Fidelius Week

Midnight – in the cramped Hogwarts office where last desperate plans were being made, Albus Dumbledore leapt out of his chair and dove for the fireplace; his companions were on their feet and talking wildly only split seconds after. An inkbottle on the desk wobbled and fell in Dumbledore’s wake, and the scarlet ink spread rapidly over the worn floorboards.

Midnight – in Belfast, Remus Lupin woke from a nightmare and climbed, sweating, out of his narrow bunk, and the midnight sky had never seemed so bright before.

Midnight – in Azkaban, Findabhair Danaan woke, and stared with hopeless realisation at the dank blackness surrounding her; and then she realised she was alive, and Voldemort was not, and suddenly all the darkness in the world couldn’t hurt her. Except for the dark emptiness in his broken eyes, staring at her as she casually betrayed his every hope…

Midnight – Peter felt the final shattering of the Fidelius in his bones, as though his spine was a blackboard and the Dark Lord was scratching fingernails along it. And while he was still writhing and yelping with the release of power, he felt the Dark Lord’s presence in his soul lift, splinter into a thousand parts, and fade entirely, and he knew that every sworn Death Eater would have felt the same thing. Terror tore through him.

With torn and broken fingernails he scrambled at his left sleeve, pushing it up – the Dark Mark writhed on his arm, sizzling faintly. There was pain, but Peter was far enough gone in madness to hardly notice it.

Half-laughing, half-sobbing, entirely lost in a world of strange swirling shapes and bleak colours, he turned his uneven footsteps towards Godric’s Hollow and tried to remember how to Apparate.

*

Elaine stumbled and fell, tearing at the closest person with sharp fingernails; that person happened to be Lucius, who howled desperately. All around her, she heard moans and screams. She hurt all over - and in her arm, and in her soul, the pain was worst.
"Go! Go!" she shrieked. "Our Lord has fallen! Save him!"
"Elaine," Lucius whispered hoarsely, panting, "we can’t. It’s too late."
"No! There’s got to be a way!" She clambered to her knees in the bushes, seizing the pale-faced Lucius by the shoulders. "It can’t be too late!"
Equally wild-eyed, Lucius tore himself away from her, catching his sleeve on a branch and tearing it open. Elaine snatched at it, pulling it away from his arm; the Dark Mark writhed there, twisting and turning and surely sizzling faintly in the cool night air.
"Elaine, he’s gone!" Lucius gasped. "Let go of me – let go! We have to save our own hides right now. There’ll be Aurors everywhere in minutes – didn’t you feel his protection fading? Let go of me, I say!"
All the Death Eaters seemed to have the same idea; the faint pops of Disapparation came from all around her now. Elaine shrieked again. "Stay! Stay! Are none of you faithful? Stay!"

But they kept on disappearing.

A tap on her shoulder made her spin furiously, ready to lash out; but the offender was her weak-willed husband, looking as haunted as she felt. "They are scared. Can you blame them?"
"Yes! I can!" Elaine raged. "Are we not all sworn body and soul to him? How dare they?"
"We alone are faithful," said a new voice, a young, frightened boy who she vaguely recognised as the son of some Ministry high-up. "I stay with you."
"And I," her husband said, firmly.
"And I," a thick-set Death Eater, hidden inside his robes, told her. "We will bring him back, Lady. We will bring him back."

*

The sky was spinning. Sirius opened his eyes, and it stopped, for the most part; a few small stars wobbled, but he felt fairly stable. "Bad dream," he muttered, and rolled over – something was poking his back. In the act of pushing it away he recognised it as Lily’s copper kettle, and reality hit him with a sledgehammer. He lurched to his feet and ran, staggering, towards the centre of the disaster.

The house James loved (had loved, oh God) was shattered, smashed, ripped apart. The force of the curse had sent the walls around it flying outwards in a shower of splinters and broken boards, and everything in the house with them; Sirius had landed among piles of rubble at the edge of a perimeter of debris that surrounded what was now a dirt patch, still cloudy and dusty. The faint outlines of the sturdy foundations stood out sharply; there was nothing else to interfere with them. (couldn’t stop it I couldn’t stop it) Stars, dim through the haze lying on the site, and icy moonlight lit the scene brightly; there was no sound at all, apart from Sirius’s ragged breathing – oaths from a long-forgotten half-Muggle childhood - and staggering footsteps. (oh Jesus Christ they’re dead they’re all dead they’re DEAD!) His legs collapsed under him; his knees hit the dirt.

Behind him there was a sound. He turned, jerkily, as if he was a puppet on strings, and crawled back towards the ring of debris; but it had only been rubble settling, grey dirt puffing out from under it. (oh God oh God oh God that’s a hand) A pale hand lay half-clenched, its owner buried under the rubble that was still sighing in gentle wind-noises as it settled. James’s bitten fingernails … (so cold, he’s freezing, get him out OH FUCKING JESUS get him out!) Sirius tore at the tiles and bricks and boards covering him, desperately, madly.

*

Remus, still pulling his jacket about his shoulders, his limbs cold from long-distance Apparation, thumped on the door of Dumbledore’s Hogwarts office. It was flung open by a joyful-looking Bartemius Crouch.
"Lupin!" Crouch practically laughed. "Glad to see you!"
Remus, who had never had as much as a ‘hello’ from Crouch before and was well aware of the potential Minister’s hatred of werewolves, murmured something polite and freed himself from Crouch’s overly enthusiastic handshake. "Mr Crouch, what’s happened? My Dark detectors are going haywire – all the wards are practically singing with power, just since midnight – what’s going on?"

"Lupin, it’s over. It’s over. We’ve won."
It took several long, long seconds for that statement to sink in to Remus’s astonished brain. When it finally did, he had to sit down. He felt lightheaded. "It’s over?" Suddenly Crouch’s uncharacteristic affection made perfect sense. The other wizards in the office, most of whom Remus recognised as high-profile Light wizards, were equally joyous, and there seemed to be a lot of alcohol about.

"It’s over." No more fighting. No more desperate nights, no more miserable lonely mornings. No more wondering if his team or his friends had survived each day. No more blood. No more war. "It’s really over?"
"Entirely and undoubtedly so, Lupin," Crouch said, returning to the excited huddle about Dumbledore’s desk. "It’s over. Naturally, there’s a bit of cleaning up to be done – we need to find out exactly how this came to be – but Voldemort is no more, and his power is failing right across Britain. We’ve won."
Remus sat still, soaking it in.

And then Dumbledore returned, and told them why, and how, and where Hagrid had gone...

*

*

A gentle tap on his shoulder. "Sirius."
"We have to get him out!"

"Sirius, c’mere." Powerful arms picked him up and held him, held him away from James who must be so very cold now, it was such a cold night. "Yeh can’t help ‘im, not till Dumbledore gets ‘ere."
He snap-twisted out of Hagrid’s vice-like hold and plunged back towards James. "We have to get him out, don’t you understand, we have to save him, he might be hurting!"

The giant arms caught him again before he reached the rubble. James’s hand accused him silently, so very white in the moonlight. "Sirius. Yeh can’t do nothing. He’s dead, Sirius."

Sirius dropped to the ground, a puppet without any strings, feeling again as though the world had delivered a roundhouse punch direct to his gut. He’s dead he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead. They’re all dead. Oh Jesus Christ I’ve killed them. Scarcely conscious of his movements, he fumbled for his wand with bleeding hands.

"Yeh don’t want ter to do that, Sirius!" Hagrid sounded alarmed, but very distant. Sirius couldn’t tell if the world was fading around him or if he was fading from it. He felt insubstantial, apart from the bone-deep ache in his gut. I’ve killed them I’ve killed them I’ve killed them. I’ve failed.
A huge fist knocked the wand from his hand before he could bring it to his temple. "Listen, Sirius, it wasn’ your fault. Stop being stupid."
"I’ve killed them," Sirius mumbled, tasting ashes. "I was supposed to protect them and they’re dead."
"Snap out of it, Sirius!" Hagrid dragged him to his feet by his collar, propping him up. "Listen. Harry’s not dead. He needs yeh, Sirius, jus’ like we all do. Listen!"
Vaguely at first, Sirius noted the distant baby’s wailing. Then the fogginess vanished from his thoughts. Harry was alive.

"Where is he?" He swayed on his feet as Hagrid let him go, but managed to stay upright and to follow the giant across the blasted patch of earth. Right in the very centre, crying miserably, naked and filthy and bleeding but alive, was his godson.
"Harry!" Sirius broke into a run, passing Hagrid and practically diving on the toddler. "Harry… Harry, you’re alive…"
Harry sniffed, scrubbing his eyes with one pudgy fist. "Paffoo?"
Sirius clutched him to his chest until Harry calmed down, and then let go of the tiny boy in order to tear off his outer robes to wrap him in. When he turned back, though, Hagrid had Harry in his arms.
"Hagrid – he’s my godson," he said tensely. "Give him to me."
Hagrid looked wretched, but held on to the baby. "I would if I could, Sirius. Dumbledore’s orders, y’see. I jus’ can’t."

"Hagrid, don’t make me fight you. Give me Harry. I’m his godfather."
"Dumbledore’s orders," Hagrid repeated. "Sirius, go an’ get some rest. Yeh look like yeh could use it."
"I won’t rest until –" A new blast hit Sirius mid-sentence. Peter is still walking around out there. "Okay. I’ll come and get him from Dumbledore tomorrow. Take my bike, Hagrid, you can get him away faster. There’ll be Muggles all over this place soon." Focused anger, sudden and direct, took over. "I’ve got something else I need to do."
"The bike, Sirius? Yeh sure?"
"I’m sure. I won’t be needing it." He waved a hand at the circle of rubble; the bike, charmed against falling from a height, lay on its side in the air above … above … no. Don’t think about it. One thing you need to do first, Sirius, then you can fall apart. Tenderly, he tucked his outer robe around Harry, and with a corner of it wiped the blood off his forehead. A single lightning-shaped scar marred the smooth baby-skin above the bright emerald eyes, now tear-filled and sleepy. "Paffoo," Harry murmured, sniffing. "Dada?"
No Dada. Not any more. And I know just who I’m going to kill for this, too. Without another look, Sirius walked away, picking up his wand as he passed the boundaries of the house. Nobody is going to get in my way.

*

The night wore on. It started to rain; big, fat, splattering raindrops, falling heavily on Remus’s thin coat and dripping uncomfortably down his neck, soaking through everything until he was dripping wet all over.

It wasn’t until nearly dawn that he found Sirius. He had been looking, but he’d almost given up hope when he turned down the side alley behind the house in Godric’s Hollow and saw the hunched, crouching figure, almost invisible in the dull predawn light.
"Sirius."

He spun around at the sound of Remus’s voice, and Remus saw with a shock how gaunt, how pale, how absolutely horrible he looked. "Remus." His voice was a rasping growl. "I’m going to kill him, Remus."
Somehow the rain must have run down his throat then, because Remus’s belly turned to ice. "So it’s true, then, Sirius."
"They’re dead," Sirius rasped, turning away – his wand out. "James and Lily are dead, but Harry isn’t."
"So you’re going to fix that problem, I see," Remus said, his voice as frozen as his stomach. "Old friend."
"I’m going to kill him," Sirius said, as if Remus hadn’t spoken. "I’m going to tear him apart and I’m going to –"

Remus blocked the dry, rasping voice out, unable to accept the matter-of-fact description of just how Sirius would murder his best friend’s son. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to turn and run. He wanted to be anywhere but here. Instead, he raised his wand and pointed it at the back of Sirius’s head, with steady hands. "Oh, God, stop it, Sirius! Stop it!"

Sirius, cut off in mid-sentence, turned back towards him, and froze at the sight of the wand. "Remus, what are you doing?"

"What I should have – should have done before you ever lived this long!" Something was blocking his throat.

"You have to let me kill him!" Sirius, moving jerkily but still with the speed he’d always had, knocked the wand aside and jumped at Remus, hands outstretched. There was blood on his shirt.

Remus dodged, seized his arms and slammed him against the alley wall with both arms twisted up behind his back. Sirius wriggled and ducked, landed a solid blow to Remus’s stomach, and darted away up the alley. Gasping for air, Remus snapped off a hex, and Sirius collapsed bonelessly at the alleyway entrance.
"I can’t. I can’t kill you, Sirius." His throat was still blocked, choked up horribly. "I can’t do it."

Sirius moved faintly.

"I can’t fucking do it." Nothing had ever been harder to say in his life. Nothing had ever been harder to walk away from. "But I hope to God that someone does, you unutterable bastard. Nobody deserves it more than you."

He hexed Sirius into immobility - hands and voice shaking wildly - marked the spot, and Disapparated to the edge of Hogwarts. Crouch was still in Dumbledore’s office, although the others were gone; he was more than willing to come back with Remus, once things had been explained to him.

But when they got back, the hex had faded, and Sirius was gone; a trace of blood on the cobbles was all the evidence they had.

*

Dawn, and the main street of Godric's Hollow was slowly coming to life; tantalising odours wafted from the bakery, mingled with the sharp smell of ammonia from the window-cleaner a few doors down. A sole paperboy was trudging up the street, tossing each newspaper in a lazy arc to land beside each shop door. In the newsagent, a bleary-eyed girl was stocking the magazine racks; an equally sluggish woman at the bakery was setting up tables out the front. Noises from inside other buildings suggested that people were waking up or setting up; no threat, Sirius thought automatically, appraising the situation almost by habit. He shook his hair out of his eyes and laid one shaking hand on the wand at his hip to steady it.

The Locus Charm flickered in the corner of his eyes, a dull red that no longer distracted him – his vision was hazy anyway, and the red flashes meant only one thing – Peter was close.

He turned slowly on the spot, garnering odd looks from the Muggles in the few open shops – a young man in torn jeans and a bloodstained shirt with a wild look in his dark eyes, fighting utter exhaustion to stay ready for anything, presumably wasn't an ordinary sight on this peaceful street. How can they act so normal? Don’t they realise what's happened? Don't they know anything? Oh, Jesus, where the fuck are you Peter?

And then he turned around again, and Peter was watching him from the other end of the street.

"Lily! James! Sirius, how could you?" Peter shrieked suddenly, and Sirius snapped his wand around to attack-
- and the whole world went to hell.

*

*

"Laughing," said Cornelius Fudge, the Junior Minister of Magical Catastrophes, in hushed tones. "Laughing. Can you believe it? Of all the people in the world, Sirius Black? He's been taken to Azkaban already – didn't want him getting away in the confusion. Barty Crouch said so. It's obvious that he was guilty, naturally. Fancy that – Sirius Black a Death Eater!"

"It's a terrible, terrible thing, Cornelius," his secretary said. "And it must be true, then – You-Know-Who must be gone forever. What else could send every Death Eater off their rockers? We've had no fewer than three give themselves up this morning, and it's barely half-past seven."
"And not to mention the ones who've turned themselves in and claimed Imperio," Peter Wilkins said excitedly. "Why, we've done better this morning than in the past year!" The young Auror wiped sleep from his eyes.

"It must really be true," Watson – the secretary – repeated.
And the three men glanced simultaneously at the next room, separated from Fudge's office only by thin wooden walls; they could hear the soft gurgles of a baby and Albus Dumbledore's quiet voice murmuring spells and chants.

"Don't know why he's bothering with protection, if You-Know-Who is gone," Fudge said, impatiently. "A bit pointless, really."
"Apparently the boy's off to live with Muggles," Wilkins said. "Something about wanting him separate from the magical world for as long as possible. Shall I refill your glass, Cornelius?" He hefted the already half-empty bottle of redcurrant rum.

"Thank you – lovely. Yes, a little bit more – thank you. Can't say I agree with Dumbledore on most of these things; but he does get things done, so we let him go his own way most of the time."
"He'll be off to Godric's Hollow this afternoon, then? Where's the boy staying? Not in the office here, surely?" Watson held his own glass out for a refill, and let out a big, happy sigh. "I can't believe it – I can't believe he's really gone."
"Oh, Hagrid'll take him somewhere. It's all hush-hush, you know," Fudge said importantly. "Can't have a baby interfering with the celebrations, now, can we?"

*

*

Remus sat hunched in the dreary Belfast hideout and stared at the wall, wondering what Azkaban was like. He hoped it was utterly awful and that every second there was torture. He hoped that the rumour about prisoners going mad was true. He hoped Sirius stayed there for the rest of his life. He hoped he'd be allowed to attend Lily and James's funerals. And most of all, he hoped that the pain would fade in time, and that he'd be able to get on with … with … whatever they found for him to do. What jobs were there, anyway, for werewolves with no skills except fighting Dark wizards? The war was over, but the promised utopia hadn't arrived. And without his friends, it wasn't likely to ever turn up.

"Oy, Lupe! Come down the pub?" bellowed a cheerful voice in the next room. "Time to fuckin' celebrate, you know!"

"I – I don't think I'll come," Remus called, holding his voice as steady as possible. "You go on. Have fun." To his horror, the last word degenerated into a sob, and once the first one was out he couldn't stop the rest. All he could do was muffle the sound in the scratchy, smelly blankets and hope that the others had already left.

*

*

Peter nuzzled the hand of the five-year-old boy, and curled his tail around the red-head's fingers. "Can I keep him, Mum?" he heard the kid ask. "Look, he's so well-behaved, he's adorable!"

"Oh, Percy, there's more to think about now than a rat! I'm busy writing to your grandparents at the moment!" the flustered mother snapped. "If he doesn't make a mess, I won't notice him, all right? You can feed him from the leftovers."

A wide grin split the small, freckled face almost in two. "Thanks, Mum!"
And Peter found himself being carried joltingly up a crooked staircase.

*

*

Azkaban was as horrible as Sirius had always thought, even seen through the foggy haze of Dementors, even with James's cold, white hand filling his head and Lily's last despairing shrieks ringing in his ears. He hung limp in the arms of his captors and watched the floor drag past underneath his feet, stone cobbles pregnant with fear and stained with old blood; he watched dully as the last vestiges of daylight vanished in the distance, replaced by dim werelights hovering in the corners. He barely noticed it when he was flung harshly across the hall, into a cell; nor did he hear the clang of the cell door closing, or the snap as the guard maliciously broke the key under his boot.
He closed his eyes and thought, fiercely, I am innocent.
But it didn't stop Lily from screaming in his head.

*

*

And James and Lily slept in the Ministry morgue, no longer affected by the troubles or the joys of this world. For them, it was an ending. But every ending is a beginning of something else, and this was no exception. For so it always is.

*

*

And the world continued to turn.

*