Let the Water Hold You Down (2/2)
How was it that the Riddle House seemed so normal from outside on a sunny day like today? In Peter's head, the sky was always black and a fog surrounded it, like a Muggle haunted house. But there it was, standing in front of him, with shutters and windows and a set of windchimes and a garden that some Muggle maintained.
Stupid Muggle.
He Apparated inside and immediately wished he could Apparate right back out as the sound of a man screaming reached his ears.
Merlin, he had a headache.
He took his time moving through the house and unlocking the door that led to what appeared to be a wine cellar but was really… well, it was where Sirius was now. He counted the steps as he walked down.
One.
"Crucio!"
Two. Three. Four. Five.
The screaming stopped. "Conjunctivitus!"
This time the scream was different, and not nearly as pained. And yet, the loss of sight… Peter noticed his shoe had come untied.
Screaming again. Someone had used a wordless incantation.
Six. Seven. Really, how could anyone walk down the stairs with their shoe untied? He turned around and propped his foot up on a higher stair, and tied it.
Still screaming.
He'd need a double knot, or surely it would come untied again.
"Crucio!"
Really. People lacked originality. What happened to a good Sectumsempra or an Incendio? Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Floor.
He touched his mask again, and entered the room.
Sirius was huddled in a heap on the floor. His robes were singed and bloodstained and torn, and his hair was a mess. Peter looked away… right into the eyes of the Death Eater he wasn't supposed to know was Lucius Malfoy.
"Care to take a turn?"
Not really, but then, it wasn't a request, either.
"Incendio!"
A piece of robe burst into flame. Peter guided it neatly so it would burn skin and hair up along the leg, but not catch too much on fire. Sirius's form shuddered, and Peter thought he might be crying.
"You know," Malfoy said, "you're really quite good at this."
He must have been coming down with something or had food poisoning, because otherwise he never would have vomited in the corner of the cellar.
***
"All right," James told them that night. "There are three places he could be, according to Dumbledore. There's a cave on the north coast that Dumbledore thinks the Death Eaters have been using, there's a house, and there's the Malfoy Manor."
"Dumbledore's sure Malfoy is a Death Eater?" Peter asked, surprised.
"That whole family must be," James said, and Peter bit down to keep from reminding him that it was Sirius's family by marriage. (Which, of course, only supported James's point.)
"All right," Peter said. "Who goes where?"
"The manor seems the least likely place," James said.
"I'll take it," Peter quickly volunteered.
"And I'll take the cave," Remus said.
"All right. I'll take the house. Dumbledore has the locations. He said to Floo by separately when we're ready."
They all looked at each other.
"We'll get him back, James," Remus finally said.
"I know." James stared at the floor instead of looking back at Remus. "You want to go first?"
"All right." Remus stepped through the fire.
"He's taking this hard," James said when the silence stretched too long. "You know-?"
"I know. Not that anyone's ever told me."
"Remus never mentions it."
"But Sirius told you."
James shrugged, and then ran a hand through his hair. "Look, Peter. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about. Well, it sort of leads to it, but not really."
"What is it, then?"
James pulled out a roll of parchment. "Dumbledore thinks that Sirius is alive, because Voldemort wants the secret. But he also thinks that all three of us might be walking into traps. That's why he won't send more people- we can't waste them." James made a face. "But he's right that perhaps one person will have a better chance than several, but, anyway…. There's a very good chance we won’t come back."
"Thanks for the pep talk."
James frowned. "No, Wormtail, that's not what I'm getting at. There's a very good chance I won't come back. And if something like that happens, and Sirius doesn't come back either, well… I want you to take care of Harry."
"Me?" Peter asked, incredulously. "Why the hell me? Why not Arabella Figg? Isn't she watching him tonight?"
"Only because Dumbledore asked her to. It was you or Remus."
"And Remus is a werewolf."
"No," James said, "although that's a valid point. Remus has a tendency to run away and protect himself. Lily and I, we talked about it, and we thought… well, I love Remus, Peter. Lily did, too. But he's not ready to have a child."
"Neither am I!"
"But you'd protect him. You can protect him. Remus can't."
Peter thought of Sirius crumpled in the basement of the Riddle house and nearly threw up again. "What if something happens to me?" he heard himself asking.
"If something happens to you, then we've asked Dumbledore to find someone appropriate. Someone with a family already. But Peter, while I meant it about Remus, I didn't mean I don’t want Remus around Harry. I just… I don't want him being the main one responsible."
Oh, James, you are such a fool. Such a terrible, terrible fool….
Peter wiped away a tear that was streaking down his cheek. "All right James. I'll do it."
"Good. Sign here."
***
He Apparated to the Riddle House, but he appeared outside instead of in. He stared at that house again, and for the first time he realized just how much he hated it.
Sirius was inside there. And no matter how hard Peter tried to forget, Sirius was the boy who'd been his friend at eleven, helped him with the Animagus transformation at fifteen, laughed with him over girls and sex at seventeen, fought beside him at nineteen, and so many things in between. And now he was dying.
No. Now he wasn't dying. But Peter bet he wished he was.
He slipped into rat form and scurried up to the house, slipping in through a hole he'd made sure existed. Always a good idea to have some other entrance or exit that others couldn't use, or didn't realize.
He told himself that he was going to sound the alarm, to let anyone who was here know that James Potter was coming, and to be ready. James was a formidable force during the normal course of things, and with his anger at Sirius's capture….
There were two Death Eaters talking in the parlor. If Peter was right, they were Rosier and Wilkes. No sense in telling them, they were far too stupid to stop James.
Nott was walking out of the bathroom. Too old to be effective.
Really, why did Death Eaters bother with masks anyway?
There weren't many people in the house. No one worth telling. Not now.
He crept down the stairs and past the other doors, pausing outside the room that Sirius was in. Well, not room, really, was it? Cell? Was that the proper word for something like this?
Yes, it was. And that made Peter sick.
He lay down, the stone cool against his tiny body, and rested his head in his paws. Behind that door was Sirius. The Order would never have to know that he was a spy- he would just tell them that he'd had a vision that Sirius was here, and not at the Malfoy place, or something like that. Not that any of them took Divination seriously, but they knew that Peter did and there wouldn't be much to worry about. He could deflect any suspicion that he was the spy in the Order easily, especially if both he and James were there and Remus wasn't.
Yeah, easy.
Of course, if the Dark Lord found out that he had released Sirius, it would mean a price. And not just death- oh, no. He'd be taking Sirius's place in that cell, and tortured as long as the Dark Lord cared to do so. Sure, others had just simply been killed with a flash of green light, but this kind of treason? No. Not so lucky.
His tail twitched.
Inside the cell he could hear Sirius breathing, if he listened very hard. His breath was uneven and ragged, like someone was still in there with him, but Peter knew that no one was. He wondered how Sirius was doing with the isolation. Sirius had always been a social person, but then… he'd chosen that little cottage on the cliffs of Dover, and Remus had moved in later. Sirius liked people, but he was quite content with his own company. He was probably fine.
The lock was right there….
A Death Eater was hurrying down the hall. Peter looked at him curiously. This was one he didn't recognize, and his robe was just a little too long for him and-
Oh, James. For crying out loud, the old disguise-yourself-as-one-of-them trick? Of course, what was really sad was that it had worked.
James stopped and whispered a few words, and the door Peter was lying near glowed blue. He scurried back into the shadows. He was never worried about a Death Eater recognizing him, given that he'd never revealed his Animagus abilities, but James was an entirely different story.
Fortunately, James's attention was entirely focused on the door in front of him. Peter knew how to unlock the door, and he was pleased to see that James didn't try a simple Alohomora. But he also wasn't surprised when one of the spells James tried made the mark on his arm sear, even as the door swung open.
James should have known it was a trap. But then, maybe he'd figured he had enough time to spring it, get Sirius out, and run before the Death Eaters came. And knowing James, if he had some cover, he could.
James was rushing into the cell, and Peter could hear his anguished cry as he found Sirius. He crept forward and peeked around the doorjamb, and then scuttled back to be sick again. Sirius looked worse than he had before. Peter had an impression of raw, bloody skin, deep purple bruises, singed flesh, and tangled black hair, and the picture stayed when he closed his eyes. He couldn't…
"Kill me," he heard Sirius croak.
"No."
"Yes. Don't make me…."
Voices. Shouting. Running footsteps. The Death Eaters were coming.
"Kill me," Sirius repeated. "Now. End it."
Peter peered around the corner again, and saw James huddled into a heap over Sirius. "No."
"The Longbottoms will be safe."
James was shaking his head, but the voices were getting louder. "NOW!"
It must have taken all of Sirius's strength to shout that, his charred hand clutching James's robe, leaving a dark, bloody stain.
James took a deep, shuddering breath, stood up, and pointed his wand. "Avada Kedavra," he whispered, and there was a flash of green light.
Sirius was at peace.
A shriek of rage pierced the air, and Peter knew James had only seconds. They were coming from all sides, and they were angry. The Dark Lord was furious, and if Peter had thought his own fate would have been terrible, it was nothing- absolutely nothing- to what James's would be. He looked up at James's face, resolute and white and scared as he stood over Sirius's lifeless body. He remembered James asking him- him, Peter Pettigrew- to watch over Harry and he thought of being told to torture James like he'd had to torture Sirius and being told he was good at it and James screaming and crying and begging for it to end and the Death Eaters torturing him just because they could and fragments of memories of chocolate frogs and full moon nights and laughing and James holding Harry and James playing Quidditch….
He slipped into human form and pointed his own wand.
"Avada Kedavra!"
***
The pain of the Cruciatus curse fired down his nerves.
"I wanted him alive!" the Dark Lord shouted.
"My Lord, I didn't know!" Peter said, then the pain began again.
It ended a few minutes- a small eternity- later, with three Death Eaters and the Dark Lord standing over him. "You killed Potter," the Dark Lord said. "You were seen. But did you also kill Black?"
"No, my Lord. I swear to you. I knew the importance of Black being alive. He was the Secret Keeper." Peter knelt at Voldemort's feet. "I swear to you, I did not kill Black."
"We shall see. The wands."
Malfoy handed Voldemort the wands. Peter recognized his own and James's.
"Prior Incantato," Voldemort said.
Peter had seen the effect before, but he was unprepared for the memory of James flowing from his wand, coming to stand in front of him. James stared at him silently, eyes sad and horrified behind his glasses. He cursed Voldemort for bothering with this unnecessary display. Wasn't he a Legilimens, for crying out loud?
The next spell to flow from his wand was an accioed book, and then the ghost of a cleaning charm. Voldemort nodded, and picked up James's wand.
"Prior Incantato."
The memory of Sirius was now standing next to James. He wore almost the same expression as James, but a million times worse because Sirius had always been a very expressive person. Voldemort tossed the wand away with no other ceremony, and then waved his own wand. Sirius and James vanished.
"So I see. Very well, Pettigrew. I accept your apology for killing Potter." Peter stifled his sigh of relief. "Now let's turn to more important matters, such as those guarding Black. Where is Rosier?"
***
The bodies were dumped in a ravine behind the house. Peter wasn't sure what made the Dark Lord do that instead of enchanting them to be Inferi, but he was intensely grateful anyway. When James never appeared, Peter and Remus went to the Riddle House.
"The Locator charm says they're back here," Peter said. They looked down at the ravine. "Moony, are you sure you want to be here for this?"
Remus's pale face and glare answered that question.
Peter spotted James's hand first. It was sticking out from under a pile of leaves, white and cold. Meant to be found by anyone who was looking.
"Remus!" he called, brushing aside the leaves. "I found them."
Remus came running, the leaves flying up around him. And when he fell down to his knees beside Sirius's tortured corpse, Peter wondered why he'd ever wanted to see Remus Lupin cry.
***
"Well," Peter said when they left the graveyard two days later. "What comes next?"
"I don't know," Remus admitted. "You have Harry, and I…" he bit his lip.
"You still have me," Peter said.
"I know." Remus sighed. "Dumbledore wants me to go to Scotland."
"Why?"
"Can you keep a secret?"
"Don't ask stupid questions."
"Right." Remus stuffed his hands in his pockets. "He's had me spying on the werewolves."
It was like the pieces of a puzzle fell into place, in more ways than one. Suddenly all of those unexplained absences made sense, and suddenly Peter wondered why he'd never thought to say that he was spying on the Death Eaters if he was found in the wrong place at the wrong time. He laughed.
"It's not funny," Remus said. "You have no idea of how the werewolves live. I've been putting off Dumbledore for as long as I could, but now…."
"You don't have Sirius anymore," Peter said.
Remus closed his eyes.
"Could it be that bad?"
"Do you know how the werewolves live?"
"Do I want to?"
"Probably not. But I've been there a few times, and… well, there's more."
"What?"
"The leader of the pack is Fenrir Greyback." Remus sat down on a bench and looked down at his knees. His knuckles were white as he clenched his hands together. "He's the one that bit me. Deliberately."
Peter was aghast. "And Dumbledore wants you to live with him? Is the man mad?"
Remus shrugged.
Something in him stirred. Perhaps it was because it was an act of defiance to Dumbledore, but somehow Peter didn't think so. "No. Absolutely not. Look, James wanted me to look after Harry. Me, Remus. The man is mad. Absolutely mad, I tell you. I can't do it alone. But it's more than just that." He sat down beside Remus. "Dumbledore has me spying on the Death Eaters, too. He made me swear not to tell any of you, but now…" he looked away. "I can't help but think maybe James or Sirius or even Lily would still be alive if I'd been allowed to tell you everything I know. Maybe Dumbledore couldn't come up with a way to save them, but we could have." He wiped away a tear that wasn't supposed to be trickling down his face. "But I'm still in this, Remus. Neck deep. I can't get out, and I don't know what's going to happen. I can't take care of Harry alone. But we could do it together."
"But James wanted you to take Harry."
"Yes, but he said to make sure you're still a part of his life."
Remus was wavering. "Where would we live?"
"We could keep the cottage, if you like."
Remus smiled. It was pale and thin and wan, but it was a smile nonetheless. "I'd like that."
***
The nightmare was new. Peter tried to tell himself that it was a coincidence that it started on the night that James and Sirius were buried, but he knew that was bullshit. He woke up shaking, with visions of Remus with blood dripping from his teeth and fingernails, Sirius torn to shreds, and James alone and trembling in a heap still vivid in his mind. He stumbled out of bed and fumbled for a glass of water, and then poured it over his head. It didn't help.
***
Harry and Peter moved into Remus's cottage two days later. It was utter chaos, with Remus rearranging the study to make a room for Harry, Peter setting up his own room in the guest room, and the kitchen suddenly being overrun with bottles, baby food jars, and various toys. Harry alternated between sitting on the floor playing or crying and having to be soothed or fed or just held in general. Despite their work, it was sometimes hard for Peter to remember that Harry was an orphan now, and that James wouldn't be showing up to take him off their hands. And that Harry would be with them tomorrow and the day after and the day after and the day after….
"I need a drink," he told Remus that night, once Harry had screamed himself to sleep.
"You and me both," Remus said, collapsing in a chair and summoning a bottle of Firewhisky. He guided it lazily with his wand to pour, and then floated a glass over to Peter. Peter took it and drank eagerly.
"We have a kid," he said, when the glass was empty.
"Don't say things like that. I'll need another glass."
"I might anyway. We have a kid." Peter turned the glass around in his hands. "What are we going to do with a kid?"
"What everyone does, I guess."
"Do you know how to change a nappy?"
Remus laughed. "You're better at it than I am, so stop it. And if we mess it up, it's just a few cleaning charms." He slumped deeper in his chair. "I guess we'll manage it. We don't exactly have another choice. Well, you don't. And besides, would you give him up if you could?"
Peter thought about the little black haired boy, curled on his side in what was now a nursery, going away and never seeing him again.
"No. I guess not."
***
The days passed, and life fell into a certain routine. There were feedings and bedtimes, naps and stories. Peter still worked for Bertie Botts, and Remus worked odd jobs when he could, but mostly stayed home with Harry. They both ostensibly worked for the Order, but Peter noticed Dumbledore calling on them less and less. It didn't bother him, but he saw the hurt in Remus's eyes.
"We're not as valuable without Sirius and James, I guess," Peter said one day.
"I guess," Remus said, but they both knew that Dumbledore was annoyed that Remus now had a perfectly acceptable reason for not infiltrating the werewolves.
Peter was even more relaxed among the Death Eaters. Remus was thought to be on their side, so he was safe. James and Sirius were already dead. Harry was no threat, and Voldemort wasn't exactly the kind of boss that sat down and asked about his employees' personal lives. He undoubtedly knew about Harry, of course, but frankly, he didn't care.
But the nightmares still woke him up every night.
It bothered him when he saw James in Harry, especially after he'd told Harry "no" and Harry glared at him with reproachful eyes. It bothered him that he began to see exactly why James had been a little wary of handing Harry over to Remus. Remus was stiff and formal with the baby. If Harry was unhappy, Remus was fine, but Peter was the one who could get down on the floor and play silly games, make noises and faces, and sing songs. But it bothered him that he could see James was wrong overall, and Remus had more patience with Harry than Peter ever could, and as Harry grew older, Remus became more comfortable with him. It bothered him when Remus got up in the middle of an evening and left the room suddenly, and Peter knew the ghost of Sirius was somehow in the house, even if he didn't materialize as a proper specter. It bothered him whenever he thought that it should be Sirius and Remus taking care of Harry… or that no one should have to take care of Harry at all, because he should have his own parents.
And the day Harry pointed a chubby finger at him and said, "Dada," Peter cried.
***
Two years went by. Twenty four full moons where Harry stayed with Arabella Figg while Peter helped Remus keep his mind. Approximately five thousand, eight hundred and forty nappies changed between the two of them. (Peter had worked it out during a particularly dull meeting.) Days of watching the Wizarding World dwindle, but it was safe to walk the streets because he was on Voldemort's side.
Two more years of wearing a Death Eater mask. Forty seven wizards or witches tortured by him personally. Eighteen Killing Curses. And several nights of getting so drunk that Remus had to Stun him and put him to bed so he wouldn't wake Harry.
Maybe he shouldn't have mocked Remus for his medicinal applications of Firewhisky after all.
And it had been about three months that he'd started noticing Remus's eyes lighting up when he walked in the door. Since he'd noticed Remus had started smiling again when Harry wasn't around. Since he'd realized Remus didn't often leave the room anymore.
Remus was falling in… well, something… with him, and Peter wasn't sure how he felt about that.
He hadn't intended on asking. His general plan had been to ignore it until it went away. But the night after he killed Elphias Doge and Remus was patiently tucking him into bed, it slipped out.
"This thing… with you. And me. It's not just because of Sirius being gone, is it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Remus said smoothly. "You're drunk, Peter. What happened tonight?"
"You always ask that, and I never answer. I'm almost as impossible as you."
Remus laughed at that.
"You laugh more these days," Peter said. "Especially when I talk."
Remus sat back on his heels. "You're not as drunk as I think, are you?"
"No, I am. But I'd like an answer." Peter pulled the covers up. "It's not like I'll remember it in the morning."
Remus considered it. Peter knew his face well enough that he could almost see the thought process, and it was no surprise when Remus finally did speak. "It was, at first, I think," he admitted. "Sirius is hard to get over."
"I imagine. I know you still love him."
"I do. But that doesn't mean I can love only him."
Peter considered this. "Why me?"
"Because you're my best friend. Because even though you know what I am, you stick by me like glue. Because you're unequivocally brave, the way you've managed to infiltrate the Death Eaters for years and keep them off your tail. Because you do have to do things you don't want to do, and you grit your teeth and do them anyway, and sacrifice your own conscience for the greater good. I can't do that, you know. If I could, I'd help Dumbledore by going to Fenrir. But instead I hide behind you and Harry. You… you would never do that. Because- Peter?"
A part of Peter wondered if he'd always be vomiting in the corner of the room when his best friend had his soul on the line.
***
They didn't speak of it- there was no point. Peter couldn't return whatever feelings Remus had for him beyond brotherhood, and they both knew it. They both accepted it. But it was out there now, and Peter knew it.
Brave. Loyal. Sacrificing. All those things that Remus had seen in Sirius, he now transferred onto Peter. But Peter wasn't any of those things, not really. Remus was seeing what Peter had wanted him to see.
And yet….
There was something about sitting across from Remus at breakfast, or the way Remus smiled at him when he came home that made him feel taller. Stronger. Like he was what Remus saw.
"And all I needed was the love of a good man," he told himself sarcastically, with a particularly bad American twang.
And yet….
It wasn't just Remus. It was Harry as well. Harry who smiled and ran to his arms when he came home, gleefully shouting and flinging small arms around his neck. Harry who brought scraped knees for kisses and books for reading and questions for answering and all those things that Remus said no to in the hope that Peter would say yes. Harry who looked at him like Remus did, only with far more innocence and far more trust.
For the first time since he'd left home, Peter realized he had a family. Funny, that.
Maybe it was time to find out what a Horcrux was after all, just in case.
***
The Leaky Cauldron was crowded. No one bothered with masks in here, but if you weren't a Death Eater or a Death Eater sympathizer, there was no way you'd be out. Peter had stopped in for an after-work drink and for a little face time that didn't involve inflicting pain on people. He sat at a corner table with Xavier Nott, telling him about Harry's latest forays into biting when the word "prophecy" caught his ear.
Bellatrix Lestrange had always lacked subtlety. Lacked subtlety and taken pride in her standing in Voldemort's eyes. She was ruthless, abrasive, powerful, and completely devoted to the Dark Lord. Peter had always hated her, but for the longest time it had been loyalty to Sirius, and Sirius had hated all things Black. Then it was because Bellatrix had the place that Peter wanted. Now it was just habit.
"Only a few of the Dark Lord's followers know about the prophecy, of course," Bellatrix was saying haughtily. She was talking to Malfoy and her husband and brother-in-law, whose expressions that ranged from amused tolerance to boredom. "What no one knows is that there were two potential babies that should have fit the prophecy. The Dark Lord discounted the one because he was born outside the time the prophecy specified. But the Potter brat wasn't that early, and who knows if prophecies count days that closely? Naturally, when I pointed this out, the Dark Lord agreed with me. And tonight-"
Peter leapt to his feet, spilling beer over the table. He had to get home. He had to warn Remus. Then they could run- they could find some place where Voldemort wouldn't follow them and they could bring Harry up safely. Maybe America. America was a big country. Voldemort would never find them there. He flung himself into the fire, the whirling all the more nauseating because of his haste.
He fell out at the cottage he'd come to think of as home, with Remus regarding him with a look of amusement. "Need the bathroom?"
"No," Peter said. "We have to get out of here."
"What? Why?"
"Voldemort. He's decided that Harry's a threat after all."
Remus's eyes widened and his face went dead white. "Shit. You're right. I'll pack up Harry. You grab anything else we need."
Peter ran to his room in a flurry of flying robes and cursing. He heard Remus doing the same, and Harry suddenly crying in his cot. "When will he be here?" Remus shouted.
"I don't know. It's not like Dark Lords ring the doorbell!" Peter shouted back. He was cramming things into a bag, heedless of the actual contents.
There was a crack that made Peter jump, and then relax as he saw Remus beside him. Remus smiled apologetically, grabbed a book and a stuffed animal from Peter's nightstand, and then Apparated back to Harry's room. Peter shook his head.
He had finished his room and moved to the kitchen when Remus called out again. "Shit! Peter, I can't Apparate!"
The blood turned to ice in his veins, and Peter froze. "He's here," he whispered. "Remus! Get Harry and run! I'll try to hold him off!"
His throat closed up and there was ringing in his ears, so loud that he couldn't hear what Remus might have said in response. He could only stand in the middle of the kitchen, clutching his wand.
The door blew open in an explosion of splinters and brass.
Voldemort was here. Voldemort, who was responsible for the deaths of Lily and James and Sirius, even if he didn't kill any of them. Voldemort, who wanted Harry dead, and would be willing to kill others to see it happen. Voldemort, who Peter had bet his life on, and who he was now going to stand up to and defend his family. He was. He was going to save Remus and Harry. He was going to….
…turn into a rat and hide under the kitchen table.
He heard the footsteps, and Voldemort stalked past. Unable to stay still, unable to turn back into a man, Peter followed. Voldemort made his way to Peter's room, blasting the door open in another burst of wood. He looked inside and pursed his lips, obviously annoyed. He did the same to Remus's room. And then it was only the nursery.
Peter would never forget the sight of Remus standing in front of the cot, Harry clinging to the rail and wailing behind him. Remus's face was white but resolute, and his hand gripped his wand so tightly that there was a crack in the wood.
"Don't even think about it," Remus growled.
"Move aside, werewolf," Voldemort said. "You don't have to die."
"No."
"Move aside!"
"No!"
It was only a second. Just one second, and Voldemort tried to step around Remus. Then there was a flash of green light, and Remus must have jumped in the way, because he was now lying crumpled on the floor.
Peter screamed, but it only came out as a squeak.
Voldemort didn't notice. He trained his wand on the toddler in the cot. Peter willed himself to find the courage to change back, to do something to protect Harry, but what could he do? Remus had died in a heroic gesture, and Harry-
The flash of green light rebounded, and Harry's cries rose in pitch. There was a loud crackling noise, and then an explosion so bright that Peter had to close his eyes and hide his face behind his paws. When he could look again, the room was in ruins, but Harry was still crying.
Voldemort was gone.
Peter froze for what seemed like an eternity, but was only minutes.
He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. Wizards as powerful as Voldemort weren't killed by something like this. Maybe this part of him was gone, but… but.
Horcrux, Regulus had said, and Peter now knew what that was.
He changed back into a man and hurried over to Harry, scooping him up and kissing him. It didn't help. He could hear the ceiling creaking, and in a sudden flash of realization he knew the house was going to cave in. He grabbed Harry and the bag Remus had been packing and Apparated out of the house, just before it fell on his head.
He stood in the late evening light, panting for breath as he stared at the ruins of the life he'd been leading. No- the ruins of the lives. Voldemort might not be dead, but he was gone, and Remus…. Peter buried his face in Harry's shoulder for a moment, and then set the child down.
"Well, Harry, we…." His voice trailed off.
On Harry's forehead there was a scar. It looked like a bolt of lightning, but Peter knew better. Not a bolt of lightning, oh no. A snake. A mark. The mark.
The prophecy was true after all, and the child that fulfilled it was now in Peter's care.
Peter's resolve tightened, and he slung the sack over his shoulder. "All right, Harry," he said, his voice shaking, "I think it's time for us to go."
Harry looked up at him, still snurfling and scared. "Where?"
"We're going to America. We're running away. We'll be safe there." Peter pursed his lips and turned his back on the house. Let Dumbledore find it and figure it out. Let Dumbledore clean up the mess. By the time he did, he and Harry would be long gone.
They'd go to America and start again. And Peter would tell Harry about his parents, how Lily died fighting a man who could destroy lives and James died saving his best friend. He'd tell him how Sirius tried to protect Neville and how Remus died to protect him. And he'd teach him about Horcruxes, everything he could find out, because when it came time to do something, Harry would have to be prepared. It would happen.
"Why are we leaving?" Harry asked him, wiping his nose on Peter's robe.
Peter looked down at him. "We're leaving, because that's what rats do. We run away. And we survive."