Lily’s house, and he was going to enjoy it, thank you very much.
 
At first, he had been slightly concerned about intruding on Harry’s first Christmas. Christmas was meant to be a family affair. However, when he had given the situation more thought, it had come to his attention that few of them had any family left. His own parents were still alive, but they were on assignment for Dumbledore. They had never forgotten how grateful they had felt when Remus had been admitted to Hogwarts despite his lycanthropy and they were now willing to risk anything for the old man. Peter said that his mother had trouble seeing him since his sister’s death; he reminded her of what she had lost. She was using the holiday to mourn. Sirius had been orphaned before the group had graduated Hogwarts, and James had not been far behind. Lily had lost both parents recently in what Muggles believed was a car crash, although Lily suspected that Lord Voldemort had attacked her parents in an attempt to get to her. She was not on speaking terms with her only sister. Socialization with strange wizards was an option for none of them, and this lack of companionship was beginning to affect some of them.
 
By ‘some of them,’ Remus meant Sirius. Sirius had been an exceptionally social child and would have been an exceptionally social young man given the opportunity. He was lonely and sometimes even depressed without company.
 
And so, Remus Apparated to the Potters’ house almost as soon as he had washed and dressed. There was an anti-Apparation field over the house itself, but a corner of the front yard had been left unprotected. It was difficult to perform an Apparation under these circumstances, but James and Lily had no associates who did not like a challenge.
 
Lily came to the door before he could knock. “Good morning, Remus,” she smiled. “It’s wonderful to see you, but you may want to leave while you can.”
 
“Hey!” complained two indignant voices in unison.
 
James stormed into view. “You’d think Lily would be more excited that her son is going to be a Quidditch star.”
 
“Yes,” said Lily flatly. “I’d be so thrilled if he ended up like you.” She was not able to maintain her sarcasm while she looked at James, though, and within seconds the two had realized that they were standing beneath a sprig of mistletoe and were kissing as if they were alone in the world.
 
Sirius strolled in from the same direction from which James had emerged. “I’d tell them to get a room, but every room in this house is theirs. Look away before you get a cavity.”
 
“How are you, Sirius?” Remus responded.
 
“Great.” A smile lit his face.
 
“What brought this on?”
 
James and Lily had detached themselves from one another, and James answered. “Sirius left his broom lying by Harry’s crib, and when Harry woke up, he reached out and grabbed it.”
 
“He let go when we came in, but it stayed up for a second,” elaborated Sirius.
 
“And James and Sirius have been slapping each other on the back ever since,” Lily completed.
 
Remus inwardly remarked, not for the first time, on how seamlessly Lily had made herself a part of James’ tight circle of friendship. The group’s dynamics had hardly changed at all after she had become involved with James; she had certainly never attempted to change James himself. Lily knew when it was appropriate to insult (almost always) and when not (almost never); she could participate in group-speak and finish sentences as well as the rest of them; she had the sense of humor required to deal with a pack of championship mischief-makers; and, importantly from Remus’ point of view, she had absolutely no prejudices against werewolves. Upon officially becoming engaged on the day of their graduation from Hogwarts, James had told Lily about his animagus abilities but had not told her why he, a mischief-maker often accused of taking nothing seriously, had undertaken such a project. Remus had then staged a “chance” meeting with Lily during the week between graduation and the potential aurors’ training camp. They had gone to a private corner of a virtually empty wizarding restaurant. That way, Remus had decided, if she was terrified by his very existence she would be able to escape instantly, but they would still be able to talk privately.
 
“I’m glad I saw you today,” he began, hoping that he did not sound as if he had rehearsed his speech.
 
“I’m always glad when I see you,” she said with the shameless grin that James (correctly) thought was beautiful.
 
“Hold that thought. You may not feel that way in a moment.” Lily gave him an odd look. “I have something that I need to tell you so James can tell you something else.” She gave him an odder look “Well, he’s already told you, actually, so this is only the one thing he didn’t tell you. Which he’s letting me tell you instead.”
 
“Go on,” she encouraged, still looking confused.
 
“When we were at Hogwarts-- do you remember?”
 
“Two days ago. Yes, I remember.”
 
“Well, did you ever notice that I missed a lot of classes?”
 
“I suppose so.”
 
“And came back looking ill?”
 
Her face gentled. “It was hard to miss.”
 
“The classes I missed were always on the days directly after the full moon.” He waited for the information to sink in.
 
“Are you a werewolf?” she asked in a tone neither flippant nor serious.
 
He nodded stiffly. “Since I was four years old.”
 
To his great shock, she smiled. “That’s not so bad, then.”
 
She’s obviously never seen a werewolf transformation, Remus thought with a hint of amusement. Lily seemed to understand his train of thought, because she corrected “I mean, it must be awful for you but it isn’t fatal. I thought you had something worse.”
 
Remus could not help laughing. “Worse? What could possibly be worse?”
 
“I don’t know. Everything I suspected doesn’t exist among wizards. But there are so many degenerative Muggle diseases, and I was sure there were wizard equivalents. I did ask James what was wrong with you once, and he brushed me off, and I decided that it wasn’t really any of my business anyway.”
 
“That was why I wanted to talk to you. James promised never to tell anyone, and it got more complicated when it became obvious that the two of you were going to get married. He didn’t want to keep secrets from you, but he wasn’t going to betray me.”
 
“This isn’t his secret to tell. Did he think I would have been upset if I found out that he didn’t?”
 
“No, but he still wanted you to know about the animagus transformation if nothing else.”
 
“That was why?”
 
“That was why. Werewolves are only a danger to people.”
 
Lily stared at him for a moment. “Sirius is in on this too, then? What does ‘Padfoot’ stand for?”
 
“You’ll have to ask him.”
 
“That’s not fair! You can’t dangle it about like that and not tell me!” Lily exclaimed indignantly, eyes flashing.
 
Remus agreed. Sirius had made more than enough mischief in his animal form already. “Padfoot is a dog. An enormous, black dog.”
 
She groaned. “Sirius Black.”
 
“That’s right. Wormtail is a rat.”
 
Lily looked temporarily startled. “Peter managed the transformation? I don’t mean to sound nasty, but that’s very advanced magic.”
 
“James and Sirius pulled him through it.”
 
“Why did he want to be a rat?”
 
“You don’t have much of a choice.”
 
“I know, but Peter is so sweet. What’s sweet about a rat?”
 
Remus shrugged. “Rats can be friendly. They’re certainly clever, particularly magical rats . . .” And the conversation had drifted off elsewhere. Remus was still amazed at the absolute nonchalance with which Lily had accepted his true nature.
 
In the present, Lily had returned to pretending to be annoyed by James and Sirius’ predictions of Harry’s Quidditch prowess. “I told you that you should leave, Remus,” she said. “They’ll be like this all holiday.”
 
“Remus is happy for Harry,” James argued. One of his hands was still entwined in Lily’s hair. “Remus understands the importance of Harry’s learning to enjoy Quidditch at a young age.” He threw a mock-warning glare at Remus. “Right?”
 
Remus raised his hands in the air in a gesture of submission. “Right. Right.”
 
“Good!” declared Sirius. “Now go in there and congratulate Harry.”
 
Remus obediently walked sideways through the house to Harry’s nursery. Harry was lying in his crib, playing with his toes and gurgling happily. “Hi, Harry,” Remus said as he entered the room. The baby turned his head toward the source of the voice. Remus leaned his arms on the side rail of the crib. “I just came in to congratulate you on convincing your father and your Uncle Sirius that you’ll play Quidditch for England before you get your Hogwarts letter.” He made a face at Harry, and Harry giggled in response. He then managed to grab at one of the ties of Remus’ cloak, which still dangled from his shoulders. “Harry!” exclaimed Remus with delight. “This obviously means you’ll be an expert cloak-maker--”
 
“Are you making fun of my son?” warned James.
 
“Of course not, Prongs. I’m making fun of you.”
 
A knock on the door announced-- Remus hoped-- Peter’s arrival, and James and Lily went off to greet him. “Make yourself at home, Moony,” James called over his shoulder. “Be nice to Padfoot, Harry.”
 
“Has Harry been mean to you, Padfoot?” asked Remus lightly. The baby had let go of his cloak, so he took it off and threw it onto a chair which already held Sirius’ cloak and broom.
 
Sirius shook his head, and an almost dreamy look filled his eyes. “No. Harry loves me.” He gazed at the object of their discussion almost hungrily.
 
“I’m sure he does.” The old friends faced each other over the crib, and Remus felt the silence growing awkward.
 
This is ridiculous, he thought. Since when do I have trouble knowing what to say to Sirius?
 
That was easy. Since the prank.
 
It had been so simple. All Sirius had had to do was utter one sentence: If you want to get past the Whomping Willow and find Remus, all you have to do is take a long stick and poke the knot at the base of the tree.
 
Had it not been for James, that single sentence would have destroyed Remus’ life. First off, he would have been expelled. He would never have become a fully trained wizard, and he would not have had the honor of being the first victim of childhood lycanthropy to graduate from Hogwarts. No other young werewolf would ever have been admitted. A rush of anti-werewolf sentiment would have swept the nation, and there would perhaps have been a lynching or two. Remus would likely have died himself; werewolves were not sent to Azkaban. They were simply killed.
 
Worst of all, from a selfish point of view, Remus would have lived his worst nightmare and done to another human being that which had been done to him, and made that other human into something less.
 
Was he even sorry? Even a little bit? He had been guilty, at least. He hadn’t quite met Remus’ eyes when he had come into the hospital wing the next afternoon, sandwiched between James and Peter, and told Remus exactly what had happened. That had been a part of the punishment Dumbledore had devised for Sirius; Sirius had needed to be the one to explain the details of the situation to Remus. Remus had suffered an enormous loss of blood that night; the wolf had been angered at having been kept from his prey. He had not managed to waken fully until the afternoon classes were nearly over (though as it happened, he and his friends had no afternoon classes). James, Peter, and Dumbledore had then left Remus and Sirius alone and while Sirius had apologized for not being there to help Remus in the morning, and for Remus being in more pain than usual, and for revealing his secret. There had been nothing about the depth of the betrayal; Sirius had reacted as if he had accidentally revealed that Remus fancied a blue-eyed girl in Hufflepuff House, not as if he had accidentally revealed that Remus was, strictly speaking, a bloodthirsty monster. And Sirius repeatedly stated that he wished his prank had been successful. Wishing Snape’s death meant wishing Remus a murderer, did it not?
 
Remus had found it difficult to spend time with Sirius during the ensuing months. Each little thing that marked Sirius as Sirius became a reminder of how much Remus had invested in their friendship only to have the trust that he had placed in Sirius, the trust that he placed in no one but that he had placed in Sirius, thrown away as worthless. It would have been convenient to pretend that they had never been friends at all, but one could hardly convince oneself that even Sirius would spend much of his free time in the library learning advanced methods of transfiguration for just any stranger off the street. In addition, there had been the matter of James and Peter and even Lily and the other Gryffindors in their year. They had been painfully affected by the disturbance in the social dynamics of the group. James and Peter knew the whole story, and while they accepted Sirius as villain and Remus as victim, they could hardly abandon Sirius, who had been James’ best friend since birth and who was, quite frankly, the object of Peter’s hero-worship. It had been the best solution for Remus to begin faking smiles and laughing at Sirius’ jokes and playfully teasing his roommate once more.
 
But left to his own devices, on days when he needed someone to talk to or give him help, he had no longer called on Sirius except as a last resort. When he was in a situation that left him vulnerable, he could not help remembering, privately, that Sirius had once deeply wounded him.
 
Such was the case now. The very idea that the Death Eaters wanted anything to do with Remus repulsed him. It made him feel more disgusting than the werewolf curse ever had. After all, it had not been his fault that he had been bitten. (He could have been a bit less foolhardy, but nonetheless, he had been little more than a baby and had not known what he had been getting himself into.) He could open his mouth and say, “Sirius, I’ve been preoccupied lately because the Death Eaters have been recruiting me. They’ve been making me think things about myself that I don’t want to think. They’ve been making certain I don’t make quite enough money to live comfortably. They’ve been causing me a great deal of semi-public humiliation.”
 
And Sirius could react by saying “What? Are you a Death Eater? This thing about your not wanting to be recruited by Death Eaters sounds like a ruse. After all, the Death Eaters kill people, and you almost killed Snape once. I’ve used you as a weapon. Why shouldn’t they? Stay away from James and his family and the rest of my friends, would you?”
 
He probably would not. But since The Night Of The Prank, Remus could not help but feel, if not think, that he could.
 
He was willing to die for Sirius. He was willing to kill (although not Snape) for Sirius. Trusting Sirius with his own life was one thing. Trusting Sirius with his secrets was another.
 
Sirius would never betray Remus; but the fact remained that he had. And deep in his heart, Remus could not forget.
 
So he let the silence between them stretch. Briefly, he wondered if Harry might speak before either of them did.
 
He was close to correct. In a typical gesture of frustration, Sirius suddenly slapped his palm against the rail of the crib and thus provoked a cry from Harry. Instantly contrite, Sirius scooped up his godson.
 
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, trying to calm down the fussing infant. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Come here. Stop crying. Stop crying please, Pronglet?”
 
Warm and safe in Sirius’ arms, Harry did stop crying. It was not really his way to fuss unless he was hungry or wet. Remus smiled at the sight. “He’s going to hate that nickname when he gets a little older. One day, you’ll use it in front of his friends and he’ll be mortified.”
 
“I’ll stop before he gets to the point where he knows what we’re saying.” Sirius carefully sat down, and Remus, brushing cloaks and broom out of the way, sat as well. “James was reading Transfiguration Today to him the other afternoon. That has to be more traumatic than being called ‘Pronglet.’”
 
Remus chuckled. “Harry has everyone from Albus Dumbledore on down expecting great things from him. I hope he can handle the pressure.”
 
Sirius lifted his gaze from Harry to give Remus a very earnest look. “I imagine he’ll know that no one really cares if he plays Quidditch or not. As long as he’s happy, as long as he has a chance to do what he wants with his life, Lily and James will be happy. And so will everyone else who really cares about Harry.”
 
“He looks happy enough now.”
 
“He almost always does.” Sirius looked back at Harry thoughtfully. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s happy because he has no idea what’s going on around him or because somehow he senses what’s going on and he wants to cheer the rest of us up. I know it sounds ridiculous, but . . .” Sirius trailed off, almost embarrassed.
 
“One fey child in the making,” Remus proclaimed.
 
“What’s going on, Moony?”
 
Remus startled at the non-sequiter. “What?” he asked innocently, though he knew what Sirius was asking.
 
For all of his faults, Sirius could never have been called stupid. In addition, Sirius paid an enormous amount of attention to each of his friends. When they had been at Hogwarts, he had known each small detail about each of his roommates’ routines. If someone so much as skipped a meal or went a few nights without sleeping, Sirius noticed and attempted to remedy the situation. If the problem was another student, Sirius would deliver a well-timed hint or hex. If the problem was a homework assignment, Sirius would help the sufferer cheat. If the problem involved parents, Voldemort, or some other great force that resided outside the school, Sirius would go to great lengths to provide a distraction. At times, his protectiveness of his friends had crossed the line from endearing to annoying.
 
So Sirius could hardly have failed to notice that Remus had had little to say to him that had not involved the weather, the mechanics of the war, or Harry over the past few months.
 
“Nothing, Remus. Nothing at all.” Sirius drew a deep breath that both men knew did not calm him in the slightest. “We were talking about Harry.”
 
“So we were.”
 
“We were discussing how everyone important in Harry’s life would love him no matter what. I think that James and Lily would be very hurt if someday something happened that Harry didn’t think he could tell them about, particularly if this happens years after they’ve proven to Harry that nothing could change the way they feel about him.”
 
Remus was a good enough poker player to avoid wincing. “I think that James and Lily are setting themselves up to be hurt if they want to insist that Harry tell them everything when he gets older. Harry is going to have his own life. Harry is going to run into things that he wants to work through for himself before he tells his parents what he’s thinking about. That’s going to be truer and truer as he gets older. If he does turn out to be the great wizard that we all expect him to be, he’ll be mixed up in things that he can’t tell his parents about. That it would be dangerous to tell his parents about. He won’t be a little boy forever. Things become infinitely more complex with every year that passes.”
 
“He won’t be a little boy, but he won’t be any less theirs. He’s theirs forever. They’ll worry about him whether or not he tells them what he’s doing.”
 
“And it will work both ways. He’ll worry about them. He’ll love them. He loves them already.”
 
“If he loves them, why can’t he trust them?”
 
“He can trust them. He does trust them. His not telling them everything doesn’t negate that.”
 
“It does. It screams I’m in trouble and I don’t trust you to help me out of it.”
 
“It could scream all kinds of things. Whatever it screams, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love them. It doesn’t mean he wouldn’t do anything for them.”
 
“Anything except tell them what’s bothering him.”
 
Remus was almost to the point of spilling his inner thoughts to Sirius just to shut the man up when a voice that was neither his nor Sirius’ entered the conversation. “What in the world are the two of you talking about so seriously?” Lily had returned.
 
“Harry,” explained Sirius and Remus in unison.
 
Lily gave them a quizzical look. “All right. Peter is here. Come out front and play.”
 
“By ‘play,’ she means ‘work,’” called James teasingly.
 
Sirius and Remus smiled. “Are you going to take that from him?” Sirius asked Lily, challenge evident in his voice.
 
Lily shook her head. “He’s actually right. You don’t really have to help, but you should at least come into the kitchen and talk to us. We aren’t going to be as somber as you seem to have been in here.”
 
“Of course we’ll help. We’ll even be cheerful if that’s what you want,” Remus said ingratiatingly.
 
“You don’t even know what I want you to do.”
 
“It can’t be worse than the time James wanted us to get up in the middle of the night and steal winged horses so we could fly around the Forbidden Forrest.” By now, the group had reached the kitchen, and James had heard Remus’ last comment.
 
“We weren’t stealing them. We were borrowing them.”
 
Sirius agreed. “It makes all the difference,” he said solemnly. To everyone else in the room, his solemnity seemed like a joke, but Remus knew that it was a holdover from the conversation that had just been interrupted. Sirius’ curiosity had not been satisfied.
 
Thankfully, Remus’ thoughts were distracted from Sirius almost instantly. As it turned out, Lily and Peter were feeling somewhat guilty for not being at work on this holiday. The Ministry never rested, and many of their colleagues were hard at work. Lily had been allowed time off in large part because she had a young baby and no one wanted such an intelligent, sweet, and valuable young woman to miss her son’s first Christmas. Peter did not seem to be certain how he had been excused from work.
 
Lily’s and Peter’s guilt had been transformed into a desire to bake cookies-- the Muggle way, not the magical way-- to hand through the fires to the Ministry workers destined to spend the wholes of their holidays in their offices. “We might even be able to send some to the people stuck in safehouses. It must be miserable to spend Christmas in one of those,” Lily lamented.
 
“It’s pretty miserable to spend time in them at all,” Peter put in regretfully. “Especially for children. The Ministry brats get stuck there, and the children of aurors, the children of anyone who’s upset You-Know-Who.”
 
“That makes me glad I’m just a stupid Quidditch player who’s done nothing to upset Voldemort,” said James.
 
“I know it’s selfish, but I hope that we’re all very subtle about any anti-Voldemort activity we might be involved in,” agreed Lily. “Sirius,” she added.
 
“I can’t be subtle--”
 
“We know,” the others interrupted, but Sirius ignored them.
 
“The entire reason aurors exist is to control illegal activity. Dark activity. The activity Voldemort is encouraging. We can’t afford to walk the line just so that Voldemort isn’t quite sure which side we’re on.”
 
“I’m sure he’s sure which side all of us are on. But you’re building a reputation as one of the most vocal, passionate defenders of Dumbledore.”
 
“Exactly,” said Sirius firmly. “Better me than someone who has children who can be put away in Ministry safehouses and not see the light of day for years on end.”
 
“Years on end? Literally?” interrupted Remus. He had very little direct contact with the Ministry and the efforts it was making in this war; naturally, the Ministry wanted nothing to do with a werewolf. His information came from casual conversations with his friends or from Dumbledore on a need-to-know basis. And he had never especially needed to know about Ministry safehouses.
 
Peter nodded. “Years on end. Literally. The ones who are too young to go to Hogwarts and who happen to have parents who are incorruptible but without enough influence to swing a nice hiding place don’t know what the sun looks like.” He glanced down bitterly at the assortment of flour, sugar, and candy before him, and Remus expected that Peter was thinking of his niece, who had died alongside her parents so recently. The others seemed to agree that this line of conversation was not the best one to pursue just now.
 
“Sirius,” began James conversationally, “What do you suppose would happen if we substituted Floo powder for baking powder in some of these recipes?”
 
Sirius looked up at James thoughtfully. “I think that that would work very nicely. After all, they’re both powders. Or perhaps we could just follow the recipes as they’ve been given to us and add a few interesting . . . surprises.”
 
James nodded. “I like surprises. Who doesn’t like surprises?”
 
“You know, since the beginning of time, wizards and witches have wanted to fly.”
 
“I did know that. I read it in Quidditch Through the Ages, I believe.”
 
“A fine piece of literature.”
 
“The most significant piece of literature ever produced.”
 
“I would agree with that assessment.”
 
“However, this is not a discussion of literature. This is a discussion of cookies.”
 
“And the effects of levitation charms on said cookies.”
 
Remus was barely able to keep track of who was saying what, even after ten years’ acquaintance with Sirius and James. Lily rolled her eyes at them “You may not bewitch the cookies,” she said firmly.
 
James and Sirius made a show of pretended guilt. “HE STARTED IT!” they at last yelled in unison.
 
“No wonder everyone always thinks the two of you are brothers,” she commented in response to this display.
 
“Wait, wait, wait a second,” said James, sounding genuinely worried. “They think I’m related to the likes of him?”
 
“Be flattered, Prongs,” took up an equally concerned-looking Sirius. “That obviously means that they think you’re charismatic, shockingly intelligent, indescribably heroic, stunningly handsome . . . is there a wave of blindness going around?”
 
“Shut up, Sirius,” said Lily affectionately. James smirked.
 
“I didn’t mean you, Lily,” said Sirius with well-practiced puppy-dog eyes. “Although I must admit I do sometimes wonder if you knew what you were getting yourself into.”
 
“I can’t tell you how often I’ve been asked that. Before and after.” It was Sirius’ turn to smirk. “And I’d say a good three-quarters of the questions were about the company James keeps, not about James himself.”
 
“Three-quarters of the people you talk to worried about James spending time with Peter?”
 
“Yes, that’s exactly it,” Lily said, her voice laden with sarcasm. “They were worried about the hardworking, sweet, intelligent, friendly Ministry worker.” It was rare for Peter to smirk, but he did so now. Much of the rest of the day passed in the same way, filled with jokes and stories and off-key renditions of Christmas carols and mind games that did not entirely have purposes. Only a very few things were hexed.
 
Then, as James and Lily were getting ready to take Harry to bed, a knock sounded on the front door and the holiday atmosphere that had pervaded the warm little house vanished. An unexpected knock on the door was not something to be treated lightly even by those who were not at the top of Voldemort’s hate list. Sirius had drawn his wand the most swiftly, and headed for the door. James halted his progress with a hand on his shoulder and a look that clearly said This is my house! Sirius acquiesced.
 
James almost immediately threw open the door, however. “Frank! Come in!”
 
Frank Longbottom laughed, not a carefree laugh, but not yet the laugh of a man who had been an auror too long. He was one of the youngest full aurors in the system, and most anyone who cared to analyze the situation credited him as being at least partially responsible for Sirius’ rapid rise to a position of trust. “There’s really no need for the wand.” James quickly replaced his wand in his belt, and behind him Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Lily followed suit. “I’m sorry to interrupt your celebration, but I assumed Sirius would be here, and I need to speak with him.”
 
Sirius bolted into Frank’s line of view. “I’m right here,” he declared.
 
“Obviously.”
 
Sirius looked slightly miffed. “Would you like a cookie?”

“What have you done to them?”
 
“Done to them? I’m appalled by the implication—”
 
“Implication, nothing. I’ll never forget the year I was Head Boy and the lot of you little first years nearly ruined Gryffindor’s chances for the House Cup with your allegedly amusing antics. By all reports you’ve only gotten worse with age.”
 
“All reports are true, but they’ve done nothing to the cookies this time. Hello, Frank.” Lily gave her guest her sweetest smile, and it seemed to have an effect.
 
“Hello, Lily. I still cannot fathom why you would ever get involved with this group. James would be bad enough, but--” he gestured toward Sirius and plastered a helpless expression to his face.
 
“I told you that’s what people say. I told you,” said Lily to her husband’s assembled friends. “We’ll leave you to your business. Make yourself at home, Frank. Time for bed, Harry.”
 
Harry giggled sleepily. Frank watched Lily and James disappear with an almost hungry look on his face. “I wish I could spend more time with Neville. He barely knows who I am,” Remus heard Frank say to Sirius before he and Peter ushered themselves back into the kitchen.
 
“It must be nice for Sirius to work with Frank,” said Peter as he methodically began to clean up the mess the day’s activities had made of the room. “Everyone looked up to him so much that first year, even if we all said he was no fun.”
 
Remus nodded. “He must have had a terrible time trying to control us, though. I’m sure we lost more points than we won that year, and the Head Boy always wants his own house to win.”
 
“So does everyone.”
 
“True enough.”
 
Peter seemed to squirm as the conversation died. He had never dealt especially well with silence. To Peter, silence meant that something was wrong. Occasionally, silence had been known to make Peter blurt out a thought that he would ordinarily be wise enough to keep to himself. Sirius, James, and Remus had used this personality trait to great effect in years past; and Remus waited for Peter to say something now. Peter did not disappoint. “I wonder what they’re talking about,” he mused aloud. “I hope Sirius isn’t going to be in too much danger.”
 
“He chose the most dangerous job for himself.”
 
“How can you say that so unemotionally? They’re having a top secret meeting out there.”
 
“They have top secret meetings every day. That’s what aurors do. Isn’t that what the Ministry does?”
 
“Not the parts that I’m dealing with. There are whole departments that function as if there isn’t a war going on at all.” Peter paused. “Before I started working there, I would have said that that was fine. Great, even. The world has to keep running, and there’s no reason the war should seep into everything. But more and more often, it seems like not considering the war in everything you do is just stupid.”
 
Remus raised an eyebrow. “No offense, Peter, but this is a new attitude for you.”
 
“I know. Trust me, you’re no more surprised than I am.”
 
However, Peter did not seem surprised. He seemed confident and at ease. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him talk about Voldemort without becoming entirely overwrought, Remus noted internally. As long as we’re alone, I wonder if I should tell him . . . perhaps if I tell someone, I’ll act normally and Sirius will stop using his auror-skills and his Sirius-skills on me. “I’m not exactly surprised. It’s just noticeable.”
 
“Because I’m as brave as the rest of you?” asked Peter with a hint of annoyance.
 
“I never doubted that you were as brave as anyone else. I’m sorry if I made it sound like--”
 
“No, don’t apologize. I don’t know why I snapped at you.”
 
Remus nodded his acceptance and briefly focused the whole of his attention on the dishes he was magically cleaning and floating back to their places in the cupboard. Then he spoke again. “How do you feel about having a top-secret meeting now?”
 
“We aren’t dying Sirius’ hair purple, are we?”
 
“No. Why?”
 
“Because the last time you and I had a secret meeting, we ended up dying Sirius’ hair purple.”
 
“It looked rather good, as I recall. But I just . . .” Remus trailed off, deciding that having this discussion was a bad idea after all.
 
Unfortunately, he had gone past the point of no return. “What’s wrong, Moony?” asked Peter.
 
“Do you know anyone who’s been recruited by Voldemort? Not just invited, but recruited hard?”
 
Peter’s face turned so pale that Remus wondered if he might faint. “I don’t believe so, no.”
 
“Yes, you do.”
 
Peter’s face was now tinged with green. “You? You, Moony?”
 
“That’s right. Since August. Owls and threats and potential employers having lycanthropy-related revelations.”
 
Peter collapsed into a chair, shaking slightly. I was right, Remus thought. He isn’t up to hearing about this.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said.
 
“It’s hardly your fault.”
 
“I’m still sorry. From what I’ve heard, the Death Eater recruiters are hard to handle. And even harder to resist.” An odd note of pleading colored his final statement.
 
“I don’t find them hard to resist,” Remus rushed to assure. A look of loathing crossed Peter’s features. I never should have said a word. Look how Peter’s reacting-- *Peter*, not Sirius who goes off the deep end about everything. Not James, who has a child to consider and every right to be paranoid about who goes near him. “I never did anything to make them think I’d want to join them, I swear to you!”
 
“I believe you,” said Peter. For a time, neither man said anything. Peter made a noise as if he had been about to break the silence and then thought better of it.
 
“What?” asked Remus warily. I might as well see how bad the damage is.
 
“I was just going to ask you why you decided it was worth resisting him when he was doing the things that he does to his recruits, but I thought better of it.”
 
Thought better of it? Is he worried about offending me? “What would you do, if it were you? I don’t mean which side would you choose-- I know that, obviously-- but what would you tell people?”
 
“Why would I tell them anything?”
 
“Because they think your behavior is strange and they want to know why, but you don’t want to admit that you’ve been recruited.”
 
Peter snapped his fingers. “Sirius.”
 
“Correct.”
 
“I thought he was acting a bit off today. He didn’t say anything directly to you and I wondered if you’d had a row.”
 
“Not exactly, but close to it.”
 
“You know how Padfoot is when he gets a hold of a bone. He’s not going to let up on you.”
 
Remus sighed, suddenly feeling deeply weary as his worst suspicions were confirmed. “I know.” He sat down and let his head sink to his hands. “What would you do, Wormtail?”
 
“About Padfoot?”
 
“Yes. Should I just risk telling him?”
 
“NO!” Peter answered so suddenly and vehemently that Remus’ head shot up.
 
“Why? You don’t seem to be taking it too badly.”
 
“No-- but-- well, you know how I feel about Sirius.”
 
Remus did.
 
“But that being said,” Peter continued, “he isn’t perfect. You know he’s rather prone to snap judgments. And he holds grudges. And once he decides he’s right, there’s nothing that can change his mind.” Peter drew a deep breath. “When-- I don’t know if I should tell you this, but I’m going to. When Padfoot and Prongs and I realized you were a werewolf, Padfoot . . . he just panicked. He said it was unforgivable for Dumbledore to frighten us out of the Forbidden Forrest by threatening us with werewolves and then allow a werewolf to live in our dormitory. He was ready to call the Daily Prophet and have you thrown out. Prongs ended up hitting him in the face. Twice. He calmed down and came around, and he threw himself into the Animagus transformation and all, but . . .”
 
A wave of melancholy swept over Remus. “I know. Sirius told me that, a few years ago. Said he was sorry for thinking that way-- said he just wasn’t thinking at first. I wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t told me. He was just the same as you and James when you came to me and told me you knew.”
 
“You heard him at the Rally of Light, accusing everyone he could name. I don’t think this is something you should tell him now. He might not go mad over it, but he might, and that would just put James and Lily in the middle. And me.”
 
“I don’t want to do that, but what else can I do?”
 
Peter shrugged regretfully. “Get a bit too busy to spend time with him is all I can think of. Just until they stop recruiting you, or it stops bothering you and you can stop acting so, well, moony.” Both men smiled at the small joke. “It might be best to stay away from James and Lily, too. You know how they don’t want Harry to be made a target, and if you keep spending all your free time with them, well, the Death Eaters might decide to get to you through him. They can’t go through James and Lily-- they probably want to recruit them as well-- but Harry’s just a baby. He can’t really defend himself.”
 
Remus inwardly vowed to take Peter’s advice, but only after the holiday had been celebrated. He put the thought of leaving his friends out of his mind all during the evening filled with warm butterbeer and plans to spoil Harry worse than any child had yet been spoiled.
 
Everyone remained in Lily and James’ house that night, and the next morning was greeted with a scramble of activity. If Remus had stopped to analyze the situation, he would have thought it rather silly; Harry was only five months old, and would not remember this Christmas. Nonetheless, while the adults had given each other a few token presents, they had lavished seemingly hundreds of gifts upon Harry. Wizards and witches whom James and Lily barely knew had sent presents to the little boy whose sunny disposition captured the heart of everyone he met. Dumbledore had sent Harry a bib with “Hogwarts Class of 1998” emblazoned across the front as well as a colorful, enchanted bowling game. Harry would need to grow a bit before playing with it. There were stuffed unicorns and dragons and Gryffindor lions, and beautiful wall hangings, and books that read stories aloud as the pictures changed of their own accord (such books were rather like Muggle television, according to Lily). There were miniature Quidditch caps and shirts just the right size for a baby, and there were music boxes and games, which Harry could not appreciate just yet. The five adults spent the better part of the morning sifting through Harry’s loot, although Harry himself was more interested in a particularly bright length of ribbon.
 
Light and laughter still filled the air at the end of the day when Remus Apparated back to his flat, which was cold and stark in contrast.