AN - Just a little something I wanted to write, basically a collection of scenes from the lives of the Marauders. I only meant it to be a oneshot, but it became quite long so I have split it into chapters based on the time each little part is set. For this particular one - Hallowe'en 1981. There should only be two or three chapters, and they will probably (hopefully!) be shorter than this. Please leave a review if you read, and leave some feedback :). I'm thinking about continuing something I've started based in Hogwarts time (aka a bit cheerier and lighter!) if this is successful!

Fidelius

1. Perditus

It was strange how little felt different when the spell was complete. Honestly, James had not known what to expect. Were they truly hidden? Was it really done?

Peter trembled on the settee, unable to look either of them in the eye. He had been rather nervous throughout this whole ordeal, and no amount of assurance that he was perhaps in the safest position of them all seemed to help.

Barely ten minutes had passed when a familiar figure became visible in the street outside. The man in question turned on the spot, taking in every building in the area, it seemed, but the one they resided in. James even waved amicably, drawing the curtains back far enough that he should have been in plain view. His friend stood mere inches from their gate yet was apparently oblivious.

'You better go out there, Peter,' he said. Immediately, Peter rose to his feet and made for the front door.

'There's your proof,' Lily said softly, smiling at the sight that seemed to have James transfixed. He turned to her, and the fear and trepidation that had enslaved him these past few days alleviated. They were safe. Harry was safe.

The infant murmured softly to himself, shaking his mother's wand in his chubby hand as she held him gently to her.

'How long until he starts setting the curtains on fire?' he wondered aloud. Lily smiled, though her eyes darted warily to the wand and then to the curtains as the front door opened and voices spilled into the hallway.

'Safe to say, I think it worked,' Peter said as he rejoined them in the living room.

'Either that or whatever charms Dumbledore cast yesterday did the trick.'

'No, it worked.' James turned to the new arrival, a horribly familiar mix of happiness and worry falling over him at the sight of his best friend. Paranoia had gotten to them all, but none so much as Sirius Black. Though it seemed nothing could dull the handsome edge to his looks, lack of sleep had loaned a few more shadows to his features and he had yet to find the weight that had been lost in recent months. 'When I tried to think of the address, I couldn't quite recall the particulars. Like a memory that's faded enough to be unfamiliar, but bold enough to know it's still there. As soon as Peter told me, the house seemed to spring from the grass.'

He offered a smile to his married friends.

'Is it safe to assume that I am the first?'

'Yes. When Remus returns from-'

'No!' Sirius' voice was sharp. James wanted to argue, but had learned by now that it was futile. There was a spy amongst their ranks; they had to be careful, he knew this. But Sirius' distrust had reached the point where he no longer trusted one of his best friends. Remus had never given him reason doubt, but with the growing reports of werewolf attacks, with the long assignments their friend would disappear on, during which there would often be an attack or intervention which suggested a leak of information... It had not been an easy process, and he had watched Padfoot tearfully fight his suspicions, but in the end the fear and paranoia had won.

'At the very least, we should tell Dumbledore,' Lily said. 'Someone in the Order needs to know, to keep us updated.'

They all murmured their agreement.

'Have Peter write it down,' James said. 'But Sirius, you deliver it. There is no reason to risk putting Peter in danger by revealing what he is.'

Peter smiled gratefully as he reached into his pocket for writing materials - it was a good thing James had thought to remind him to bring some, what with the state their current belongings were in. He handed a small, folded piece of parchment to Sirius before stashing the rest of his supplies back into his pocket.

'I, uh...I should go now,' he said. 'Lot to sort out. Never been one for long goodbyes.'

A strange darkness seemed to spread through James' chest as he approached his friend to place a hand upon his shoulder.

'Thank you, Peter. When this is all over...' He did not know how to finish that sentence. When would it be all over? Would they still be young? Would they even be alive? Their active role in this war was over. Their duty now was to protect their son.

The appreciation seemed to cause Peter some measure of discomfort, but he smiled again anyway, and turned to leave.

'I'll come check on you soon,' Sirius said as he passed. 'Make sure you're all right. If there's anything you need, you let me know.'

A quick mutter of 'thanks', and Peter was gone.

'What about you, Sirius?'

What he wanted to say was 'don't go'. The months since they had gone into hiding had been long and lonely, and the only member of the Order who seemed to understand this was Sirius. Whenever duty did not pull him away, he was there, in whatever way the Potters needed him. Often, this was just with a few bottles of butterbeer (and the occasional firewhiskey when Lily and Harry were elsewhere) and old memories. Had it not been for his dear friend, James was fairly certain he would have lost his mind and gone completely stir crazy by now.

'Same plan,' Sirius said. 'Not sure where I'm going yet other than 'away', but...'

Had it just been his own life at stake, James was fairly certain he would have stayed (not that James would have let him). But there was too much at risk here, and they all knew the lengths to which Sirius would go to protect them. So long as he stayed hidden, so long as Voldemort hunted him, the others would be safe.

'We will never be able to thank you enough, Sirius,' said Lily. 'Truly.'

'Just keep this one safe,' Sirius said, stroking Harry's flyaway hair. Then he pulled both mother and son into his arms, the boy's laughter muffled between them. 'Take care of yourself, Lily.'

The blackness in James' chest seemed to spread as Sirius turned to him, and he knew from one look in those grey eyes that he was not the only one who did this with some reluctance. He returned the embrace enthusiastically, his grip only slightly looser than his friend's.

'You've done so much for me, Prongs. I could never thank you enough.'

'Stop talking like this is goodbye.'

As Sirius pulled back, he attempted a smile, though it fell short at his eyes. James knew then that he expected not to live through this.

'I will come see you again,' Sirius promised. 'Before I leave. I'll bring your mirror and if there's no activity for some time, I'll-'

'Don't risk coming back. As good as it will be to see you, I'd much rather know that you were safe.'

'Regardless...I'll come to say goodbye before I go.'

He began to take steps towards the door, struggling to project even the idea of a smile.

'I'm going to miss you, brother.'

The fun of Hallowe'en seemed to die after Hogwarts. It was strange how safe things had seemed within those walls, how far away the war outside them felt. Leaving had been a shock. And just look at the muggles. They didn't have a clue of the danger around them. To them, there was no war.

Sirius smiled at a group of children that skipped past, plastic cauldrons swinging from their hands as the wind whipped around them.

There was an old, deserted store on the corner, the flat above which was invisible to non-magical eyes. It was the perfect place for a hideout - inconspicuous to those who knew it was there.

Pulling his hands from his pockets, Sirius cast a brief glance at his surroundings before tapping the door handle with his wand and slipping inside. The interior of the store was bare, save for a few cobwebs and peeling wallpaper. The smell of mould and ages seemed to evaporate as he crossed another doorway and climbed the tidy stairs beyond. There was no light upstairs, and no creaking of floorboards; Peter must be asleep. Alas, this was something he had promised, and something he needed to do. His old friend could forgive an interrupted slumber.

But when he reached the floor above, the room was empty, curtains wide open to the moonlight as raindrops tapped against the glass. The blue light cast a haunting glow over an almost picture-perfect scene. Books neatly lined a small shelf by the bed, photographs propped on the desk beneath it. The bed itself had perhaps not been slept in for days; Peter's night clothes lay folded on the sheets.

There was a strange ringing in his ears, growing louder every second. Peter was to never leave this place after dark, he would not have left willingly, and yet there seemed to be no disturbance, nothing to suggest that he had been dragged from it.

The ringing grew louder, that paranoid voice in the back of his mind whispering a theory he was too afraid to attend to. Peter had known that he was coming. He should have been here. Unless...

'James!'

Sirius sprinted down the stairs and burst through the front door. In a matter of seconds, he found his way back to his parked motorcycle, swung his leg over and took off as fast as it would take him. He did not even care to check for clearance before he raised it from the ground, finding cover in the darkness above. The light of the muggle towns below sped by until the patterns they formed became familiar.

Carefully, he pressed the motorcycle down, breaking through the clouds and pressing down into Godric's Hollow.

The streets were still empty, though curious eyes gazed through the curtains of nearby windows.

Sirius leapt from his bike and his legs almost gave way. There it was, the Potters' home, smouldering like a spent cigarette.

The ringing suddenly stopped, as every detail of the house slammed into his senses like a thousand splinters. He knew then how wrong he had been. Remus was no spy. It was Peter. It was Peter all along, and now...

Trembling hands rose to windswept hair, his jaw trembled. That hole...Harry's nursery. He barely registered the large man at the gate, nor the shrill cry of an infant tearing into the night.

'Sirius?' said Hagrid. 'What're- No, Sirus, yeh don' want teh-'

But he was gone, bounding through the gate, almost tripping on the doorstep. And in the blink of an eye, Sirius Black's world fell apart.

His legs collapsed beneath him, bringing him to the floor in the briefest of heartbeats. Frantic hands gripped the sweater, fingers roamed to check for a pulse. But he knew before he tried, knew from the clammy skin and stony gaze...James Potter was dead.

'Lily!' he roared, wrenched from his friend's body. He bounded up the stairs, skipping some, tripping on others. There was no roof over the nursery, the doorway had collapsed, dust littering the carpet. And there she was, as still as her husband, slumped in front of the empty cot. There was blood on the sheets, though only a little, and not a foot from her...a pile of black robes, a fallen wand. He could see out onto the street from up there, could almost smell the magic that lingered on the air.

He could not stand it any more, slumped mournfully down the stairs. A terrible pain had overcome him, almost drew him back to the body that waited at the bottom. It was as though all the meaning had been torn from life, as though his world had crumbled with the bricks of his godson's nursery.

Hagrid waited outside, his face red, eyes bloodshot. He seemed to see the tears before Sirius felt them for he had a hand to offer, had silent sympathy that seemed to no nothing to dull the ache within.

'I'm sorry,' said the larger man. 'He found 'em. He found 'em an'... It's not a fair price ter pay, but he's gone. He's gone, Sirius, an' they would've died happy knowin' tha'.'

It was little comfort, but it was all he had. The image of those robes resurfaced, of the wand that lay as though discarded on the nursery floor. And suddenly, the urge to run back in there overcame him. The urge to race up those stairs, to snap that wand in two and scream to the stars.

'Harry survived,' said Hagrid, his voice breaking through the obsessive thought, clearing away the mental fog that had descended upon him. And the cries that still rang around them suddenly seemed to emanate from the arms of Rubeus Hagrid. 'I don' know how, but he did. Poor little thing.'

Sirius looked down into the eyes of his godson, and the cries seemed to ease, though not stop completely. Finally, a familiar face for the frightened child. There was a smear of blood upon his forehead, and Sirius raised his wand to it, cleaned away what he could. A large cut, roughly the shape of a lightning bolt, was visible where the stain had once been. It was not deep, but as the mark of a curse it would never fade.

He knew what he had to do, knew what James would have wanted him to do.

'Give him to me, Hagrid,' he said. 'I'm his godfather. I'll take care of him.'

But Hagrid frowned and shook his head lightly.

'Can' do that, I'm afraid,' he said. 'Dumbledore wants him to go ter his family.'

His family? Surely he couldn't mean Lily's sister, the magic-hating muggle and her equally closed-minded husband?

'I'm his family, Hagrid! If anything happened to them, they wanted me to take care of him!'

The desperation in his voice surprised even him. He needed to do this, needed to honour the request James made of him the moment he asked him to be godfather. It was all he had left.

'Dumbledore's orders-'

'Screw Dumbledore's orders! You think those muggles will take care of him? I'm the only real family he has left! Hagrid, you know how much I loved-' the word seemed to stick in his throat, past tense sounded so wrong '-Lily and James! Who will take better care of him than me?'

It was clear in Hagrid's eyes that part of him agreed - if James and Lily had trusted Sirius enough to name him godfather, then he would provide a good home for the boy. But Hagrid was Dumbledore's man through and through. The boy would go to his Aunt and Uncle's, and Sirius would go to St. Mungo's if he tried to stop him.

Defeated, Sirius stepped away. The pain, momentarily held at bay, rushed back with an almighty force. Somewhere in its midst, the truth sang loud and clear and that dreadful reality sank in. Suddenly, all he knew was anger.

'Take it,' he said weakly, gesturing to his bike. 'Take the bike. It's safe, it's fast...'

Hagrid seemed uncertain.

'Are yeh sure?'

'Just get him there safe. I...I won't be needing it any more.'

It was as though the words filled him with new found strength and purpose. With a farewell to young Harry, and good luck to his guardian, he watched his bike speed off into the night. Only when it was out of sight did he turn, a murderous vengeance on his mind.

There were not many muggles on the street as he pressed his way onward, a fact for which he was not as thankful as he ordinarily would have been. The more muggles, the easier he could blend in with them.

Peter Pettigrew wiped his sweaty hands against his robes, trembling still. The Dark Lord was gone, he had seen it with his own eyes. Only a pile of robes and a wand - a wand which he had been lucky enough to rescue before the Ministry descended upon the scene. And what about the boy? There were only two bodies in the house.

And then it dawned upon him. The prophecy... Had he fulfilled it with his actions? If the Dark Lord was indeed gone, and word on the street was to be believed, then Harry Potter had indeed vanquished him, without so much as raising a finger.

Of course, they wouldn't see it that way. They would see it as Peter Pettigrew, the double crosser who double-crossed the Dark Lord. They would not believe that he was sincere in his actions, that he had meant for the boy to die that night. James had been his friend, true, but things had gotten out of hand. The others, they could not protect him like they had in school. Order members were dropping like flies, just how far down the list had his name been?

Lily and James had refused to join the Dark Lord's side, even Sirius had left the messengers sent for him limping back to their master, wrong in their assumption that they would have better luck with a Black. They had not approached Remus, but his response would have been the same. But Peter...he had never been as brave as them, had never been able to fight for himself. When the invitation came his way, it felt almost overdue. Protection of the highest degree - it was the only way he would survive this war.

What was he to do now? Would the Order protect him? Of course not. The first thing Sirius would have done would be to tell them the truth...that he was the one who betrayed the Potters. He would be hauled straight to Azkaban.

For the first time in his life, he was really, truly alone.

A dog barked in the distance and he jumped, shaking from head to toe. Every hair on his body stood on end and he turned suddenly. He had to get out of here.

A man dressed in wizarding robes stood at the end of the street, perfectly still, as though waiting for something...or someone. Fear seemed to root Peter to the spot as he approached, slowly, as though calculating with every step. It was not the Death Eaters that had found him. Not even the Order...it was Sirius Black.

Peter ran, but the bricks of the alleyway towards which he darted suddenly multiplied, constructing a wall that blocked the only obvious route of escape.

'Hello Peter,' said Sirius, close enough now that Peter could see the pure hatred etched upon his face. There was a wild look in his eyes, almost maniacal, and a definite air of destructive rage about him.

'S-Sirius,' Peter gasped. 'Come to-to take me to Azkaban?'

'Azkaban?' His voice was calm and quiet at first. 'After what you did to them? I AM GOING TO KILL YOU, PETER!'

Flinching with fear, a sliver of realisation dawned upon Peter. Sirius had not relayed the truth of the Fidelius Charm and the Potters's betrayal to Dumbledore, had perhaps not even spoken to another person since he had found the wreckage of their house. Oh yes, he had seen the house, had seen their bodies. Nothing could have forced such an expression of diabolical loathing into the eyes of Sirius Black. Perhaps the madness of his cousin was a family trait.

A plan suddenly formed in Peter's desperate mind. It was not a good one, was perhaps not even one that would work, but it was all he had.

A crowd had gathered around them, perhaps thinking that a couple of nutters had decided to extend Hallowe'en. Peter's wand was behind his back now, his hand having dived instinctively into his pocket the moment Sirius had appeared.

'Lily and James, Sirius!' he screamed, tears of terror streaming down his cheeks. 'How could you!'

Confusion fell upon the other man's tired yet handsome features. It was the last thing he saw before the light blinded him, the force of the blast knocking him off his feet. Dust hung thick upon the air, muggles screaming as they clambered through the ruins of the street. Within seconds, he had raised his wand to his hand and watched in muted agony as a solitary finger fell to the ground.

The screams continued as the world spun around him. Engulfed by his robes, wand falling from rapidly shrinking fingers, he bounded into the stench of the sewers, Sirius's psychotic laughter ringing out above.

There were many dark moments in Remus Lupin's life. But none quite stung the way that day did.

The world seemed awfully silent for all the celebration. The mission was called off. The war was over. Voldemort was gone and in their confusion the Death Eaters were becoming reckless - already almost half a dozen had been rounded up by the aurors, if reports were to be believed.

Try as he might, he could not bring himself to join the festivities. Because the cost at which victory had come was too personal, too great. He could feel nothing beyond the numb sense of despair around him.

James and Lily were dead.

Even now, repeating those words felt almost taboo.

There was a murmur of movement downstairs. A new arrival, no doubt. He couldn't even bring himself to care who it was.

So many years longing for friendship, and the friends he had found were the best in the world, he never doubted that. And now they were gone.

Why? James had believed his secret to be safe in Sirius. They all had. The obvious truth was too painful to dwell on. There must have been another explanation. Perhaps the Death Eaters had found Sirius, perhaps they had found a way to extract the information. There was no way he would have betrayed them, no fathomable explanation as to why-

A sharp knock on the door preceded the entrance of Albus Dumbledore. Strange how Remus had never been less happy to see him.

'Remus-'

'How did it happen?' he wanted to know. 'How did...'

Dumbledore frowned as he took the seat opposite, igniting the fire with a quick prod of his wand.

'Sirius Black was the Potters' Secret Keeper-'

'Sirius would never have betrayed them. He'd have died first, we both would have.'

It was denial now, plain and simple stubborn denial.

'Then perhaps the Potters would have been better to place their faith in you.'

Silence lingered between them before Dumbledore spoke again.

'We all misjudged Sirius,' he said, almost mournfully. 'We all thought that we knew him. A proud, noble, loyal soul...'

Loyal to the wrong people, it seemed.

'Is there any way the Death Eaters...'

He could not even finish the question. But Dumbledore shook his head gently.

'It is old magic, but very powerful and very much foolproof. They could have tortured him, blackmailed him, cursed him...they could even enslave him through the Imperius curse or slip Veritaserum into his tea... The information must be divulged of one's own accord, willingly and without coercion.'

Remus had been so certain that he had known Sirius. Then again, so had James.

'I am afraid that I do not come here bearing good news,' Dumbledore continued. 'After James and Lily...I did not wish for you to hear this on the street, so to speak.'

He had spoken so calmly it made Remus wonder from where he drew the strength. Was it another form of old magic? Or had the old man simply experienced so much tragedy in his life that it barely ruffled him any more.

Remus nodded, inviting him to continue.

'Sirius was apprehended not two hours ago. He has been taken to Azkaban, where he is to serve a life sentence for his crimes against society...and those he purportedly loved.'

So soon? No trial? Remus found it hard to care. It was more than he deserved.

'How is Peter?'

Silence again, for a moment too long.

'It seems that Peter took the deaths of James a Lily a little hard. We believe he tracked down Sirius for revenge.'

That icy feeling in his lungs spread. Sirius was ten times the wizard Peter was...in a duel, poor Wormtail did not stand a chance.

'He's dead, isn't he?'

'Remus, I am truly sorry.'

Remus bowed his head, slumped forward in the chair as grief washed over him unrelentingly. A boy with nothing but a curse, gifted something wonderful...and now it was gone. They were all gone. James, Lily, Peter...dead. Sirius rotting in jail. The fact that justice had been served did absolutely nothing.

'Harry lives,' said Dumbledore, and the faintest light shone through the clouds. Their deaths had not been in vain.

The descending darkness took with it the last of his strength, a comforting hand on his shoulder all that told him that he was still of this world.

The wind howled, icy air numbing everything left of him to numb. His wand was gone, robes gone, hope...gone.

At the very least, he had expected a trial, a chance to explain what had happened, to let the world know that Peter Pettigrew was a spy and traitor, that Lily and James Potter lay dead, little Harry orphaned, because of him. But now Peter was dead too, and with his final act he saw to it that his revenge would be enacted on the last two Marauders: without James's money, without Sirius's support...what was to become of Remus?

Wormtail had destroyed them all.

It didn't quite set in where he was going until they had hauled him to the Ministry. They were barely there when word came: they knew what had happened, there was to be no trial, no mercy. Seconds later, there they were, and so were the guards. He was stripped of his wand, of his own robes, of everything left to identify him as Sirius Black.

It was the howls that brought the first pangs of fear, the mutterings of the other inmates. Then when the Patronuses of his escorts vanished with them... He screamed, he pleaded, he tried to break down the door. But still, bit by bit, the happiness left him, hope fading with it. Nobody would listen to him.

But he was innocent. He knew that much. And somehow, the Dementors did not affect that thought. They left it alone, left it to fester within. And over and over again, he would repeat the same old mantra.

'I am Sirius Black. Twenty-two years old. Gryffindor. I am innocent.'

'I am...Gryffindor. Black. Twenty-Two. I am innocent.'

'Black...twenty...Gryffindor...'

'I am innocent.'