all hallow's eve
Jan. 21st, 2016 11:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebloodtraitorYears 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!"
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!"
