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October, 1981
The Beginning of the End

i.
Albus Dumbledore studies the young couple before him, a deep sadness filling his heart. He knows what he must tell them will change their lives in ways they cannot possibly understand, yet there is nothing else to be done: it is their last chance at safety, and they must be told.

"I've had word that Voldemort intends to move against you, and soon," he tells them, watching their reaction shrewdly, sympathetically. "I think it is time. My advice would be to cast the Fidelius Charm immediately."

Lily Potter lets out the breath she probably didn't even know she was holding; her husband tenses, moving forward in his chair, eyes flashing behind round spectacles.

"No," James says. "It just puts more people in danger. There must be a better way."

"It will protect you," states Albus. "And your son. You have tried everything else and have managed to stay hidden for longer than anyone would have thought possible. Voldemort will no longer wait for his followers to find you: he intends to move against you personally. You must cast the charm."

"No," growls James. "We'd be locked in our house for Merlin knows how long. I won't do that to my family, not when there is still a war going on—"

"That is precisely why you must do it," Albus replies calmly but firmly. Lily touches her husband's arm, distracting him, calming him. Albus has seen this several times over the course of the years, particularly during their long months of hiding. James is tired of it, worn down from the constant effort of protecting his family. Of course, his first reaction to such an extreme measure of magical security would be to reject it; he wants to raise his family as any father would, out in the open, without having to worry about the darkest wizard in history threatening his one-year-old child. And he wants to fight back, not hide anymore.

"When?" asks Lily, one word conveying her answer. She, too, is tired, but she is willing to do what she must to save her family. Her instinct to protect is stronger than her husband's instinct to fight.

"As soon as you can. Tonight, if possible."

James jumps up and paces the office, one hand gesturing in the air as the other runs through his mop of messy black hair in the same way he's expressed his nerves since his first year at Hogwarts. "Who?" he asks, his own simple question asking much more. Who should they trust? Who would risk it for them? Who can they place in that much danger?

"I will be your Secret-Keeper," says Albus, holding the younger man's gaze. "I can assure you it would be safe with me."

James stares back, a flurry of emotions flashing across his face: fear, anger, reluctance, determination. He finally nods slowly as he steps up behind his wife. "Thank you, Professor, but you have enough to worry about. We can do this on our own."

Albus nods. He has made the offer, hoping they would accept, but they are strong and independent, and in many ways he is not surprised that they have chosen their own way. "Who will you choose?" he asks. "I feel I should know."

James glances down at his wife and then back. "Sirius. Sirius will do it."

Albus frowns as he steeples his hands in front of him. "James, I must remind you there is almost certainly a spy in our midst, feeding Lord Voldemort the same sort of information that I receive from my source." Lily glances at Albus, as if she suspects the identity of his spy. She looks up at her husband, who shakes his head with a fierce look in his eye.

"I trust Sirius. Completely. I trust them all," he finishes simply, defiantly.

"Are you certain?" Albus presses. "This charm will only protect you as long as the Secret-Keeper remains loyal to you and your secret."

"Sirius will do it," James repeats. "He's not a traitor."

"Very well," Albus sighs, reluctant to accept their decision when they are still so young, so innocent. "I believe Lily knows the charm and how to perform it. It is complex and precise. Just be mindful of your choice for Secret-Keeper, James. I would hate to see anything happen to any of you."

Lily stands, her green eyes bright. "We know, Professor. We'll be all right. Thank you for warning us. You've been so good to us, we couldn't possibly ask you to do more."

He comes around the desk to take her hands. "Be careful, Lily. Watch over your son. I'm doing everything in my power to end this so he can be safe."

She kisses him on the cheek and steps away. James thrusts out his hand, and Albus remembers something as he takes it.

"I still have your cloak, James. I can return it if you like."

He shakes his head with a wry smile. "I won't need it, Professor. I'll be invisible anyway, remember?"

Dumbledore watches them leave his office. He closes his eyes and wishes them well, hoping they have chosen the right one, and that the darkness does not take them before the end.


ii.
"Wait," says Sirius, holding up his hands and stepping back from Lily's raised wand. "I can't do this."

James stares at his friend, his face shocked and hurt. Sirius grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him out of it, before James can misinterpret his words.

"I can't be Secret-Keeper – it's too obvious," he says, forcing James to look at him.

"What are you talking about?" asks James. "You're my best friend, I trust you more than anyone else—"

"Exactly!" Sirius exclaims. "We've been friends for ten years. I was at your wedding. I'm Harry's godfather. I would be the first one they suspect."

James throws Sirius's arms off him and steps back with a scowl. "And you're afraid they'll come after you, is that it? Thanks a lot, Padfoot. I thought we were family."

"Dammit, Prongs, we are!" Sirius exclaims, waving his arms in exasperation. "We are. I'd do anything for you, all of you, and I'll do this in a heartbeat if you want me to. But I'm not the right choice."

Lily looks up at him, her eyes bright. "Who, then? Who can we trust?"

"Peter," says Sirius, the thought coming to mind almost immediately. "No one will suspect him. He's a minor player in the Order, not as talented as either me or Remus." His mouth tightens slightly at the mention of the fourth member of their group. "And we can hide him. They'll come after me and find nothing, and they won't even think to go after Pete."

Lily nods reluctantly. She knows it makes sense: Peter is safe, unassuming, trusted. Sirius sees the question blossoming in James's eyes and shakes his head before it can find voice.

"No, not Remus. He's vulnerable." He doesn't say what he is really thinking, that Remus could be the one who had put them in danger in the first place. He already brought it up once, weeks ago, and James not only swore up and down that Remus was loyal, but punched his Sirius in the face for even thinking it.

Sirius has not stopped thinking it. Peter is safe. Peter is the one.

James turns to Lily and takes her hands, wordlessly asking her thoughts. Upstairs there is a sudden cry as Harry calls out in his sleep. She tilts her head, but Harry is quiet, and she smiles sadly at James.

"I think he has a point," she murmurs, though she sounds as reluctant as James looks. "He's the closest to us, by far. He's our natural choice…which probably means we should chose someone else."

James sighs and turns to Sirius. "Will he say yes?" he asks, trusting him.

"We'd all die for you, you know that," says Sirius. "He'll say yes."

"Find him," says James, shoulders slumping slightly. "Before it's too late."


iii.
"Tell me," Remus demands, stepping toward Peter as if he's going to grab his robes and shake the information from him. "Tell me where they are."

"You know I can't," Peter replies as evenly as he can. "I'm not the Secret-Keeper." It kills him to say it, to lie to Remus, who has always been such a steady, supportive friend. He hates deceiving him, but Sirius thinks Remus is the spy, not him, and if Peter tells it will ruin everything.

"Then where's Sirius? I have to talk to James and Lily!" Remus is agitated, and Peter watches warily as his friend paces the tiny kitchen of his flat in Diagon Alley.

"I don't know, Moony," Peter says. "He was going to lie low until the threat eased up." Again, a lie: Peter would be the one hiding in the shadows, while Sirius was planning on drawing attention from Peter, to better protect the secret he now held within his soul.

Remus stops and stares. "Is it really that bad?"

Peter nods, because he knows it is, and not from James and Sirius. Remus turns and begins pacing again. "But…but where is he? Why didn't he say anything? And how do we know he…" He trails off, but Peter knows what he is thinking. How do we know Sirius isn't the spy? Remus suspects it, because Peter once suggested it in a panic, deflecting suspicion from himself. He hadn't anticipated the rift it would create, but it did. And he'd hidden himself there, in that rift, for months, terrified and guilt-ridden.

"He's not," Peter says, but he hears the lack of confidence in his voice and knows Remus hears it as well. His guilt increases tenfold as Remus gives them that look, the look that says But what if he is? He buries his shame once more as he turns away.

"Are you all right?" Remus says, his face lined with concern. "How are you bearing up?" Peter's blood runs cold, because Remus has hit so close to the truth: he is not all right, not at all. He is terrified--for himself, for his friends. He cannot bear it much longer.

"I'm fine," he murmurs, unable to meet his friend's gaze. Remus nods sympathetically, probably thinking Peter is simply anxious for their friends, never suspecting his secret. Which was always part of the problem: they never thought him capable of anything, even taking care of himself. He was just little Peter Pettigrew, trailing after the great James Potter and Sirius Black, third fiddle to even a werewolf. Damn them for driving him to it—damn them all.

"They'll be okay," says Remus softly, clapping him on the shoulder. Peter holds back a sob, because he knows how wrong Remus is. The secret isn't safe, not with him. "Be careful. As Sirius is Secret-Keeper, they could come after any one of us to get to him. I'm going to try to find him before checking in with the Order."

Peter nods silently, suddenly more afraid than ever. As Sirius is Secret-Keeper, they could come after any one of us to get to him. Remus was right. He knew it from the moment the charm was cast. They would come and they would know and they would rip it out of him. He wouldn't be able to resist even if he wanted to, no matter how hard he tried.

It was the price he would have to pay to stay alive.


iv.
"What is it, Severus?" The voice is a sibilant whisper, its sound sending gooseflesh down his arms every time it hisses his name. He hates it, hates all it represents now, and yet he is a slave to it and cannot escape, not anymore.

"Have you learned the location of the Potters, my lord?" asks Severus, his face a careful mask of curiosity and indifference even though his heart is pounding. He had warned Dumbledore that the Dark Lord would be coming; he can only hope the Headmaster heeded his words and has ensured their safety—her safety.

"I have," the Dark Lord replies. He studies his wand carefully and offers a cold smile to the man standing before him. "I have broken the charm placed upon their lives—or rather, they were betrayed by someone they trusted, who has always been too weak to resist. Fools."

Severus feels a surge of anger and fear, that her magical protection has been so easily thwarted, but he knows his own life will be forfeit as well should he show any emotion now. He plans carefully what he is going to say.

"My Lord, might I suggest you spare the woman?" he offers softly. "She is a extremely talented witch. She could be useful." He hates saying it, knowing she will never join them, but he also knows it may be the only way to save her, to keep her alive.

"I have already attempted to turn them, Severus. They have defied me again and again. No more." Voldemort turns slowly toward him. "Besides, is she not a Mudblood? Married to blood traitor, a man with whom you have fought ceaselessly since you first met?"

"I did not suggest sparing him," Severus replied, and this time there is honest venom in his voice as he thinks of his old enemy, lying dead at the Dark Lord's feet. "I ask only for the girl. We need only take out the boy and his father to ensure your victory."

"And is there no other reason why I should spare her, Severus?" the Dark Lord asks, his voice soft and low, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Snape gazes back, his mind blank. "No, my Lord, other than she is particularly gifted at charms. She would be useful," he repeats.

Voldemort sneers at him. "I know you desire her, Severus. You cannot hide that from me. You want her for your own."

"Please, my Lord," Severus begs, abandoning any attempt to deny the accusation. "Spare her. She does not need to die."

"I will consider it, Severus," the Dark Lord finally murmurs as he turns and walks away. There is a look of disgust on his face, and Severus feels the shame of both his love and his plea. "But I tend not to show mercy to those who continually oppose me."

It is all Severus can hope for, though he knows she will hate him for it should she ever find out.


v.
James stares at the book in front of him, the words floating on the page, the cup of tea next to him now cold. He is exhausted. He knows he should sleep, but he can't. He hasn't slept all week. His nerves are on edge, stretched taut knowing Voldemort has decided to make his move. He knows the dark wizard cannot possibly find them, not with Sirius's double bluff, and yet…he is still afraid. He used to love Halloween, but tonight he is terrified for his family.

The Muggles in the village are beginning to return to their homes, their funny customs coming to an end. Only a few last children remain outside, returning home from their Muggle celebrations. Upstairs, Lily is finishing Harry's bath. He can hear his son splashing and laughing, and his heart constricts, wanting so much more for Harry than this life they lead, prisoners in their home for weeks and months on end.

There is nothing to fear inside. The house is now protected by the strongest magic possible. Voldemort could walk up to the window and not see them. The secret of their very existence is locked within Peter's soul now; he holds their lives in his hands, and he is safe, hidden within his own protections. Sirius had left to check on him before settling down to his own fight, drawing attention away Peter as they once more begin the long night of watching and waiting and hoping for an end to the living nightmare that are their lives now.

James is sick of it. He needs to be out there fighting again. His family is in danger and all he can do is sit in the front room waiting for it, the unread book in front of him falling to the floor as his head drops and his eyes begin to drift shut. He dreams of better days, of walking free down the street with Harry on his shoulders, Lily at his side. He dreams of a world where Death Eaters no longer run rampant through the streets, where children are safe, and prophecies don't ruin lives.

He is awakened by a tiny body crawling up beside him. Harry is there, in his blue pyjamas with the Golden Snitch, his tiny mop of black hair still wet from the bath. He climbs into his lap and snuggles up to him. Lily enters, smiling at them from the doorway.

James takes out his wand and blows Harry's favourite coloured smoke rings. Tumbling clumsily from his lap, Harry tries to catch them, laughing joyfully. Lily finally chides him, and James scoops up his son, blowing raspberries on both cheeks. He hands him to Lily to tuck in upstairs and returns to the sofa, watching them go with a sad smile on his face. These moments of happiness amidst the darkness are all he has. He tries to return to his book, but once more yawns as sleep threatens to overcome him.

A sound from the front door. "Sirius?" he mumbles, bolting upright. No, it's not Sirius. He comes in the back door, through the kitchen. And he would have answered. James springs to his feet, knowing the spell is broken. They have come.

"Lily!"* he shouts, his heart bursting from his chest as he dashes into the hallway, leaving his wand on the sofa. "Take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!"*

He hears Lily upstairs, running toward Harry's room. He sees a black shape with billowing robes standing in the doorway, eyes bright and lips turned in a cruel sneer. And then he hears the intake of breath, sees the flash of green—

And feels nothing.


vi.
Lily sets Harry down in his cot and pats his back before pulling up his sheet. She pauses at the door to smile at the tiny form curled up with his favourite stuffed doll. He shifts and burbles, and she starts down the hallway when she hears a noise downstairs. Her heart pounds madly in her chest as she pauses, holding her breath and listening.

James is shouting, his voice panicked. She runs back to Harry's room, screaming for her husband, but there is nothing now, only silence. Choking back a sob, she knows he is gone. Dead.

But Harry remains, and now she must protect Harry.

Lily runs to his cot and grabs him, holds him close as Voldemort enters the room. She faces him, knowing this is the end, but hoping she can do something, anything, to save her son. Placing him back in his cot, she stands in front of him, and she begs for his life.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"*

He laughs and tells her to stand aside. She begs once more, offering herself, but he again refuses her.

"Not Harry! Please ... have mercy ... have mercy ..."* She breathes in the scent of Harry's still damp hair as she stands before him, relishes the touch of his tiny hand on hers through the slats of his cot, imagines she can hear his soft heartbeat behind her, strengthening her.

Voldemort raises his wand. With one last plea and one final warning, she stands tall, ready to sacrifice everything if somehow, someway it will save Harry.

The green light destroys that hope.


vii.
He stares at the man before him, terror clutching at his heart. He does not want to believe the innocent wretch, who cannot contain his joy over the fall of the Dark Lord at the ome of the Potters. With a vicious backhand he sends the fool to the ground and storms through Hogsmeade, away from the celebrations. He does not know what happened in Godric's Hollow, only that she is lost to him forever: Dumbledore was not able to protect her. Before, he always held out hope; now, death is final.

With a guttural cry, Severus turns on the spot and Apparates directly to the gates of Hogwarts. A part of him wants to let go of control, let himself be Splinched into a hundred pieces. Surely it would not hurt as much as the pain he feels now, the complete and utter emptiness in his very soul. Surely he deserves it, for it is his fault, is it not?

He hurries through the gates, unseeing. He strides through the corridors, unhearing. He bursts through the door of the Headmaster's office, uncaring that he has not bothered to knock. Albus Dumbledore is standing at the window, head down with his hands folded before him. He turns at the sound behind him. Severus sees the deep loss written in the Headmaster's face, and he knows it's true.

"No…no…" he whispers, staggering to a chair and collapsing. "Tell me she survived. Tell me she's here, somewhere, anywhere…" His chest constricts until he can barely breathe. Dumbledore shakes his head, a final damning pronouncement of her fate.

"They are gone." Three simple words. So final.

“I thought...you were going...to keep her...safe,"* he cries, unable to accept what has happened, lashing out at the only person he can blame apart from himself.

“She and James put their faith in the wrong person,�* said Dumbledore, coming to stand near him. “Rather like you, Severus. Weren’t you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?�*

Severus shakes his head in despair. Gone. She was gone. The Dark Lord had not spared her. He had pleaded for her life yet she was still dead.

And it was his fault.


viii.
Peter runs wildly around his flat. He cannot think, his mind and body a broken jumble of fear and elation and guilt and Oh God they're dead but also I'm alive. He cannot believe he has betrayed his friends to their death. Did he think the Dark Lord would spare them? Did he think the Dark Lord would simply take them prisoner, let them live a life of pain and torture, under his power?

He didn't think.

He certainly did not think it could go so horribly wrong. It seems impossible, that the Dark Lord is dead. He can hardly believe it's true, cannot even fathom the consequences. And yet, he has seen it: the Dark Lord is gone.

They will come after him—all of them, from both sides. The Dark Lord's followers will believe that he, Peter Pettigrew, sent Lord Voldemort to his death at the hands of the Potters. His friends will know soon enough that he was Secret-Keeper and betrayed James and Lily to the end of their lives. Never mind that Lord Voldemort is dead and the wizarding world is already celebrating a bitter victory: James and Lily and baby Harry are gone as well, and it is his fault.

He hurries from his flat, head down as he lets the door slam shut on his former life. He must run, he must hide. He chose his side and he lost. He cannot go back to either life, for they are both a lie now. And he knows any moment Sirius will come for him and rip him limb from limb for his betrayal.

He deserves it.

For the first time in his life, Peter feels truly like a rat.


ix.
Sirius watches as the weeping giant takes off into the dark night with Harry. His godson, whom he swore to take care of. Dumbledore wants to take the boy instead, to protect him. Sirius's heart breaks once more as he finally loses sight of the motorbike. He knows he will never see the boy again. He knows it as certainly as he knows Harry will be safe with Dumbledore. He could never raise a child, because they will come after him, blame him, take him to Azkaban. But first he is going after the real murderer.

Turning back to the devastating destruction behind him, Sirius takes a deep breath, setting his resolve. He will find and he will destroy Peter Pettigrew. All this time, leaking their secrets to Voldemort; all this time, suspecting the wrong man, trusting the wrong friend. Sirius feels the sudden crush of responsibility fall upon his shoulders. It is his fault that they are gone. He as good as killed them.

Sirius stares at rubble of his best friend's life, until at last he can no longer stand the pain and loss coursing through him and wipes the tears from his eyes. He turns on the spot and once more Apparates to Peter's flat, though he will not find him there. Surely, Peter knows that Sirius will come after him. He will be running, hiding. It is only small comfort that Sirius suspects he will not be the only one after the turncoat. Voldemort's followers will surely condemn him as well. He will find him first.

There is no time to go to Dumbledore, or even to Remus to apologize. He is singularly focused on finding and destroying the rat. He does not even think of him as a man, a friend, anymore. He is a Death Eater now and the worst possible traitor. He must die.

Sirius is almost delirious with hunger, exhaustion, and grief by time he finds the rat, roaming the Muggle streets of Cardiff, not far from his family's home. He stalks him, trailing him down the street. The Muggles in the area barely glance at him, in spite of his wild appearance and strange dress. Sirius calls his name, and the rat stops, his head falling forward between slumped shoulders.

He steps up to the rat, forces it to turn. Wormtail's face is battered and bruised, his eyes haunted with guilt and fear. He shakes his head, as if unable to speak. Now some on the street stops to watch the confrontation. And then Peter comes to life, fights back before Sirius can denounce him.

"Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?"* Sirius sees the wand behind Peter's back and steps away. But he does not move fast enough and is blasted backward into a crowd of Muggles. The air is filled with smoke and dust and rocks raining down from the sky. His ears are deafened by the sound of a powerful Blasting Curse, and he cannot hear.

When the scene clears, Peter is gone. His bloody robes lay in the center of a large crater. Dozens of Muggles are scattered about, some crying out in pain, some lying still, with contorted limbs and dead eyes gazing blankly at the sky. Sirius stares at the hole in the street and snaps.

James is gone. Lily is gone. And now Peter is gone.

They will never believe he didn't do it all. They will never believe that Peter was Secret-Keeper, spy, traitor. They will come after him now.

Sirius lays his head down to on knees and sobs. And as the authorities arrive, his sobs turn to laughter, because he has finally gone mad from grief.


x.
Albus Dumbledore walks slowly down the pristine Muggle street, stopping at the corner and releasing twelve balls of light back to the lampposts that dot the scene. At the end of the road, he turns and watches the house he has just left, where an orphaned child sleeps peacefully on the doorstep, unaware of just how much his young life has been upended.

"Good luck, Harry,"* he murmurs. With a turn of his cloak, he disappears. He reappears outside the gates of Hogwarts and slowly makes his way back to his office. The castle is quiet, the muted celebrations of its students wrapped up in exhausted, relieved sleep.

Albus sighs as he shuts the door to his office. After pouring himself a brandy, he lowers himself into a chair by the hearth, feeling old once more. He knows he has just sentenced Harry to a long exile from the wizarding world. He suspects the boy's childhood will not be easy. And yet he also knows, more than anything, that Harry will be safe with this family. His mother paid the ultimate price to ensure his protection. And he needs to be safe, because while the rest of the wizarding world celebrates, Albus suspects it is not truly over, not yet.

It is just the beginning of the end—for him, for Voldemort, and for a boy named Harry Potter.

* * *