all hallow's eve

[thebloodtraitor]

Years ago, Sirius would've considered Hallowe'en one of his favourite holidays. In truth, Sirius enjoys every holiday, more than happy for any excuse available for drinking, feasting and good fun with his friends. But there has always been something special about Hallowe'en, something exciting about the inherent mischief and playful deceit.

Though Sirius has had quite enough deceit lately. Perhaps they're all better off without more, however harmless it may well be.

Scowling at his reflection in the mirror, he banishes thoughts of Remus's secretive behavior from his mind for the time being, and runs a hand through his hair. He'd thought about donning some sort of minimal costume, perhaps using a charm to disguise himself as a Death Eater purely to scare the wits out of dear Peter. But in the end he's gone with a simple, Muggle rockstar sort of look, complete with eyeliner, artfully cropped T. Rex tee, and his favorite leather jacket.

The boots, Sirius thinks, black leather with massive silver buckles, are really what pull the whole thing off.

He mounts his motorbike, whispers a quick disillusionment charm and starts off, flying high above the smoking chimneys of London and out, out, out into the countryside. Peter's hidey hole is actually quite a charming little cottage nestled into the side of a hill in Berkshire outfitted in half a dozen concealment charms to keep it safe from Muggle and Death Eaters alike. It's not exactly Sirius's style, but his friend is hardly living in squalor while he's nestled away.

Sirius lands with a crash, delighting in the bumps and dips under his wheels and the gash he leaves in Peter's front garden. It'll be easy enough to magic away of course, but something about leaving it there for now is so satisfying. He dismounts and gives the seat a light pat before heading to Peter's front door.

After standing upon the stoop for a few moments with no response, Sirius murmurs the password and lets himself in.

"Wormtail?" Sirius calls out as he steps in the front room, frowning when he notes the rather untouched state of the place. "You're not still in bed, are you? It's a holiday, you know. I've brought whiskey!"

Peter has never been the tidy sort, happy to leave his filthy clothes and dishes strewn about, but there isn't so much as a cushion out of place, and the kitchen sink is spotless.

It's after Sirius has checked Peter's bedroom and the small back garden that the unease in his belly boils over. Peter hasn't been in hiding for long, only since Sirius and James agreed to make him the Secret-Keeper. Not even Dumbledore is aware yet and there's absolutely no indication of forced entry or struggle, no sign that Voldemort or his wretched henchmen have taken Peter against his will.

If anything, it appears as though Peter simply… left.

He could've just slipped down to the grocers or is out on a walk, but though Sirius has frequently questioned Peter's intelligence over the years, even he isn't stupid enough to wander about virtually unarmed and unprotected in the middle of a bloody war.

And then he knows. He knows in that instant, as all the blood drains from his face and his body goes cold, he knows the grave mistake he has made.

Gripped with fear, Sirius jumps on his bike and kicks into gear, heart thundering as he soars above the trees, headed west. His hands are shaking, wind whipping at his face, and he nearly falls off the seat the second his tyres hit the ground.

Except--

This isn't Godric's Hollow.

Sirius has only been to Godric's Hollow a time or two before, but even so the buildings are unmistakably wrong. They're harsh and bright, cutting into the sky with jagged edges and dark, imposing windows. And there's snow. In October.

Sirius spins in place, his entire body shaking as he shouts, voice cracking with panic, "James!"

Comments

[who_lived]

Harry is out for a walk, Hedwig flying above him. The weather is clear and crisp; brittle, the way so many afternoons at Hogwarts proved to be. He knows they're due for snow soon, according to the weather channels. It's still so odd to Harry, living so freely among Muggle technology and having access to a variety of channels of shows and programs to watch. He doesn't have to wait for his aunt, uncle, and cousin to leave to do so; he can switch on the television or computer at any time.

But he finds he still prefers simpler pursuits; tucking his nose in a book, or talking walks, for example. Hedwig simply loves flying outdoors with him, vibrant and alive. Harry glances up at her with a grin. She seems to know that she'll have to remain indoors for the next day or two, judging from her soft hoots of delight.

Harry is, for once, so caught up in his present, he hardly expects his past to nearly come crashing into him. All of a sudden, a flying motorcycle bursts forth from the sky, and Harry just manages to dodge it. Hedwig lets out a startled screech and flies away in a panic; Harry, chest tight with hope and dread and disbelief, quickly makes his way over to the rider, trying not to let himself get his hopes up.

In a moment, he catches sight of him, and he can scarcely believe it. He looks just the same as he did in those old photographs with him and James. Harry realizes then how young his godfather appears; taking in the appearance of the flying motorcycle with him, he also realizes from which point in time Sirius has arrived. He pales, but he makes his way determinedly forward.

"Sirius?" He calls out, eyes wide behind his glasses.

[thebloodtraitor]

Someone says his name.

Sirius whips around, eyes wide, panicked and disoriented. But-- "James".

A wave of relief crashes over him for, his lungs filling with air and heart settling. James is alive. James is fine. Surely Lily and Harry are, too. Surely...

Except...

Sirius presses a hand against his forehead, squeezes his eyes tight and looks again. He looks like James. But he's too young, his eyes too green, and this still is most certainly not Godric's Hollow.

Between one breath and the next, Sirius has his wand in hand, pointed and at the ready. He's not shaking anymore. Not visibly. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

[who_lived]

Sirius calls Harry "James" and it hits him like a punch to the gut, even after so many years of all sorts of magical people commenting on his near identical appearance to his father. Coming from Sirius, the mistaken observation especially hurts, reminding Harry just how much he's lost throughout his life. He blinks, trying to reign in the tears lingering in the corners of his eyes.

And then Sirius is pointing his wand at him and asking him who the hell he is. Harry feels Stupefyed, but he also knows enough, by now, to tread cautiously. He has a lot to catch Sirius up on, it seems.

"Sirius," he says, holding up his hands to show that he means no harm. "I'm James' son, Harry. I imagine that sounds strange to you. What..." He pauses, swallowing audibly as he tries to avoid the question he knows he needs to ask. He sighs. "What year was it, last you checked?"

[thebloodtraitor]

The kid stops in his tracks, eying Sirius's wand. The resemblance to James is utterly uncanny and he raises his hands, a quiet surrender, though Sirius knows better than to relax even a millimeter. he doesn't know what dark magic has transformed all of Godric's Hollow and created this boy with James's face.

Or perhaps some kind of overly powerful confundus charm that's left him disoriented and manic.

Either way, after years of fighting this fucking war, Sirius knows better than to simply trust.

"It sounds impossible," Sirius replies, but something about the notion catches and sticks. It would explain the face. And the eyes... oh, the eyes are very much like Lily's, very much like the baby he'd held in his arms only a week ago.

Still, Sirius keeps his wand pointed and shoulders squared. "Don't move," he orders. Then, his eyes narrowing, he adds, "Nineteen eighty-one. I suppose you're to tell me I've jumped into the future. And I'm supposed to believe you?"

[who_lived]

Having Sirius confirm the year it is he's just arrived from, Harry doesn't expect his godfather to merely trust him. Having arrived to Darrow at the tail end of a war himself, Harry understands only too well what it is to constantly be on guard, even if seeing the distrust evident in Sirius' face breaks his heart.

"I know," Harry says, keeping his gaze focused on Sirius. "Everything about this is impossible. And yet here we are." It's bizarre and wonderful all at once, having Sirius here. He's so much younger than Harry's ever seen him; well before Azkaban and tragedy aged him so much.

Harry obeys. He has his own wand on him, of course; tucked away in his pocket and concealed by a couple of charms. He won't take it out unless he absolutely needs to.

"Yes, the future," Harry explains, wincing at how badly the words sound. "It's currently two thousand and sixteen."

"I don't blame you for not trusting me," he continues after a pause. "But I'd like to think you'd believe me because I'm your godson." He takes a breath, and with Sirius here, young Sirius, it feels like he's reliving that awful night all over again. His voice softens as he glances at his godfather. "I don't suppose you saw my parents before you got here?"

[thebloodtraitor]

The boy does exactly as commanded, moving not a step closer, both hands visible and empty of weapon, wizard or Muggle alike. Though that still does little to make Sirius relax.

Especially so when the boy provides the year. Because Sirius can bloody well do maths and there isn't a chance this boy is older than Sirius himself. And he's not explained anything about where he is, how this could possibly be Godric's Hollow. Even if he is suddenly thirty-five years into the future, this simply cannot be the same place. The buildings he remembers haven't simply been restored or built upon, but entirely replaced, as has the entire bloody landscape.

"Godson," Sirius repeats, the word like a dagger to his breastbone. "My godson can barely speak much less..." Trailing off, Sirius waves a hand in the boy's direction, indicating everything about the boy standing in front of him. The speaking and standing. The clothing. The face. What Dark magic is this?

He sees no reason to respond to the question, soft as the boy's voice now is. But Sirius's gut is twisting with confusion and mounting dread and he shakes his head as though he might be able to dispel it, as if a good shake will knock something into making sense. "They're not your parents," he insists. "I don't know who or what you are, but if you've done anything to James and Lily I'll rip your heart out myself."

And somehow, even as he says it, he's beginning to doubt himself. There isn't a shred of this that makes any sense, but the boy before him looks and sounds so much like James that there's a part of him wanting him to believe it's true. Because that means Harry is still alive, and maybe James and Lily, too.

[who_lived]

Merlin's beard, but Sirius is so young, Harry thinks. It occurs to him that there are only a few years separating them as they currently stand; a bizarre thought to consider about one's godfather. But regardless of the fact of Sirius' youth, he seems just as wild as ever. Though he has yet to experience Azkaban, Harry thinks there's already a haunted look to Sirius' expression; he carries himself like a wounded dog that does not yet know the source of his pain. Harry winces a little, as he considers the inevitability of what he has to tell Sirius.

"I know when you last saw me, I was an infant," Harry says, watching the way Sirius' hand flutters all around him, indicating just how different Harry is now from the Harry he knows. "And I know you think this must be Dark Magic. It is magic," he concedes, "that has brought us here, though whether its source is dark or not remains to be seen."

Harry winces outright at the threat; the earnest nature of it sears him like a curse. "I didn't do anything to James or Lily," he says, closing his eyes as he tries to fight back the tears building. He inhales deeply, trying to draw the strength within himself to say what needs to be said. "Though I used to think it was my fault. I used to tell myself it was my fault," he says, almost whispers.

There's so much he needs to explain to Sirius, and so many things he wants to say. Harry thinks he ought to start with the most difficult of truths, first. He opens his eyes.

"Voldemort did."

[thebloodtraitor]

He is persistent, Sirius will give him that, not backing down on his story one bit, however impossible. Despite himself, Sirius feels a pang of something other than intense distrust when he lowers his head to murmur words that, to the untrained ear, sound enormously sincere and riddled with a guilt.

But Sirius has spent the last several years with an eye on betrayal, has learned to grow more and more suspect of even his closest friends.

And this boy is no friend.

Still, as he lifts his head again, those eyes so very much like Evans's, the words cut. Perhaps it's the name itself, those few putrid syllables breathed into the air so carelessly when even some members of the Order still refuse to utter them. Or perhaps it's the surety in the statement, the catch in the kid's throat. It's not the proud proclamation Sirius would expect of a Death Eater or even a sympathizer. It's not gloating. It's not smug.

It's... pained.

"You lie," Sirius says, lowly. A plea.

The panic and turmoil under his skin boils over and Sirius rushes forward, grabbing the boy by the front of his shirt, the tip of his wand pressed just beneath his jaw. Merlin, those eyes, wide behind wire-rimmed glasses, set in a face that could be a bloody mirror for James.

But it can't be. Not if--

Sirius's hands are shaking, his ears ringing. He digs the tip of his wand into the soft skin below the boy's jaw -- not Harry, he is not Harry -- and bared his teeth. "YOU LIE!"

[who_lived]

Harry winces, because he's heard Sirius speak those words before. And he remembers speaking them to Sirius, back in the Shrieking Shack. Their positions are reversed, now; it is Harry who has to convince Sirius of the truth, however painful and immense it might prove to be. He wishes he were better at this sort of thing. He wishes he had Ron with him; he wishes Hermione were still in Darrow with them both.

And then, suddenly, Sirius is grabbing him by his shirt, his wand pressed right underneath his jaw. Harry keeps as still as he can, trying not to struggle or give Sirius a reason to make use of his wand.

He grits his teeth. "I'm not lying. If you'll let me, I can show you why I'm not lying."

[thebloodtraitor]

As expected, the boy winces, stumbling back half a step before Sirius yanks him close. As close as they are now, Sirius can see a scar on the boy's forehead, a jagged line above his right eye. And he doesn't fight, doesn't reach for a wand or knife or any weapon Sirius can see. He only keeps his eyes firmly on Sirius's, gaze sharp, but not dangerous.

He isn't resisting.

Sirius fights the impulse to relax his hold, brow furrowing at the boy's choice of words. He's not offering to prove that he's not. Not exactly. Despite his better judgment, he lets go of the boy's shirt with a light shove, keeps his wand raised.

"Go on," he says with a jut of his chin. "Show me then."

[who_lived]

Harry lets out a breath when Sirius releases him, stumbling back but quickly regaining his balance. The tension built up in his shoulders eases a little as Harry manages to almost relax. He doesn't miss the way Sirius' gaze goes to the scar on his forehead; the very same scar he means to use as proof of what happened all those years ago now.

Harry shoves his untidy hair out of his face so his young godfather can get a better look at the lightning bolt, stark against his pale skin.

"I got this," he explains, "when Voldemort tried to kill me. He'd discovered our house because Peter Pettigrew, their Secret Keeper, betrayed them. He'd killed my father first, who tried to protect my mum and I. Lily died to save me, and her love worked its own kind of magic. Voldemort's Killing Curse rebounded and nearly destroyed him."

[thebloodtraitor]

The boy calls attention to the scar Sirius had just been eyeing and none of what he says contradicts anything Sirius already knows as truth. He doesn't mention that it had been Sirius's idea to change Secret Keepers at the last moment, but it's truth all the same.

He says 'Lily' and not 'Mum.' Such a small detail, but it catches. Snags. This boy-- Harry. He's never really known his mother. He's never really known just how much she loved him.

Except by means of a scar.

"Nearly," Sirius echoes, feeling the panic and anger under his skin subsiding, making way for the fear and dread just beneath. A part of him still desperately wants to believe the boy is lying, wants to hold tight to the notion, the mere possibility that James and Lily are still alive. But he needs to hear more; he needs to see how far this tale goes. "Not completely. So the prophecy was wrong? Were you not his downfall after all?"

[who_lived]

Patience is not Harry's virtue. In the wizarding world, nearly everyone who'd known his parents informed him that he inherited that particular trait from his father. Still, he manages to refrain from sighing or letting said impatience show; he knows how hard this is to hear. He still can't believe he's in this situation where he has to explain to his godfather.

"Well," Harry says, wondering how to succinctly sum up the next sixteen years of his life. "He was weakened and nearly ruined; he went into hiding for the next several years. In my first year at Hogwarts, he'd...merged himself with Professor Quirrell. The next year, his diary nearly killed Ginny Weasley and reopened the Chamber of Secrets."

Harry pauses, knowing what he must now explain to his godfather. "The next year is when I met you, back home." Merlin, but how is he supposed to explain to his godfather, almost as young as he is, that he is to spend over a decade of his life as an innocent prisoner in Azkaban? "And you told me Peter Pettigrew had been the one to betray my parents, disguising himself as a rat after a confrontation with you."

He swallows, blinking back tears now. That night had been so bleak and yet so full of hope all at once. "You told me that I could come live with you once you cleared your name, that I didn't have to go back to my aunt and uncle's," he has to bite on his lip and close his eyes so that he doesn't start all out crying. "But the Ministry were a bunch of...couldn't see reason," he amends, though he doubts Sirius would actually take offense to what he had been about to call the Ministry.

"Peter ran back to Voldemort, and helped to revive him fully. I was there," he adds, darkly. "Because he'd needed my blood. They killed Cedric, because he was 'the spare.'" He can still picture Cedric's body lying prone on the ground, broken beyond all repair.

"So Voldemort returned. And took over the Ministry. There was war," he adds, unnecessarily, and deliberately avoiding mention of Sirius' own death at the hands of his cousin, Bellatrix. "But the prophecy was right. I was Voldemort's downfall, in the end."

[thebloodtraitor]

Sirius listens.

He listens, hardly believing a word of it, though there are bits and pieces that ring as true somehow. Because he knows Peter betrayed him, betrayed them all. And though he has no recollection of a confrontation, he doesn't doubt for a moment that had he found James and Lily dead as he'd feared, it's Peter he'd have gone after first.

The only question there, however, is how could Peter have lived? Sirius would have doubtlessly killed him on sight.

It's Harry mentioning Peter's other form, however, that seals it. There's no way for him or anyone else to know of Peter's other form. Perhaps a minor detail buried in this mess of a convoluted story, but it's like a key sliding into a lock and a door swinging open.

It's all true then. Everything this boy says, his godson... it's all true.

"They're really dead," he says after a moment because it's all too much to take in. Too many questions in need of answers. Who is Ginny Weasley and what does she have to do with Voldemort's diary? Why on earth was Harry living with Lily's awful sister when it's Sirius who should have been his guardian? Why would the Ministry keep him from Harry? Why was Harry's blood needed to revive Voldemort? How could it all have fallen, years later, into another bloody war?

"James," he says, voice catching this time as all the fight in him extinguishes in a blink. "Your father. And Lily, too. They're gone."

[who_lived]

"Yes," Harry says, and manages to keep himself from saying, "and so are you." He blinks again, chest taught with a myriad of emotions he still doesn't know how to properly deal with, even after all of his life experiences. He thought living through the losses of so many people he's loved in such a short span of time could only be the cruelest experience he would ever know; but no, here he is, having to explain to one of those very people that he lost the deaths of his parents - his best friends.

Harry is finding that there are all sorts of ways for one's heart to break.

"I wish it weren't true. I wish I could tell you otherwise," he says. "I wish I'd gotten to know them, myself," he adds selfishly, because he finds himself struck with the realization that Sirius, from the point in time in which he's arrived, probably recently sent an owl or even spoke to Lily and James.

"But I can't," he says, glancing at the ground.

[thebloodtraitor]

As awfully, horribly, terribly certain as he'd been, Sirius can see now that there had been some glimmer of hope beneath the fear, that some part of him had been clinging to the very chance, however small, that they could still be alive.

Breath has left his lungs as Sirius takes a shaky step back, wand held loosely in his hand as his arms drop.

"It's my fault," he says, nearly a whisper. He tries to swallow, but it catches, and the ache beneath his ribcage is severe enough he wonders if he might be dying himself. "It was my idea, my... Harry. Harry, I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry."

Sirius doesn't plead for forgiveness. There's no forgiving this. His fingers twitch and he drops his wand to the ground lest he be tempted to break it in two and drops to his knees, cold snow seeping in through his jeans.

[who_lived]

Harry sees the defeat in Sirius' eyes and the way his arms fall to his side, wand held loosely between his fingers. He recognizes the fading echoes of desperate hope. His heart twists in his chest and his nerves tighten like taut balls of string.

But it is the way Sirius steps back, breathing as though he were in physical pain, that triggers a similar pain in Harry. His own throat burns as Sirius drops his wand and falls to his knees.

Without thinking, Harry rushes over, falling to his knees beside Sirius and pulling him into a hug.

"No, it's not," he tells him, voice muffled by Sirius' hair. "It's not your fault. It's his. He's the one who sold them out. He's the one who betrayed them. Not you."

[thebloodtraitor]

In seconds, Harry is hugging him. Harry, the child he'd held himself only weeks ago, the child he'd fed and bathed and put to bed, who is now this boy barely younger than himself with the same unruly hair as his father's, the same poor eyesight.

He's helpless to fight against it, helpless even as he knows he isn't the one deserving of comfort. His hands come up to clutch at Harry's jacket, his face pressed to Harry's shoulder.

"I'm the one who gave him the in," Sirius says, voice thick. "I should've known. I should've bloody well known it was the fucking rat!"

[who_lived]

"You couldn't have known," Harry promises him, holding Sirius close. He's both grateful and heartbroken that he gets to offer comfort to Sirius like this; he's so grateful to have his godfather alive, and it hurts, having to be the one to inform of his parents' deaths. The deaths of two of his best friends. Harry's own eyes burn with tears, and his chest and throat feel tight. Still, he doesn't lessen his hold on his godfather.

"You couldn't have known," he repeats. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's no one's fault but Voldemort's and Pettigrew's."

Sirius is barely older than Harry himself now. He hasn't even known Azkaban yet. And that breaks his heart even further.

[thebloodtraitor]

"He's a rat, James," Sirius says, shaking his head, something like a vicious, mottled excuse for a laugh bubbling past his throat. He can feel himself pushing into hysteria even as familiar arms wrap around him, attempting to hold him together. "I overlooked the fucking obvious, didn't think him nearly clever enough. But he's a bloody fucking RAT. Merlin's beard, how could I have been so stupid."

He pulls back, vibrating out of his skin.

Harry.

Harry, not James. Never James. Never James ever again.

Sirius lunges for his wand, shaking as he pushes to his feet. Every article in his being is screaming to leave, to hunt Peter down and tear him limb from limb with his bare teeth.

"Tell me I killed him, Harry," he says, seething. "Tell me I ripped his heart from his chest and fed it to snakes."

[who_lived]

"You didn't kill him," Harry tells him quietly, watching Sirius as he paces, trembling. "You didn't, and I'm glad for it. I know my father would be too. He wouldn't want you to turn into a killer."

But he also doesn't know how to tell Sirius this next part. The bleakness of his future that looms like stormclouds, ever about to burst open into violence. He doesn't know how to tell his godfather he spends the next twelve years of his life in Azkaban, an innocent man.

He exhales deeply, then explains.

"You didn't kill Peter," he says. "But Peter made the world think you did."

[thebloodtraitor]

It hits like a curse, punching the breath from him in an instant. He hadn't even gotten any sort of revenge. There'd be no bringing James and Lily back, he knows that, but for Peter to get away with it all, for him to go on living with Harry orphaned.

"How?" he says because it doesn't make any sense. Sod what James would've wanted of him, Sirius knows he'd hunt Peter to the very edges of the earth. "Was he deceiving us the entire time? Since the time we were children. Harry, Peter isn't that clever!"

[who_lived]

"He cast a spell that caused an explosion in the middle of a public street after you confronted him," Harry says, wishing he didn't have to speak the words. To tell his young and innocent godfather what the future holds for him. "He killed twelve Muggles in the process. And then he turned into his Animagus form and disappeared, making it look like you killed him. He cut off his own fingers in the process, to leave behind as evidence."

Harry has to stop and swallow, eyes shutting as he recounts to Sirius the truth that Sirius revealed to him only four years ago.

"They arrested you and took you to Azkaban," he says at last, the words little more than a whisper.

[thebloodtraitor]

The story only becomes more unbelievable. Peter chopping off his own finger? The boy who used to howl in agony for merely stubbing his foot on his own trunk? And as daft as Peter has always been, as sure as he is now of his utter, devastating betrayal, it's still difficult to imagine him killing twelve innocent people.

But he knows it's true. What reason would Harry have for telling a lie?

Did Sirius ever know any of his friends at all? Any apart from James?

"Azkaban?" It shouldn't be shocking, perhaps, not after everything else. What's one more piece? "Did they think I killed James and Lily, too? Did-- Even Dumbledore? Did even he believe it?"

There is no word for how Sirius feels, he realizes. Gutted doesn't come close. Nor devastated. After everything, after years of fighting and fear and distrust all around, it's Sirius to blame. And he finds... he finds he can't even fault them. After all, though he hadn't held the wand or uttered the curse, he is still the reason James and Lily are dead.

He deserves all that he got and more.